#this (much like the rest of my life's work) is dedicated to autumn

[kwwallen]

your hobby x xdinary heroes

gn!reader x xdh(ot6!)

gerne: fluff (sfw), something like a drabble (has a plot with each member).

warning: relationship not specified (you can be friends or dating)

words: ~ 900

from the author: еnglish is not my native language, enjoy reading! (*´︶`*)ฅ♡

Gonil

"do you really like it that much?" - Gunil asks, watching you mix paints to get the desired color. "Yes...” you answered quietly, concentrating on your work. Some paint stains stained your cheek and the apron in which you worked. You were completely absorbed in your task, not paying attention to anything else. The guy, of course, wanted you to be with him now, and not somewhere in the world of brushes and flowers. But he waited patiently because he knew you liked it. At some point, Gunil himself disconnected from reality, watching your hands. He almost fell asleep, watching the careful movements of his partner. he certainly supports all your hobbies, but he is not as plodding as you

Jungsu

Your love for poetry came to you at school. Initially, you simply read and admired the works of writers, felt everything that was happening in a seemingly unremarkable text. After that, you got the desire to write poetry yourself. Thousands of rhymes and ideas flew through your head, putting everything on paper. Some classmates thought that you were strange, but the rest did not pay attention to such an inspired person. You could admire anything, looking for beauty everywhere. You and Jungsu were somewhat similar. The guy is a musician, he devotes a lot of time to lyrics to songs. You often look at this cutie and feelings fill your heart. You can watch him forever playing the keyboard and how he tries to do everything better than before. Many poems were dedicated to him. You also help him with songs, offering something of your own, and Jungsu reads with fascination every time.

Gaon

The room was filled with a variety of photographs. There was a camera on the stand, with which you took pictures, which could once have seemed only a dream, not a hobby. It seemed that now you could capture your whole life and hang photographs on the walls. Most likely, this outcome would have happened anyway, since you really wanted to take photographs, but this moment became real right now, thanks to Jisuk. He supported you all the time, told you that everything would be as you wanted, and also helped you save up for the necessary equipment. You are incredibly happy about your dream come true, and you constantly thank the Gaon, to which he is embarrassed.

O.de

In your opinion, autumn is a wonderful time of year. Pleasant colors of the leaves are presented to the eye. Many of them are now falling, creating a beautiful fall of leaves, and later rustling underfoot. You really love to observe this time, and even more to preserve the memory of it. So now you and Audie went for a walk in the autumn park. You were looking for leaves, such as you had never had before. And it wasn’t difficult for the guy to go with you, considering that you haven’t been able to see each other lately. Seungmin really enjoyed walking with you through the streets of the city, not thinking about anything else. Even if you don’t pay much attention to him now, he really likes to watch, because at such moments you are very focused, calm and sweet. Your image of a simple girl in a coat who likes to look at leaves and look for ones suitable for herbarium greatly inspires a guy. And the way your eyes sparkle when you finally find something for your collection cannot be described in words.

Junhan

For many days now you have been hunched over, sitting and knitting. You really want to give Hyeongjun a gift. Knowing this quiet guy's passion for cool clothes, the idea immediately came to knit him a sweater. Inspired and in the mood for your favorite pastime, you took with you knitting needles, the necessary yarn, delicious tea (or any of your favorite drinks) and sat down in a chair. By God, if someone saw you now, they would immediately say that you are very similar to your grandmother, although in part this was true. It’s already about ten o’clock in the evening, you’re so carried away by the process, thinking about whether the guy will like this thing. Still, drowsiness took over, so I had to put off knitting and go to bed. The following days all you did was knit and by the end of the week the sweater was ready. Han's reaction was terribly cute. At first, surprise appeared on the face, which gave way to admiration. He can indeed be very emotional. The guy was very pleased with the gift. He wore this thing often, and every time he felt delight and warmth.

Jooyeon

You sit on the bed and cross-stitch a beautiful design on the canvas. Your grandmother taught you this craft, after which you became interested in creating pictures using threads and hanging them on the walls in a beautiful hoop. It looks cute and feels cozy. Jooyeon thought it was a boring task, and it took a lot of time. Embroidery takes all your attention, but the guy wanted it to be the other way around, so he is trying with all his might to distract you. With grief in half, he achieved his goal, and you, rolling your eyes, call Juyeon into your arms. “You’re like a child,” you say with feigned irritation in your voice. "And what? What should I do if you spend all your time on this?" with a sad smile, Jooyeon pointed to the put-down embroidery hoop, " By the way, you also look like a child when you sulk". “Eh, okay,” after these words you hugged each other even tighter and fell asleep.

©kwwallen//copying and translation is prohibited

[grantmentis]

what do you think the coaching problems were with pwhl new york? do you think there might be more turnover with the assistants?

Sorry for such a late response! This week had been crazy. Anyway, I think there was a mix of on ice and off ice issues with PWHL New York

The off ice ones? Well I’m not there, but Hailey salvain of the athletic reported this

I can only say so much there, and of course this stuff is always more prominent / notable on a losing team because people are frustrated, but depending on how serious and widespread this is it could effect if they just want to start completely fresh or if they want to keep the assistants. The reason I could see the assistants staying is because the special teams, which is typically a job allocated to the assistants, was one of the few bright spots for this season

Speaking purely on ice, it did feel like Draper was just a bit over his head, which I think can happen when someone’s been in the same coaching role for decades then all of a sudden switch. He did a genuinely great job in university of Alberta and coached one of my fave players, autumn macdougall, I got no beef with him as a guy but it’s a lot of change with very little blue print

I think the area it showed most for Draper was defensively, where there was just….no defensive structure at all, especially among forwards, and these were players we know have defensive capabilities. It would make sense that this is the area that would suffer the most for a coach who’s played a really really long time in usports where offense has typically been a little more muted and goaltending strong. It’s a cliche but it’s very much a symptom of players playing as individuals and not a system leading to them being hemmed into their own zone and blowing coverage - which every team experienced for a while because they’re brand new but New York got worse and worse with as the season went on. I know this is mostly just my general thought, I hope to get more into the statistical side when I have some time off from work and school and other life stuff

Overall I’d like to see Colton Orr back because he was successful on the whale and I think he’s a good coach that has taken teams that are in hard circumstances - not having a permanent home, being in the New York market which despite being the biggest is definitely the toughest for hockey due to overall lack of hockey culture (I grew up in Brooklyn and am speaking from experience New Yorkers do not get mad at me), the ability to play a high paced, fast, offense heavy system while also getting the best out of shutdown defenders. That said I get if they want a clean slate. I know some people really want a woman as coach which I get but I don’t care as long as they’re dedicated to the sport and have experience.

My last hot take is I also expect some very significant roster changes for New York this offseason, maybe a blockbuster trade, I think anyone but like Shelton and Schroeder is on the table (not because the rest are bad, but I think there’s a lot of shake up willing to be made for the sake of identity)

[sororalice]

On The Blessedness Of Rest

A homily for the Autumn/Spring Equinox on September 22, 2024. Dedicated to a rest ally.

Dearly Beloved,

A very blessed Autumn Equinox to those in the Northern Hemisphere and a very blessed Spring Equinox to those in the Southern Hemisphere! Recently, I have been reminded by one of my household spirits of one of the most overlooked experiences in our spiritual lives, and so in my gratefulness I have written this homily dedicated to that spirit.

In our rise-and-grind “western” culture spawned by the twin hellscapes of authoritarianism and late stage capitalism, we are taught to work hard year round, to maximize productivity, and that any rest or relaxation is an indulgence, a weakness, and (often) a sin. As mages, it is all too easy to apply this same mentality to our magickal and spiritual lives. We get caught up in our initiatory work, our daily practices, our relationships with our deities, ancestors, and ally spirits, the spiral of solar and lunar rituals in our liturgical year, and, for many of us, our teaching, pastoral, and artistic vocations. All of that often leads to tired and cranky mages.

We could use a nap.

And so, on this day where my home here in Northern California begins to tip over into the dark time of the year, the period of sleep and rejuvenation for half of our beloved planet, I am moved to speak on the virtue of sleep and the joys of regeneration. I am moved to speak on periods of just letting ourselves take a breath.

I am moved to speak on the blessedness of rest.

To be sure, work is necessary in the spiritual life. I believe strongly that we are here to learn and experience and grow into the Divine, and all of that takes sustained effort. This is a basic and brute fact of our existence as mages and mystics. But I want to invite—and perhaps to gently challenge—you to take a fresh look at the notion of the “Great Work” and to question where that notion has taken us.

First, the term “Great Work” or “Magnum Opus”, while it comes to us in the modern “western” occult world as an artifact of that particular batch of occult traditions extant in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, originated as a term in alchemy. It has absolutely nothing to do with the notion of work as a virtue or work for its own sake, the so-called “Protestant Work Ethic” made famous by sociologist Max Weber. The alchemical usage of the term “work” is more akin to an “action” or “undertaking”, and expresses in alchemy the process of transforming a “base” or “imperfect” substance, such as lead, into an “ideal” or “perfect” substance, such as gold. This process was understood as being both literal and mystical; the medieval alchemists were just as often trying to produce perfect people as they were perfect substances. In alchemy, the development of spirit and matter are wed together into one undertaking.

Our honored ancestors in the craft, such as groups like the Hermetic Order Of The Golden Dawn, the A.’.A.’., and the Aurum Solis, inherited the traditions of alchemy and then used the term “Great Work” to describe their systems of initiation, of spiritual alchemy. This usage has found its way into modern “western” magick. As lead is “perfected” by being transformed over the stages of alchemy into gold, so too many modern mages conceive of themselves as being “perfected” over the stages of various systems of initiation and mysticism.

I am not ashamed to admit that I am one of these…I am a true believer in the Great Work. Much of my life since I was 12 years old and my mother bought me my first book on magick has been dedicated to the Great Work. I have officially drunk the Great Work Kool-Aid and subscribed to the Great Work newsletter.

And let me tell you, esteemed friends and colleagues, I am tired.

Every mage I know is tired. My colleagues online are tired. My primary teacher back in Santa Cruz (some of my older friends might know who I am talking about) was in his late 40s and early 50s when he was training me, and he was tired. Before he died, my dad was tired (as those of you who knew him can attest). We’re all tired. The Great Work has taken its toll.

We need rest.

As pagans, we subscribe to a naturalized theology. I repeat this endlessly, in homilies and essays, in social media posts and conversations with my peers. I believe devoutly that the surest and clearest knowledge we can have about the Divine is through Their manifestation in, with, and as nature. We meet our deities and allies first in nature, in the elements, in the Sun and the Moon, and in the planets and the stars. Nature is divine and the Divine is, in a very real way, nature. So what does nature, the world that the Divine has created and become for us, through us, and with us, have to teach us?

Nature teaches us that there is a time to grow and a time to consolidate that growth. Light and dark. Day and night. Summer and Winter. A time to reach out our branches to the sky and a time to send our energy back down into our roots. A time for waking and a time for sleeping. And yes, a time for the Great Work and a time for a Great Rest.

The equinoxes are moments of a balance point between light and dark, warm and cold, growth and death. Today the world tips over to the other side, and in the Northern Hemisphere, we move into the time of pulling back within, to the time the darkness begins to eclipse the light. So let us honor that time by taking a breath. Let us turn down the light and settle snug into bed with our favorite people and spirits. Let us lay back and let ourselves doze for awhile.

Let us rest.

Pleasant dreams.

In love,

Soror Alice

Art: Octave Tassaert, “Sleeping Seated Woman”, (19th century)

[meggtheegg]

To love a beast ? 👀

!!!! Okay So, this is basically a Beauty and the Beast AU, as the title implies, with Sam as Belle and Bucky as the Beast. It hits a lot of the same beats as the Disney movie, but with a few important changes to keep it more closely aligned with the events of the MCU. This one is still in its early chapters, and I haven't actually gotten to them meeting, yet, so here's some snippets with both of their POVs:

Snippet #1:

If not for the untamed chill of the coastal autumn breeze, Sam Wilson may have been fooled into believing that it was still summer. After a long week of stormy weather, the sun burned bright in a cloudless sky, as though the entire universe had opened up around the small, secluded village he called home. Children ran about in the grass, playing silly little made-up games with whatever newest toys the local wood carver had come up with, while parents tended to their daily tasks, running into market, gossiping with the neighbors, and living their dreary little lives, seemingly unaware that the world could have anything to offer, outside of what they already knew.  On this day, Sam was out on the family fishing boat, which had long outlasted expectation but was quickly approaching disrepair. In recent years, more sophisticated watercraft had found their way into the harbor, and each season had brought with it a smaller and smaller catch. He’d sworn to his sister, though, that he would fix the old girl, and after days stuck inside, he was determined to put in whatever work he could, now, before the river froze over and she started to look more like a stack of firewood than a legacy. “If nothing else, no one can say you aren't dedicated.” The sound of a familiar voice pulled Sam’s attention away from his work. At the end of the dock, a man smiled, his face wrinkled with age and his tired, blue eyes filled with a lifetime of untold stories.  Sam snickered and rolled his eyes. Steve Rogers was the kind of person who always seemed to have something to say, and sometimes, those things even made sense. That wasn’t what the rest of the village could see, of course. Small minds only had room for so much, and the old man’s stories of better times long past felt less believable, with each unremarkable new day. “Should I be worried about whatever else they’re saying?" “Only if you like to waste your energy.” Steve stepped onto the boat with a little too much ease, for someone of his age. “Need any help?”

Snippet #2:

He couldn’t remember much of anything, anymore. Even his name sat, hovering, just outside his mind's reach. At least, the name he used to go by. A prince has many names, he'd learned, but only one of them was ever really his. So, of course, that had been the first of them to fade away. No one who remained in the castle had used it, since the spell took hold. Many refused to acknowledge him, at all. To those who did, he was simply Your Highness, My Lord, Sir… Occasionally, he was James, but the name never sat right on their tongues, or his, in those few bitter moments when he’d find it in himself to speak. In the early days, he’d tried to remain something close to human, in spite of himself. Checked in on the others, followed some semblance of a routine, walked with his head held high and spoke like the man he used to be. But the last seventy years had dragged on for so long, each day blending unchangingly into the next, with no sign of an end, the clocks unmoving, the sun never rising. Every agonizing moment had stripped away his will to keep fighting, and his humanity had gone, with it.  Perhaps he’d never been human, at all. The creature that stared back from each unavoidable reflection was certainly no man, so what was the point of wasting energy pretending to be something he was not? The very idea of it had become a fantasy, his true face, true mind, true life, buried only in his books and the dreams that taunted him, at night.

send me an ask with the title that most intrigues you, and i will post a little snippet or talk about it

[thaoeatworld]

Everything I've Learned About Burning Out

I've spent a lot of time thinking about how I would word this piece. The difficulty with burnout is when you are indeed burnt out, you can't even process merely existing very well. Sleeping is hard. Eating is hard. Coping is exceptionally harder. Grief is not only debilitating, it's destabilising to the point of you're wondering why you're even alive in the first place.

I fathomed making jokes throughout this, simply to mirror my slow "return" to the world of the living, thinking, and mildly-fuctioning. I joke as a coping mechanism. It's been my "thing" my whole life. Entire generations of comedians make their careers off their trauma. And well, I don't plan to dedicate too many jokes to this written wallow about capitalism, academic careers, and common milestones of being a person in today's society. I just wanted to say, that when I was, very thoroughly burning out, I had no clue it was happening...and I think that's very funny.

It was like a true separation from reality. People were concerned for me, had entire conversations and very direct interventions with me. And I simply refused to acknowledge it in actuality. I would say "No I'm fine" and ignore a lot of the distressful nights of crying myself to sleep if I was lucky to sleep at all. I simply refused to do anything about my burnout aside from complain, and that wasn't even helping either.

I would vent to friends, family, colleagues. I had tea with a fellow colleague who was also suffering from the effects of burnout, and I simply just did not connect the dots. I would cry to Pedro, my partner, who is honestly always too kind and wonderful about everything, and lament about being "broken" to which he would reply "I know, it's not you. There's nothing wrong with you" almost every time.

I only realised I was burning out when I had an in-person meeting with a colleague to discuss how I was feeling about work, and I cried. I UGLY cried. It starts how most ugly crying starts -- suddenly and with exceptional surprise. In responding to a string of standard questioning, I just started to cry...and I didn't stop.

I cried about how little progress I felt I made as an academic. How little progress I made on writing all the things I wanted to write, because I was too busy and mentally exhausted from teaching. How I felt that this was my life now. A series of deadlines that would never be met and unfulfilled writing and grant obligations, despite all the intense efforts I felt like I was making daily. I was done. I was BEYOND depressed -- I was decimated. I wasn't me anymore.

This had a radical, but much needed reaction on my colleague’s end. We worked together to formulate a plan for me to get better, which involved a "break" from teaching. Honestly, I was very embarrassed. Not only did I sob in their office, here I was causing so much "trouble" for the planned teaching side of things. This was not the perspective of my colleague, but my own negative internal monologue.

So I concluded the rest of my summer and much of my autumn months with this teaching "break". During this break, I realised how much physical and emotional anguish I was in as the result of my work and career induced stress. Whenever I would look at my deadlines, I would develop actual acute chest pains for several days. I had problems eating, sleeping, and relaxing. The smallest noise or even too much sunlight would overwhelm me. No amount of my favourite activities would bring me joy. No amount of rollerskating, reading, or crafting could save me.

It's weird to reflect on this because here I was, given the space to "heal" and I was just feeling all the pains I've been ignoring for several years. The only comparison I can make right now is the pain one feels when adrenaline wears off. The damage from over-working for several years was extensive, and I felt every tear and cavernous wound.

I went to several doctors, all of which agreed I was burnt out and needed help. They gave me medications, they suggested therapies, they suggested less work. So I took the work reductions, all while feeling defeated about it. I stayed home, I avoided people, I tried to "get better". I took weird mixtures of plant extracts that my GP prescribed be because she didn't feel confident enough to prescribe me "something stronger" without the input of a psychiatrist which I wasn't allowed to see because of a 8+ month waiting list. I tried to get more extensive therapy, but then the actual treatment centre rejected me as patient because I "worked too much." Ironic, isn't it?

I was horrendously horizontal the entire time and had been for days, devastated with how horrible this whole experience was. I spent so much of my life thinking that if I had money, time, and support for "getting help" I would get it. I was wrong. I don't know why this suprised me so much, considering I work and teach about health access and inequities quite often.

I remember writing Stanley an email, shaking, laptop in my bed. He trained me, he has been deeply involved in my growth over the years. I would argue he "made me" who I am today, but knowing him, he wouldn't take that much credit. I told him that I was burnt out and I didn't know what to do. He responded that we should call and have a virtual tea together "just to talk, not work." He told me that everything would be okay, and that I needed to take care of myself. He told me that whatever gift I thought I had lost with burning out is still there inside me, and that I needed to nuture the "Thao things". I needed to make space for what made me, me.

