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theplotmage · 5 months ago

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50 Fantasy Prompts: Cultures and Societies. Writers Save this!

1. Luminae

- A society that worships light and revolves around bioluminescent creatures.

- Gesture: Raising both hands to the sky and opening palms to signify receiving light.

- View: Light is considered the purest form of energy and the ultimate source of life.

2. Mistral Nomads

- Wind travelers who harness the power of the breeze for navigation and communication.

- Gesture: Whispering into a small vial and releasing it into the wind, symbolizing sending a message.

- View: The wind carries the voices of ancestors and guides the living.

3. Veilwalkers

- Inhabitants of the mist who can see and manipulate spirits.

- Gesture: Drawing a veil across the face to communicate with spirits.

- View: The world of the living and the dead are separated by a thin veil that can be crossed.

4. Starforged

- People born under specific constellations with unique abilities tied to their birth star.

- Gesture: Touching a constellation tattoo to activate its power.

- View: Stars are the eyes of the gods, watching over and guiding them.

5. Shadecloaks

- Masters of shadow magic, living in perpetual twilight.

- Gesture: Merging fingers into the shadows, symbolizing blending into the darkness.

- View: Shadows are protective, hiding them from danger and giving them strength.

6. Seraphians

- Winged beings who consider themselves guardians of the skies.

- Gesture: Unfurling wings in a greeting, showing trust and openness.

- View: The skies are sacred, and flight is a divine gift.

7. Pyrosages

- Fire-wielders who live in harmony with volcanic landscapes.

- Gesture: Holding a flame in one hand while placing the other hand over the heart, symbolizing passion and life.

- View: Fire is a cleansing force, both destructive and renewing.

8. Aquafolk

- Ocean dwellers with the ability to breathe underwater and communicate with marine life.

- Gesture: Creating ripples in water with a fingertip to convey emotions.

- View: Water is a mirror of the soul, reflecting true feelings and intentions.

9. Silvan Elves

- Forest guardians who blend seamlessly with their environment.

- Gesture: Touching foreheads with a leaf, symbolizing unity with nature.

- View: All life is interconnected through the roots of the great tree.

10. Necrochanters

- A culture deeply connected to the afterlife, able to communicate with and summon spirits.

- Gesture: Drawing a circle with ashes to summon spirits.

- View: Death is not the end but a transformation to another state of being.

11. Stonekin

- Rock-like beings who can manipulate earth and stone.

- Gesture: Pressing a hand to the ground to communicate with the earth.

- View: The earth holds ancient wisdom and the memories of their ancestors.

12. Aetherians

- Masters of air magic, capable of floating and flying at will.

- Gesture: Raising arms and fingers to mimic the flow of air currents.

- View: The air is filled with invisible threads that connect all living beings.

13. Chronomancers

- Time-benders who can manipulate past, present, and future.

- Gesture: Tapping a timepiece rhythmically to alter time flow.

- View: Time is fluid and can be molded to fit the needs of the moment.

14. Dreamforgers

- People who can enter and manipulate dreams.

- Gesture: Weaving fingers in intricate patterns while in a trance.

- View: Dreams are a bridge between realities, holding power and prophecy.

15. Sunseekers

- Pilgrims who follow the path of the sun, gaining strength from its light.

- Gesture: Holding a hand above the heart to swear oaths under the sun’s gaze.

- View: The sun’s light is a witness to all promises, giving them sacred weight.

16. Frostborn

- Ice-dwellers with control over cold and frost.

- Gesture: Exhaling a cold breath to signify agreement or truth.

- View: Ice preserves and protects, holding the essence of life.

17. Songhearts

- A musical culture that uses songs and sound for magic.

- Gesture: Placing a hand over the throat and singing a single note to show sincerity.

- View: Music is the language of the heart and the most honest form of communication.

18. Runecarvers

- Inscribers of powerful runes that grant various abilities.

- Gesture: Tracing runes in the air or on surfaces to cast spells.

- View: Runes are the written words of the gods, containing immense power.

19. Stormcallers

- Masters of weather, able to summon and control storms.

- Gesture: Raising a staff to the sky to summon storms.

- View: Storms are the breath of the gods, bringing both fury and renewal.

20. Plainsriders

- Nomadic horsemen known for their speed and agility.

- Gesture: Drawing a circle in the dirt with a foot to mark territory or signal peace.

- View: The open plains are a vast, sacred expanse that must be respected.

21. Mycologians

- Mushroom-like beings who can communicate through spores.

- Gesture: Spreading spores by tapping a mushroom cap to communicate.

- View: Fungi are the bridge between life and decay, recycling energy.

22. Glimmerfolk

- Glittering, gem-encrusted people who can harness the power of precious stones.

- Gesture: Touching gemstones to channel their energy.

- View: Crystals are vessels of ancient power and knowledge.

23. Thornclad

- A warrior culture clad in thorny armor, known for their fierce combat skills.

- Gesture: Clasping hands with thorned gloves to signify a bond or agreement.

- View: Pain and resilience are intertwined, symbolizing strength.

24. Celestials

- Star-born beings with a deep connection to the cosmos.

- Gesture: Drawing constellations in the air with glowing fingers.

- View: The night sky is a map of destiny, guiding their every action.

25. Inkshapers

- People who can bring drawings and tattoos to life.

- Gesture: Drawing a symbol on their skin to activate a spell.

- View: Ink and art are extensions of the soul, capable of bringing thoughts to life.

26. Mirageweavers

- Desert dwellers who can create illusions and mirages.

- Gesture: Waving hands to create illusions and mirages.

- View: Reality is fluid and can be shaped by perception and will.

27. Echoers

- A culture that communicates and fights using echoes and soundwaves.

- Gesture: Clapping or snapping fingers to create soundwaves for communication.

- View: Sound is a powerful force that can shape the world around them.

28. Ironveins

- Metal manipulators who can shape and control metal at will.

- Gesture: Clenching fists to channel metal manipulation.

- View: Metal is a living force, constantly evolving and reacting.

29. Wyrmkin

- Dragon-like people with scales and the ability to breathe fire.

- Gesture: Exhaling a plume of smoke or fire to show respect or power.

- View: Dragons are the ultimate beings, embodying wisdom and might.

30. Duskborn

- Night-dwellers who gain strength from the moon.

- Gesture: Holding a candle to their chest, symbolizing the light within the darkness.

- View: Darkness is not to be feared, but embraced as a part of the natural cycle.

31. Crystalhearts

- A society with crystalline bodies that can refract light and energy.

- Gesture: Touching their heart crystal to show honesty and purity.

- View: Crystals are the heart of their being, reflecting their true selves.

32. Skyforgers

- Builders of floating cities and airships.

- Gesture: Hammering an invisible anvil to craft objects from thin air.

- View: The sky is a forge, and they are its smiths, creating wonders from the air.

33. Leafkin

- Plant-based beings who can photosynthesize and communicate with flora.

- Gesture: Placing a leaf in the palm to connect with nature.

- View: Leaves and trees are the lifeblood of the earth, nourishing all.

34. Sandshapers

- Desert people who can control and shape sand.

- Gesture: Drawing patterns in the sand to communicate or cast spells.

- View: Sand is a canvas for their magic, constantly shifting and changing.

35. Moonshadow Elves

- Elves who live in the shadows of the moon, skilled in stealth and night magic.

- Gesture: Casting moonlight on their face to invoke lunar power.

- View: The moon is a guide and protector, influencing their magic and lives.

36. Bloodrunes

- Warriors who use their own blood to inscribe powerful runes.

- Gesture: Pricking a finger to draw blood and create runes.

- View: Blood is the essence of life, and through it, they gain power.

37. Dreambinders

- People who can link their dreams to reality.

- Gesture: Twining fingers together to weave dreams into reality.

- View: Dreams are powerful forces that can shape and change the world.

38. Thunderclans

- Tribes who worship and control thunder and lightning.

- Gesture: Stamping feet or clapping hands to summon thunder.

- View: Thunder is the voice of the gods, a call to action and power.

39. Feywilders

- Inhabitants of the fey realm with unpredictable and chaotic magic.

- Gesture: Dancing in a circle to invoke fey magic.

- View: The fey are mischievous yet powerful, their magic a blend of chaos and beauty.

40. Mirrorborn

- People who can step through and manipulate mirrors.

- Gesture: Touching mirrors to travel or communicate.

- View: Mirrors are portals to other realities, reflecting infinite possibilities.

41. Wispwalkers

- Ethereal beings who guide lost souls.

- Gesture: Holding a wisp of light to guide lost souls.

- View: Wisps are guides and protectors, leading them through darkness.

42. Frostweavers

- Ice artisans who create intricate and magical ice sculptures.

- Gesture: Weaving ice crystals into intricate patterns.

- View: Ice is a delicate and beautiful force, capable of great power.

43. Starwardens

- Celestial knights who protect the realms from cosmic threats.

- Gesture: Drawing star maps in the air to invoke celestial power.

- View: The stars are guardians, watching over and protecting them.

44. Emberkin

- Fire-dwellers with control over embers and ash.

- Gesture: Snapping fingers to produce sparks and embers.

- View: Embers hold the remnants of fire’s spirit, representing both the end and beginning of the flame.

45. Oceanborne

- Sea nomads who can control the tides and waves.

- Gesture: Drawing water symbols in the air to summon sea spirits.

- View: The sea is a vast, living entity, a source of mystery and power.

46. Windwhisperer

- Communicators with the wind, able to send messages across great distances.

- View: The sky is a living entity, responsive to the voices of those who respect it.

- Gesture: Moving gracefully to mimic the flow of the wind.

47. Etherseekers

- Gesture: Holding out their hands to draw ether into themselves.

- View: The ether is a vast reservoir of magic, accessible to those who seek it.

48. Twilight Guardians:

- Gesture: Holding a lantern to light the way through twilight.

- View: Twilight is a sacred time, a bridge between day and night.

49. Windwalkers

- Gesture: Moving gracefully to mimic the flow of the wind.

- View: The wind is a messenger of the gods, carrying whispers of destiny and change.

50. Eclipsewatchers

-Gesture: Covering one eye while the other remains open to signify balance

- View: Eclipses represent the merging of light and dark, a time of balance and reflection.

1K notes · View notes

kooyabooya · 30 days ago

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LUTHER

m reader x lia // 4k words

It’s a silly rational thought, but common knowledge nonetheless:

You are madly in love with Choi Jisu.

Not even the strands of time could weave a better, clichè story of what’s already been set in stone; or the countless times Lia has made herself home in the throes of your hideaway from the world, every new story and encounter with it’s twist through each shared moment.