So in efforts to love writing, researching, and crafting again, I shut my brain off. I distanced myself from everything that didn't matter to me at the time. I stopped talking to people, I didn't start anything new, I just focused on things that I needed to complete that mattered to me. I partially let go of my shame about "being late" for deadlines, because I had really spent months on what I feel, in hindsight, was being a member of the walking dead. I wasn't Thao anymore, so how could I do Thao-things?

I wrote and completed things that were mine. Mine as in that people had given me space to share my research, ideas, and work. I felt very horrible for being late, but it was "over". I realised that nothing could be perfect, but they could be "just enough" and someone else would make it better and I trusted them to do so.

I started collaging and drawing things again, being sure to keep all the shit drafts and lines attached in efforts to remind myself of the phrase and practice I hate a lot: "Respect the process."

I skated even though I didn't want to. I had no expectations about my progress or comparing myself to my skate team mates. I spent a few days in Barcelona with them so grateful to be alive and still skating, and I remembered so wholeheartedly why I do it in the first place...because it's fun! Same happened with Roller Derby, I just let myself be hit, coached, and focused on having fun. My anxiety drastically went down as a result.

I cooked complicated things when I felt like it, all from scratch. I tried new recipes and weird combinations. I also ordered takeout just because, a practice I never got used to post-Italy. I ate shitty food, because why not? I can't be bothered to cook or clean tonight, and that's fine.

I jumped back into teaching in early November, and I remember being terrified. As the weeks went on, I realised that I knew more than I recalled knowing...then again, it was the second year of me teaching this course. In that rest period, my brain had begun to slowly crawl up from that labrythine pit it was in. It wasn't much, but it was something.

Now as the term ends, I still think I'm burnt out. The truth is, I don't think I've learned much about it nor how to prevent it. All I got was a very strong reminder that even when you're burned out, and everyone is telling you that you need help, that the best case scenario is a short teaching break, you probably won't feel better.

I don't mean to be bleak, but that's the truth. I think I did everything "right" and yet, I was not healed. I'm still feeling bad, just less bad. Pedro's words have become more apparent. If the problem isn't me, it must be where I am. This inevitably leads to larger questionings of my institution, but also the grander scheme of academia.

It's no secret that academia runs on exploited labour, precarity, and questionable donations. Though I cannot pinpoint any one incident during my experience of working thus far as being a trigger to my spiral of burnout I will acknowledge one thing: the world does not end by moving a work deadline.

[smuganya]

polo & ander in every episode ↳ season one, episode one: “bienvenidos”

[minisugakoobies]

All Wound Up (Tighter) | KTH, JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader x Taehyung

Genre: smut, porn with the barest of plots, strangers to lovers, Rock Star!AU

Rating: M (18+)

Warnings: swearing, kissing, dirty talk, fingering, masturbation (m), voyeurism, oral (m & f receiving), vaginal sex, threesome, orgasms

Word Count: 6K

Disclaimer: NSFW, obviously I don’t own BTS - they just inspire me

Summary: Jungkook and Taehyung help you unwind.

A/N: Inspired by the body harnesses worn by the vocal line at Permission to Dance On Stage. Easily the dirtiest thing I've ever written. I'm sorry or you're welcome, take your pick. Unbeta'd as usual.

I have absolutely no idea what goes into making jewelry or harnesses, so if you’re hoping for authentic details or facts in this story *waves hand like a Jedi* this isn’t the story you’re looking for. Actually, that goes for anyone looking for anything remotely resembling reality. Reality didn’t leave the building - it never entered in the first place.

Dedicated to my Jimin support group @reliablemitten @hannahbee12719 @yeontan-my-love. I thought we needed a break from his diabolical ways, so I… wrote about a threesome with the other maknaes? Whoops. Special shoutout to Poppy and @smasmashin for the assist with the title (insert Jungkook wink with finger guns gif) 💕Let me know what you think - my inbox is open!

Masterlist 💜 Find me on AO3 💜

“What do you mean, they want a fitting?”

Hoseok just stared at you. “I mean, they want a fitting. How are you not getting this?”

You wrinkled your nose in irritation. “But… they sent in their measurements. They don’t need a fitting. I’ve done a thousand of these harnesses by now. Are you really doubting my skills after all this time?”

He shouldn’t be. Your body accessories shop, Dark & Wild, was incredibly popular and business was booming. It had been, ever since you’d expanded from typical jewelry like necklaces and arm bands into full-body harnesses and chains, opening up a new market and creating more demand for your painstakingly handcrafted jewelry.

You worked in gold and silver, leather and metal, twisting and shaping the harshest elements to create the most exquisite adornments. It didn’t matter how much they resisted; eventually, everything bent to your demands. Hoseok often joked that the toughest thing in your shop wasn’t your tools or the materials you worked with, but your will.

He wasn’t wrong.

Hoseok sighed, pinching his nose. “Of course not. I know you know what you’re doing! You’re the best there is. It’s why I made you my business partner all those years ago.”

“Excuse me, I believe I made you my partner when I opened this shop!”

“Right, when you realized you needed someone to run the books and talk to clients and generally do everything except craft the products.” He glanced at his watch. “Look, will you please just do this for me? These guys are friends of a dear friend of mine, and he promised they’d make it worthwhile.”

“You mean they’re willing to pay a lot.”

He grinned, lighting up the room like a tiny, annoying sun. “Yep!”

You chewed on the inside of your cheek. “But where exactly am I supposed to do this fitting?” You gestured around your shop, which was a workspace, not a storefront. All of your jewelry was sold online only, every piece made to order according to your clients’ desires.

Hoseok waved a hand. “I’m sure this is fine. But if you want, I know they’re staying at the Black Swan downtown. I can text and get their room number if you’d rather meet them there.”

“The Black Swan?” You whistled. “Fancy. Who are these guys again?”

“My friend Yoongi’s clients. He’s their manager. They’re in some rock band - Autumn Trees? No. Autumn Leaves?” He snapped his fingers. “Dead Leaves!”

You snorted. “Sounds emo.” Setting down the piece you’d been working on, you sighed. “Fine. I’ll interrupt my busy day to go meet these two total strangers in a hotel room, and if they turn out to be bloodthirsty killers and murder me, I’ll just haunt your ass for the rest of your life. And if they don’t turn out to be bloodthirsty killers, I’ll still haunt your ass for making me do this. It’ll just be a while before I get there.”

Hoseok beamed, pulling you into a quick hug. “You’re the best, sugar.”

“I know.”

Hoseok texted you the details the next morning. You were to meet your clients - Taehyung and Jungkook, those were their names - at 2. You spent the morning in your shop, finishing up a few pieces before lunch. Around 1, you gently packed their orders into your rolling carrying case and headed out.

You fiddled with the straps on your Doc Martens on the train to downtown. A sleazy looking guy sitting across from you leered as your leather skirt rode up on your thighs, and you scowled and gave him the bird. You weren’t in the mood to pretend not to notice, annoyed that you were making this special trip to begin with.

Your mood didn’t improve any by the time the train finally arrived 15 minutes later than it was supposed to, due to some issue on the tracks. Hustling down the crowded sidewalk towards the hotel, you swore as one of the wheels on your case suddenly came loose and rolled directly into a sewer grate. Picking up the case, you tucked it under your arm as you finally strolled into the hotel and directly into an elevator, collapsing against a mirrored wall in relief.

Sweat was prickling your forehead as you knocked on the hotel room door. You hoped you didn’t look like a mess, frowning slightly as you realized how late you were running.

You raised your hand to knock again, just as the door opened. Your fist bounced off of a solid chest. “Fuck! Sorry!” you yelped, retracting your hand as if you’d been shocked.

The face that greeted you was impassive. Gorgeous, but impassive. A pair of dark eyes assessed you with a sweeping gaze.

A beat passed.

“Um, hi.” You introduced yourself. “I’m here for your fitting?”

The gorgeous man said nothing, but opened the door fully and nodded to indicate that you could enter.

“Thanks.” You inspected him as you passed. Shadowed, hypnotic eyes framed with long lashes and killer cheekbones. A dark mop of wild curls held back by a headband. Black jeans and a black and white printed shirt. He looked like a rock star, all right.

A rock star from a very successful band, if the size of the suite was anything to judge by. You walked down a small corridor into a large sitting room, with plush couches and giant artwork on the walls. Two of the walls, anyway, since the wall in front of you was floor to ceiling glass windows.

“Shit,” you breathed, looking out at the city skyline.

“Yeah, it’s a nice view, huh?” A voice piped up beside you. Draped across one of the couches was another gorgeous man. Only this one smiled at you innocently, nose crinkling as he did. “I’m Jungkook. You must be…”

You gave him your name. He repeated it softly, the pleasing timbre of his voice making you wonder if he was the lead singer. Then again, you didn’t know anything about the band - maybe they were all singers.

Jungkook stood, running his hand through mint-colored hair, revealing a dark undercut. Small silver hoops glittered in both of his ears, matching the hoop nestled in the corner of his plump bottom lip. He was dressed a little more relaxed than the other man (who you now assumed was Taehyung), wearing an oversized long-sleeved black shirt and black joggers. His round eyes seemed so open and pure. You could imagine falling helplessly into them.

Yeah, definitely seemed like lead singer material.

“Sorry I’m late,” you apologized. “There was a problem with the train tracks and then my case broke.”

“No worries. We just got in from our soundcheck anyway, so the timing worked out,” Jungkook replied.

Taehyung continued to say nothing, just observing you with those eyes. You weren’t sure if you liked that or not.

“So, where do you want us?”

You glanced around the room. “Is there a mirror somewhere that we can use?”

“Uh, yeah. Right this way.”

You followed the men down another hallway into a bedroom. A bedroom that was almost wastefully large for being so minimally decorated, consisting of a gigantic bed, one night stand, and one armchair and table tucked into the corner. The largest tv you’d ever seen was suspended on the wall across from the bed, artwork hung behind the bed on a second wall, the third wall was all window, and the entire fourth wall? One colossal mirror.

“Well, I guess we’ll have to make do,” you muttered, earning a snicker from Jungkook.

You laid your case on the bed. Jungkook flopped onto the pile of pillows at the head of the bed while Taehyung sat on the edge.

“Who wants to go first?”

“I can.” Taehyung’s voice was surprisingly deep as he finally spoke. You motioned for him to stand beside you.

He began unbuttoning his shirt.

“Um, you can leave that on. The harness will fit over any shirt, so even if this isn’t the one you’ll be wearing on stage, it’ll work fine for this.”

“I don’t wear shirts on stage.”

Oh. Well then. “Okay.”

You tugged on the zipper on your case. It wouldn’t budge. Frowning, you tugged harder, only for the pull to snap off in your hand. “Ah, shit.” “Everything okay?” Jungkook inquired.

“No. Stupid zipper broke.” And of course all your tools were inside, so you couldn’t use them to fix it. “Do you have a sewing kit around here?” As big as the hotel suite was, there was probably an entire sewing room down one of the corridors.

Taehyung stopped undressing long enough to find you a kit. Just as you got the zipper open, you managed to prick yourself with the pin. “Motherfucker!” You sucked on your finger as both men looked on in concern. “Sorry. Just… It's been a bad day.”

You missed the glance they exchanged as you finally opened your case and removed Taehyung’s piece. Holding his harness in your hands, you turned, and blinked.

If you didn’t know better, you’d swear you were back in your workspace, because the figure next to you was as cut as the realistic fiberglass mannequin you used to photograph your jewelry. Your eyes raked over Taehyung’s smooth chest and the grooves of his abs, settling briefly on the defined v line above the waist of his tight jeans before you caught yourself.

But the mannequin you owned did not have a sprawling tattoo running from its neck down its torso and around its back, an enormous mass of rambling branches and trailing flowers that almost seemed to flutter as he breathed.

“Wow. That’s some gorgeous artwork.”

He just nodded.

You carefully draped the harness over his waiting frame. He lowered his head as you clasped the neck piece, and you inhaled something sweet and floral. Surprising.

Stepping back, you marveled at your handiwork. Taehyung had ordered a black piece, with slender twists meant to mimic thorns. Set against his tattoo, you now understood the request. The metal wound around his neck twice, first as a choker, then a larger loop that connected to a chain running down the center of his chest. At his navel, the chain split to flare out over his hips.

Jungkook joined the two of you, hand reaching out to gently touch the harness that hung on his bandmate. “Wow. You made this?”

“Mmmhmm.”

“That’s so cool.” He twirled one of the thorns between his fingertips. “You have very talented hands.”

“You’re not the first person to tell me that.”

“I wish I could make stuff. But I’ve been told my skills lie elsewhere.” He winked, taking a seat on the bed, reclining on his elbows, watching Taehyung spin in the mirror as he examined the chain.

You rolled your eyes at his cheeky response, watching Taehyung spin in the mirror as he examined the chain. The harness draped beautifully down his torso, the black metal accenting the tattoo and giving him a mysterious, sexy air.

As if those dark eyes didn’t do that enough.

Silently patting yourself on the back, you continued to admire the way the chain skimmed over Taehyung’s striking figure, only to stop when he asked, “Can it be tighter?”

“Tighter?” you repeated incredulously. “Well, yeah, sure, I can make it tighter, but don’t you need to move around the stage?” You still didn’t know if he played an instrument or danced or what, so you weren’t sure how much freedom of movement he’d need. “And if I do, there’s a chance the thorns could dig into your skin. Might hurt a little.”

“I can take it.”

Ooookay.

“You’re the boss,” you commented, and took the chain in your hands. Twisting lightly, you looked at Taehyung. “Is this tight enough?”

He shook his head. Something dark flashed in his eyes. “Tighter.”

You bit your lip and twisted another link. “And now?”

“Is the chain going to break?”

“No,” you scoffed, slightly insulted that he was questioning your work.

“Neither am I. Tighter.”

Your hand brushed against his chest as you wound the chain around your fingers. He was hot to the touch, yet a wave of goosebumps rippled down your arm as you glanced into his eyes again.

“Perfect,” he drawled, smirking.

His gaze lingered on your lips a little too long.

Fuck. You reminded yourself that you were a professional, and focused on the alterations you would need to make. Taehyung held the chain for you as you typed a few notes into your phone, then you snapped a few photos for reference before unclasping the harness and putting it away.

One down.

“My turn!” Jungkook sprang to his feet like an eager puppy and bounded to your side as Taehyung put his shirt back on, taking a seat in the armchair. Before you could ask about his stagewear preference, Jungkook reached behind his head and yanked his shirt off one-handed.

Again, you were greeted by the sight of firm pecs and ridiculously defined abs. These men clearly believed in treating their bodies like temples. Ones that their fans would be all too happy to worship at, no doubt.

Like Taehyung, Jungkook was covered in ink. His right arm had a sleeve of tattoos, a series of markings in various sizes and shapes that coated his arm in a chaotic collection.

“You guys really like tattoos, huh?” You couldn’t help but smile. “Way to fight the rock star stereotype.”

Jungkook grinned a sweet bunny smile, all teeth and wrinkled nose. It was rather disarming, and actually did make him look like less of a rock star cliche, so you begrudgingly gave him credit.

Then you reminded yourself to concentrate on getting the job done. You had so much work waiting for you back at your shop.

Jungkook’s harness appeared more simple than Taehyung’s in front, a simple gunmetal grey chain, no choker or loops, no thorns, hanging in a straight line down his torso and splitting at his navel. However, the back was more complex, a pattern of woven strands strung like a spider web over his shoulder blades, tapering down to his waist.

Jungkook stood still as you adjusted the harness over his form. Taller than Taehyung, he had to stoop slightly while you played with the closure. Your fingertips scraped the nape of his neck and he shuddered.

“Sorry,” you muttered. “Ticklish?”

“A little,” he confessed, peering over his shoulder to watch as you straightened several kinked sections, fixing the way the web draped over his strong back. “Thanks for doing this, by the way. Yoongi-hyung said you don’t usually do fittings.”

“That’s right. And you’re welcome.” You frowned slightly, wondering why so many links were twisted where they shouldn’t be. “Why exactly did you guys want a fitting, anyway?”

He shrugged, the harness lifting slightly as his broad shoulders moved. “We take our stagewear seriously, down to the last detail. We didn’t get to where we are by doing things half-assed.”

“Hmm.” You took a step back, scouring the chain for any other imperfections and finding none. “I can understand that.”

“I’m sure you can.” Jungkook turned and grinned at you. “Yoongi-hyung said Hobi-hyung said that you were the best of the best. That’s why we chose you.”

“You chose me?” You tilted your head.

“Your shop. That’s why we chose to buy from your shop.” He bit his lip.

You couldn’t help but smile at his embarrassed expression. “I think you’re good now, if you want to take a look?”

Jungkook rotated slowly, inspecting the harness from all angles in the mirror. The delicate chain made an interesting contrast against his solid frame. You couldn’t help but admire the way the metal shone against his skin, highlighting the muscles that undulated as he moved. You also couldn’t help but admire the muscles themselves.

“Thoughts?” you inquired.

Another grin. “I love it.”

He twirled a few times, letting out a high-pitched giggle, making you laugh in surprise. His giggle was delightfully at odds with his physique. It was charming as hell.

“If you have no objections, then I’ll just take it back to my shop and polish it up without making any alterations.”

You tried to slide behind him to undo the clasp, but Jungkook jumped away. “What are you doing?”

“What do you mean, what am I doing?” you repeated. “I’m taking the harness off you? So I can take it back to my shop, like I said?”

“Are you in that much of a hurry to leave?” His eyes glimmered.

Your eyes narrowed.

“The fitting is over, so I should be on my way. I’ve got a lot of work to finish up this afternoon.” You reached for the harness again, but he dodged you. “Hey! Stop that!”

He giggled, spinning around and grabbing your wrists - loosely, but with enough force that you were pulled against him. You inhaled sharply, eyes wide as you gazed up. The gleam in his eye seemed a lot less mischievous and a lot more… wicked.

“You seem stressed. A little… wound up. It must be difficult, running your own business, doing all that hard work yourself.” His thumbs stroked your wrists. “Don’t you think you deserve to have some fun?”

“Yeah,” a low voice rumbled from the corner, and you jumped. Taehyung had been sitting so quietly in the armchair for so long that you’d completely forgotten he was still in the room. “There’s no need to run off. Stay a while. Relax.”

You glanced between the two men. “Okay, I’m not really sure what you guys are suggesting, but I think I should go.” You were actually pretty sure that you knew exactly what they were suggesting. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t tempted to mess around with one of them, but both?

This kind of thing didn’t really happen, did it?

“We’re just suggesting that you indulge yourself a little,” Taehyung rose from his seat, crossing the room leisurely. With his intense gaze, the movement reminded you of nothing more than a tiger stalking its prey.

“Yeah. Come on. Play with us,” Jungkook crooned sweetly, watching you through lowered eyelashes. “We appreciate you coming here. Accommodating us.”

“Let us thank you,” Taehyung whispered in your ear, sending shivers down your spine as you realized he was right behind you. His hands ghosted over your shoulders, sweeping your hair out of the way as a pair of lips suddenly danced along your neck.

Your head spun, fragments of thoughts flitting through your mind. All those unfinished pieces waiting for you back at your shop. Whether it was unprofessional to sleep with two (two!) clients. If you should follow the likely well-worn path of a typical groupie and hook up with these rock stars.

If you deserved to cut loose. Unwind.

These were all swept aside by one incredibly loud statement: Fuck it, let’s ride.

Twisting the chain around your fingers, you tugged Jungkook towards you. He reacted immediately, lips smashing into yours. Taehyung pressed himself into your back, his hands on your hips as Jungkook’s hands threaded through your hair.

Trapped between the two men, you moaned wantonly. Two pairs of hands roamed your body. Two pairs of lips covered your skin in kisses. Your pussy throbbed, begging for attention, and you crushed your pelvis into Jungkook’s, trying desperately to grind against the erection that was jutting into your thigh.

Jungkook broke the kiss, chuckling. “Need something, baby?” he purred, nipping at your lips. You nodded, gasping as one of Taehyung’s hands slid down your front, coming to rest between your thighs. He rubbed his fingers along your crotch, the sudden pressure making you keen, growling into your shoulder as he felt the dampness growing there.

“I think she needs you, Kook,” he murmured. Just as you were starting to buck against his hand, setting a rhythm, he suddenly released his grip on you and drew away.

“Wha…?” you panted, looking back in confusion. Jungkook’s hand grasped your chin and brought your focus back to him.

“Come on, baby. Let me help you out.” He guided you to the bed, gently pushing on your hips to get you to sit. “Lie back for me.”

You did as instructed, sliding up the bed until you hit the pile of soft pillows. Jungkook followed, crawling up the bed.

But Taehyung had taken his seat in the armchair again.

“I thought…?” you trailed off as you looked at him, puzzled.

Jungkook followed your gaze. “Taehyungie likes to watch,” he explained.

Oh.

Jungkook took a moment to undo the straps of your boots, sliding them off and dropping them to the floor. His hands slid up your bare legs, stopping at your thighs, gently nudging your legs apart. You could feel your panties sticking to you as his eyes swept over you, and he leaned forward to shove your skirt up to your waist.

“Hmmm, I think you were right, Tae. She’s soaking through her panties.” Jungkook clucked his tongue. “Poor thing. You want me to remove those for you?”

You were no shrinking violet. You never shied away from using your voice. But something about Jungkook’s tone had you holding your tongue. You wanted him to take care of you. So you just nodded.

Jungkook hooked his fingers under the waistband of your underwear, swiftly tugging them down. Once they were freed from your legs, he turned and chucked them over his shoulder, directly into Taehyung’s waiting hand.

You watched, mouth agape, as Taehyung unzipped his pants, freeing the thickest cock you’d ever seen. As you continued to stare, Taehyung stroked himself a few times with his empty hand.

Then he switched hands, rubbing himself with the sodden, satiny material.

“Oh god,” you groaned, unable to stifle yourself.

Jungkook’s face popped into your field of vision. “Back to me, baby,” he commanded, and you turned your attention back to the minty-haired man kneeling between your legs. “I want you to watch me, okay?”

“Okay,” you echoed weakly. You propped yourself up on the pillows as best you could.

Jungkook smirked, lying on his stomach, the harness biting into his skin and leaving indentations as he slid his arms under your thighs, locking them in place with his forearms. Gentle kisses flitted against your folds, and you sighed happily. Then you gasped in surprise as his tongue slid inside you, lapping at your core.

Jungkook’s gifts did indeed lie elsewhere. Namely, his golden tongue. He had you moaning in no time. You dug your hands into the plush blankets, seeking to anchor yourself as he added one finger, then a second, then a third, working you open with his hand as his tongue suckled at your clit, his lip ring rubbing enticingly. His eyes twinkled devilishly as he watched you, drinking in the way you writhed above him just as he drank in your slickness.

“How does she taste, Kook?”

Jungkook just whined, the needy sound spurring you to buck against his face in reply.

You rolled your head to the side, looking into the mirror. Taehyung’s reflection fucked his hand feverishly, an intense expression of concentration on his face. Knowing that you were the focus of that fierce gaze pushed you over the edge, the tiny mewls falling from your lips becoming a steady wail as you came all over Jungkook’s face. He let out a hoarse “Ah!” at the sensation of you clamping down on his hand, and ground his hips into the bed as he licked you through your orgasm, until you finally pushed his head away.

A stuttered cry from the corner told you that Taehyung had cum as well.

Panting, you stared into the mirror, watching Taehyung as he came down. Jungkook sat back on his heels, licking his lips, looking satisfied. You observed him through half-lidded eyes, still blissed out from your release. His erection was mouthwateringly large.

You wanted to taste him.

“How do you feel now?” Jungkook asked, hands softly caressing your calves. “Still stressed?”

“Mmmm, no.” You sat up, and swung your legs underneath you so that you were kneeling. “Definitely not stressed.” Your fingers trailed up Jungkook’s thigh.

He tipped his head as he watched your hand move towards his bulge. “Did you want to play a little more?”

“Yes please,” you all but groaned as you palmed him through his jeans. He hissed, hips lifting at your machinations.

Taehyung stalked across the room, shedding his clothes. He was already half-hard again by the time he sat behind you, his hands tugging at your shirt. You raised your arms, helping him as Jungkook’s fingers reached behind you to unzip your skirt. Within seconds, you were completely naked, Taehyung’s hands caressing your breasts as his hot breath tickled your neck.

“You need a hand, Kook?” Taehyung asked, fingers rolling your nipples between them. You arched slightly into his touch, head dropping back against his shoulder as he fondled you. “I think you should show him how talented those hands are, baby. Maybe that lovely mouth, too. What do you think - should you take care of him now?”

“Mmm, yeah, I wanna suck him off,” you managed to reply, answering Taehyung while meeting Jungkook’s eyes. Jungkook wasted no time, standing to slide his jeans off.

For the second time that afternoon, you were stunned by the sight of a massive cock. Whereas Taehyung was thick, Jungkook was long, and deliciously curved. The bright red tip of his dick looked almost painful, and you held out your hands, beckoning to him to rejoin you on the bed.

He knelt in front of you, and you got on your hands and knees, crawling towards him until you held his cock in your hand. You stroked him lightly, taking the tip in your mouth, coating him with your tongue. Then you surged forward and took him in, not stopping until your nose brushed against his pelvis.

“Fuck,” he gasped. You hummed around him, pleased to take him by surprise.

Then you nearly choked, as a pair of lips kissed at your entrance from behind you.

Taehyung had dropped to the floor, burying his face in your folds as you sucked Jungkook off. He teased you with long, agonizingly slow licks, swirling his tongue around your clit, which was still sensitive from Jungkook’s petting. You bobbed on Jungkook’s dick, swallowing down the saliva that flooded your mouth, making him curse.

Jungkook’s hands were in your hair, unrestrained pleas escaping him as you worked him over, calling you baby again and again, begging you not to stop. Taehyung had one hand on your thigh, holding you in place while he continued to lave at you, the other gripping his cock.

The sounds in the room were a clash of whimpers and moans, wet sounds of mouths and hands. A filthy cacophony of delights.

Jungkook began to thrust into your mouth, and you gagged slightly, but didn’t stop him. He babbled as his hips moved. “Fuck, baby, take it all,” he wheedled, singing your name.

You moaned around him and he threw his head back. “If you keep that up, I’m gonna cum right in that sweet mouth.” You hummed again, giving your consent, but his hips stilled and he pulled out.

You remained on your knees, a protest forming on your lips, because you weren’t done with him, but before you could utter a word, you suddenly doubled over, hiding your face in the blankets instead as Taehyung sucked unrelentingly on your clit, driving you insane with pleasure.

You longed for more than just his mouth.

“Taehyung, please,” you practically sobbed. “I need more.” When did you become this needy creature, such a sniveling mess? What had these men done to you?

Jungkook climbed onto the bed, wrapping you in his arms and kissing you furiously. You lost yourself in his embrace, letting him plunge his tongue into your willing mouth as his hands roved downward, squeezing your ass.

Taehyung suddenly appeared by your side as Jungkook rolled you onto your back.

He gave you a dark look, eyes raking over your naked body. “Kook, I think she’s ready for more.” He dropped his head to your breasts, lightly teething at a nipple. “Are you ready, baby? You want Kook to fuck you now?” His tongue caressed what his teeth had just stung.

If someone didn’t put their dick in you soon, you were going to explode. “God, yes, please fuck me!”

Jungkook grinned lasciviously, leaning over to trail kisses along your stomach. “You’re the boss.”

Taehyung rifled through the night stand, tossing Jungkook a condom. Then he settled himself against the headboard, his hand lazily gliding over his cock as Jungkook sheathed himself and lined up against you.

The metal chain hanging from his chest brushed your skin as he hovered above you. He dropped his lips to yours, and with a kiss he pushed inside. He slid in slowly, making sure you were comfortable as you adjusted to his length. You’d never felt so full, your eyes falling shut as you focused on the incredible sensation.

Once the glorious stretch stopped aching, you urged him to move by lifting your hips.

Jungkook did not hesitate.

He snapped his hips, setting a brutal pace, and your eyes flew open as you began to pant. “Fuck! Jungkook!” was all you could spit out, your brain shutting down anything not related to the intense pleasure you were experiencing.

Your head lolled back, and you caught Taehyung’s eye. He was once again staring at you as you bounced underneath Jungkook, mouth open in rapture as he jerked off. The debauched sight was overwhelming.

You wanted to touch him so badly.

Time to make them bend.

“Jungkook,” you moaned, turning your attention back to the man fucking you relentlessly. Your hand wrapped around the chain dangling from his neck, and you yanked, pulling him down. He lost his rhythm, hands stretching out to stop himself from falling on top of you. “Jungkook, stop.”

He lifted his head, a concerned look on his face. “What’s wrong, baby,” he huffed, searching your face. “Am I hurting you? You wanna stop?”

Releasing your grip on the harness, you gently pushed him off of you, and he pulled out. Sitting up, you looked Jungkook in the eye. “I wanna ride you.”

“Oh hell yeah.” You didn’t have to ask twice. Jungkook threw himself on the bed and gazed up at you, quirking an eyebrow. “Hop on, baby.”

You shook your head. “Nuh-uh. Not there.” You pointed at the head of the bed, where Taehyung was watching you. “Up there.”

Jungkook looked at Taehyung, who nodded. He positioned himself next to the dark-haired man, leaning back against the headboard. “Like this?”

“Mmmhmm.”

Crawling up the bed, you straddled Jungkook. Slowly, you sank down on him, both of you sighing blissfully as you did.

Then you reached out, winding the chain around your hand, jerking him forward as you began to bounce on his dick. You crushed your mouth against his, swallowing the heavenly sounds he made as you rode him.

But you didn’t forget about Taehyung. The hand not wrapped around Jungkook’s harness crept towards his lap. Tearing yourself away from Jungkook’s lips for a moment, you tilted your head towards Taehyung.

“May I?” Your hand hovered above his cock, waiting.

He nodded.

Jungkook grunted in your ear, his teeth nibbling on your lobe, as you wrapped your hand around Taehyung and began to stroke. You gripped him as best you could, unable to close your hand around his thickness.

Taehyung’s head fell back against the headboard as he exhaled a guttural moan. The sound shot straight to your core and you clenched around Jungkook, who hissed.

You slowed your pace, rolling your hips to grind into Jungkook as you focused on pleasuring both men at once. From the wordless noises he made, you could tell that Taehyung was enjoying your hand, but it wasn’t enough for you.

“Taehyung,” you murmured. He glanced up. “I wanna taste you. Can I?”

He nodded.

You were flexible, but you couldn’t bend enough to take him from your current position. So you let go of Jungkook’s chain and pried his hands from your hips. “Be right back,” you winked, and before he could respond, you popped off of him, turning around.

“Fuck, you’ve got a great ass,” he muttered, hands reaching out to grope as you laughed and began to ride him, reverse cowgirl style.

“C’mere,” you purred to Taehyung. He towered over you on the bed, cock at the perfect level. You licked your lips and took him in.

You felt your jaw pop and knew that it would be sore tomorrow, but it was worth the pain. Quickly establishing a tempo, you alternated your mouth with your hands, stroking and sucking as he stared down at you, mouth falling open again in ecstasy. His fingers clutched at his sides, and you reached out, taking one of his large hands and placing it on your head, silently instructing him to take control.

As if that was the cue he’d been waiting for, Jungkook suddenly grabbed your hips, fingers curling into your skin, and began thrusting up into you, taking over the pace of your fucking. You moaned around Taehyung, saliva spilling over as you began to drool from the way Jungkook pounded into you.

But you were at the mercy of Taehyung’s hips now, too, as he began to fuck your mouth in earnest, mindlessly burying himself in the inviting warm wetness of your mouth. Breathy grunts and gasps accompanied every lunge of his hips.

A switch flipped in Jungkook as he fucked you vigorously, a surprisingly lewd stream of drivel pouring forth from his lips. “Fuck, you like that, baby? Like the way we fuck you? So fucking hot, taking us both like this. Wanna fuck this cunt all night, wanna make you cum on my cock ‘til you can’t see straight!”

You whined, frenzied, drowning in so many sensations. You were achingly close to climax, just needing a helping hand.

So you grasped Jungkook’s hand, guiding it from your hip down to your clit, and pressed his fingers against you.

He leaned forward, brushing his lips against the nape of your neck as he breathed, “You need me, baby?”

Unable to speak or nod, you squeezed his fingers, hoping he’d understand.

He did.

You came with a shuddering cry, Taehyung pulling out of your mouth to let the sound fill the room. You turned to liquid in Jungkook’s arms, euphoric, melting against him as pleasure rolled through you. As you spasmed around him, he came as well, chanting your name as he released inside you, filling the condom with his hot seed.

Taehyung pumped his cock, panting hard. “Baby,” he gasped out brokenly, “baby, I’m gonna… where can I…”

You opened your mouth, sticking out your tongue.

He groaned as he came down your throat, dark eyes widening as you licked him clean.

Jungkook sagged against the headboard, and you smiled as his arms wrapped around you, pulling you against his chest. You cocked your head up at Taehyung, and he read the question in your eyes, curling up beside you and resting his head on your thighs.

The three of you laid that way for several minutes, until Jungkook broke the silence.

“So… still in a hurry to leave?”

Hoseok called you the next morning, waking you from a dead sleep. You grumbled a hello.

“Morning, sugar! I don’t know what magic you worked with Taehyung and Jungkook, but now the other band members are asking for their own harnesses. They’re placing their orders as we speak.”

“Oh,” you grunted, your left eye falling shut as if you were trying to half-sleep while talking. “That’s nice.”

“Oh yeah!” He paused. “Hold on, text from Yoongi. Let me put you on speaker so I can read.”

You switched eyes.

“Huh, ok, looks like they also want a private fitting. Well, I don’t know how quickly you can make their pieces, but he says they’ll be back in town in a few weeks. Do you think you could arrange to meet Jin and Jimin then? They're the other guys in the band. Oh, they’re offering to host you again, said they’re happy to do it.”

You pondered for less than a millisecond. “Yeah, I can probably arrange something.”

“Great! Yoongi said they can’t wait to have you.”

A/N II: Part two coming at some point! (Update 5/24/22 - it's here!)

© 2021-22-23 by sunshinerainbowsbts/minisugakoobies. Crossposted to AO3. Please do not copy or repost.

[velidewrites]

Waterfire | Chapter 1

Summary: An unexpected request from the new High Lord of the Autumn Court unravels a series of events that are sure to leave Tarquin's heart changed forever.

Pairing: Tarquin x Eris Vanserra

Word Count: 5k

Note: Dedicating this to @abraxos-and-ataraxia who put me onto this elite ship <3

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

The waves crashed softly against the shore, carrying the salty breeze that molded the castles of Adriata.

With the sandstone city spread below him, Tarquin allowed himself to linger in the moment, content to let the fresh scent of the sea caress the power that coursed through his veins. Standing on a balcony perched on one of the the lower levels of the palace, he could still take in the view in its entirety, hear the happy squeals of gulls as they flapped over the gleaming stone and bustling streets.

It was comforting to see Adriata like this—tranquil, undisturbed by war. Even the sky was cloudless above it, as if determined to cast as much sunshine as possible over the healing city. Indeed, soft, afternoon light was draped over the buildings, making it seem as though their tan stone had been replaced with nothing but pure, iridescent gold. Stretching onto the half-moon bay, the sun shimmered off the sea, playing with the turquoise water in the final hours of daylight. Adriata seemed to bask in peace—the sounds of battle long gone, replaced by the gentle whisper of waves. 

The thought shimmered deep inside him—a sun of its own, giving life to the High Lord of the Summer Court. Tarquin could only hope the rest of his Court would heal as quickly as Adriata had—and that happiness would be restored at last.

Over a year had passed since the war with Hybern, though Tarquin had been High Lord long enough to know it would take years—if not decades—for the world to forge itself anew. With the advantage of being in a position of power, he’d been working tirelessly to ensure Prythian would not only recover, but progress. 

He’d be lying if he’d said working hadn’t helped him, too. Focusing his efforts on helping his Court—the people under his protection—had been gratifying to say the least. It was the knowledge that his rule would make a difference, Tarquin supposed. That when his time came, he would leave the Summer Court—and perhaps, the world—a better place.

Uniting his people was the ultimate goal. He dreamed of a Court where all Fae—High or Lesser—would work and exist together as equals. Only then Summer would thrive, in nothing but blissful peace. Tarquin believed in leading by example—and so, he’d started by opening his borders to all those seeking refuge after the War. Encouraging his citizens to welcome whoever was in need of help, and accommodate them in the Summer Court—with the full support of its rulers.

Now, after months of work, pride filled his very soul as he watched his lands become the place that Fae from all over Prythian considered home—or at the very least, a safe haven where they could lead their lives in undisturbed peace. Tarquin could only hope it was there to stay, that no storms would plague the sea that enveloped his borders.

A tingling sensation around his feet pulled him out of his thoughts as the sea breeze carried the sand onto the balcony, warm and golden as it settled on the stone. Tarquin did not mind the intrusion, finding himself wishing for the wind to carry him to a beach somewhere far away instead.  A much more appealing option than being forced into the meeting that has been on his mind ever since he received the request a week ago.

As if conjured straight out of Tarquin’s thoughts, a servant entered the office, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight that poured into the room from the open doors of the balcony. “My lord,” the male bowed before announcing, “the High Lord of the Autumn Court is here.”

Stepping out of the balcony, Tarquin sighed. “Send him in,” he ordered. Once again, the servant bowed before making his way out, leaving his High Lord to the distant crashing of waves outside.

With a single motion of his hand, the balcony doors shut with a soft click, the room instantly a shade darker with only the windows to allow in the light. Fixing the sleeves of his tunic, white and lined with golden thread, Tarquin noted a few grains of sand grazing the stone floor, undoubtedly brought in under the soles of his shoes. The thought of having a piece of the beach with him brought unexpected comfort, and he rolled the tension back from his shoulders, silently promising himself to go for a midnight swim once this was all over.

Too soon, the servant returned—this time, with company. “Eris Vanserra, my lord.” 