Sure, there’s a lot of instances that you and her can recall back on, so let’s gloss over a few:

The first time you invited her presence was for a study session. You insisted that the spaghetti tasted good until realizing that the pesto had expired by three weeks - where she had to stay over for the night unintentionally because you couldn’t even manage to get up to the bathroom. Though, one ice pack to the forehead and the magnetizing hug was more than enough for you to ignore the fact she snagged your lacrosse team hoodie as for her keepsake - hood drawn up and pooling her raven locks to the sides of her face, the hems covering her most of her hand but her fingers exposed - you can’t deny that she looked comfy.

Among the other times, you’re just in your apartment, serenading her with your okay-but-presentable piano skills of covers from her favorite movies. (She had to make you hers when you played La La Land but it sealed the deal.) Not long after that, some of her things start to make their way into your place: the violin case, the scent of cherry blossoms spreading from room to room, and the collection of vinyls hung up in the living room. You don’t complain. There wasn’t a point in saying anything. Lia would disappear from your peripheral for a few minutes and come back with her cropped black tee and your pair of oversized sweats that cover her toes. So yeah, there's no point in drawing up a complaint.

It’s all in the little moments; living within these four walls - filled with memories and moments that you don’t want the rest of the world to see, her on your lap while you’re dealing with deliverables and other times where she’s bringing food for you and her to share. That’s usually how this all goes. Some of the tasks get completed, then you tab out to see what else is left to do, and Lia waltzes in terrorizing the productivity bubble. She doesn’t care because she knows what the fuck she’s doing: cocoa butter hair in messy waves, fixing the watch on her wrist, talking about her schedule for the day. Doing her wasn’t on the to-do list, but was heavily implied, considering the fact you saw her up with nothing but your sweats while making breakfast.

Technically speaking from common knowledge:

This isn’t the first time you’ve seen Lia in your clothes.

You could conjure up all the thoughts in your mind as to why you liked seeing her that way.

–

If you’re being completely honest with yourself, it’s always a wonderful sight to see.

Morning sunlight beams through the curtains as she walks past the open doorway; the highlights alone are trapped in this mixture of honey gold and coffee brown, presenting itself like a Renaissance painting coming to life. One second your vision focuses on the blurry silhouette, the next your eyes are greeted with a fever dream, blessing and inviting all the same.

You’re pinching yourself mentally - just to check - and yes, it is most definitely not a dream. Her eyes stay on you, shifting yourself up until you’re against the headboard of your bed, soaking the image of her: perfectly colored with those dirt-colored eyes and rose-tinted cheeks, radiating so brightly that the worry of drying up your eyes comes as a second thought.

There’s nothing new about this: just the usual lazy Saturday mornings you’ve shared with her.

She sighs so beautifully, having no care in the world. The flutter of her eyelashes is so seamless when her arms are raised up over her head, stretching out the stiffness of those springy limbs and muscles.

You’ve spent countless days, hours, nights even, to piece it all together in everything that revolves around Lia. From the mannerisms and tone she uses with others the readable expressions just by the small quirk of her lip or flared nostrils. Lia proudly wore her heart on her sleeve. You learned right away: a bit overwhelming was the coined phrase you proclaimed. Building each other up where others fell a little behind in: always thinking ahead, taking all of the things into consideration; and Lia was in the same headspace as you, strategizing wherever she saw fit.

But it didn’t take much for you to conclude on the fact that confidence was a weakness.

She was flooding in it, wherever she went. Whatever she wanted, she would get. If things didn’t go her way, she accepted it fully. She’ll happily walk past the open door held by you - not as an expectation, but as one of the many things you’d put an effort into. When you take her out for a date, she’ll show up outside your workplace and return the favor. You snuggle your face deeper into the pillows on a lazy day; because you know that she’s not far, either close by or already up to start the day.

As if the heavens parted the clouds for you after a gloomy day riddled with darkness, you’re pretty sure the same effect is applied here.

She’s in your hoodie (as always). However that doesn’t stop the unveiling of skin little by little the more she does these morning stretches, the fabric at the waistline lifted up to where you see her hips, cast in the cotton of her underwear. You can picture yourself thumbing away at the surface, at the ends where the threads don’t meet, cup your palms shamelessly around the plush of her ass, or even watch her slip on a pair of your pajama pants with her backside blatantly pointed towards your direction.

Okay, she knows what she’s doing. You’ve been in this position for over three years, and you’re still finding out new things to discover.

She clears her throat once she turns around.

“What’s on your mind right now?”

You lean your head back when Lia starts to shuffle herself back onto the bed, hands and legs moving until she finally settles her bearings, straddling your hips.

“Not work, obviously,” you answer, feeling her palms on your face as she tips her head, studying. “I just don’t wanna get out of bed just yet.”

“Funny,” Lia laughs, slipping her fingers behind your neck, “I was just thinking the same thing.”

“Pretty weird, isn’t it? It’s like we share half of a brain.”

“Except when you were drooling over me a second ago.”

“How could I not?” you muse, darting your eyes away, feeling your face get warmer. “If anything, you bent your ass over for me to see on purpose.”

She tilts her head, and quirks her lips near a grin, she doesn’t need to give you an explanation.

You’re speaking your truth for her.

Her hips press down on your groin, curling her fingers into the ends of your hair, feeling you squirm in the slight change of pressure. “You don’t have to be shy,” voice low and gentle, “I know you, you’re enjoying this.” You see her hand pull the hem of the hoodie upwards, revealing more and more of her waist - ghosting your hands at the uncovered skin; amidst the grey, you’re fighting to urge to pierce the veil, get your palms full of skin and feel and touch up like she wants you to.

“What do you suggest I do, hm?” You ask Lia, tone flat. “Nothing?” Playing on the backfoot in this wasn’t the ideal scenario, but you’re doing what you can to be literal and indirect, “Because I was hoping that you wouldn’t notice.”

But you see: all of that could’ve been plausible if you didn’t sit up on the bed in the first place.

You’re mapping out her face in the back of your mind, imagining the hands wandering all over her legs and hips and waist - admiring the bodywork and fine planes of porcelain, all within arm's reach.

Her breath grazes your cheek, practically turning you to stone. Some thoughts are present in your mind; you’re not sure. The only thing filling your senses was the scent of wintergreen.

Her palm lightly presses into your cheekbone, leaning in for a kiss, but stopping herself by mere centimeters.

Fills the space between the mouths, saying: “I was hoping that you’d do something about it.”

Oh, she knows what the fuck she’s doing.

Lia has kissed you like- countless times. There’s the sweet ones, the ones where you’re both smiling into each other’s faces, the ones where you think time stands still for a few moments, the kinds where you’ve got a bubble entrapping you two, and so much more. All of them have their meanings behind them, but they make you melt all the same.

You could feel her hands roam around your body, legs pressing your hips on opposite ends; every smack and inhale is followed up with a low rumble at the throat, hands shifting up from her waist up to her chest; her forehead pressed against yours, clutching her shoulder blades, keeping her place - she has your full attention now.

A swipe of the thumb across her nipple, then a pinch. The hoodie rucks up higher on her body.

Her arms come into play, speeding up the process of cotton being discarded.

Lia is your block of marble - waiting to be molded and chiseled and chipped away - crafted by yours truly where you’ll get on your knees in adoration and give your reverence as you proffer your lips and tongue all over her body.

She’s so easy to gratify - the way that her sighs and moans mesh into one sound or another, feeling the heat rise in her body. You can tell she’s trying to hold back, murmuring in tongues. Like she’s showing but not telling: I need you baby. I need, I need, I need, I need, I need-

It’s like you - all of you - is oxygen to her, giving her life where she would die if she didn’t have enough. It’s never enough, and you know this. In the cosmos that lie behind those melted shades of sable, glassy, and an ever-growing pit of blackness, where you could see yourself falling into them time and time again because they were only exclusive to you. A forgotten light, an eternal flame, you catch yourself face to face with it once more.

The flush of light crimson makes its presence known across Lia’s face: a response to your touch, one that she simply can’t ignore.

You could feel the dampness of her panties lightly settle on the bulge of your underwear, hear her breath hitch just the slightest, all the while her hips grind against yours.

“Yeah,” she hushes, a sultry smile spread across her lips. “You prefer this over the usual caffeine.”

She laughs softly when you groan into her neck, her arms coiling around your neck and shoulders, tightening the noose. Your hand slithers past her lower back, fingers grazing the lace and sliding underneath the uncovered skin. “Always,” you tell her, looking up while she scratches the back of your head: your one of three weaknesses.

Lia then leans away, crosses her hands at her waist, gripping the hoodie.

When she lifts it- that image becomes your second weakness.

You keep looking without hesitation; the fine line of her shoulders, the blotches of red and pink across the canvas, deliciously sweet. Her breasts supple, but have a firmness to them (a guilty pleasure, you’ll admit); she runs her nails across those mounds because she knows that you’ll get your hands full of them soon, get greedy enough to forget about the rest.

“Aw, what’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” she asks with a coo. Then, gets her thumb and index underneath your chin, tilting your gaze up. “You’ve gone quiet.”

“Were you always this cute?” you muse.

“You know me.”

“Allow me to rephrase,” you’re backtracking, because you just want to hear it yourself. “Were you always this sexy?”

That earns you a firm grind against your length.

And now, she’s laying it down for real: “I’ll make you shut up if that’s what you want.”

–

Here’s weakness number three:

Lia has your legs spread apart, laying on her stomach, tracing a finger along the grooves and veins of your cock, mesmerized at the mere taste of your balls across her tongue. You’ve got your deal in, grinding her sopping folds along your shaft just as a tease - a preamble. Her hair’s tied up in a loose ponytail as she makes her way up the length, pouting her lips at the tip - anticipating the image of your cockhead sealed around her pretty little mouth - how to suck the air out of your lungs with just one swift motion - she’ll relish the moment, savor it - make you forget all of your worries with one decent.

She has you wrapped around the palm of her hand, literally. And somehow, it feels like you were meant to be-

You could feel the graze of her teeth the more she takes you in, the subtle leitmotif of her humming the more you feel her mouth all over, creating a pantomime of dancing and singing along your length, bringing out all the things that make you speechless.

It’s when she has you like this, where everything just feels right.

“Good?” you could hear her say, but her cheek is bulging with your cock up inside where the sound comes less coherent, but those eyes implicate the message regardless.

“Fuck,” you rasp, feeling her teeth graze just right beneath the tip. She’s got you good. She always has.

You’ve got the rough schematic drawn up in your brain. Testing the waters with a gentle thrust of your hips, shoving her head down deeper where she can struggle just a bit. It won’t take you much to make you cum like this. You imagine her saying - all she needs is to soften you up and next thing you know her palms are sliding down from your chest to your thighs. The gentle cup of your balls in her other hand, puts your length in the prime position to fit you in her throat.

She purses her lips forward, trying to cover the base. It’s cute that she can try, but she makes up for it by flicking her tongue on the underside - at the seam - and yeah, your head hits the board behind you.

Lia is the only one who could practically kill you and give you a second chance at redemption.

Knowing that you’ll take that second chance to return the favor properly.

But this is her turn in the chess match. You actually can’t do anything about it.

She crosses her ankles up in the air, sinks her head between your legs again, maintaining tempo. Her hands come into play, doing all kinds of combinations with her mouth and tongue, lapping up the mix of spit and precum.

You are going to lay there and watch.

Her eyes flooded with determination.

Your cock in my mouth, my hands.

The slide of her mouth is addicting.

Try your hardest not to cum.

She’s fucking unreal.

And not even that-

“I want more spit.” Lia declares, both hands on you now, jerking shamelessly with the classic motion that makes you paralyzed from the waist down. Her knees dig deeper into the mattress, raising her body, head now hovering over your cock.

“Go ahead,” you grit, smiling. A moment of grace - to breathe; you know where she’s leading with this. “I’d love to see you try.”

That phrase alone would be your undoing.

Lia puts you right back into her mouth, with no regard for keeping it lighthearted and casual. The grip in her hair becomes a lot tighter, flexing your hips up while her tongue becomes flatter. You’re biting down a curse spilling from your lips, ears focusing on the unholy sounds coming from Lia instead.

She’s not playing around now - mouth slipping and sliding, humming and moving her head in the many ways where you’ve seen your vision turn white before.

You can’t keep this up for any longer.

The head down, head up, the shimmying of her head, puffing her cheeks, cock slathered and wetter by the second-

You pull yourself away, throbbing. The pop of her mouth and gasp is all that she’s left with.

“Hey,” she says, “you weren’t supposed to do that.”

Her ponytail comes undone while the tip of your tongue is caught between your teeth.

All you give her anyway is: “Oops.”

She throws herself onto you, hoping to catch you off guard, but you were ready. Her lips capture yours, wanting to clean up the mess she made over your cock just now, each lick and smack becoming more and more careless in every liplock.

Your hands find her waist while Lia also looks down at the action. “Need to do something about that, don’t we?” She tells you, grabbing your length and dipping your head into her cunt, making both of you groan in unison. “Fuck-”

“Lia, watch yourself,” you huff, jaw slacking when she slides herself in properly this time; the tightness and heat already washing over you while Lia shifts her panties more to the side. “Okay, holy shit girl.”

To keep your mind off of the unrelenting pressure of her cunt wrapped around your dick, you’re leaving chaste kisses across her chest yet again, feeling her fingers card through your hair and dig into your scalp, the shimmy of her pussy finally stopping once she bottoms you out.

She’s laying it out for you again: “You’re gonna fuck my brains out now, okay handsome?”

Your response is in tandem with her breathless state: “Oh, with pleasure.”

The girl just takes and takes and takes. You could feel her smile on top of your forehead when you feel up her breast, slide your hand down her waist, grip her petite ass while she slams her hips back down on your cock.

You’re gripping wherever you can: her waist, her hips, her ass. Any place where you can fuck around with the vice for as much as possible, fucking her senseless like she worked you up to be.

It’s in the forward-back, the up-down. Her ass isn’t kind to your balls when she’s riding along your length.

This was the best way to wake up in the morning.

Lia’s happily bouncing along on your lap - with you trying to keep up with the pulling of your neck, the tugs in your hair, holding her still where you got your cock at the angle to bring it to her cunt’s hottest, molten spot.

She’s so tight, you conclude, that evidence is pretty natural in itself. You love it so much when she’s not making any sense in her words, only plugging up her pussy in the only way you know how-

“Want it,” she whispers, a profession: “inside, please.”

You’re holding her so close, keeping her in place. It’s a one-way ticket to paradise that you’ll take no matter what; the unraveling - so lethal, and an absolute certainty. The bruises are starting to form along the crease of her legs and hips-

You’re laying it out for her now: “I’m cumming.”

Pumping her full, riding out her orgasm. Everything made sense for Lia in that instant.

Strings of cum painting along her slick walls, claiming the last threads for herself - because that’s how it all goes. You’re shuddering, live wire still reactive, hungry for more as the pulsing starts to die down; slowly, lethargically.

A few beats later-

“Fucking Christ, Lia-”

She laps your cock on the bathroom floor; face painted and splattered in ribbons of white, back against the door as the mat at your feet tries its hardest to not slide against the tile.

She licks up the mess while humming gleefully, looks up at you in sweet and treacherous innocence.

She looks down at the cum dripping down her chest, her waist, and even the spread of slick all over her inner thighs-

You don’t mind lazy mornings like these.

(To contradict yourself: they’re never lazy.)

–

The place gets filled up once again with Lia’s honey-saccharine voice, coming out of the hallway with a towel draped over her shoulders.

You give her a look: the same one where no words need to be said to describe the moment - because it’s a look that she’s seen multiple times - and she can easily read your mind.

The look of love. You have it. And so does she.

Lia later rambles on at the dining table about her recent outings and extravaganza's with Yeji or Yuna, fingers underneath her chin and swirling a spoon around her cup of tea. She looks at you with so much attention, eyes shimmering and nodding along while the morning light starts to creep through the window of your living room. You feed her an apple slice to make sure she’s not bored - she loves that.

In moments like these, you’re thankful that it’s shared with her. From her arms bracketing your hips while you clean the dishes, to piggybacking her back to your room, make her land on her back while she laughs and playfully whines like a kid. You shake your head because any response you say will always get brushed off by her.

It really doesn’t matter what’s being brought up, since things just flow that way so well you don’t even have a second thought after.

“You really went at it with me earlier,” she tells you. “Care to explain why?”

“Well,” you’re grinning cheekily, hand to the back of your head, “Didn’t have time to relieve myself in the past week so-”

“Uh-huh.”

“Guilty.” you finally amend.

Lia knows the best parts about you; knows exactly how and where to apply the pressure in the points you’re most vulnerable at. She’s got her fingers and knuckles in every little nook and cranny in your brain. It’s impossible to fight against.

You could say you’ve got the same regard for her too.

She’s sweet, witty, cocky when it counts, well knowledgeable, and has these sparkles in her eyes where you don’t mind stargazing for hours on end. The overall vibe she presents is so cozy, embracing you to a point where you’d be happy to settle and fall asleep in her arms because you can.

There's no place she would rather be than in your arms, feet on top of yours, slowly dancing even if there isn’t any music playing.

Another tender moment shared: you’ll take it for a keepsake, knowing more of those will come along the way.

Nothing more wholesome could ever be like this: the gentle nose bumps, shared smiles, the quick kisses in each others’ ears. It’s straight out of a classic romance novel or movie -or, even when you’re imagining it’s just the two of you center stage at a jazz club and the band’s playing a slow ballad.

Cheek to cheek you are with Choi Jisu - you’ll want to hold her close for eternity.

“Wanna stay inside for today?”

(Here, you’re probably laughing because Lia was already a homebody, so it’s pretty ironic.)

“We’re already here, so why not?”

#itzy smut #lia smut #kpop smut #male reader smut #kpop x male reader #itzy lia #itzy lia smut #kpop fanfic

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wyvernest · 6 months ago

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cregan stark x f!targaryen!reader

previous part - next part - first part | all chapters list

>>Queen Rhaenyra has sent you away from the brewing war to safety since your brother, Jacaerys, has secured the Pact of Ice and Fire. You have to honor it by marrying Lord Cregan Stark, Warden of the North.

chapter cw: sex in the hot springs, so smut, fluff, piv, two positions?, a bit of chasing as primal play, breeding kink

His thick arms hold you with undeniable ardour. The steam fuming from the waters in misty ribbons do little to clear your head, as your lord husband peppers the sensitive skin below your ear with kisses full of want.

One of your legs curls up around his own, as if on instinct; a seemingly romantic yet primal instinct of silently allowing him to have you. Your breathing only deepens when you feel the coarse hair on his leg, as if the embrace did not already bring your bare breasts against him, and every patch of your shivery skin under his touch.

Even with the clear ripples of the water, you sense something against your hip, and the breath leaving your lungs gets caught on a moan on its way out.

“My dear wife.” He mumbles with sincere infatuation, as your hands escape his hold and run down his massive shoulders.

“Wasn’t I to be less easy, Lord Stark?” You tease, with barely half a breathy voice, and he visibly tenses in pride at the name.

He stops, and when he moves his head away from your neck to look at you, you nearly regret even speaking as the reminiscence of his heated touch burns needily above your clavicle.

“You are anything but.” His tone is low and intimate, and it has your insides twisting and turning in anticipation. You wanted to have him fight for it, as late as it was. Though you are now unsure of how much longer you could bear it yourself. “Did you have a change of heart?”

“No.” Your answer shoots out fast, contrary to your desire to play a different game. “I only wish to relish this for longer.”

The slight twitch of his features when you clarify your intentions strikes a lighting into your already boiling blood; the twitch of a wolf whose prey evaded his swiftest attack. He knows she can’t run forever, but the hunt weaves frustration and eagerness on his face nonetheless. He accepts and loosens his possessive hold, though his eyes betray his thoughts.

A hunger so profound and restless darkens his gaze, and you almost want him to have refused your little diversion. To have taken you however he pleased, tell you that you’ll be the most perfect mother for his pups and show you what it truly meant to belong to a northerner.

But alas, you drift away into the crystalline pond, and even the smouldering waters feel colder without his skin on yours.

Your giggle bounces off the cave walls with an echo so sweet to his ears that you thought for a moment he may pounce on you and end the wait. But he remained restrained, slowly following you further behind stalagmites.

Luring him further deep into the springs, you twist and turn in the rippling waters from moment to moment just to gaze at him, just to see more and more of him; the way he carefully got up to freeze the image of you swimming naked in his mind. You watch the droplets run down his stomach, the shine of the dimly lit cave mirrored in his irises.

“You have such beautiful eyes, lover.”

“Lover.” He retorts, his tone almost a threat. “Nigh yours they’re naught but stones beneath frostfires.”

You blush at the deftness of his compliment.

“Though winter blooms only ever endure if they grow in the shadow of stout stones. There is more beauty in living to defend than in living to survive.” You declare, still backing away, intimidated but enticed by his stalking pace approaching you.

He smiles, distracted by your cleverness.

“We must be perfect for eachother then.”