“Thank you, Ilios,” Tarquin offered in dismissal. With a deep, final bow, Ilios was gone, and the High Lord of Summer turned his attention to a guest he’d never thought would enter the place he called his home.

Eris nodded, his bright, red hair catching a glimpse of the afternoon sun. He’d cut it short since he’d last seen him—short enough to display the arched ears. He had a small freckle just near the top. “Tarquin. It’s been a while,” Eris said in a manner of greeting. After so many months, he’d had forgotten the sound of his voice—rich yet smooth, like fresh honey dripping down the comb.

“Indeed,” Tarquin agreed, gesturing to the centre of the room, where two armchairs had been set up for their meeting. Draped in velvets of deep blue and purple, the chairs sat opposite a round coffee table, coated in tinted glass that reflected light of too many colours to register at once. The room’s interior had not been one he’d choose for himself, but there was a reasoning behind opting for Cresseida’s office for this particular meeting. His own space was situated on the higher levels of the palace, and he’d had been reluctant to allow Eris to see into rooms that could potentially hold secrets Tarquin did not trust his visitor with.

Taking the blue chair, Tarquin took the opportunity offered by their momentary silence to finally take in his guest. Eris had only been High Lord for little over a month, but Tarquin knew from personal experience it could take mere days to carve the effects of such responsibility in the features of one who bore it.

Usually twisted in cruelty, as Tarquin had so well remembered from Under the Mountain and long after, Eris’s face now betrayed signs of the kind of tiredness only a fellow High Lord could notice. The slight furrow of his brows, for instance, drawn together in constant worry. The circles under his eyes, a shade darker than his pale skin, begging for sweet rest that could not be satisfied by sleep.

His lips. The last time he’d seen them, they were curved up in a mocking sneer—Eris’s usual manner of carrying himself through conversation, one that Tarquin had readied himself for all week since the High Lord of Autumn had requested an audience. Now, those lips formed a thin line as Eris’s eyes landed on his, their shining amber the only thing that seemed not to have been affected by his new role—amber, watchful and full of focus.

“I understand condolences are in order,” Tarquin finally spoke.

A small gleam of those sharp eyes, barely noticeable as Eris leaned back in his seat. “Yes. Quite the tragedy.”

Having personally observed Beron’s cruelty Under the Mountain, Tarquin could hardly express such sentiment. Instead, he forced out the only truth he had to say on the matter. “High Lord or not, an assassination is an atrocity that has no place in an era of peace.”

He truly had believed that. Tarquin would hate to admit an exception to the rule. Though, he supposed, the act had already been done, and some cruel part of him knew he’d be lying if he said Beron’s death hadn’t brought him some relief.

Amber eyes surveyed him watchfully. “Trust that I have my best spies working to uncover those responsible.”

Tarquin may have been a pacifist, but he was hardly a fool. There was no doubt in his mind that the person responsible was sitting right in front of him. Still, he played the game, offering whatever truths he could scrape to satisfy the conversation. “I do hope your mother is doing alright. After centuries by Beron’s side, it must be a painful loss.”

“We were all quite shaken,” Eris agreed, though not a shred of sorrow lingered in his gaze. Nor did remorse, for that matter.

Tarquin tensed, drawing his focus aways from the eyes that clearly offered nothing but lies and fake pleasantries. Eris may not have been High Lord for a long time, but growing up and serving under Beron had seemed to have done its job. He hated this part, Tarquin thought. The scheming and pretending. The way it had become such an integral part to politics. No world of peace could be built on the foundation of lies. They were too weak, too loosely woven to offer any stability. Any truth in happiness.

Instead, Tarquin turned his attention to the sea breeze beyond the walls that had now seemed too tight, sheltering the room from the world beyond them. Beneath invisible hands of his magic, the windows opened, letting the salty scent infuse the air, a flicker of comfort under the stiff atmosphere that had managed to fill the room.

He let his eyes shift back toward Eris. “Still, I feel compelled to offer my congratulations. You’ve been Second to your father long enough. I am sure you’re looking forward to your certainly lengthy rule.”

Amber eyes gleamed with challenge. “It is a responsibility I do not take lightly, High Lord,” Eris warned before adding, “I do hope both of our rules are as lengthy as they are fruitful. I would hate to see them ended as abruptly as my dear father’s had been.”

Tarquin’s jaw tightened. “Is that a threat, Vanserra?”

Finally, that mocking smile he’d been waiting for, the sight enough for Tarquin to grit his teeth. “On the contrary. It is merely an extension of my best wishes.”

“Is that what you’ve come here for, then? To offer your best wishes?”

Eris leaned forward in his seat. Pleasantries were over, it seemed, as even the seagulls behind the closed terrace doors had gone quiet. His gaze fixed on him, gleaming like a sizzling flame, and Tarquin was suddenly reminded that with his new role, Eris acquired more than merely a title. Fire, the thought burned inside his mind. He commanded the element, almost as cruel and unpredictable as his kind was known to be. As if in answer, Tarquin’s power rushed through his body with the force of waves rising from an ocean, ready to put out any fire that threatened burn his Court to the ground.

Red eyebrows jolted in surprise, and for a second, Tarquin wondered if Eris could hear the magic that screamed to flood the room around them—an ability that should not have been possible, and yet…

The fire died out, and Eris merely propped himself up on the soft arms of the chair. “Times are different now,” he said, fingers caressing the purple velvet. “As you said, this is an era of peace. I only wish to return the Autumn Court to what it once had been.”

Feeling his power settle back to a steady course, Tarquin asked carefully, “Which is what, exactly?”

“Let’s not pretend my father’s best interest laid in the well-being of his Court,” Eris drawled. “Autumn deserves a ruler that looks after his people, not himself.”

Tarquin said very quietly, “And I suppose that ruler is you?”

Eris cocked his head, red hair glinting with unruffled grace. “I’m the only choice left, aren’t I?”

“I’m sure there are a lot more Vanserras out in this world, Eris.”

For the first time since he’d set foot in Adriata, Eris smiled, amber eyes shining with unfeigned amusement. “You are not what I expected, High Lord of Summer.”

He didn’t know why, but he corrected, “Tarquin.”

Eris hummed, as if weighing the word on his tongue. “Tarquin.”

He leaned back in his seat, a new sensation tingling in his chest, much like the sand that had caressed his feet earlier. “Alright,” he said. “Let’s say you are what your Court needs—”

“That is not something for you to question,” Eris interrupted.

His mouth twisted to the side. “You have come to my Court for a reason, High Lord,” Tarquin said. “Clearly, you want something from me. I will question whatever I please to decide if you’re worth my help.”

Eris’s smile sharpened. “I’ve got to say, this visit is far more enjoyable than I anticipated.”

“I’m not sure that’s a compliment,” Tarquin only said.

Amber eyes studied him for a moment. “I haven’t decided yet.”

A fresh wave of salty air whooshed into the office, clearing his mind and grounding him in his seat. “What do you want from me, Eris?”

Eris leaned back. “I told you. I’d like to ask your help in rebuilding my Court.”

Tarquin suppressed a huff. “How do you plan on doing that? You and I both know your father had not left much to rebuild. Beron was blinded by power and poorly chosen alliances. His mistakes left your citizens in search for a new home, well away from Autumn’s borders. Many of them found it in my own. I cannot blame them. Your Court is known for cruelty like no other.”

He watched as Eris’s smile faded. “Autumn and Summer are neighbours. With your pacifist ways, I thought you’d be the first to wish to strengthen the relationship between our Courts.”

Tarquin clenched his jaw. “There is no relationship to strengthen. Your father made sure of that.”

Eris’s face tightened. “I am not my father.”

“I’m not sure your people would agree. There is a reason they had chosen to stay in the safety of my borders rather than returning to their home.”

Utter silence filled the room as the ever-present fire died out from Eris’s amber eyes. For a moment, Tarquin wondered if he had gone too far.

“Eris—”

“Don’t,” he only said, rising from his seat. “Your lack of trust is misplaced, but understandable. With time, you might see a worthy ally in me and my Court, rather than a reflection of Beron and his pitiful choices. I only ask that that you hear me out. You don’t need to give me a chance, but perhaps you may extend that courtesy to the Autumn Fae you’re so graciously harbouring within your borders.” Tearing his gaze away from Tarquin, Eris turned to the door before adding, “I’ll take my leave tomorrow. If you change your mind before then, you know where to find me.”

And with that, Eris left.

He cursed himself for it, but Tarquin wished he’d stay.

***

The Princess of Adriata found him lingering in her office minutes after the sun had set under the horizon.

“You’re still here?” Cresseida asked in her usual manner of greeting.

Tarquin sighed, turning away from the balcony to face her. “I needed to think.”

A shadow played on the corners of her lips, teasing to curve them up in a smile. “Vanserra give you a hard time?” she mocked.

He grimaced. “Something like that.”

“Oh?” Cresseida mused, plopping down on the purple chair. Tarquin’s eyes followed, as if they could still see the way Eris’s form stilled in the velvety seat, his eyes dimming upon hearing the harsh words leave Tarquin’s Cauldron-damned mouth. He blinked the image away, returning his focus to the female before him.

“He wants us to ally with his Court. Offer our help in rebuilding it.”

Cresseida’s white brows furrowed. “By doing what, exactly?”

Shame washed over him as he admitted, “I don’t know. I didn’t give him a chance to explain.”

Blue eyes widened in shock. “What?”

“Look, I—” Tarquin sighed. “I don’t like this situation. Beron was known for his scheming, and Eris is no better. You should see the way he talks, Cresseida. He’s too calculating, too secretive. Plus, I’m pretty sure he killed his father.”

His cousin rolled her eyes. “So? Someone had to do it eventually. Kudos to him for having the guts.”

“Cresseida—”

“No, Tarquin,” she pressed. “You keep talking about your equality, your peace. It’s a noble sentiment, but open your eyes. This is no peace. Adriata was destroyed twice in less than a century. If—when—another war comes, we will not be ready to protect this Court again. We could use an ally.”

“There are other Courts to ally with,” Tarquin countered.

“Oh, please,” the Princess scoffed. “No matter what undying promises of allegiance they lay at our feet, the Solar Courts will fight for each other before they bother to look past their mountains. Winter is still in ruin after Under the Mountain. Spring has already fallen, Tamlin alive or not. Most of the Court lives in Summer now. Autumn is our neighbour. They could be useful.”

Tarquin’s lips pressed together in a tight line. “Forming an official alliance with another Court could send the wrong message,” he argued.

“So don’t make it official,” Cresseida offered. “Help him rebuild his Court or whatever it is that Eris Vanserra wants these days. A favour for a favour. I do not care if you don’t trust him, Tarquin. You’ve been High Lord long enough to understand that peace is temporary, and that in times like this, your duty is to your people first.”

He considered for a moment before he said, “I still don’t know what favour it is he wants from me. Rebuilding his Court could mean anything. Sending resources, establishing trade routes…”

“So find out,” Cresseida demanded. “And don’t let those pretty eyes distract you this time.”

Tarquin’s brows rose. “Pretty eyes?”

“What?” she protested, a faint blush now staining her cheeks. “Eris might be a Vanserra, but he’s as attractive as he is cruel.”

“Cauldron, Cresseida,” Tarquin sighed. “Please don’t tell me you did not just make this whole speech because you want Eris to visit Adriata more often.”

She huffed. “I didn’t. I actually care about the future of this Court, you asshole.”

“Careful, cousin,” Tarquin warned, though a smile began forming on his lips. “I still am your High Lord, you know.”

She rolled her eyes at him once more. “Then be a High Lord and find out what it is exactly that Eris Vanserra wants from you. Or, more importantly, what it is you want from him.”

The image of those amber eyes sparkled in his mind again.

Mother spare him.

***

For a city of the shining sun, golden beaches and shimmering seas, Adriata was nothing less than exquisite as it basked in soft, pale moonlight.

The view from Tarquin’s bedroom offered the most spectacular views of it all, yet he found that not even the gentle caress of silvery light over the sleeping sea could calm his raging mind.

I am not my father, Eris’s words hummed in his head with every loud thud of his heart.

I only ask that that you hear me out.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

You don’t need to give me a chance.

Oh, but he wanted to.

You know where to find me.

“My lord?” a voice sounded behind him.

Taquin whipped back, torn from the honeyed voice that seemed to stick to his lungs, blocking the air out until he could hear it again.

“Ilios,” he sighed in relief. “What are you doing here at this time?”

“My apologies, High Lord,” the male bowed. “It appears you have a visitor.”

Tarquin’s brows furrowed; it was nearing midnight. “Who is it?”

Ilios’s brown eyes seemed to avert his blue ones. “It’s Eris Vanserra, my lord.”

His stomach clenched.

You know where to find me.

It seemed that Eris had found him first.

“Send him in.”

Stepping out of the small balcony of his bedroom, Tarquin couldn’t shake the feeling that some cruel fate was echoing their meeting from hours ago—only this time, it would take place in a room veiled in darkness, with the moon’s pale light peering weakly through the shadows. Suddenly, he became very aware of every limb of his body, his hand hanging awkwardly at his sides. Was he supposed to cross his arms? Tie them behind his back? Prop them on his hips? No, that would have been ridiculous.

The choice seemed to be rendered meaningless as Eris entered the room, stopping only under a soft ray of moonlight that shone upon the cool stone. Gone were the immaculate clothes he’d worn earlier this afternoon, his carefully combed hair now disheveled as it hung loosely over his face in soft waves. Tarquin decided he liked the way the red looked under the silvery light of the moon—a deep, wine-like shade unlike its usual crimson.

He swallowed hard, suddenly very aware they were now in his bedroom. “What are you doing here, Eris?”

Amber gaze, darker somehow in the night, fixed on him, unwavering. “I know what you are afraid of, Tarquin,” Eris said.

He ignored the shiver that rippled through him at the sound of his name on Eris’s tongue.

“You have every right not to trust me,” he continued. “But I need you to know that I would never hurt your Court. That I would never hurt you.”

Stunned, Tarquin stumbled back a step. “Eris—”

He didn’t get a chance to finish. In two, quick strides, Eris closed the distance between them, his mouth crashing against his, stronger than the waves of a raging sea.

His tongue was like hot fire dancing in his mouth, all-consuming and unafraid to dive deep past the shore. Strong fingers tangled into his white hair, and Tarquin found himself mimicking the movement, dying to feel its softness against his skin. Flames licked at his body hungrily, begging to devour him whole as Eris’s hands came up to frame his hips, guiding him back step by step until Tarquin felt his calves hit the soft mattress of his bed.

His veins pulsed with a mix of shock and lust as Eris broke free from his mouth, from a kiss hotter than a summer’s day. Any sound of protest died on Tarquin’s tongue as Eris ripped the shirt of his body, revealing strong arms and a pale, defined chest.

Turquoise eyes went wide as Tarquin scanned the toned muscles that formed his stomach, the V that peered from beneath the soft linen of Eris’s pants. His hands were on him in an instant, pulling him down, pulling him closer until there was only a breath between them.

“Do you want this? Want me?” Eris asked.

“Yes,” Tarquin gasped. “Yes.”

Those red brows furrowed, and Eris pulled away an inch. “Tarquin.”

“Yes,” he repeated, fingers digging into his lover’s arms.

“Tarquin!”

Tarquin’s eyes shot open.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Cresseida shouted, hovering over his heaving body in exasperation.

The dream began fading away as reality sank in, as tangible as the waves of seawater that surrounded his bed.

Tarquin blinked. Waves—

“Shit,” he cursed, sending the water that flooded his room away to the balcony, his racing heart steadying as he heard it descend down the walls to hit the ground beneath.

“What is wrong with you?” Cresseida demanded. “You can’t just summon the sea while you’re sleeping! Unless you were planning to die and take this whole palace with you.”

A dream. It was only a dream.

By the Mother.

“Why are you in my room, Cresseida?”

She let out a heavy breath, stepping away from his bed at last. “Vanserra is leaving. If you still want to catch him, you better go now, High Lord.”

Shit indeed.

***

Entering the room, a small office on the ground floor of the palace, Tarquin ran his fingers through the knots in his hair, wondering if he looked as disheveled as Eris had in his dream.

Mercifully, Eris was there, standing by a small table of light wood. His hair was nowhere near a mess, combed as immaculately as he’d remembered it from the day before. A jacked of deep green rested on his shoulders, the golden threads woven through the fabric accentuating the knowing gleam of his amber eyes as they rested upon Tarquin’s form.

Feeling his cheeks begin to burn, Tarquin prayed to the Mother, Cauldron and any gods that would listen for his dream to fade away from his mind, for the image of Eris’s bare chest and burning eyes, darkened with desire—desire for him—to blur out from his memory forever. But watching his red hair glisten with the Summer sunshine, Tarquin realised he was in a shit deeper than the seas of Adriata.

Eris’s gaze dragged up his form, lighting a fire in every spot where those russet eyes lingered for longer than a second. His skin prickled, taking his mind back to the way broad hands traced every inch of his body, slender fingers digging into his muscles with every hot breath. Feeling the heat rise through him, Tarquin wondered if the High Lord of Autumn’s powers included igniting a hunger inside him, burning brighter than a living flame.

Shit, shit shit. He needed to get it together. Eris was here on Court business, and his dream was nothing but a trick played on him by his treacherous mind and a direct result of Cresseida’s teasing the day before. A figment of his imagination, roughed up after the long day he’d spent out in the scorching sun before his meeting with Eris. The sun—and nothing more—was the only reason why his body felt as though it was lit on fire.

He enjoyed it, though. More than he’d like to admit.

Mother spare him.

“Aren’t you going to sit?” Eris finally asked, his voice somehow deeper than Tarquin remembered.

Shit.

Feeling his composure hang by a thread, Tarquin asked, “You’re telling me to what do you in my own palace?”

Eris’s eyebrows rose. “Would you rather stand?”

He had no idea how, but he could swear a shadow of a smile curved up the corner of Eris’s lips. It made his body burn even hotter.

Anger, Tarquin told himself. It was anger that sent fire into his veins and made his blood boil. This male was aggravating. Nothing more.

Tarquin sat down, though.

“Let us begin,” he said, gesturing to the chair opposite his own—a rather pathetic attempt to regain control of this meeting.

Eris smirked openly now as he gracefully dropped onto his seat. “Right.”

Eris might be a Vanserra, but he’s as attractive as he is cruel, Cresseida’s voice sounded in his mind. But Tarquin was a High Lord. Attractive or not, he would not let Eris toy with him in his own Court.

After all, water would always put out fire, no matter how hot it burned.

“You said you need Summer’s help in rebuilding the Autumn Court,” Tarquin began. “But frankly, I don’t see how our aid could boost your internal strength. After all, the true strength of a Court lies within its people.”

“That’s exactly it,” Eris said, lacing his fingers atop the wooden surface. “But as you pointed out so perceptively yesterday, most of my people seem to have found a new home beyond my Courts borders. Most of them had left just before Beron returned from Under the Mountain. Others followed during the War.”