He leaps with no warning, wanting to entrap you back in his arms. You avoid his swift hands only with the merit of water slowing him down. As he catches his balance, you push yourself onto your elbows on the edge of the pond, coming to raise to your feet in front of him.

It is the first time he truly sees you, no turned back, no waves or foam to veil you. His eyes rake across your body shamelessly, a reminder of how you’re his. The air, however steamy, hits you with the slightest cold gust, and your skin prickles with goosebumps, nipples hardening as your skin weeps with a sheer shroud of damp varnish; a statue of beauty and desire.

You ought to feel at the very least timid under his hungry gaze, but you don’t. You feel wanted, adored by his expression alone, and near want and adoration there is no place for coyness. You feel precious and pure, so that you offer yourself to him, allow him to touch you for he has earned it.

The sense of great importance yet dissolves quickly as he, too, rises from the waters, seemingly reaching for his prize. You don’t wait to see him entirely because if you did, you would have seen him at the cost of your freedom.

With a leap and a giddy scream, you sprint through the cave to evade him. Your heart thumps too fast for you to even have the courage to look behind, though you hear the water splashing violently in your wake. You decide to dive back into the pond and hide into a crevice.

You can only hear your rash breathing as you search around the rocky shores for him.

Suvion’s back horns twitch in his sleep, slightly disturbed by your raucous play, but nonetheless calm.

Strong arms curl around your middle, not tight enough to hurt and not loose enough for you to fight back. With a yelp, you give in and settle back against his chest, turning your head just enough to see his face. His erection brushes up your thigh, and you lose all willingness to delay.

“A man can only be so strong.” He adjusts his hold, keeping one arm around you, moving your hair from your neck with his other hand, baring the skin above your shoulder. “- when his pretty lady wife gets all naked and wet and dances around him so happily just to drive him mad.”

You feel his hot breath over your pulse.

“Do you enjoy seeing my need get so dire, flower?”

“I do.”

“Then it seems I have awfully neglected my duties as husband. I might just have to remind you that you haven’t wed some craven southern lord who doesn’t have the guts to take what is his when he wants it.”

You arch back slowly, feeling him up. He places a firm hand on your shoulder and pushes you into a more manageable position, taking you by surprise. You try to brace yourself with your palms on any stone you could find, while his own hands ride down your back, stopping at your hips to grip the supple flesh of your arse.

A pleasured gasp fills your lungs as Cregan brings his hard cock to rub on your tender flower. He groans at the feeling, teasing you so close yet so far from pleasure.

As your own hips begin to move in sync with his, chasing the promised intrusion, one of his hands roams your belly, your waist, his warm, calloused palm setting your skin aflame in its wake. His fingers reach the underside of your right breast, and your breathing stops; as if you’re afraid any more movement might dismiss his touch.

“Cregan.”

His palm remains on your ribs, and your whole being silently begs for him to continue.

“Don’t fret, I’m not leaving your side, wife. This is for your own good.”

“I don’t --” Your protest is cut short as both his hands reach your breasts, fondling firmly.

Your body feels inexplicably light and soft in his arms as he lifts your torso back against his chest, his large, rough hands not once breaking away from your tits. You’re cornered, at his will.

His mouth finds your neck, licking and biting away as you resume his motions where he stopped, pushing your ass into his groin and asking him in the most primal ways to take you at once.

“I cannot wait to see you heavy with child.” He caresses your lower belly, and you feel his cock twitch between your thighs in excitement at the thought. “Do you want that, my love?”

“Of course I do - ” You confess with a trembling, quiet moan.

“Say it, then, wife.” He interrupts, clearly overrun with heat and desire.

“I want – ah” He kisses down your neck, one of his hands leaving your breasts to slide his fingers over the petals of your cunt. He hums approvingly, bringing the head of his cock to your core. You’re soaked in more ways than one. “ - I want your babes, please, Cregan, you- ”

You mewl as he pushes in, the water splashing right above your knees. Pleasure shifts into pain and pain into pleasure as he takes your maidenhood, mounting you with a bruising hold on your waist. He groans with you, his breathing laboured. At a particularly sharp sting, you whimper, making him stop to plant a kiss on your shoulder blade. You can’t move, you can’t think of anything but him, the scent of him, the sounds that escape straight from his throat, his warm hands on you.

An echo of his guttural groans makes you clench around him, making him halt right before he could bottom out. You feel him up in your guts, though his girth stings worst.

He pushes you forward again, a hand on your neck and another providing leverage on your hip. Giving a few well measured thrusts, he starts to properly move. Your back arched for him, thighs parting, your essence coating his cock like you were made to take his seed.

Your own moans spur him on as he quickly finds his pace, relentless and steady. His heavy balls slam against your sensitive bundle of nerves, drawing your breaths out with every lunge of his hips into your behind.

“Fuck, I want to see you. Ugh, I want to-” He grunts, drawing his still hard cock out of your cunt with a pained curse, your own insides squeezing him on his way out.

You yelp as he picks you up the way he picked you up on the way back from the Weirwood tree on your wedding night, taking you out of the warm waters and walking over to his discarded furs on the cave floor.

The air is suddenly brisk on your damp skin, but your husband is quick to climb on top of you and shield you from the cold with his own body heat.

He gazes at you with such wonder and adoration in his eyes you, for a mere moment, swear you could faint from it all. When lust seeps back into his pupils you don’t fail to notice, his lips finding yours in a messy, wet kiss. You sigh into it to catch the breath you still haven’t found since he left you, he breaks it to groan as he grabs himself in his hand to re-enter you.

You both gasp, forehead to forehead as you meet again, his cock twitching as he once again pushes through your vestal resistance. When he begins to pound, you curl your legs around his hips and tangle your hands in his dark hair.

A sweet cacophony of conjoined sighs and groans reverberates into the cave walls, ever so slightly eclipsed by the waterfalls. With every thrust you start to climb towards your peak, and with every one of your “Cregan!”, “Yes, yes, yes, don’t stop!” he grows closer to his own.

Your own little death finds you as he presses his lips to the sensitive trails he’d found on your neck before biting down to muffle his own pleasure. He pushes in with a few final lunges, and you feel his cock pulsate and release his seed.

You suddenly grow insanely hot as you come down, though you don’t hesitate to snuggle at his side on the soft furs as he drops beside you panting and dragging your smaller frame with him.

“It took, lover.” You break the silence, speaking into his neck.

He turns to you, pleased and interested.

“I know it did.” You explain, smiling up at him. “I know it.”

“Even if it didn’t, we have plenty of time to try, flower.”

a/n if i missed tags sorry guys also will soon show u suvion<3

tags:

@ohsnapitzmarvelficrec @crypticlxrsh @louiselouve @karmaswitch @just-pure-trash @yujyujj @cost234 @dracaryxzs @cherrymallowtm @lady-targaryens-world @lightdragonrayne @krokietino @sukunassfinger @ithilwen-blackwood @rey26 @beebeechaos @melsunshine @aemondwhoresworld @romeavecryst @raynetargaryan2 @fireandblood-mharmie @mitski9328373 @drwho-ess @dorkysupernova @nitimurinvetitumsposts @ghitakhnifissa @darylspersonalwhore @helo1281917 @delaynew @poochies04 @accidentpronedork @fiction-fanfic-reader @rha3nyra @wallacewillow0773638 @star-serpent @potionsclub @moadvx @jellybeanstacey0519 @italianchameleon @ephemeralninon @sithapprentice @cloveradora @hawkins-2000 @thatspiderwebinthecorner @wolvestitches @idohknow @nyxbranwenn @asteria33 @nina6708 @r-3dlips

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utterlyotterlyx · 9 months ago

Text

The Girl Who Cheated Death

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary - There was no one in any universe who would dare to approach you without fear, that is until you meet a certain Shadowsinger. Once stone cold and vicious in your own right, you soon come to realise that perhaps all it takes is a pretty male with hazel eyes to set you free.

Warnings - kinda dark reader, stone cold, lots of sass, swearing, drinking, mentions of physical abuse, mentions of trauma, some subtle sexual tension, everyone being afraid of the reader because she's giving death vibes x

Word Count - 8.9k

Physical descriptions are present in this fic.

Based on this ask! Thank you @cleverzonkwombatsludge for the request 🫶🏻

"Can I offer some criticism?"

"If it's constructive..."

"You're an idiot," the unwinding braid at your side loosened more with each twist of your fingers, and to your right, through the reflection of the recently polished vanity mirror stood Amren, your closest friend that you had gained when you had first moved to the Night Court one hundred years ago.

It had been no accident that you and Amren had met, in fact, she had been the one to seek you out after a rather intriguing show you had directed at Rita's. Amren watched man after man almost break their necks to look at you, the most beautiful resident of the Night Court, and in all of Prythian. Hair that reminded Amren of a black widow swayed behind you in perfectly loose curls, it was sinfully dark and shone in the faelight, shimmering so brilliantly that Amren had thought that threads of silken web were weaved between each glossy black strand.

Amren also remembered the dress you had worn, it was short and tight, the fabric hugged every curve of your body and kissed the thighs that were connected to those incredible taut calves. If looks could kill then the Night Court would certainly fall to its knees.

It wasn't what you looked like that caught Amren's attention, however. It was the way that every single person in that room shrunk away from your stare, a stone iced glare that was void of any life, all that lay in them was ire and boredom, which quite perfectly summed up what you felt about life in general.

The firedrake sought you out, coming by the gallery you had opened in the city which held an array of carefully collected artworks and mysteriously rare antiques, just to get a glimpse of you, to see the one who had been the first to pique her eye in centuries. Amren had not been disappointed by you. There was something about the way you carried yourself that attracted her to your aura, the perfect posture and slightly hooded eyelids that encased walnut orbs that glimmered gold in the sun. That wasn't all, no, it was also the way you spoke, so sultry and dark, but there was a certain elegance your words. A siren luring souls to the darkest depths of the ocean floor.

Rhys had once suggested that you'd never truly age considering you never smiled. That had earned him a rare small quirk of your lip, and he considered it to be his greatest achievement of his life to date.

It had made sense that the Night Court had been the place where you had chosen to settle, it had moulded very well with you, to the point where Day had become an infantile dream that was floating away in your subconscious. Forgotten.

Despite being a collector of sorts, Amren had soon found out just how far your talented talons stretched, you were incredibly well versed in old dialects, ancient symbols and traditions, a talent that Rhys had soon asked Amren to take advantage of since he was too afraid of you to ask you for aid himself.

Seemed as though the terrifying High Lord of the Night Court was actually scared of something.

"How exactly am I an idiot?" Amren enquired with darkened orbs that kept on glancing downward to the scars that littered the bare spine from the licks of Illyrian whips. They were slightly raised and pallid in comparison to the rest of your healthy glowing hue.

Untethering the last of your braid, you ran your nails over your scalp and pulled slightly, shivering at the relief that surged through you as your hair fell unbound down your spine. All the taut tension in your body quickly evaporated. Silently, you turned on your seat to face your friend, "You're asking me to revamp my evil lair to make it more welcoming for your odd little family," you said incredulously and unblinking, "You're an idiot."

Amren wasn't exactly asking you to make your own home more appeasing to the Inner Circle, she simply meant the private office that Rhys had bestowed to you for whenever he needed your help with something, and it had become a place that you frequented often. It was located in the library of the House of Wind so that your nimble fingers had access to all of the books and ancient texts they needed.

The only settling thing about that office was the view of the golden valley of Velaris, of the snow-capped mountains that loomed to the north. Everything else filled any resident with dread. Tall well-loved candles were scattered about the space, cloths stained with millennia old text hung from the ceilings, tomes lay splayed open on the desk and centre table, each depicting some form of terror. To you, your work was fascinating, studying the origins of evil and all of its forms, to others it was petrifying.

It wasn't odd to find the firedrake confined in your apartment, whether you be with her or not, glass of red in hand and reading some sort of research text. Amren often didn't even glace up at you when you entered your own home, all she noticed was your shadow gliding across the room, drowning out the golden candlelight.

"Rhys would spend more time with you if you did. He's actually really insightful, he could help you with your study."

"Why would I want to spend time with him?"

A poor attempt from Amren to try and push you into a monotone civilian life yet again.

"Fine," Amren rolled her coiling silver eyes and tutted, "Are you ready? Rhys doesn't like to be kept waiting."

Irritation was rife in her voice, you clasped a dainty blood diamond around your neck and allowed your shoulders to drop, "I don't particularly care for your High Lord's time." Rhys was not your High Lord and he knew it, he knew that you couldn't be ruled over and would never answer to anyone but yourself. A queen of her own kingdom. But one he very much wanted to keep on his side.

"Y/N," Amren bit, and you too tugged back the smirk that was quaking in the corners of your mouth.

Meeting her fiery gaze in the mirror, you rolled your head to the side in one swooped graceful motion, "I'm teasing, Amren." Rising from the bench before the vanity, you felt the silken hem of your dress brush against your feet. It was a simple garment, black buttoned up fabric, a deep v-neckline that showed the beginnings of your cleavage, short and soft floating sleeves that cuffed above your elbows.

Smirking with approval, Amren moved to the front door of your ornately beautiful apartment, a personal haven of yours that was vastly different to the office at the House of Wind. Brunette carpets thick enough to sleep upon covered the space, the walls were a shade of milked coffee, warm and inviting, and the ceilings were a soft cream and coved with intricate carvings. A large fire bundled into the far wall at the centre of a wall of windows, before it was a onyx seating area of plush deep seated sofas and armchairs.

It was charming. One of the best views of Velaris was from your living room window.

Leaving your home with the click of the lock, you followed after Amren, falling into place beside her as you walked up the winding paths to the House of Wind. The feeling of people's eyes trailing you had become something you'd become rather accustomed to, they were astounded by your beauty, amazed by how someone could look so breath-taking yet so horrifying.

The House of Wind was as it always was, incredibly luxurious in its own right and shivering at your entrance. It wasn't like the house didn't like you, it just struggled to adjust to your energy, it was starkly different to the usual joy it mostly held.

The echoing voices halted when you rounded the corner, your scent of jasmine and sandalwood soaring through the air, infecting their oxygen. Violet eyes appeared before you within a couple of moments, always wary, always laced with the tiniest bit of fear, "Thank you for meeting with us."

"Well," your eyes sliced across the room, absorbing every face and feature and feeling somewhat intrigued by a face you had never seen before. Tall and tan, shadows swirling at his shoulders, large wings that he had mindfully tucked behind his back, and shiny black hair that fell over his forehead. Rhys stood before you waiting for you to speak, your eyes found his and you hummed, tapping your finger against your clothed thigh, "Anything for the firedrake."

A chortled scoff flew from Cassian and Rhys stepped aside slightly to expose you to the general who soon choked on the air, "Something funny, Cass?" Rhys asked with a smirk, he motioned for you to find a seat and make yourself comfortable.

A deep rooted velvet armchair called to you and you moved to it, paying little attention to the hazel eyes fixated upon you. "No, not at all," Cassian sent you a tight-lipped smile which made Nesta grin, enjoying his discomfort nearly as much as you.

Flames danced in your eyes, the fire burning brightly in the fireplace that welcomed your gaze as though it was a mirror. Turning your head, you folded your hands over your thighs, feeling the exposed skin that lay there from the seamless slit in the fabric.

"How about you skip whatever small talk you were going to offer and get to the point, Rhysand?"

Widened pupils possessed Nesta's gaze, she leaned back into her seat and smirked, a wickedly feline feature, and spoke, "I like you."

No words left your lips, you held her gaze and felt your darkness bubble at her determination to withstand your stare, but she soon stood down; though, she continued to watch you, noting your posture and the way you held yourself. Nesta was in awe.

And she wasn't the only one.

"Straight to the point as always, y/n."

"Am I supposed to be anything but?" Rhys sighed, a headache already forming at his temples from your dry sassing. Perhaps he needed some of that powder that Elain had gifted to Azriel last solstice.

The High Lord pinched the bridge of his nose and slid his hand to rest on Feyre's knee, a sweet gesture, "We need your help with some particular text that none of us can translate. If anyone is going to be able to decipher it then it would be you."

"What text?"

Boredom coiled in your gut, "It's the story of Koschei, we believe that there may be a key hidden within the text that could help us to defeat him." The coil loosened and your eyebrow twitched, and a dark spot to your left caught that millisecond-long expression, sliding back to its master and humming in his ear.

Koschei was a death-god, a personification of evil. To have your hands on such a text would more than aid your research. It would make you infamous in the underworld of Prythian.

"Is it in my office?" Rhys straightened and nodded stiffly; rising to your feet, you brushed down the pleats of your skirt, "I'll take a look."

Before you could move from the room, a gentle clearing of a throat sounded from behind you, beckoning and hesitant. Slowly, you turned around, noticing how Rhys was now standing, "I would like Azriel to help you with this. I believe that your collective talents will be able to decipher the message faster."

Of course. The illustrious Shadowsinger that you had never had the displeasure of meeting. Azriel, Spymaster of the Night Court.

"Studies have shown that I didn't ask for your opinion, High Lord," if anyone else had used the mocking tone toward his title they would have been misted on the spot. But not you, never you. Rhys was too afraid that Hell would rise from your ashes and devour the continent if he even tried it.

A cool kiss slithered around your ankle, and when you peered down you found a shadow curling there, caressing your skin and shivering in delight. Your eyes followed the tendril back to its owner who was clearly mentally scrambling to pull his shadow back to the others. Hazel collided with molten gold and you found yourself yearning for the shadow to return.

"I have to insist," his voice wavered and it didn't go unnoticed by you.

Amren sucked in a breath, shrinking further into her spot wedged between Mor and Elain, knowing that she told had told Rhys multiple times to never order you to do anything.

"What do you fear, Rhysand?"

"I think that you'll find that the word fear is not in my vocabulary," he doubled down and you couldn't blame him, he was an alpha protecting his territory.

Ticking your head to the side, your eyes dragged up his body, and you smirked, a real one that made his blood chill, "Perhaps. But it's in your eyes," not giving him a chance to respond, you turned to Azriel, finding him looking up at you with an almost bewitched possession in his eyes, "Stay out of my way."

Not another word was spoken as you stalked from the room, the only sound being the footsteps of Azriel who had speedily followed after you. Neither of you spoke on the descent down to the library, even that vast space of aged excellence watched you enter; you almost floated across the room, a grace in your steps that Azriel had never seen before, and it had him needing to know more.

How Azriel had never met you astounded him, he would certainly remember a face like yours. It was one that held the power to haunt his dreams.

As promised, the texts had been left on your desk, and you moved to them instantly, tracing your fingers down the bound leather spine and examining the golden embossment, picking apart the symbols in your mind. Rounding the large oaken desk, you pulled the text with you, opening the cover and not even flinching when it thudded against the desktop.

Thick waves fell over your shoulder and you mindlessly tucked them back from where they had originated, not caring about the effect it had on the Shadowsinger who noted how your fingers grazed against your collarbone on its return to the ancient pages before your insightful eye.

"I've never been in here before," a weak attempt to strike up conversation with you. Azriel had heard much about you from Cassian and Rhys, of how awful terrifying you were, how you intimidated every single person that crossed your path and seemingly enjoyed the terror of it.

Azriel understood it, there was something about you that was unnerving, that he could understand why people were uncomfortable in your presence, but he only found himself in wonderment of it.

Without looking up, you turned the page gently and muttered, "Why would you? It's my office."

Displeasure was prominent on your tongue, the taste of it swelled in the muscle but you didn't allow it to be vile, you pulled the bile back and silently choked on it.

Azriel drank in the room, the begging to be lit candles and the large arched windows, the aged tapestries of history that were clearly too valuable to display in your gallery, "The creation of the cauldron," the words pulled you from the text and your gaze narrowed in on the Shadowsinger rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet with his hands folded neatly at his back.

"How do you know that?"

The Shadowsinger circled to face you and took a tentative step to the edge of the desk, "I've seen a couple of the same markings in a cave. This is the original?"

"Yes," there were many deplorable things you had taken part in to secure your collection as the most impressive in the entire universe, some things you weren't proud of, others, you were very much so.

"How did you get it?" Azriel admired the piece, a depiction of Prythian's creation that no one would ever guess was as important as it was, all because they couldn't read the first language of the fae.

Sitting back in your seat, you placed your magniscope on the surface, an ornate tool used by curators and researchers alike to read between the lines of existence, and watched him, "There are some things in this world that would make even your blood burn, Shadowsinger."

The way you said his name had a shudder flickering down his spine, your tone was sultry and low, like you knew of his darkness and had decided that it was a star in comparison to whatever lived within you.

A golden glow shrouded the room from the setting sun kissing the mountain peak, it washed over you, its light glittering your skin with shimmer, turning your eyes into burnished gold. The blood diamond around your neck cascaded speckles of its hue across the ceiling, and your chest rise an fell with even, calm breaths.

Forgetting the reason why he stood before you, Azriel allowed himself a moment to examine you, the beautifully loose hair that swam down that perfectly curved spine, the eyes and cheekbones, the full lips and the indents of your collarbone. You were by far the most incredible thing he had ever seen.