Understanding dawned on him like the rising sun. “You want me to send the Autumn Fae back to your Court? The same ones that found refuge within my borders, ones that offered safety when yours could not—” he accused, feeling anger stir deep inside him. Was that what Eris wanted? To reclaim Tarquin’s people after years of suffering they’d been forced to endure?

As if reading the thoughts off his face, Eris spoke calmly, “They are my people, Tarquin.”

Beneath the table, Tarquin gripped his chair tighter, ignoring the sound of his name fall from Eris’s lips.

“Like you said, the people are essential to the Court’s functioning. Look what happened to Spring. Its lands are deserted, with their High Lord the only beast left to roam around them. I do not want Autumn to share Spring’s fate.”

“I’m not going to exile my citizens and betray the trust they put in my Court,” Tarquin said, his tone unyielding.

Eris’s lips tightened. “I’m not asking you to exile anyone. I am asking you to encourage them to consider returning home.”

Paint a picture of a reformed Autumn, safe under new leadership. That’s what Eris truly wanted. But how was Tarquin to know that Autumn was truly safe? No matter what Eris had said, those Fae were still his people—whether they’d been born in Summer or not. He would protect them at all costs.

“What if they already found their home here?” he asked.

For a moment, there was only silence.

“Please, Tarquin.”

Eris Vanserra never pleaded. Perhaps that is why Tarquin now searched his face, and, for the first time today, truly allowed himself to take it in—take in the tiredness that perhaps carved deeper than he’d originally thought. A part of him, one that was not the High Lord of the Summer Court, wanted nothing more but the believe Eris had truly cared for those people—had truly wanted to create a home for them that his father had taken away.

Tarquin leaned back in his chair. “I will tell the Autumn Fae of your visit, and of my impression.”

Eris nodded, the barest of creases smoothed out from his forehead. “Thank you.”

“But I refuse to lie to my people when I have no certainty that the cruelty of the Autumn Court has been put to rest along with your father.”

Eris had gone quiet. Seconds had passed, each one longer than the other, and Tarquin found himself holding his breath.

“Then come with me,” Eris finally said.

This, Tarquin did not expect.

“What?” he asked, dumbfounded.

“Come with me. To the Autumn Court. Let me prove my Court is worth becoming a home to my—to our—people again.”

Water had the ability to put out any fire—he could end this there and then. But looking into Eris’s eyes, Tarquin decided he would let his fire burn for a little longer.

“Alright.”

[saltedpeppermintmocha]

into the night (bakugou x reader) - Chapter 1/?

Summary:

You were born to die.

It is a fact you’ve known since your quirk first manifested, and one you have been denying for just as long. You refuse your supposed fate and try to live the best life you can while remaining undetected.

But maybe fate has another plan. A chance encounter on a mountainside changes your life forever.

MATURE : MINORS DO NOT INTERACT // 18+

You were born to die.

It is a fact you’ve known since your quirk first manifested, and one you have been denying for just as long. You don’t want to die. Not now, not when there are so many things you haven’t done. So many views you haven't seen.

You pull yourself up some ragged rocks, muscles working harder than they have in months to successfully drag your body up. The small rock ledge isn’t close to the top of the mountain, but it’s a good stopping point for today. You look up at the snowy expanse still ahead of you, the sun leaving long shadows along the white and grey exterior, and can’t help but smile. No, you don’t want to die.

Sitting back, you let yourself breathe and watch the top. An old memory flashes in your mind, the first time you hiked to the top with Dad. You had been so little, and so proud of yourself despite Dad having carried you through the most difficult parts. You screamed so loudly at the top, trying to tell the entire village that you made it. Dad had only been able to quiet you by saying that you could “wake up” the volcano with your screams.

The memory makes you smile. There weren’t many good times in your life right after your quirk manifested, but Mount Yotei had been a part of almost all of them. You have missed the mountain since moving to the city. Sapporo might not be that far, but you haven’t been able to make your way home often enough. Being on-call meant that leaving the city even for the few hours it took to get to the village was almost impossible, let alone actually making the long trip up.

You breathe in the crisp autumn air and reach for your pack, grabbing some water and a granola bar. You don’t bring much in terms of food with you, careful of attracting the wildlife during this season, but this will do. Munching happily, your eyes don’t leave the top of the mountain. You will get back up there soon.

It feels like only a few minutes before you have to begin the trek back down. You had started the climb too late in the day to actually make it too far up, or to relax too much, but you couldn't resist the call of the mountain when you saw it on your drive up. Dad could wait, he’d understand. You slide carefully down the rocky ledge and begin your walk back down. The trail you  are using is rough, with roots and rocks sticking out all over the place. It is not a tourist trail, but the one used by locals the most.

Something moves in the distance.

You startle, on edge immediately. Your hand reaches down for the bear spray connected to your belt, fingers ready to release it from the clip at a moment's notice. Damn, you knew you stayed out a bit too late, pushed it a bit too much.

But it’s not a bear that emerges from the bushes. It’s a man. Equally as startling, really, as the tourist season has been well and over for a few months now. You feel the tension release from your body a bit, but not completely. People can be just as dangerous as animals, you see that every day at work. The man pauses too, although he does not look surprised to see you.

Your first thought at seeing him is that he is definitely not dressed to be out on the mountain. His clothes are dark and inappropriate for the altitude level: a long-sleeved shirt and baggy pants. At least he seems to be wearing boots. You don’t see any bag, no protection items, no water or food, nothing on him. It was something you would see on a casual hike around the bottom of the mountain, not this far up.

The more you look at the man, the more you realize that he is, well, really damn good looking. The man, probably around your age if you had to guess, is tall and built for power. He has spikey ash blonde hair and a handsome face that was...slowly turning angrier as you stared at him. Shit, okay. You should probably stop that then. You force your gaze away, looking down at your feet as you continue your descent down the steep terrain. Your hand fiddles with the bear spray, a cation brought on by city life. Just in case.

It only takes a moment before you pass him, each silently headed in opposite directions across the mountain. You bite your lip, thoughts focused on the other hiker. Why is he up so high on the mountain dressed like that? It's completely irresponsible, dangerous. The times you had been on the mountain after this late had been calculated and in dedicated areas where people knew to find you. You had protection from the elements and animals. It had never been this late in the year. The thoughts nag at the back of your head. Maybe it is a feeling of politeness towards a fellow hiker, or maybe it's just the want to not have the local police up on the mountain tomorrow over a dead body, but you stop in your tracks.

Fuck it.

“Hey, um, it’s pretty late.” You call out, turning around to the man.

“Hah?!” He pauses, turning his head just enough to look at you out of the corner of his eye. A shiver runs down your back.

“I’m just saying that you should probably begin to head down. The mountain gets much more dangerous after sunset. Oh!” You reach around to your backpack, hand rummaging around until you grasp a familiar can. “Especially the bears. They’ll start hibernating soon so they’re more aggressive than normal.” No response. Okay.  Maybe a peace offering. “I don't see any bear spray on you. You can take mine, I have extra.”

You give a polite smile and hold it out with your hand, prepared to throw it up to him if necessary. For a moment he just stares at you, eyebrows furrowed. Then he turns away with a small grunt, continuing his walk up the mountain. Your smile falls as your mouth opens in shock. Is he just...going to leave you standing here holding out the bear spray like a damned fool? Without saying anything?!

You watch him walk away, hand clutching harder at the can as your anger rises. Eventually, you lower your hand, shoving the spray roughly back in your pack. You grumble angrily to yourself and turn around, stomping harsher than normal down the path.

Okay, so he’s an asshole then.

Still, completely rude or not, you can’t help but be a bit worried. You make good time down to the bottom of the mountain and trek your way through the forest to the street you parked your car on. The sun has completely set by the time you turn on your engine and drive away.

Well, you tried to warn him. If something happens, it’s not your fault. Right? Right.

With a groan, you pop a rock CD into your stereo and turn it on full blast. Anything to distract you from that nagging feeling in your gut. Makkari isn’t too far from the mountain, so that feeling hasn’t completely gone away by the time you pull into your childhood home. Your dad though, sitting on the front step reading a book, does the job. You smile and turn off the engine.

The rest of the night goes by quickly, as both of you have a lot to say to each other. Dinner is a relatively calm affair, and you take a bath before heading to bed. The bed is much smaller and harder than the nice one you splurged on in your apartment, but being in it brings a sense of nostalgia and comfort that only a childhood bedroom can have. Dad hasn’t changed a thing since you left.

You sit on the bed, pulling your hair into a comfortable do for sleep, when your eyes catch the outline of the mountain in the distance from your window. You sigh, sending a quick wish that he made it alright, before sliding under the covers and passing out.

You wake up to sounds from downstairs. For a brief moment, you are confused, as you have been blessed with an apartment with thicker walls than normal, but then you remember. You stretch in bed and smile. It has been a while since you have had the opportunity to sleep in. Why do people rarely get in trouble during normal business hours?

Finally forcing yourself out of bed, you wander to the bathroom before heading downstairs in your pajamas. The smell of breakfast is already making your stomach growl.

“Get dressed.” His voice echoes through the house.

“But- how- you’re not even looking!” You protest, feet pausing on the stairs. “How do you even know?!”

“I always know.”

Ugh. “Such a Dad answer.” You grumble, turning to head back upstairs. You’re a grown adult, if you want to wear pajamas to breakfast you will. Not that you would say that to him though. Nope. Not going to die on that hill today.

You put a little more effort into your appearance this time, dressing and putting your hair into a casual do before heading back downstairs. Dad, already fully dressed, gives you a look but says nothing. You stick out your tongue at his back, feeling like a teenager again. You sit down at your usual chair as he begins to set the table.

The breakfast you ate regularly as a kid but haven’t been really able to replicate successfully since moving out gets placed down in front of you. You wait for Dad to be sitting down too before grabbing pieces for yourself. For a brief, glorious moment, you are both silent.

“So, have you met anyone?”

And it's over. You swallow your food, looking carefully away.  “I meet lots of people. It’s a big city.”

You can practically feel his eyes stare into you. “You know what I mean.”

With a breath, you put down your utensils. “Dad, we go over this every time we talk. No, I’m not seeing anyone. Can we stop discussing this now?

“Is it because of-”

“No! It isn’t because of him.” You interrupt, looking him straight in the eye.“Why does it matter? I can be happy on my own.”

“I just...want you to be taken care of and protected.” Dad finally looks away. “I need you to be safe.”

“Dad, I don’t need someone to protect me.” You sigh. “I can protect myself, you know? I’m a big girl.”

You watch his reaction, but he doesn’t say anything. His eyes flicker over behind your head, to the picture on the wall you know he is staring at. It tugs at your heart. “Move back to Makkari?” His voice is quieter now.

It’s an argument you’ve had countless times before over the phone. When you first moved to Sapporo he asked you almost every day. Luckily, it isn’t that bad anymore, but you can still rely on a call anytime a villain is even close to Hokkaido.

“No.” You shake your head, catching his eyes as he looks back. “I have my job, my friends, and my life in Sapporo. I love you Dad, but I can’t live here.”

“You could be happy here.” He insists. “There are no villain attacks. No heroes.” His eyes flicker back over your shoulder. “You can be safe.”

“Nobody is safe anywhere Dad.” You sit back, frustration draining. “We could die any day. I don’t want to live my life in fear. That is not a life.” The flinch in his shoulders makes a bit of guilt dig into your stomach. It was a low blow, but you were not going to let this escalate. Not this time. Not here.

You finish your breakfast in silence, both in thought. While he gets the sink ready to wash, you gather up the dishes. It almost feels like you never left. You grab the drying cloth and get ready to help dry. While waiting, you glance out the window. The mountain looms ahead, big and beautiful as normal. You can’t wait to get another crack at it. Not today, probably, but soon.

Wait. The mountain.

“Oh.” You turn to your Dad. “Is there anyone new in the village?”

“A resident?”

“I don’t know.” You shrug. “Anyone, really.”

Dad hums in thought for a moment before passing you a plate. “I believe Tanaka said he saw a guest at Fuccanchi. Why?”

“I saw someone on the mountain yesterday.” You explain, leaving out the part of you actually climbing up alone. “It was late, so I stopped the car and tried to warn him not to be out late. He still went in. I’m a bit worried.”

“It is late in the season to be going up the mountain.” Dad mused. “We can ask Tanaka when we’re in the village.” He hands you another plate. You grab it and begin drying.

“Okay.”  

---

NOTE: I will be posting these on tumblr approximately a week after the chapters are posted on Ao3 (we are currently at chapter 7, so I will be quicker with these ones). When caught up, Ao3 will be approximately one chapter ahead. 

[theladyofbloodshed]

Ok so

I have a confession.I've never actually read acotar properly as a series.I got iffy reviews on it from everyone and I decided to search up chapterwise book summaries (also because I for the life of me can't remain in suspense).So basically I skim read the plot chapterwise per book and it was from 3rd person point of view.I very quickly lost interest after ACOTAR but still read up on the rest of the books because well-I'm committed ig.Reading 3rd POV also made me have mixed opinions on Feyre or the inner circle (like with the HL meeting and at the summer court).The way the summaries were explained just gave me a- they believe they are above everyone- vibe.

And when I reached ACOFAS and ACOSF and saw how sjm dealt with mental health and trauma and everything I couldn't stand it.Like even reading a summary of ACOSF made me feel nauseous and sick and honestly depressed.Like I was feeling so down and sick about it I went up to search fanfics that made it better and fixed the narrative in my mind.I didn't even know Nesta as a character but I was so disgusted by the way she was 'dealt' with and how Feyre acted towards her choices that it set my idea of NOT getting into the series.

Ik it seems crazy-to invest my time and energy into something that I haven't even actively read...but I know the storyline,I know the quotes,etc.It's just that reading the outlines and summaries beforehand saved me time from having to read things that I would definitely not wanted to waste time on (Like how Rhys' SA Feyre UTM) simply because those portrayals are not my cup of tea and make me DNF faster than anything.

But one thing that did happen was-I found your AU ACOSF fanfic through this.And while I originally read to make myself feel better about how sjm had portrayed mental health healing....I felt really connected and happy with your writing style...just the way you wrote the stories and the characters....and in all honesty you made me fall in love with characters I basically knew nothing about.Thankyou for putting out your work like this. You're really talented and I absolutely adore your writing!!

Sorry for making this so long....I hope it all made sense

Thank you for your message. I cannot tell you how happy it made me to read that. I'm so glad that you engaged with my story <3 Writing is my favourite hobby and I put a lot of time into it, so thank you thank you thank you. I'll put this under a read more as it's getting long but please know, your words mean so much to me.

I wanted to fix all the things about ACOSF that made me upset or angry.

One of the biggest kicks in the teeth for me was reading the dedication of "For every Nesta out there - climb the mountain" then slowly realising that sjm really doesn't like Nesta. If she liked her, she wouldn't continue treating her that way. The dedication felt like a mockery of nesta stans.

Which mountain was she referring to? The one her mate forced her to hike until she passed out despite her sister saying to bring her home? The one she had to climb with Emerie and Gwyn so they wouldn't be murdered? Or was it an analogy for the ten thousand stairs that imprisoned her?

It was so hard to read Nesta getting constantly vilified and kicked when she was down. I didn't feel inspired at all. I just felt so sad for her - and now she's trapped forever with the ic :(

I agree with you about the ic's above everyone vibe. Tarquin telling feyre not to give him orders is honestly one of the best things sjm has written. I hate how ~badass~ the ic think they are. They called the high lord's meeting and they're the ones acting like animals who can't control themselves. Feyre burns the lady of autumn court because she can't manage her anger! And there are no consequences for them. I would like Feyre more if she messed up and realised it, like she's a new ruler - she is bound to make mistakes and it's more realistic to include them. argh.

i don't blame you for not wanting to read them!

[aurathian]

Did you hear the Goddess?

Probably my best submission for @zelinkweek2021 . The prompt is Trust: Broken & Forged.

Read it here on AO3!

When Princess Zelda was little, her mother took her to visit one of the three springs scattered throughout Hyrule. With some guards at their sides, they ventured into the autumnal region of Akkala and into its quarries etched into the valley where the Spring of Power laid. Clinging to her mother’s arm, the pair waded into the pool before the statue of the Goddess Hylia, and together they prayed. The young princess didn’t understand what was going on, so she prayed how she usually did every night, asking for world peace and to end hunger. It felt no different than kneeling at her bedside with the moon shining on her face, except the freezing waters that stung her knees.

After what seemed like an eternity to Zelda, her mother tapped her shoulder and asked, “Did you hear the Goddess?”

She shook her head.

A frown colored her mother’s lips. The princess had never seen her look so disappointed before.

After some months, during which her mother and father set her about praying anytime she could, she made the journey to the Temple of Time to pray at the statue there. The queen accompanied her again and prayed at her side as usual. Like last time, the little princess clasped her hands together as tight as she could, screwed her eyes shut, and prayed for world peace and to end hunger.

Her mother asked the same question as last time. “Did you hear the Goddess?”

And Zelda shook her head, watched her mother’s mouth curl into a frown and shake her head.

“Are you mad?” Zelda asked. At only four years old, she couldn’t tell if her mother was angry or sad. Maybe both, she thought.

The queen inhaled and exhaled slowly before opening her eyes, bearing a much more gentle gaze. “No. I’m not.”

The third time they prayed together was right before her mother died, and they did it at the small statue in an empty alley in Gerudo Town. Princess Zelda was six now, and had spent the past two years training hard and praying during the day, and sometimes she had dreams where she prayed, too. They knelt before the statue and prayed, and she wished once again for world peace and to end hunger, but this time she asked for a little more.

“If it’s not too selfish of me, Miss Goddess Hylia,” Zelda thought, “please make my mother happy.”

Her mother asked her the same question again after some hours of praying in the heat. “Did you hear the Goddess?”

Sadly, Zelda shook her head. She couldn’t bear to look at her mother’s face, but she assumed it was wrought with sadness and disappointment.

Despite the faith drilled into Zelda since birth, she wondered if Hylia was even real.

Zelda’s mother died two months later.

Some days after the funeral and period of mourning in which Zelda shut herself in her room and hardly ate, her father told her the real reason for all the praying, the real reason why her mother never seemed satisfied after they knelt and prayed together.

“Hyrule is facing impending doom,” he told her, “and only you can stop it. You must pray to the Goddess Hylia and awaken your sacred powers.”

The training became worse. Every second she wasn’t eating or sleeping, she was praying—in her room, in the gardens, in the chapel, everywhere. Every time she failed to hear the Goddess, her father would scold her.

“Did you hear the Goddess?” he’d ask.

“No,” she’d reply.

“You must train harder.”

Hyrule Castle became cold.

When Zelda turned twelve, she developed an obsession with Sheikah technology, and thanks to her connections through her close friend and advisor Impa, she got her hands on too many trinkets to count. In the time she wasn’t praying, she was researching, reading any text she could get her small hands on and visiting whatever ancient sites she could.

Around that same time, she heard rumors of a boy who pulled the legendary Master Sword, a blade said to seal darkness. Apparently, he could best even adults in combat.

Hyrule was proud of him.

Yet, when Princess Zelda worked just as hard, she was called useless. Incapable. Unreliable. All because the Goddess above refused to speak to her.