The stolen moment wasn't one that escaped your eye, a gentle heat pooled at your cheeks and you had no option but to look away, clearing your throat and pouring your attention back into the text in front of you.

Coiling the magniscope in your fingers, you hovered it over the written symbols on the page, moving it in line with every line and swirl you could see. It was a heavy object, and you hadn't been surprised when Amren had mistook the glass orb as a bookend.

"What do you know of Koschei?" Azriel found a place in the seat opposite you, his shadows danced from his shoulders and began to inch toward you, and he made no move or command to stop them.

"There are many legends," you began, craning your neck to peer at the top of the adjacent page, "Attacking his physical body won't harm him, he has split his soul into parts and placed them in other living creatures or sentient objects. Destroy the objects and you have a better chance of ending him."

Azriel angled himself forward, propping his elbows on his knees, "How do you know that?"

Again, without looking up, you spoke, "When you spend a lot of time in the Underworld of this continent you pick up a few things. You also learn how to decipher the truth from the lies."

Another gentle turn of the page.

The taupe scribing possessed the faintest words written in a pale gold ink, so miniscule that any other magniscope wouldn't be able to see it. Though yours wasn't just any ordinary magniscope, it was forged with the stardust of a fallen star, a star that used to burn the brightest in the northern skies.

"You know of the Underworld?"

For a moment, your gaze flickered upward, golden pools peering through your long thick lashes, "Very well."

It wasn't surprising that you had dabbled in the darkest reality of the continent, your knowledge was not cheap, and it wasn't knowledge that you could gain from books alone. Azriel wondered how many souls you had stripped from the earth on your quest for knowledge, perhaps it would cause his count to pale in comparison.

"I could only imagine what someone would do for this level of knowledge," his voice lingered, questioning, requiring to know every corner of the mind locked within the female in front of him.

"Are you trying to compare body counts, Spymaster? If so, I assume I would be disappointed with your lacklustre attempts."

Then you were back on the text, scribbling words down in the notepad to your left without even glancing to it, focused to the point where no letter strayed from the lines. But you still felt his eyes on you, waiting, scouring your face and trying to figure out why exactly he had never crossed paths with you before considering your occupation.

"Don't you have some doe-eyed damsel to go and rescue?"

Even with the fleeting few minutes spent with the Inner Circle, you saw how Elain Archeron looked at him, all love-sick and hopeful. Elain was a perfectly mundane being, content with all things bright and pretty. It was sickening.

Biting back the urge to roll his eyes at the thought, Azriel shuffled into his seat, seemingly getting more comfortable, "No."

"Shame," you mused, impressing Azriel with how you scribed, analysed and spoke all at the same time. A very powerful mind was dwelling within you, and it had his attention.

Azriel was finding your dry words quite amusing, though he was spending his time sat before you in silence, sketching every inch of your face and body to his memory.

A soft tug pulled at your brows, and if Azriel wasn't fixated upon you then he surely would have missed it. He let a minute pass, a minute where the pace of your analysation quickened alongside the rate of your writing. Again, your hair fell over your shoulder, clearly bothering you but you couldn't move it, not when you were so entranced, and it took all of his will to not do it for you.

Questioning you on your findings, your eyes held a certain twinkle to them as you explained your theory. That Koschei had in fact fractured his soul and implanted the pieces of it within other living creatures and objects, and that to hunt those objects down was the only way to be able to banish him from the world.

"Run and tell your master," you told him after you were done explaining how to find the first host of Koschei's soul, "I'm sure he will be thrilled with your input."

Which was very little, Azriel hadn't done anything other than invade your space and make himself far too comfortable, but he didn't argue, he simply stood from his seat and bowed, taking your hand in his marred digits and raising it to his lips, brushing them against your knuckles and thanking you before leaving you to your silence.

The ghost of his touch lingered on you skin, as did the licks at your calves from the shadows he hadn't cared to reign in upon his exit.

It was then that a small yet foreign warmth pooled in your chest, you rubbed the spot gingerly and sighed, returning to reality and shaking your head back to sense. Finding peace in the confined corners of your mind.

The next instance where you found yourself in Azriel's presence had been one warm afternoon in the library.

Velaris had been scorched by the sun, the summer breezes swept across the city, and you had decided to wear a simple grey dress that afternoon, it was lightweight enough to flow in the gentle caress of the wind but still managed to keep to your usual elegant yet sharp style.

Since that insisted couple of hours in your office a couple of weeks ago, you were ashamed to admit just how much your thoughts drifted to the Shadowsinger you had seen lurking in the corners of your consciousness. The darkness was lingering in the farthest reaches, as if it didn't wish to be discovered by you but couldn't steer itself away.

The ladder beneath your feet creaked as you reached across the shelf, tongue stuck out of the side of your mouth as you strained slightly, your fingers barely brushing against the spine of the book you needed. A familiar cool presence washed over you, trailing up your skirt and arms and extending from your fingers to remove the book from the shelf and place it in your awaiting grasp.

Peering back to the ground, you saw Azriel stood at the foot of the ladder with his hands resting at his sides; balling the skirt up in your fingers, you used the railing the lower yourself back to the earth and paused in front of Azriel who had a brow quirked in curiosity, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," his voice matched your own but he found himself faltering when you went to walk by him. His voice called out to you, "I just wanted to let you know that we found the first host."

You paused your steps and turned, "And?"

"It's destroyed," and clearly the gravity of it weighed on him, he had to have known that Koschei wasn't exactly going to make the objects easy to destroy, but it still didn't mean that it wasn't traumatising.

Understanding what he meant, at the life he had just taken to protect to continent, you took a step toward him, an olive branch of sorts, "Are you alright?"

Itching with confusion, Azriel nodded slowly, "I didn't think you cared."

You shrugged, nonchalant, and scuffed the heel of your sandal against the floor with your gentle kick, "I don't."

Azriel hummed, a serene grin tugging at the corners of his lips, "I think that you do," Azriel took a step forward and noticed how your back straightened and shoulders rolled back.

The book became plastered to your chest, "Whatever you think is of little concern to me."

Two weeks had passed, two weeks of not only searching for the first host of Koschei thanks to your wildly impressive knowledge, but two weeks of Azriel doing all he could to gain your attention. It had been difficult to see you at Rita's, swaying to the music without a care in the world beside Amren, and not be able to touch the skin that seemed as smooth as honey.

His shadows had been following you, reporting back to him of how you spent your days cooped up in your apartment reading or in your office analysing another ancient text. They reported no men, nothing untoward or damning, they simply whispering to him how pretty you were. They had been bewitched by you, utterly obsessed with everything that you were, and he couldn't blame them.

Turning on the balls of your feet again, you entered your office, leaving the door open in silent permission that Azriel basked in as he followed you inside, "I'm trying to talk to you, y/n."

A soft hum vibrated against your lips. Placing the book once glued to your chest on the centre table of the room, you faced Azriel once more. The office was cold, as was every chamber built below the main infrastructure of the house, and Azriel wondered how you could be so at home within it.

It was entrancing how a room so dark and full of evil texts and passages could make you look so ethereal. The glossed black hair he had often dreamt of running his fingers through was tied back in a loose thick braid, whisps of hair fell from the vines of it and settled over your eyes. Ornate jewellery twinkled in the pale sunlight, swirls of gold encased your fingers and wrists, and a coiled necklace that resembled a scaled serpent glided around the base of your neck.

"What would you like me to say? I did tell you how to find the first host so that you could destroy it. I don't require updates, Azriel," the movement of your tongue as you said his name for the first time had his resolve withering.

"Well, I suppose we'll have to warm ourselves by the glow of your I told you so."

Then, as though the sun was blessing the earth after eons of slumber, your lips widened into a grin, one big enough to expose your perfectly white teeth and Azriel felt the dark storm clouds in his soul splinter. A golden threat soared through him, reaching out to you and entwining itself with the thread bristling at your centre.

Sculpted fingers drifted over that spot in your chest that had become increasingly hard to ignore and you inhaled sharply. Azriel's pupils had dilated, they were wide and frenzied, and his hand was outstretched to you.

The smile on your face dropped.

"You're my mate," Azriel nodded at the words you had managed to utter, the same ones that had become lodged in his throat.

Heat prickled at his skin, nerves seeped into his bones. You were so unreadable, and Azriel was scrambling his thoughts to clear so that he may be able to figure out how you felt about it. About being fated to be his.

Azriel had learnt from Amren how unaffectionate you were, how much you hated anyone touching you. It was because of the Illyrian camps you had visited in your younger years where they had thought you a witch, and had punished you for it in a barbaric way; the evidence still lingered on your skin in long angry streaks, and Amren had admitted that night is what spurred on your need to understand the roots of evil.

It was understandable, to spend a lifetime studying the one thing that had ever truly hurt you. For what reason, Azriel didn't know, but he liked to think that it was to cause evil to cower in your presence.

Silence shrouded the room like a disease, infecting and poisoning everything in its path, and Azriel way becoming increasingly worried about how your smile had dropped. Was he truly that repulsive to you? He could only ever dream to be mated with someone like you, someone who welcomed death like an old friend and would entertain it in an eons long waltz, someone who was poised and elegant but so brilliantly lethal that it made even him shudder.

Taking an unsettling step toward you, Azriel loosened a breath when he saw that you hadn't retreated, his eyes were trained on you as he took another step, and then another, until his shadow danced with you own, "I'm your mate."

Rhys and Cassian would be mortified of the news, Azriel was sure that Rhys found you terrifying in the same way that Cassian found Bryaxis. No of that mattered though. Not to him. Not when he now belonged to a female as striking and dangerous as the blood in his veins.

A faint blush crept up your cheeks at the proximity, the tendrils connected to his essence peered over his shoulders seemingly apprehensively thrilled that it was you stood before them, "Yes, you are."

Azriel's gaze drifted down to your lips and left dragged back upward to your eyes, "Can I touch you?"

A part of you froze at the desperate question. You hadn't let anyone touch you in years, you couldn't remember the last time you laid with a male or female, you couldn't remember what a simple even felt like. Amren had never even tried to get too close to you let alone anyone else.

In the first vulnerable emotion you had ever let anyone see, you sheepishly nodded, eyes boring into his own and he didn't break his stare as his fingers twitched toward you, ghosting along your skin and melting at the heat they found there. Mindlessly, you shifted when his palm lingered a whisker away from the slope of your neck and his eyes became stitched with concern but softened when you had won the fight against your fear to stand still once more.

Azriel's hand lowered, resting against your skin that was softer than his imagination could ever fathom. His thumb drifted down the column of your throat and you swallowed, hard.

"You don't have to accept this or me," he told you, his voice tantalisingly cooing to you in a hush above a whisper, "But gods, y/n. I really hope that you do."

Azriel saw through you then, through that façade you wore like a medal. And he found what saw to be quite heart-breaking. Stood before him was a woman, one that possessed a brilliant mind and equally captivating beauty, but beneath it all was the girl who was brutalised so badly that she vowed to never allow another person close again.

"You're my mate," you spoke with a certain conviction that hadn't graced your words the last time, Azriel watched your lashes flutter, and he felt his soul singing when those eyes found him again, "I'm not letting you go."

Gracefully, your fingers curled around his wrist, your index finger sleeping just over the faint beat of his pulse, just where his marred flesh faded to memory, "You accept it?"

"I- yes, I do."

Jasmine and sandalwood drowned his lungs, and he would have died happy just to be able to say that he knew what your shampoo smelt like. Papaya and coconuts. He gingerly ran his fingers through your hair, noting how much you loved the feeling of it as you shivered in his arms. Azriel pressed a dainty but tender kiss to your brow, and it had you realising that maybe you were allowed to give yourself this one thing that the younger version of you had always dreamt of.

Azriel hadn't tried to push you further, he knew that the moment of allowing someone to touch you, to hold you, was far more momentous than finding your mate.

Instead he asked you a simple question, it was more of an offering than anything. To spend time together away from the prying eyes of his family, so that you may become comfortable with one another before allowing anyone else into it. You had agreed. Eagerly.

So the next few weeks drifted by, afternoon walks along the Sidra, morning breakfast drop-offs at your office, after hours visits to the gallery where you would tell him of your adventures and how on some occasions you barely survived. Azriel was in complete awe of you, he sat beside you on your love seat completely captivated by you, his fingers tracing small circles into your thighs and his shadows curling through your hair. And that smile, gods, that smile could make even the most poised male lose all sense. It was bright and gleaming, and your skin glowed with the happiness of it.

Then you had decided to break the news to the Inner Circle, and as you stood before those doors oozing with grandeur, you felt nerves pinch at your skin, "Are you ready?" Azriel's fingers were tangled with yours and he bowed his head to place his lips on your bare shoulder.

"Yes." Azriel gave your hand a gentle tug, willing you to move from your spot located just behind him.

The aura of the house had shifted, now, it was inquisitive, glancing to the mirrors and then back to your hands to see if what it was seeing was real. Laughter echoed at the end of the hall, your scent had usually silenced them by now, but not this time. Now that your scent was mixed with Azriel’s it seemed much less threatening. Pity.

Turning the corner, you became startled by the smash of a glass, shards of it glided along the floor and fell at your feet. Looking up, you found Mor frozen in place, wide eyes and bewildered. The rest of the room craned to attention, collectively moving their eyes from Mor, to you, and then to Azriel, and then to your entwined fingers.

It took a minute, but you could have sworn you heard the bell ding in Cassian’s empty brain, “Oh shit,” he rose to his feet, wings flaring slightly as a wide grin gripped his mouth.

Rhys appeared before you both, gaze lowered in surprise, clearly trying to picture a timeline in his mind. The High Lord looked to his Spymaster, “Are you-“

“Mates?” Azriel finished incredulously, knowing that your moulded scents had already infected the room, and turned his head to you, orbs gleaming and adoration speckled on his cheeks, “Yes.”

Elain Archeron had sank into her seat, doing her best to not pay attention to you in particular whilst her stomach churned with the scent seeping into her bones. Subconsciously, you moved closer to Azriel, a slightly territorial action that made him smirk.

It had been a brief conversation that you had suffered through, the one where Azriel had made it very clear that the situation with Elain was brutally one-sided. Azriel had only sought to be nice to her, to help her to adjust to her new body and life because she was Feyre's sister and Feyre was his High Lady, and she had taken his kindness for something much more than what it truly was.

Leading you to the velvet armchair that you would usually slither into, Azriel sat and motioned for you, turning you in his hands so that his touch never left your thighs, and pulled you to his lap. A bashful smile formed on your face and you could feel the eyes of the room on you, equally as confused as shocked.

"Since when?" Nesta had asked after sipping from the goblet of red wine between her fingers, the liquid staining her plump pale lips, and she used her thumb to wipe a singular droplet before it ran down her chin. Her eyes held an emotion you couldn't quite make out, Azriel had admitted that Nesta was just as unreadable as you at times, but the way his digits dug into your flesh told you that what the eldest sister was feeling was an assortment of jealousy. Not toward you, toward him.

"The bond snapped just over a month ago," Nesta hummed and burrowed herself into the cushions, pouting slightly, like she was an infant who had her favourite toy taken from her grasp. "We wanted to explore it before we properly accepted it or told anyone."

That made Elain's doe-like stare move from the floor to your mate who was sat with you on his thighs rubbing small circles into your shoulders, "So you haven't accepted it?"

Your jaw clenched at the question, the question that was perfumed with the last splatters of hope, "If you're asking if we've fucked yet, Elain, then no, we haven't. Does that answer your question?"

Azriel's fingers moved to play with the ends of your hair, knowing that the sensation of slight tugging over your scalp relaxed you infinitely, "I only ask because I know how physical Azriel can be. Surely you've heard the stories?" Elain feigned innocence, Feyre sighed from her seat and glanced to you apologetically, silently begging you to not tear her sister apart.

In fact, you had heard the stories. Trying to ignore the gossip of the city was difficult considering how used you were to eavesdropping into certain conversations in the underworld. So, unfortunately, you had heard about Azriel's many lovers, and you'd be silly to not feel insecure of it, but you wouldn't let her see that. Ever.

Craning your neck to the side, you smiled, your iced gaze slicing into her and making Elain shrink under the weight of it, "With all due respect, which is none," you leaned to the side, accepting the goblet of wine that the house had presented to you in premature thanks for the forthcoming words you were about to utter, "Your existence gives me a headache, so please go and find somewhere else to be."

Rhys' eyes widened but he suppressed the smirk forming on his face, hiding his lips behind his fist and closing his eyes. Not even Feyre or Nesta spoke up over it, they clearly knew better than to challenge you. Cassian however didn't really care if Elain saw his joy at your words, he had been growing more tired each passing day of her pining affection toward his brother, and now he understood why Azriel had withdrawn further from the female over the last few weeks.

It was because of the unique female before their very eyes.

The middle sister went to open her mouth, to retort something that wouldn't even irk you, but Amren shushed her, halted the words in her throat and willed her to die with them, "Don't even try it," Amren served you more than her own court, finding a kindred spirit within you, and she would shame herself if she let Elain speak to you as if you were nothing.

Elain would never understand someone like you. She wasn't worthy of it anyway.

No one had ever tried to understand Amren, not really, they thought her too complicated to be worth it. As long as they brought her pretty jewels and respected her then there was little else to worry of in their eyes. But you, you had understood her instantly and had found a particular solace with her, like you were peering through a mirror and she was your reflection.

Sipping the potent liquid in your goblet, you bowed your head to her, quietly thanking your friend for halting the small spat before it escalated and ruined the evening entirely. Tonight was not about Elain and her fragile feelings, it was about showing the Inner Circle who now owned your heart.

So, the middle sister vacated the room feigning a migraine, and the aura instantly lifted. A soft smile formed on your lips when your eyes landed on your mate, your entire face relaxed; entwining your fingers with his, you blushed when he pressed his lips to your knuckles and dragged your index finger down his cheek.

The Inner Circle watched on, knowing that they had never seen Azriel so taken by anything. They feasted on the sight of his shadows purring through your hair, on your colliding smiles, and how your gentle words to one another were contained in an ornate bubble around your bodies.

As the evening continued, you found yourself quite enjoying their company, you sat bundled into Azriel's embrace, finding comfort in the arms that were wrapped around you whilst Cassian spewed war stories, bragging at his prowess.

"Not to brag," you began with a smirk, "But at least eight men have described me as 'terrifying', and two of them are in this room. Choke on that ego, Cassian."

Nesta's grin turned feline and excitement bubbled in the pit of her stomach. What she wouldn't give to spar with you, to have your legs wound around her and that tense gaze splitting her in half. From the whisperings of Prythian, it was very clear that you had done some rather diabolical things in order to obtain certain artifacts that had been locked away in your most prized and personal collection. So prized that its location was unknown. She could only imagine what trinkets you possessed, and the things you had witnessed.

"What about Azriel?!"

The Shadowsinger shrugged, his hand resting on your thigh and squeezing the flesh there, "I've only ever been entranced by my mate, Cassian," Azriel drawled, sipping the amber liquid swirling in his rocks glass like molten bronze, "It's you and Rhys who are afraid of her."

"If it's any consolation, I don't blame you."

Cassian frowned, turning to Nesta and asking, "Are you scared of her?"

"No," she answered a little too quickly, so quickly that you had quirked your brow at the sound, "I find y/n to be quite exciting."

"Exciting?" Cassian moved to Feyre and asked the same question, his manhood decaying when she too said that you didn't scare her, "Mor?"

The blonde who could not rival your beauty had always watched you from afar, and had always enjoyed how you made males squirm. Mor rose her glass to the stars and stated, "Bring every man you meet to their motherfucking knees, y/n."

"Amen to that," Amren tipped her glass in response, downing the rest of the thick red sap and finally feeling at home in the presence of her family thanks to you, and she eternally thanked the male sat beside you for being able to breathe some light into the storm cloud that was your mind.

"Mother above," Rhys grumbled, the women in his life uniting and itching to wreck havoc. The action of Rhys swiping his hand down his face, dragging the skin slightly toward in frustration, made a deep chuckle float from your lips, so serene that Nesta likened the sound to a siren call and found herself drawn to it. "Did I just make you laugh?" Rolling your eyes, you nodded at the High Lord who turned toward his mate, "This is the best day of my life," then back to you, "Does this mean that we're friends?"

Rhys waited expectantly, childlike orbs pleading to you with their innocence. You had no friends bar Amren and you were content with that. It meant that you only had one thing to lose. But as Azriel laid his hand on the small of your back, gaining your attention and giving you an expression of promise, the resolve of your solitude cracked, "Why not?"

The door to the River House flew open, a sudden shrill chill soaring through the air from the wild winds battering against the city, no doubt spurred on by your fury.

Many months had passed, and in that time you had truly blossomed, sure you still wore the mask of the devil on your features in public, but when you were with the Inner Circle, a group of people you now proudly belonged to, that mask drifted away like ash in the autumn breeze; and when Azriel was beside you, it felt as though warmth and happiness was all that you ever knew.