Then, at the age of sixteen, the legendary Master Sword wielder was appointed her bodyguard, and he was perfect. Silent, stoic, he was better than her in the way he carried himself and fulfilled his duties expertly.

“Stop following me!” she’d yelled at him once after sneaking away from the castle to investigate a dormant shrine. It refused to open to her, even with the Sheikah Slate in her hands, a powerful yet small piece of ancient technology. He did not stop following her. He completed his duty, as always.

Princess Zelda hated him. Link was too good for her, and it showed in the way he never spoke and the way his eyes always looked dead when he would glance at her. He was everything she wasn’t, and she despised him for it.

Until he saved her life.

The blades of the Yiga had almost claimed her on a hot evening in the desert as the sun was setting. They chased her over the dunes until she fell over and they positioned themselves to kill, but almost as if ordained by the Goddesses, he appeared and drove them off.

Once again, he fulfilled his duty, but it felt like something more.

The next day, she apologized to him for how she’d treated him.

He did so much for her, she realized; he ate a frog, he accompanied her on unapproved expeditions, he’d indulged her feelings.

It was raining on the day they took shelter on the Hills of Baumer along Hylia River. He, the ever dedicated knight, practiced his swordsmanship while she watched wistfully, and she asked him:

“What if, one day, you realized that you just weren’t meant to be a fighter? Yet the only thing people ever said was that you were born into a family of the royal guard, and so no matter what you thought, you had to become a knight.” His stony gaze was trained on her now. “If that was the only thing that you were ever told, I wonder, then, would you have chosen a different path?”

His lips moved in the rain.

“Yes,” he said. It was the first time he spoke to her.

“Really?” she sighed. “Me, too.”

More time passed. She came to learn that Link was a glutton and that he lost all sense of manners when food was placed before him. She discovered he was not perfect. He was not the flawless hero Hyrule made him about to be.

Princess Zelda was sent to the Spring of Power to pray again, after over ten years of avoiding that spring. She waded into its waters, higher now, and instead of stinging her knees it stung her waist. She clasped her hands again and looked up to the statue illuminated by the moonlight. The Goddess Hylia never changed. She wore the same small, deceitful smile and her hands lay rested over her chest. Link stayed behind at the entrance to stand guard.

This time, when Zelda prayed, she asked for the power inside her to be awoken.

“Mother said her own powers would develop in me,” Zelda said. She could hear the voice of the deceased queen in her head, asking if she heard the goddess, and it repeated over and over like a mantra. “But I don’t hear… or feel anything!” She slammed her fists in the water. No longer was it praying; it was begging. “Curse you. I’ve spent every day of my life dedicated to praying! I’ve pleaded to the spirits tied to the ancient gods, and still the holy powers have proven deaf to my devotion.”

She clutched herself, freezing from the holy waters. “Please just tell me… what is it? What’s wrong with me?”

She fainted, and still, no Goddess spoke to her.

When she came to, she was cradled in something warm and inviting, muscular and strong. Her vision cleared, and she saw the face of her personal knight staring down at her as he pulled a blanket over her freezing body.

He asked her, “Did you hear the Goddess?”

“No,” she whispered, and stared at his lips, waiting for them to turn downward.

“It’s okay,” he told her, pulling her closer to his warm chest.

And, for the first time in her sixteen years of life, she knew it would be okay. Everything would be okay, because she trusted him. In a world where she couldn’t trust the deities she’d been told to revere all her life, she found someone else to pray to.

Link, wielder of the sword that seals the darkness.

[whereflowersbloom]

Dum Spiro Spero

The leader of the league of shadows and secrets was watching a beautiful creature bathing in sunlight. Shinning ebony hair catching each breath of early autumn’s glinting sunset, a tendril of her hair catching in the wind as it breaks free from an elaborated braid. Raven was kneeling in the garden, hands working the soil, to bring life, making new life grow. Some moments she stopped to enjoy the autumnal breeze on her face, staring into the distance as if caught in between this world and another.

Looking back Damian never thought he would have this. It had never been an option for him. His life was mostly filled with dangers, blood, threats and uncertainty. Wondering if he would live to see the next sunrise or survive enough to watch the following sunset. His life had been filled with hatred. Hatred towards a parent be believed had abandoned him, an enemy that murdered his loved ones who raised him. He did everything in his power to avenge them but he did not feel satisfaction or any kind of gratification after killing him. No. The emptiness did not fade away.

There were times where he was filled with so much regrets. Regret of rejecting his father and not believing in him, that he cared for him. Regret of the days he spent resenting his adoptive brothers for having the chance of a different life. Regret for not being able to love someone freely. Not until her.

The first time he saw her he couldn’t help but stare in awe. The same day Damian drew in his first breath of Gotham City air.

An eternity could have passed by in the blink of an eye, breath hitched in his throat, eyes quivering with strong emotion, heart hammering in his chest and yet he would have stared at the sight of her the rest of his days. For it was humanly impossible to get his eyes off of her. It was a view he had been starved of for eighteen years.

He stared because she was light.

She was home. Finally.

Porcelain skin, thick locks of raven hair, piercing, unearthly amethysts struck through his soul. And he felt alive, whole.

He had learned an important lesson. Life was too short, shorter if you’re an assassin, it was too precious. You could never waste a second of it, especially with the people closest to your heart. And he made a solemn promise to his family and himself. He decided to live without regret. To take the opportunities that life handed him and most importantly, he swore to himself that even no matter what happened in the past, the terrible things he had done, his faults and mistakes. He deserved to be happy.

That was five years ago.

It was easy to lurk in the shadows of the their house, a petite, cozy cottage close to the league’s headquarters. In the Kunlun mountains he had found a rustic little gem straight out of a Jane Austen or Charlotte Bronté novel, that was how Raven had described it. She had been working on the garden for eight months. There were now fragrant jasmine bushes and two apple trees, one almost completely covered by creamy white climbing roses, clusters of bluebells, foxgloves, pink Hibiscus flowers, pale lavender orchids, and the entire lawn was strewn with white and yellow daisies. In the shadows he knew he would not disturb her reverie. Yet he had been caught, luminous violet eyes wiser than her years cast to where he has hidden with a gentle smile that just pricked the corners of her mouth. “You know I can feel you staring, Damian. The intensity of your emotions is making me go weak.”

Damian couldn’t stop admiring his lover. Because the eyes that followed her were ones brimmed with love, adoration. Stepping into the sunlight, gently he helped her stand up, instinctively wrapping an arm around her waist. “You will never be weak, beloved. Not because of me or anyone.” Words were spoken softly, his other hand reaching to lift a white lily from the blooming bulbs bed and tucking it right behind her ear. Not too far off in the distance the radiant sun continued arching low in the sky reading to say goodbye and allowing the sky to welcome the moon and stars.

One of his long, tanned hands, cupped her face with delicacy, her body aching desperately for his touch. He placed his remaining hand over her chest. She was aware that Damian could feel the rapid pulse of her heart through skin. “Thought you’re stronger than any other living creature in this universe. There is strength in your goodness, as much as there is in steel and fire.” His emerald eyes were filled with so much joy, so much warmth and devotion, it was endless, everflowing.

Raven barely thought she was breathing, willing her unruly heart to ease a fraction, soothe down its beating instead of racing even after all these years together. Damian gently kissed her temple and murmured against her rosy cheek in a low voice that made goosebumps rise on her tender flesh. “Do you know why I fell in love with you?”

She licked her lips and pretended to think about it for a moment. “Because I said you were insufferable our first meeting.” She teased. As much as his presence annoyed her at first, she had come to feel comfortable around him, safe, content. The feelings she had tried to contain became harder and harder to ignore. Slowly, he carved himself into her heart, something she did not have a name for took root. Every time he saw him, heart fluttered in her chest like a child, and everytime he smiled at her...oh Azar she couldn’t take the clash of ardent emotions. After that something inside her began to loosen, shift, to change. She had been a fool, deceiving herself it was nothing more than friendship.

Everything changed for them and she was infinitely thankful both had put in the effort to help each other overcome their fears. They only required a little push from Dick at the beginning, because both were impossibly stubborn.

Damian chuckled audibly. It was a fascinating sound she thought to herself. His hand trailed along her collarbone, enjoying the smooth texture of her ivory skin, grasping the side of her face. Green orbs bored into violet constellations. He spoke firmly and his features hardened slightly. There was a battle raging behind his green gaze, like he was desperately fighting something inside him. His past. “You did not judge me for my past actions, for the assassin I was raised to be. I was coated in blood, spent my days destroying and taking lives. And yet you found goodness in me.” His deep voice was rough and cracked just a bit.

She had given him five years worth of smiles, laughter, love and so much more. Filling the void inside him after losing his grandfather and mother. She had lifted him up. Damian would never let her go. He refused to. How could he?

“Dum spiro spero.” He breathed, heart thundering in his chest.

He did not have tell her its definition. She knew the meaning of the phrase. She blinked in surprise, her mind automatically translated it. While I breath, I hope.

Interlacing his hand with hers, entwined like a vine to tree, he swallowed hard before continuing. “You are my hope, Raven. When I look at you I see hope.” Raven was this incredible force which had burrowed itself so deeply within him being that there would be no uprooting it. Never.

She found herself voiceless, giving time for his words to sink in. Then she did not have to think about her responses for more than a second. She knew exactly what she wanted to say.

Raven held his gaze, unwavering, for another minute before speaking. “I know you really look at me and see me for who I am and I hope you know, I will always look at you and I will see someone who despite seeing the worst of it all, is still kind, good, a generous and compassionate soul.”

The raw emotion swimming in his eyes made her want to embrace him for eternity. He loved her. He loved her more than she ever imagined. She felt her own eyes watering, tears running down her cheeks which Damian wiped away with careful motions.

“I would love to be your hope until the end of my days.” She whispered voice thick with emotion, forehead pressed against his. His skin was warmer than hers, she let herself submerge in the lingeringly tender contact. Unable to hold back anymore Damian kissed her ferociously, with starved lips, pouring all his words and feelings into the caress. Squeezing her frame against his, wishing for any distance to vanish, anything that would keep them apart.

“I love you.” He whispered in the most intimate of ways against her mouth.

Damian took her in his arms, carrying her and not wasting time, making his way inside the small cottage. They were two souls in love, hearts beating the same tune, in perfect synchrony.

Happy birthday chromie 🙈🙈🙈❤️❤️❤️

This small oneshot is dedicated to @chromium7sky my closest friend in the fandom.

I hope you all like it though. @tweepunkgrl @alerialblu @andthendk @ravenfan1242 @carnationmilk @bourniebna @srose-foxfire @sofiii

[erinhysh]

𝗥𝗲𝗺𝗮𝗶𝗻𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝗮 𝗧𝗵𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱 / 𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 1

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Content Warning!

Severe Malnutrition.

Season : Autumn

Location : Park

Leo : Funfufu~n ♪

Wahaha! The inspiration is springing up!

My body is in great shape today, my hands are creating a masterpiece…☆

After all, I AM a genius! Wait no, maybe even God!? Geez, I’m imitating Shu like this…. ♪

Mika laying down on the floor

Leo : Hee… is that a dead person!?

Ee, what, no is he only unconscious?

(Mmh.. his body is warm, and his heart is still beating when I touched it…..)

(It means he’s still alive, right? But the breathing is really shallow and unstable~, the rhythm is really strange too!)

(Oh, this is an emergency! Call an ambulance!)

(Aah, but I don’t have a phone, I don’t have a wallet either! I have nothing except talent!)

(That’s enough for me though, Wahaha!)

(But this isn’t the time to be laughing.. M~mh, what should I do?)

(For now, I can carry him to school since its near the park..)

(Yeah, I can carry him to the infirmary! If someone passes by, I can borrow their phone to call an ambulance!)

(Yep, let’s go with that!)

Hey, I’m gonna carry you to the infirmary for the time being

You don’t have any visible injuries… So I think it’s fine to move you around a bit

You might feel slightly uncomfortable, but it’s unavoidable!

Let’s go~ Woop! 

Leo Struggling to carry Mika

H– he’s heavy! No, it’s probably just the effects of living a hikikomori [1] life making my muscles weak

Even after returning, everyone in Knights will still be the ones carrying heavy things

Mika : Mmh….. Oshi-san, I’m sorry….?

Leo : Mmh? Are you sleeping or something! Or are you up already? Honestly~ if you’re up, I want you to walk on your own!

You’re wearing the school uniform, so you’re also a Yumenosaki High student right? You’re a high school student for sure!

Be sure to stand up and walk on your own then!

Aa, he fell asleep again… Guu, he’s really a handful to take care of!

Can’t be helped, I guess I’ll have to carry him

I haven’t really used this much strength, my muscles are being worked up after a long time

Let’s go!

Uuu, step by step~!

(…But, he’s really light for someone his height)

(Maybe I’m not strong, that’s why he’s heavy…. But it feels like just skin and bones, or is it because he fainted?)

(Is he filled with cotton instead of organs?)

(Mmmh, I feel like I’ve se~en him somewhere before? Who though?)

(Forget it! I mean, I’m wasting calories on my thoughts!)

(Hurry up! He might die if you keep being this slow)

Location : School Infirmary

Adonis : We’ve arrived at the infirmary

Leo : Mh! Thanks, I’m glad you took my place carrying the unconscious kid for me!

I feel like I’d fall unconscious too if I carried him all by myself

I’m really grateful~, and sorry were you suppose to do your club activity? You look really scary but you’re actually really nice, Rei’s kid ♪

Adonis : My name is Adonis Otogari, not Rei’s Kid. Have you forgotten about my name, Tsukinaga-senpai?

Leo : Is that so? Sorry sorry! I’m not interested in remembering names

But your name is really nice, Adonis based on the Greek myth right?[2]

The tears of a Goddess who’s mingled with his blood, and produced anemones!

The story alters a lot!

Aa, more inspiration is springing!

Let’s dedicate this song with gratitude so you won’t ever forget your name, let’s name it “Adonis” ~♪

Adonis Ignoring Leo and laying Mika down on the bed

Adonis : This is fine, for the time being. You can rest nicely on this soft bed

Leo : Mmh! One case is settled!

Gosh, I’m really impatient, my lifespan has been shortened down! Even with a free live, I don’t think I can live long!

….This looks like he’s been like this. How did he fell unconscious, really? Do you know anything about this Adonis?

Adonis : I don’t know myself, but it seems like he has fell unconscious multiple times. He refuses to eat, and also seems malnourished and anemic

In other words, eating meat might solve the problem. I happened to brought a kebab with me, so I’ll give it to him when he wakes up

Do you also want to eat, Tsukinaga-senpai? Eat meat

Leo : Ah, I’ve seen this in some countries! It really does smell like this~, do you always carry food with you?

Adonis : It was a coincidence. I was running for the track and field club activity….

I was hit with the smell of meat, and it turns out I was standing in front of a kebab stand near the school

The stands here are the best, I even know the owner

It’s not the best to put something in your stomach while running, but I was asked to sample a new product….

I failed and gave into trying the food

Besides, it was really delicious so I went to grab my wallet and bought more….. I really am weak

Leo : But isn’t it okay? Abstinence just a shortcut to enlightenment, but humans should basically be able to eat and do whatever they want!

I like that one better ~♪

Hikikomori means severe social withdrawal with no outside contact at all.

It’s Basically a story about a guy named Adonis and the Goddess Aphrodite. They’re lovers, but Adonis got mauled by a wild boar one day. He died in Aphrodite’s hands, and her tears mingled with his blood and it created a flower known as anemone

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Translations: Erin

[downfordiluc]

Albedo x G/N reader.

No warnings needed. Just pure fluff.

---

Synopsis // you always felt as if Albedo's work was his priority, and yet, in a room full of experiments and results, all he sees is you.

Author's notes // My obsession with Albedo grows every day, send help. He's too beautiful for this world.

All works are entirely my own - downfordiluc (wattpad & tumblr)

---

Albedo had never been one who attached a tangible value to relationships with other people. Obviously, he valued professional relationships and cared about his family, but romance and friendship were never bonds he really sought after or felt a need to maintain. Any friendships he did consider himself to have were purely circumstantial and didn't venture past the boundaries of his workplace, and he was content with that; content with being alone. That was until he met you.

"Alone and lonely are not synonymous", was something he caught himself saying to Kaeya one time, who had pointed out that he was often the only person in his laboratory for hours, if not days on end. Truth be told though, Albedo quite enjoyed being by himself and even relished the time he spent being the only heartbeat in the room - unless his experiments ventured into living organisms. He tended to drown out anyone talking to him while he was concentrating regardless, preferring to communicate with people like Sucrose and Timaeus through paperwork and statistics, rather than sentences. And yet, right now, there were two heartbeats in the room, as well as a slight whining sound, as he got nudged in the shins.

"You said you'd be done with this an hour agooo!", the dig in his leg was so soft that he didn't even glance upwards from the test tube he was concentrated on swirling in front of him - bright aqua slowly fading to a crystal clear liquid, sparkling as it spiralled.

Without warning, a warm hand was placed upon yours, his thumb running along the top of your wrist, leaving a trail of warmth as it traveled. For a man who wasn't very fond of socializing, he knew how to say a thousand words with just one movement, and you knew he was sorry for taking so long. His work was what you always considered his priority in life, and keeping realistic about this and knowing you could probably never take that place was what kept you sane on nights like this. Nights where he promised to watch the sunset with you, but the stars were now twinkling in the night sky through the small window of his lab.

The way he watched the colours whirl and merge into one was an alluring sight, his eyes transfixed on the liquid, scanning it inquisitively, and you noticed the colour of the substance was almost a direct match to that of his beautiful, twinkling irises. It was the way he looked at you. The curiosity and fascination flickering behind his eyes, burning in his brain, made your knees weak, as he would scan you up and down. Feelings of doubt and anxiety would always follow in tow, but he stopped them in their tracks.

"You look beautiful today."

Fingers intertwining with yours pulled you delicately out of your daydream, as your eyes flicked up to his own, giving you that exact, disarming look, as you noticed his work pushed aside. Alchemy is purely scientific and has no real link to matters of the heart, and yet you could swear he had cracked the code of love too. His gaze felt calculated and precise, melting you in an instant like one of his experiments. You were an experiment to him in a way - an experiment in romance - and you really hoped he was satisfied with the results.

You knew you were.

Heat spread itself across your face, a pale pink hue dusting across the bridge of your nose and cheeks, as you registered his spontaneous compliment. It wasn't often you saw Albedo smile, so you cherished the fleeting moments when his lips curled up and his eyes glittered that little bit more. Just like that, any lingering frustration you had with him for taking so long faded out of existence, leaving only your infatuation with the one you could proudly call your own. He truly was captivating, and the best part was, he had absolutely no idea. He had no idea that he was beautiful too.

"I made you something, [Y/N].". You pouted slightly as his hand left your own, missing the warmth, as you watched him rummage through the draw on the left of his desk. In his hands, he produced a crystalline bottle. The was glass a pale hue of yellow, reminiscent of his vision glowing faintly under the star on his neck, a mystery you were yet to solve. The way it refracted light scattered little flickers of light all over Albedo's face, like luminescent freckles, and yet they were gone as quickly as they appeared, as he placed the bottle into your turned out hand. The liquid in the bottle glistened similarly to his experiment from earlier, as everything clicked into place.

Holding the bottle up to your nose, you smelled the fragrance of what was inside. Until that moment, you didn't know it was possible for something to smell like warmth, and yet that was exactly what this bottle seemed to encapsulate. Maple, cinnamon, and the smell of autumn captured you lightly, lulling you into an almost drunken sense of happiness. It smelled like cuddles in front of an open fire, but also early morning walks, watching the dew glisten on browning leaves that were slowly cascading from the trees.

September 22nd was the first day of autumn last year, and the day you met Albedo. Light brush strokes adorning the canvas in front of him as he merged hues of orange into hues of pink, perfectly capturing the sunset decorating the sky in front of him. Most people would rush to finish before the sun laid to rest for the night, and yet he took his time, a level of preciseness in each flick of his wrist that you couldn't help but watch, following every movement he made.

"Can I paint you?", the blonde man was now returning your stare, his face void of emotion but his eyes full of eagerness, as he pushed past any defences you had, leaving you with no other response than to say yes.

"How would you like me to stand?" you queried, panicked thoughts darting around your head as you thought you would do nothing but ruin his beautiful artwork. Had he simply pitied you?

"Just like that, you look perfect as is."

At the time, Albedo had no romantic intentions behind this sentence, and yet it had you mesmerised. On this crisp, Autumn evening, you became besotted with the man in front of you, and from this moment on, you would be his muse.

Soft footsteps circled the desk, the sound barely filling the room, as Albedo stood behind you, trapping you in your chair, as you could faintly feel him pressed against your back.

"Albedo?" you questioned, as you felt his breath on your neck, an involuntary shudder following in suit. His presence was short-lived, however, as he trailed his fingers down your arm, goosebumps forming on the tracks he left, as his fingertips landed on the bottle he had given you. He was ethereal.

"Do you like it?"

His enchanting voice hummed against your skin, as you could feel his hair tickling the side of your neck, his lips hovering just inches away from your ear. It took every inch of your willpower to not turn your head and kiss him, and yet you stood your ground, relishing the feeling of being this close with him, knowing these moments were often transient.

"I love it." You spoke softly, controlling your voice that threatened to waver due to his affectionate manner. You had been watching him for hours, as he barely paid notice to you. You had analysed his every feature time and time again today alone, watching every shining hair that had slipped out of his braid and fallen into his face, wanting nothing more than to brush it behind his ear. Luckily this was one of your favourite ways to spend your time, watching him work, and admiring his devotion. He was dedicated, loyal and committed, and these qualities went farther than just his work, which left you feeling secure and loved every night that you slept alone, the other side of the bed growing cold without his presence.

Without warning, a light mist fell upon your exposed neck and collarbone, yet again eliciting goosebumps, as the scent of the perfume he had created made its way up to you, softening you instantly as a sigh of pure euphoria escaped your previously smiling lips. This smile only widened, as he placed a delicate kiss behind your left ear, stroking your hair lightly as he did, reminding you of how much you longed to do so as the hours passed. The spot his lips had rested felt as though it glowed almost as brightly as the vision on his chest did, as it radiated heat long after he had departed.

"I love you." softly escaped your lips, as you turned to face him, looking up at the man who made you feel as though you were floating on delirium and bliss. His head tilted ever so slightly to the side, and yet again, he gave you that stare. The one that made you feel like the results of an experiment, every small feature being perused. You wouldn't be surprised if he had facial expressions down to a science, knowing exactly what every movement of all 42 muscles in a person's face meant. If that was the case, he could see just how in love with him you were at that moment.

"You didn't think I'd forget the anniversary of the day we met, did you?"

Like a deer in headlights, your eyes widened and your lips parted ever so slightly in shock, as Albedo gave you a soft yet sultry look, a smirk creeping upon his lips. How could he read you like a book, and yet you couldn't decipher a single thing he was thinking?

"You didn't forget, did you, [Y/N]?"

Most people would have looked offended, or more light-hearted individuals might have feigned said offence, and yet Albedo's face didn't move an inch, as he kept his gaze transfixed upon you.

"N-No, of course I didn't. I just didn't want you to feel bad if you had.", you stuttered when you were nervous, and this man had left you nothing but a ball of anxiety, as you had almost forgotten to give him his own gift. From your pocket, you produced a small pin of Prithiva Topaz, the shape identical to the star on his neck that you adored so much; a testament to how much of an enigma this man was to you. Slowly rising from your chair, you placed one hand on his chest, grasping at the belt that crossed over his body. Where the black leather of his belt met the gold embellishments that came over his shoulder, there was an empty circle, and so you pinned on the brooch, directly in the centre, your hands lingering ever so slightly, not wanting to take them off of him.

"I love you too." he whispered above you, which led to you looking up at him, your eyes full of endearment for your one and only. A lock of his hair hovered just above your eyes, and so you gave in to your day-long wish, reaching up and tucking it lightly behind his ear, stroking along the strand as your hand left. And yet he caught it, holding it lightly in his own, and kissing it lightly, just above your knuckles. You could not get enough of the feeling.

"Now, I hate to do this to you, but I really must finish this research, but you're free to do whatever you want with my hair as I do.".

Your lover quickly transformed back into the alchemist he prided himself in being, as he sat back down in his chair, pulling your own next to his. Once again, you found yourself wondering how he could read your every thought and emotion with almost frightening accuracy, and you settled on the conclusion that his genius was simply immeasurable by your own standards. All that mattered to you was that if he truly had the power to decrypt your every thought, he was fully aware of the overflowing feelings for him that filled your beating heart daily.

And so, for the rest of the night, your hands brushed through his hair, braiding it once, twice, thrice, as he leaned ever so slightly into your touch, giving you reassuring hums as he shuffled the papers below him. Suddenly, watching the moon rise wasn't so bad, as long as this moment lasted until the sun came up, and you could watch the sunrise together.

[vibratingbones]

I am at your side

Words: 4k

Tags: Angst(?), argument, fluff

FemaleReader x Galadriel 

As her maid, it is your duty to report informations to Lady Galadriel, even if they might break her...

First Age

It was such a beautiful morning. Autumn offered its shimmering colors, red and golden leaves contrasted with the whiteness of the early frost on the grass.

You were standing at a window on the Menegroth’s Palace, taking some moments to appreciate the beautiful landscape of Beleriand before going back to your work.

You were Lady Galadriel's maid, the one who organised everything around her so she wouldn’t be interrupted in her duties by something trivial. You were at her service to anticipate every need she might have and to provide a solution to any problem she might encounter in her everyday life.

Needless to say you were constantly by her side and a great trust had built between the two of you over time, so much that you were introduced to the other members of the court as not a mere servant, but her lady companion. You take great pride in this and in your abilities in your work.

Your gaze was fixed at the sunrise, progressively illuminating all the realm of their Royal Highnesses Thingol and Melian.

With your eyes closed and your arms opened, you take a deep breath of the early fresh air and let the mist caress the skin on your face as it fades away before the sun.

You were glad to be able to move here with your Lady. Due to your trade you didn't really have the occasion to travel around the world. You were delighted to hear Lady Galadriel required your presence during her residency in Menegroth, and you were determined to make this stay the most refined experience for the both of you. After all, not everyone got the chance to learn from Queen Melian in her own city.

It had been almost a year since you both moved to Menegroth, and though at first, Lady Galadriel dedicated all her soul to her duty, you could say that her beautiful enthusiasm had slightly... faded. 

She still assumed her charges with great rigor, but you could see that her heart was not there anymore.

It wasn’t your place nor your right to ask her about it ; if she wanted you to know she would have already told you. You knew the best way to help her out was to do your job properly and you were determined to do it impeccably.

Luck was on your side as the royal couple had to gone to inspect the Girdle of Melian, the work schedule of your Lady is reduced. She could take a day off to enjoy all Doriath had to offer and relieve some stress.

When you opened your eyes again, Arien’s ship illuminated the realm before you and her light slowly reached the Palace. It was now time to get to your work. As you walked away from the stone arches to the stairs, you started thinking about the morning of Lady Galadriel. A hot cup of tea in a cold and relaxing bath would be perfect to start her day.

You walked down the stairs and corridors, your feet following the rhythm of an old melody the King Finrod once taught you. 

He was always nice to you when you were young, and even as a king he seemed so approachable and open minded. But still, he was an odd character. He always seemed pleased, whenever the circumstances were and you find his...interest for mankind misplaced. You didn't hate humans, far from that, but the less they interfered with the Elves, the better the both species lived. Everything was fine in the royal family before Princess Lúthien met that man... Berin? Beran? It didn’t matter. King Finrod also seemed to have him in sympathy and it worried your Lady, but there was nothing to do about it. You just hoped her older brother was alright, with his oath to accomplish.

You finally reached the kitchens. Everyone has already started their work and you had to prepare the light meal while trying to avoid all the agitation. You almost got hit by a plate on your head, but a quite fair waiter flew to your rescue and you avoided a catastrophe... But not a sideslip on the floor... With some condiments... With the waiter.

“Dear Lord! I am sorry Miss, this platter is truly heavy and I couldn’t concentrate on obstacles on my way, I should have paid more at—”

You stopped him with a gesture of the hand. Obviously he was new on the job. It was pointless to start a scene in front of his colleagues. Even if his clumsiness had just ruined your dress. 

“It's alright, boy. Just remember to watch where you’re going and always distribute the weight correctly,” you said, rearranging what was left of the items on the silver surface to illustrate your words. He watched how your experienced hands moved to learn from them. 

“Here! Just like that,” you added with a comforting smile. He smiled back at you with embarrassment and gratitude before his boss called him back to hearth with vehemence and he flew away to his task. You watched with amusement until his superior glared at you, clearly inviting you to get back on track.

While you were gathering some fresh fruits in a cup, you couldn’t help but to observe her methods to lead the brigade of servers, and Valar... You thought you were hard with your subordinates, but you have room for improvement! Maybe you should borrow some of her methods... No, your subordinates would hate you for sure.

The poor boy, thanks to this little misadventure, had caught her attention and she was ready to scold him at every minute mistakes he could make, barking at him in front of all their teammates, who had the decency to mind their own business. You guessed that perfection and adamancy are prices to pay to be able to serve the greatest people in the world. It reminded you of your own debut as a maid—how many times had you had to keep your jaws crushed closed in front of your superiors? Too many for your taste, to be honest, but you were the boss now, thanks to the discipline and the abnegation they taught you. It was hard, but it was worth enduring. 

Before you left, you glanced back at the servant and the barking butler. She was still harsh but demonstrated more efficient ways to navigate through a crowd with weight. You smiled to yourself. He would be alright. He just needed time to gain some experience. And you, you missed time to change your clothes. Bad luck ; it would have to wait. You had already run out of time, and picked up the pace. 

On your way, an ellon between some columns caught your eye. The Lord Celeborn. You had already noticed Lady Galadriel’s interest in him, and his in her. Or rather, you had "unintentionally" overheard a conversation where he admitted it to one of his friends. And you were maybe, or maybe not, the reason behind some of their encounters in some strangely convenient, quiet, intimate places. 

He surely didn't suspect a thing from you ; you know how to make yourself transparent next to your Lady. But you were almost certain that she knew. 

She just let you plot. Surely it amused her : she once told you that your sneaky side reminds her of her cousins, some redheaded twins. She went quiet when you implied you didn't have the pleasure to know them. You didn't try to know more. 

You would have loved to learn one or two other things about Celeborn, but you were already late and in a messy state. How unlike you! 

While you traveled through an unreasonably huge room near the entrance, you heard the sound of a massive wood door slamming against a wall and a bunch of rushed footsteps. You overheard some hushed and stressed voices among the clatters of armor. Had something happened to their Highnesses? If so, your duty would be to inform your Lady, so she can advise for the future.

As you got closer to the entrance, some other attendants and companions of the nobility were already gathered with some guards, undeniably those who have just returned. The moment you reached out to them, the leader of the patrollers was silencing the little crowd, a broad smile on his face. 

"Peace! Peace, please. The divine providence has given us back our Princess!" 

Murmurs and prayers of relief browsed the assembly. At last, the Princess was finally home. You also felt relieved. The eight of months of worries and sorrow will finally be removed from the shoulders of their Royals Highness! 

The captain hushed the group again, with a more concerned expression. 

"You! Go find the healers and conduct them to the Heir and her human consort. They have been injured during their journey. You! Take a horse and gallop to the King and Queen, hurry!" 

The Princess was injured? Assuredly it's not a pleasant thing, but she was alive and with her loved one. The House of Thingol was now safe… So why did you feel a pressure in your throat? When you looked at the captain, you felt a deep unease, as if he would add something terrible. You waited, holding your breath. 

He seemed to seek someone in the crowd with a concerned gaze.

“Is someone here under the order of the Lady Galadriel?” he asked.

Valar… Here we go. You cleared your throat and responded with a confident voice.

“I am!”

He spotted you in the multitude and started approaching you while the others followed his orders. You straightened your back, to give an assurance. He guided you away from the other and you asked under your breath.

“What’s the matter?”

He looked at you dead in the eye and replied.

“Miss, it is about her brother. Something happened to King Finrod…”

--------------------------------------------

You felt sick, your feet guided you through some corridors to Lady Galadriel's apartments but your vision was blurred. You couldn't stop thinking, so much information swirled in every direction in your head… 

The Princess, the silmaril, the tea, your dress, your Lady, the oath... King Finrod… You felt the nausea rising in your throat. 

How?

Why?

Your head spun so much you had to take support on the wall, the heart right behind your lips. How were you going to announce this to Lady Galadriel ? Her dear brother. They didn't deserve this fate. 

The rest of the court has been warned the Princess was back, but the truth about King Finrod was confidential, at least for now. You distinguished yourself from the opulent cheerfulness and felicity with your pale face. All the songs of gladness couldn't reach your heart, closed by the truth.

Now, stay focused! You had to inform your Lady. What kind of aid faints while giving news to their master, as bad and terrible as the news could be?

As you get back some senses, a light tune reached your ears. The crowd in the Palace was singing in joy and among every melody in existence, they have chosen the one Finrod taught you. What were the odds…

You finally reached Lady Galadriel’s door, heavy hearted. As your hand was about to knock, all the past few weeks with her instantly flashed in your mind. Her odd affliction who grew up so suddenly, tainted her fëa. And now this…

You took several seconds and a deep breath before knocking. You waited again for several seconds before hearing a response.

“Come in.”

Her voice was firm as always, but a little muffled. You swallowed and entered the room with the most neutral face you could feign. You definitely couldn’t step in with a huge smile like nothing happened, but you couldn’t alarm her either.

You found her in a chair by her balcony. You were glad it was oriented to the waterfalls of the mountains and not to the inner garden were everyone was singing, at least you had some privacy.

“Good morning, milady. How is the view today?” you asked, walking to a table to serve the tea.

Okay, you surely had more inspired lines before. 

“It’s nothing new,” she replied.

She, also, had better comebacks. 

You observed her while you brought a cup. Seated on a low chair, she silently observed the horizon. Her complexion reflected her exhaustion, with darker tones under the eyes and waxen cheeks. She hugged herself, and you mentally traced the circuit of veins under the skin of her arms that were now visible.

The blond of her hair was now dull, you remembered from the last time you groomed her mane: the comb emerged with many wires of fallen hair, which is highly unusual for elves. You tried to inform her casually, and she then refused to be curled by someone else than herself since.

Your throat twisted more at the sight of the elleth who once was an unwavering lady. 

Even thought she was able to disguise her state under a mask of dignity and fool everyone else, inside her room, in the intimacy of her private cocoon, you could only watch the diminishment of her health. Day by day you saw her fading with a constricting feeling of helplessness. 

“Are you well?” 

Her question brought you back to reality, you realised you were standing next to her, silently staring at her while she waited for her cup. Now that her face was turned to you, you could see the fatigue in her eyes… 

"I'm sorry, my Lady. I'm fine… " you answered, "... While you savour your tea, I will prepare you a bath for you to relax."

You desperately needed time to clear your mind and prepare yourself. This was also her last peaceful morning before long, she deserved some time for herself before you broke her heart definitively…

"Wait."

You stopped dead on your tracks. 

"My Lady?"

"Stay with me, I would enjoy some company this morning."

Without a word you filled an empty teacup and took a chair beside her. 

"Thank you. My tea always tastes better when I drink it with a friend," she added with a sweet but low voice. 

You gently clattered your cups and admired the colours of the waterfalls under the morning sun. You just took a cup for the act, to please her, but felt like you could never take a sip of it. While you both remained silent, you could sometimes hear the sound of footsteps rushing towards the hall with some giggles. You played nervously with your goblet, knowing that you couldn't keep the truth from her eternally, that you should tell her now before she hears it from someone else in a far less convenient situation… 

But you couldn’t…

You were out of words.

Everytime you tried to tell her, your words got stuck in your throat or disappeared the moment they reached your mouth.

How could you possibly tell her that her beloved brother, the most gentle soul you had come across in your millennium life, was dead? His body was buried so far away, she wouldn't be able to mourn him at his sepulchre… 

You looked at her, to engrave her vision in your memory. She looked so frail at this moment, would the news finish her off? Would she lose her will and seek to join him?

And you? Would you be able to endure it? To lose her?

After the death of the brother, could you handle the loss of your Lady?

Your...

oh...

so dear...

Lady

Your sunshine.

A gentle touch on your cheek wakes you up from your trance. 

Your gaze was still fixed on Lady Galadriel, as she brushed off a single tear rolling out of your eye.

“Talk to me, my dear. What happened? You are usually so jovial, but your fëa is submerged by shadows today.”

You couldn't help but to rest your head in the warmth of her palm. 

You were deplorable, she was the one who lost her brother and she was the one comforting you. You clenched your jaws and removed all your tears with the back of your hand.

“My lady, I am sorry to present myself to you in such an inappropriate state.” 

You take a deep breath as you rose up from your seat to gather yourself.

“My Lady, I do have something to tell you!” 

Your own words seemed to strangle yourself, but you were able to keep an assured voice.

“This morning, her Highness Princess Lúthien came back with her human consort to the court, safe and sound."

You were about to continue when you saw her cower. Somehow, this information seemed to trouble her immensely. 

You watched her shudder, unsure how to continue this conversation now. 

And then… 

It just clicked in your mind. 

Your eyes widened, dead silent before your sudden realisation.

"You knew..."

———————

She looked up at you, with a silent pleading in her eyes. 

You didn't want to believe it, but it would explain everything. 

"You knew… He would never return, and you just let him go."

"I did not just let him go!" she replied with a voice filled with anger. 

She let a frustrated sigh escape but remained calm. 

"I did know what was going to happen. I foresaw it the day he described to me his first encounter with mankind."

You just sat in silence on your chair again. You didn't want to interrupt her. 

"I warned him his passion towards mortals will harm him, but he just stayed still with the most elated smile I have ever seen…"

She looked right in front of her, reviving the instant, as if King Finrod was really there with you. 

"He just said: Let it be, sister, for if it is my destiny to die at the side of men, I will take it as an honor.He was so confident, so determined. I knew I wouldn't be able to make him reconsider… I'm sure you know it is impossible to say no to him when he makes up his mind...”

Oh yes, you knew.

 “It happened such a long time ago… I even convinced myself my vision was nothing more than a projection of my fears and not a fragment of the future. I even.... managed to forget about it. Until he announced to me about his oath.”

Her voice cracked while speaking of  this... accursed oath. You started to sense the ire slowly rising in your veins. Why did she had to suffer all of this ? 

"Everything came back in my mind with such force. I tried to convince him one last time, but… I knew I wouldn’t succeed. For his destiny was already decided… his death was for a greater good that I can't see yet."

She stopped, out of breath, as if speaking required too much energy. 

You both jumped out of your skins when some younglings started to bange at all the doors of the corridors while gigglings and yelling about the return of the Princess. It looks like celebrations revealed the most silly side of the younger generation. 

Lady Galadriel stood up to regain a certain composure, her gaze at the horizon. 

A strange silence between you hung up in the air after the laughs of the younglings, deafening and stifling but it was still more comfortable than the reality of your situation. You had the childish thought that if you didn’t speak about it then it wouldn’t be real anymore, that you could open the door of her apartment and King Finrod would have been behind it the whole time, just wanting to surprise his cherished little sister.

Alas, reality has rarely resorted to such niceties. Happy endings are for old melodies.

Surely this is why we sing them…

"It pains me greatly… Never again I will wake up to his harp morning practice. He loved so much to see his city awakening under his notes. Never again he will come to me to aid him with his accounting." She chuckled a little. "He hated it!" 

"I know! I spent several sleepless nights helping you because he couldn't help falling asleep while working on it," You added while joining her side on the balcony. "I am sure we both know the economic state of his kingdom better than himself!" 

You both laughed at those memories.

It felt right, it felt… liberating. 

But she quickly became silent again.

"When we were children, he promised me he would guide me to the altar the day of my wedding if our parents couldn't… He already had his costume ready, way before I found my soulmate."

Indeed, it sounded just like him. 

"Now I would have to descend the aisle alone. It is the only promise he won't be able to accomplish."

Tears fell down silently from her exhausted face.

You were sympathetic to her but you couldn’t fully understand the depth of her pain and distress for none of your loved ones had died. You could only imagine what she was going through and offer her warmth and little comfort.

"It pains me so much it is killing me. I can feel it, deep in my flesh. It started..."

“... when your brother died,” you guessed.

“Yes. The very moment he passed away, his voice reached me. I heard his wail in my sleep and his last scream keeped me awake for the rest of the night until you came in the morning.”

You remembered. You found her sitting on her bed oddly straight and tense. Her gaze was fixed in front of her, but seemed lost to the void. Her ailment started to appear the day after. You scolded yourself for not investigating more and accepted her excuse of a "bad night," even if she wasn't properly lying.

To be awakened by a loved one's final call must be the most dreadful experience. 

"I still hear him, you know? Everytime I close my eyes, his pleading haunts me. Every night, his cries reach me." Her voice began to be more erratic and she began trembling again. "I see him in every shadow, I catch his silhouette in the corner of my eyes but he is never here when I turn my head." 

She was fully crying now. You had never seen her like that, in such distress. 

So you overstepped your position and took her in your arms. You held her in a tight embrace to support her, for she could not fall apart. 

"Please my Lady, calm down."

She did not respond at first, but you finally felt her arms around you, pulling you even closer as if you were her last grasp on reality at this instant. 

"I see him everywhere. I know he is not here, but I can not let him go…"

You stayed silent again, while wanting to say something. Anything. But words are vain in those moments. Only time is able to cure such wounds… If they could heal at all. So you just held her tighter and let her head rested on your shoulder while feeling her tears soaked through your dress. She buried her face in your neck. 

You weren’t sure how much time passed that way and you just started to cradle her gently. You were certain it was inappropriate but you feel like if you didn’t have to follow the protocol and the etiquette for once, it would be now!

You listened to her, made her sure you were attentive to her pain and offered the warmth of a presence.

However, you were not prepared for what she was saying next. 

"I am sorry…" 

Her voice was so low and hoarse, you were not sure of what you had just heard. 

"For what, my Lady?" 

"For my lack of bravery… I have to be strong for my people, particularly now, with the chaos that is to come. But… I feel so helpless! I can't clearly see the threat which rises upon us, I have not been able to prevent the death of my brothers… …”

You moved away from her, incredulous, and locked your eyes to hers.

“You are brave! Braver than most of us, many could not do your duty as well as you did under mourning. Don’t lose faith in yourself. We are all with you… I am with you.”

You took a step back and knelt before her. She watched you quietly in confusion.

“I wish to reassert my loyalty and take an oath of allegiance to my Lady.”

Head bowed and right hand closed over your heart, you started to declaim your vows with an assured voice. 

“Here, I swear on my head I shall faithfully perform my duties to the best of my abilities. I shall never embarrass or bring shame over the House of my Lady and her Blood...”

You raised your head to see her face with a sight full of determination.

“But above all, I swear to follow you everywhere, in Light as in Darkness, in Arda as in oblivion, in honour as in infamy. To be faithful to your Person and your Name, and to never leave your sight at any given time during our earthly lives and beyond death.”

Galadriel listened to you respectfully, her tears drying while she regained her composure. 

She silently gave you her hand, which you kissed and brought to your forehead almost religiously. 

“Rise up.”

You obeyed, now determined to protect and serve your Lady at all cost and your instinct told you that it will happen sooner than you could imagine. 

She observed you quietly as she was taking the measure of your words. She placed a chaste kiss on your lips to seal your vows. 

You secretly wished the kiss was more lingering, but you kept it for yourself.

“Thank you,” she responded. 

Her breath was still short, but her voice had regained her assertiveness. 

You both turned back to the waterfalls, the songs slowly reached your ears again now that the emotion started to come down. 

In fact, everything seemed more clear now. You felt lighter, as if a blindfold had been removed from your eyes as the fog dissipated under the rays of a morning sun. 

You had now faith in the future.

At the side of your Lady, together, you felt confident you could face anything destiny had prepared for you.

--------------------------------

Specials thanks to @arofili​ for their help during the entire process ! ❤️

This is my first fic, constructive criticism will be much appreciated :)

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Seven

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: so this chapter doesn't exactly have a hay bale maze but it has something even better :)

***

Being a legal consultant is surprisingly easy.

Years of studying business law in order to take down big corporations in the courtroom is now being used to help a big corporation— Nesta wants to be disgusted at the state of her morals. Fortunately for her, all the issues that have come across her desk so far are minor negotiation matters. The way Night Court Inc. is run is virtually perfect, and she almost hopes a blatant lawsuit drops into her lap just so she can give Rhysand and his sycophantic workers hell.

Though Nesta knows better than to dream big. This is essentially busy work that Night Court’s actual lawyers don't have time to do, but she's grateful for it either way. She's grateful for the man who got her this job even more.

When her car finally gets back from the auto shop one sunny November morning, Cassian suggests they go out to celebrate.

“Celebrate what?” Nesta says. “Not having to rely on you for rides anymore?”

“Exactly that.” Cassian grins and leans his elbow against the kitchen counter. “There’s a fall festival an hour north of here that pops up every year. There's good food and hot cider. Let’s go.” He nudges her excitedly.

Nesta narrows her eyes at him. “You’ve been planning this,” she accuses.

“I go every year,” he shrugs. “Come on, we have the whole day ahead of us.”

He makes pleading puppy eyes that have absolutely no effect on Nesta, but she doesn't want to hurt his ego by letting him know that.

There is nothing appealing to her about going out into the cold and doing autumn-related activities, so she surprises herself and Cassian both when she agrees to go. He rewards her with a wide smile and tells her to get ready.

Nesta feels oddly giddy afterward. She can't recognize the feeling, so she tamps down on it while she gets dressed and braids her hair.

Outside, her burgeoning smile drops when she sees Cassian getting the truck started. “I thought the point of this was that we could use my car now.” She gestures to her beat up blue sedan, a sad little thing parked next to Cassian’s fancy truck.

“Nes, if I thought your car could go anywhere near a mountain road without falling to pieces, I would get in it without hesitation.”

It's as close to apologetic sympathy as she’ll get from him, so she only grumbles a little before climbing into the passenger seat she's gotten all too familiar with.

The door slams as Cassian gets in the driver’s seat, and something on the dashboard catches Nesta’s attention. Reaching out, she picks up one of her coloring books and her zipper bag full of markers and pencils.

She glances at Cassian. “Is this for me?”

He looks up from where he’s buckling his seatbelt. “Oh, I just picked it up on my way out. Cell signal gets spotty the closer we get to the mountains, so you might get bored.”

Nesta looks down at the coloring book she's clutching, surprised.

“Did you want anything else before we leave?” Cassian says. “I can run inside and pick up some books.”

“No— no, this is good,” she says softly. She flips the page open to a fresh landscape scene, black on white lines staring back at her. “Thank you.”

She unzips her pencil bag with a new reverence, barely noticing as they pull out of the driveway and head for the highway leading out of town.

Nesta is intent on her coloring the entire ride, falling far too easily into that little bubble of her own mind where she forgets that other things and people exist. Cassian, unlike most people, doesn't seem to mind this. He's content with driving in the quiet, the only sound the soft crackle of the radio and the scratch of Nesta’s pencils.

She’s trying to get the blue shades of the lake just right when she feels the truck start to slow, and she looks up to see that they're in some kind of parking lot. Ahead, a market-carnival setup sits at the base of the mountains, and it sprawls as far as her eyes can see. “We’re here already?”

“Yeah.” Cassian glances at her hesitantly. “Is it lame?” He gestures to the autumn-themed affair, as if he’ll turn around and drive them right back home if it isn't to Nesta’s liking.

Nesta can’t pay the festival any attention yet. “I’m not done with this picture yet,” she says simply. She holds it up for Cassian to see, even though he probably can't tell that the mostly-completed picture is still missing a couple of details.

He just says, “We’ll wait till you're finished, then.”

She brightens with relief, and takes her time adjusting the colors of the landscape to her liking. As soon as she's satisfied with what she has, though, she throws her pencils and book down like they're on fire and grabs her coat. “Let's go,” she demands.

If Cassian is surprised at her sudden change of pace, he hides it well and follows Nesta onto the fairground. “Slow down,” he calls for her.

Perhaps the fall season isn't terrible, Nesta thinks as they buy warm candied apples. The air smells nice and the weather is brisk and Cassian stands so close to her that she never quite gets cold.

It feels almost like a date.

Nesta glances at Cassian from the corner of her eye as she chews on her apple. Wind ruffles his hair and his brown cheeks are flushed red, but he looks content. It's too bad they're just friends, because this would have been a nice date.

She has to stop her train of thought before she gets distracted by how Cassian’s hand isn't holding anything, and how her hand isn't holding anything, and maybe their hands should—

She makes a fist with her free hand and shoves it into her coat pocket. This is why she doesn't usually have friends, she remembers— because she can never stop hungering for more.

Nesta and Cassian’s not-date is spent with Cassian throwing his money at every other thing he sees on sale, and Nesta biting her tongue at the unnecessary waste of it all.

“Eight dollars for a cup of cider? Come on, you're being scammed.” Nesta pulls at his elbow, trying to lead him away from the drinks stand.

“But it comes in one of those cute little jars,” Cassian protests as he’s pulled away.

There’s a laughably small hay-bale maze that they complete in less than three minutes, thanks to Cassian being tall enough to see over the hay bales. Then there’s a ferris wheel that Nesta adamantly refuses to get onto, regardless of how high it goes or not. And then, without either of them noticing, the sun starts slipping behind the mountains.

With her arms full of bags of snacks and random knickknacks that she’ll never need in her life, Nesta finds herself back in the market area.

There’s a painting at an art stand that has caught her attention. Something about the brush strokes and choice of color palette… it reminds her of Feyre’s art style. Amateur, but warm and comforting, clearly made with love and dedication. She approaches the elder salesman carefully, only wanting a closer look at the piece.

It’s of a glittering forest in the peak of autumn, ruby and flame-colored leaves littering the scene. An unwalked pathway cuts through the scene, and a longing Nesta can’t place swells in her stomach.

“My daughter painted this one,” the salesman says to her, pride peeking through his voice. She glances up at the kind-faced man. “Only this one?” she asks. The rest of the paintings don’t have the same art style, Feyre’s style.

“Yes.” He places a protective hand over the canvas. “She’s still learning, but she’s got heart and potential. One day she’ll be a better artist than me.”

Nesta blinks at his words. “How much is it?”

“How much do you have?”

She looks down at her hands full of shopping bags and realizes not one of them is carrying her wallet. “Oh, I must have left my money with my—” She glances up then and looks around. “Cassian?”

He was just here with her. They were walking together and she took note of the pretty fairy lights that were starting to turn on, and then she saw the art stand. She scans the milling crowd for a glimpse of his face, but it’s five p.m. and fully dark now.

Unease starts to pump in her chest. “Cassian?” she calls again. She wanders away from the art stand, painting and salesman forgotten. Maneuvering her full hands, she wrangles her phone out of her back pocket and turns it on. Just as she suspected— no signal. Waving it high in the air doesn’t do much for her either.

Shoving her phone back in her pocket, Nesta takes a strained breath and resolves to keep looking. If she can’t find him, she can always make her way back to the parking lot—

Something shoves hard into Nesta’s back, and her glasses slip right off her nose in the collision. She feels a metallic crunch under her boot and gasps. Suddenly there are people everywhere, heading in the opposite direction that she is, and whoever bumped into her yells a quick apology that gets lost in the crush of bodies.

Nesta stumbles out of the crowd, blinking quickly. She can’t see a thing, and the fairy lights are now blurry orbs. “My glasses—” she says to nobody. She scans the flattened grass and dirt furiously, squinting until she gets a headache, but she can’t find them. “Shit.”

She ends up roaming out of the market area, finding herself back on the fairgrounds. There are a few tents around her, but they're empty and the noise has died down. She doesn’t know where she’s going.

At one point, Nesta simply drops her bags and keeps walking without them. She barely notices leaving them behind. The magic has drained out of the festival, and she just wants to find her way back to Cassian’s truck. If the ferris wheel is that way, then the exit should be that way… she thinks.

She looks around in the dark, frustrated tears rising at her inability to recognize anything. She's alone. She’s cold. She was abandoned.

Nesta doesn't know how long she stands there, hopeless in some deserted corner of the fairgrounds. She forgets what she's supposed to be doing, and just stands there staring at nothing. Escaping to a numbing void in her mind.

The desperate call of her name brings her back to earth.

Blinking, Nesta turns around to find a tall figure heading towards her. Cassian.

He’s holding something in his hand, she can tell, but he drops it when he sees her face and breaks into a run.

“Nesta!” Hard warmth crashes into her as strong arms grab her and yank her close. Her face presses into his chest, and hot tears fall despite the lingering numbness.

“Where did you go?” Cassian is demanding. “You had me so fucking scared—”

“I lost my glasses,” she says weakly into the wool of his coat.

“I know.” He goes from stroking her back to clutching her face. His thumbs rub at the wetness beneath her eyes, and finally she can see his face. He’s close enough that she can read every detail, their foreheads pressed tightly together. He isn't letting go.

She presses her lips together. “I lost you.”

“I know.”

In the next moment, Nesta feels everything all at once: Cassian’s heavy breath on her face, his fingers digging into her scalp, his hazel eyes looking relieved and apologetic and terrified at the same time. His heartbeat racing beneath her hands.

For the briefest eternity, Nesta and Cassian share the same mind. They are thinking the exact same thing.

There’s a moment of painful hesitation, where Nesta has the opportunity to pull away. She doesn't take it, and by then it's too late— Cassian’s mouth is on hers.

Oh. Oh.

Nesta buckles a little under the weight of his kiss, but he holds her upright with his grip. His fingers wind so tightly into her braid she worries he might undo the whole thing, but then she's tucking her cold hands into the warmth of his sweater and wow, what a wonderful end to a terrible night.

His lips break from hers for a breath, only to come in again and kiss her deeper this time. A helpless noise escapes from one or both of them. She’s unraveling with every stroke of his tongue, and she thinks distantly that if kisses were flavored, this one would be sweet enough to make her teeth ache.

It's over far too soon, with Cassian’s series of kisses slowing until they stop completely. He pulls back far enough that they both have room to breathe, and with oxygen comes sharp reality.

For once, Nesta has no words. Her thought process is a tape jammed on a few moments ago, so Cassian is the one that has to slowly drop his hands from her hair and clear his throat.

“Let's go home,” is all he says.

***

The drive back to the cabin is silent. Nesta puts her earbuds in and turns on music as soon as they get in the truck, and halfway home Cassian glances over and realizes she's fallen asleep.

His knuckles are white on the steering wheel, and it's a struggle to keep his eyes on the headlight-lit road ahead.

Losing track of Nesta with no way to contact her was one thing, but nothing scared Cassian more than when his eyes caught the metallic glint of broken gold rims in the trampled dirt of the marketplace.

After running from stall to stall searching for Nesta, only one man was able to give Cassian a straight answer. “She was looking at some art and then she went that way,” the old salesman pointed. “She seemed upset; I think she was looking for you.”

The pieces of Nesta's glasses sit in a bag in the backseat now, tucked alongside a canvas painting of an autumn landscape.

The relief Cassian felt when he found her in one piece, when she turned to him with the saddest eyes— he was more cemented in his feelings for her in that moment than in any late night he’d spent dreaming about her.

And when she looked at him like that, fighting not to cry… it was over for him. Weeks of restraint that he hadn't even noticed building up snapped at the last second, until he was kissing Nesta like it was his final dying wish. All of it, utterly over.

He glances over to her now, where she sleeps with her head against the fogged window, exhausted after the day she's had. His hands twitch with the temptation to reach out and touch her.

Gravel crunches as Cassian pulls up into the driveway, and he looks at Nesta again and sighs. He almost goes to wake her, but changes his mind at the last moment and gets out of the car instead. Circling around to the passenger side, he opens the door and carefully lifts her out of her seat.

Her head lolls against his chest, but she doesn't wake. Stress and high emotions have no doubt knocked her out for the rest of the night.

Realizing there's no way to unlock the front door while holding Nesta, Cassian has to circle around to the back of the cabin, entering through the open kitchen door and carrying her on silent feet up the stairs.

Once she's safely tucked in her bed, Cassian can relax his shoulders for the first time all night. Later, he sits down in the half-lit kitchen with Nesta’s broken glasses before him. The frame is split right down the middle, but he already knows Nesta won't allow him to get her a new pair. He’ll need wire and some pliers.

Tying his hair back, he settles down and gets to work.

***

a/n: i'm trying to apologize less for my work but this chapter is not only short and late but also super iffy in terms of writing quality 🥴 so im sorry. if my secret snowflake gift has anything to do with it part 8 will also be a little late (i'm looking for balance guys i really am).

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