Much to Elain's upset, you and Azriel had officially accepted the bond and had locked yourselves away for four weeks to make the most out of every single moment together, and Rhys had been understanding enough of the bond between you both to not drag your mate away on another mission. The bond between you and Azriel was something that Rhys had never seen before, not even between him and Feyre.

"She tastes like every dark thought I've ever had."

The ceremony itself had been astonishing.

The women of the Inner Circle had spent the better part of two days dressing your apartment for the occasion and Feyre had made it quite clear that the upcoming ceremony was going to make theirs look ridiculous in comparison. Rhys was split between jealousy and awe when he saw it.

No one had ever stepped into the apartment beside Amren and Azriel, he had decided to move into the apartment after your return from the four-week sabbatical at the cabin, it was as though you were gifting them with the last part of you, allowing them to see what they could never fathom.

Faelights were strewn across the ceiling, curling around the arched windows that displayed the golden valley of the city in a way Rhys had never been able to appreciate before; tucked between the vines of the lights was fresh foliage, an array of green hue ferns caressing fully blossomed white roses and pale blue peonies. Sprigs of cedar and rosemary had been wove between the foliage and flowers alongside splinters of sandalwood, filling the room with the physical aspects of your scents.

Only the Inner Circle had been invited, and as you were dressing in your room with Amren, you could hear Nesta whining of her foolish jealousy of having to watch Azriel marry you. Amren had simply raised a brow and smirked at you through the mirror as she finished securing your veil to the back of your head.

There was no one you would want to share the moment with other than her.

Amren had blindfolded you, leading you through the home so that the gift wouldn't be ruined just so that you could get ready together, for the most important and deserving night of your life.

The dress that you had meticulously chosen was the most incredible garment Amren had ever seen, so much so that the first time you had tried it on in front of her, she had nearly cried at the beauty of it; and there you now stood, twisting in the mirror and running your hands down the hem of your veil and then your hips. The dress was made entirely of white lace that you had imported from the Day Court, an off-the-shoulder neckline and sleeves that kissed your wrists, it was elegant and graceful, and made the freckles of your trauma glow like shooting stars.

A gentle knock had sounded at the door and Rhys stepped in, taking one look at you and finding his breath catching in his throat. "You look amazing," he breathed, approaching you with his hands deep within his pockets.

The High Lord had been honoured when you had sheepishly asked him to walk you down the aisle; Rhys had found himself consumed with the need to protect you, after seeing your guard disappear, he saw who you truly were, a woman who just wanted to be loved and protected, and ready to allow other people to do it for her after spending so long doing it herself.

"Are you ready?" Inhaling deeply, you nodded and turned to him, noting the outstretched hand before you and feeling your usual anxiety bubbling in your gut. Rhys, realising that he shouldn't have done something so bold, went to retreat but halted when you took a small step toward him, reaching your fingers out to his palm and sliding them into his grasp.

Azriel was right, your skin was a smooth as honey.

A gentle smile of triumph later, you spoke, "I'm ready."

It was that moment that Rhys was begging you to remember as you barrelled through his house, no doubt heading straight for him in the confinements of his office.

He could feel your anger slam through the walls, your footsteps sounding up the staircase and stopping at the top of the hall, a pause to remember just how much you liked him before stalking down the hall and bursting into his office. Rhys cringed, knowing what was coming as you strode to his desk and slapped your palms flat against the wood.

"If you ever," you pointed your perfectly manicured finger in his face, "Send my mate back to me in that state again. I. Will. Destroy. You."

The snarl of your words sent a shiver coursing down his spine, and in that moment you were the y/n he had met one-hundred years ago. Cold. Distant. Almost demonic.

In his defence, he hadn't sent Azriel on an overly dangerous mission, it wasn't his fault that his Spymaster was ambushed in The Middle. Azriel's spilled blood was entirely his own fault in Rhys' eyes, "I didn't mean for him to get hurt, y/n."

The rushed footsteps of another sounded in the hall, and when Rhys looked past your deeply heaving form, he was relieved beyond compare when he saw a bruised Azriel approaching, "Angel, it wasn't his fault. I was distracted," his voice grew louder as he paced closer to the pair of you, appearing at your side and turning your head in his fingers to face him, "I was thinking about you and I didn't hear them coming."

Watching your shoulders drop, Rhys sighed and wiped away an invisible bead of sweat from his brow, sitting back down and continuing his viewing just as you tilted your head to the side and popped out your bottom lip.

"You were?" Azriel's eyes softened and he dipped his gaze to meet yours, "That's the most romantic thing you've ever done. You were attacked because you were thinking about me, you actually bled because you were thinking about me?"

Rhys could only watch on perplexed at your words, you threw yourself into Azriel's arms, muttering small apologies for brushing against the bruises littering his abdomen, "She's crazy."

The Shadowsinger could only huff, too entrapped by you to really reprimand him, "Yeah," his eyes opened lazily, brimming with exhaustion, "But she's my crazy."

Azriel's shadows curled over your shoulders and shuddered, crying to be as close to you as possible, like they were trying to entwine with your soul so that you one day may carry them with you wherever you walked. In whatever world.

A bond like yours was made to topple temples and shatter worlds, it was made to transcend time and space; and as you wrapped an arm around your mate and led him from the office, not without sending one more warning glare to the male you had come to love as a brother, Rhys knew that no matter where either of you went, there would be no place that you could travel to where the other would not follow.

Author’s Note

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luvnanako · 21 days ago

Text

I. Count Fagula ✶⋆.˚

(Vampire au) Caitlyn Kiramman x F! Reader

------------------⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺-----------------------

Colorful lights glistened through the corridors and halls of the grand castle, casting shimmering reflections across the cold stone walls. The atmosphere was whimsical, yet cloaked in an air of mystery. Every corner of the great hall was alive with deathly creatures—vampires. Though they bore a striking resemblance to humans, they were anything but. Poisonous fangs peeked through their lips, capable of ending a life—be it human or animal—in mere seconds. How could something so deadly also be so hauntingly beautiful?

The annual Masquerade of Vampires was no novelty. It occurred every five years, a gathering where these enigmatic beings donned elaborate masks to conceal their faces. Humans were well aware of the danger, warned to steer clear and never engage with them under any circumstances. But those rules did not apply to you. You had been hired by the government to infiltrate and report on this secretive world. Declining wasn’t an option; it was the chance of a lifetime for a small-town journalist. And, of course, the pay was generous.

You moved cautiously through the corridors, every step deliberate as you tried to remain inconspicuous. So far, no one had noticed you slipping in, and now you approached the great hall, where the masquerade was in full swing. The massive double doors stood open, revealing a dazzling scene inside. Vampires stood in clusters, talking, laughing, and dancing. You inhaled deeply and stepped into the hall.

The sight before you took your breath away. Everything was so luxurious, so different, so mesmerizing. The vampires wore ornate masks adorned with jewels, feathers, or intricate designs, their attire exuding elegance. Your own mask, though simple, suddenly felt inadequate. At least your black dress blended in with their dark, somber tones. You averted your gaze, careful not to meet anyone’s eyes, while trying to absorb as much as possible for your report.

As you wove through the crowd, a sudden jostle threw you off balance. One vampire accidentally bumped into you, causing you to stumble into another.

“Oh my god—I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” you stammered, looking up at the vampire you had collided with. And then, you froze.

She was tall, her dark blue hair cascading down her shoulders in silky waves. Her piercing blue eyes glimmered from behind a black, crystal-studded mask. She was stunning—almost otherworldly.

“I—uh—I’m…” you struggled to form a coherent sentence, feeling utterly disarmed by her presence. Her gaze seemed to pierce right through you, scrutinizing every detail.

“I’ve never seen you here before,” she said, her voice laced with a soft yet commanding British accent as the music swirled around you. Her piercing gaze locked onto yours. “You must be from Noxus, then?”

“Y-yeah! That’s right,” you stammered, straightening your posture in a desperate attempt to seem more confident.

She didn’t respond immediately. Instead, her eyes flicked down to your hands. Before you could process it, she took one of them in hers. Her fingers were ice-cold, her alabaster skin seeming to glow faintly against your warmth. A blush bloomed across your cheeks as her other hand settled gently, yet firmly, around your waist.

“Shall we dance?” she asked, though it felt more like an order than a request. You opened your mouth to answer, but she was already guiding you toward the center of the hall, weaving effortlessly through the crowd. The faint hum of whispers followed you as all eyes seemed to turn your way.

The moment her hand pressed yours and she pulled you into a slow, deliberate rhythm, you felt both exhilarated and terrified. You placed your trembling hand on her shoulder, letting her take the lead as her movements commanded the floor.

“I like your mask,” she said after a beat, a sly smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. “It suits you.”

“Th-thank you,” you replied, struggling to keep up with her fluid grace. “You’re… you’re really pretty.”

Her smirk deepened, and her eyes sparkled mischievously. “Charming and bashful, I see. May I know your name?”

You hesitated, your gaze darting away as nervous laughter spilled from you. “N-no, sorry… it’s, um, private.”

Her brow arched in intrigue, but she didn’t press. “Mysterious, are we? Very well. I’m Kiramman. Caitlyn Kiramman.”

“Kiramman,” you murmured, tasting the name as it rolled off your tongue. It felt heavier than it should, almost forbidden.

She tilted her head, studying you with an unreadable expression. “You certainly are… different,” she mused, her voice as sharp as the glint in her eye. The comment sent a chill through you. Did she know? Did she realize you didn’t belong here? That you weren’t one of them?

Just as you tried to suppress your mounting panic, she leaned in closer, her voice a low, velvet whisper against your ear. “May I speak with you in private?”

Before you could respond, her hand tightened slightly on your waist, and she led you from the dance floor. You glanced back, your pulse quickening as she guided you past the murmuring crowd and out into the moonlit garden. Her grip was firm, unyielding, and the air seemed heavier with every step. You tried to pull away, but her hold only tightened, her eyes glinting with a dangerous sort of determination.

The cool night air enveloped you as you stepped into the garden. Caitlyn finally released you, tilting her head as she regarded you with a curious smile.

“A gorgeous night, isn’t it?” she said softly, her voice sweet yet unsettling.

“Yes, it’s… beautiful,” you replied, trying to mask your fear.

“Mhm. A beautiful night… next to a very beautiful human girl. Aren’t I just lucky?”

Your heart sank at her words. She knew. Panic gripped you as you struggled to think of an escape. But before you could act, she pulled you closer, her cold fingers resting lightly on your hips.

“You’re brave, I’ll give you that,” she said, her tone almost admiring. “But it’s highly disrespectful to barge into a sacred masquerade uninvited.”

As she spoke, she reached for your mask, her movements slow and deliberate. Your breath hitched as she slid it off your face.

“…And you should know,” she continued, “if anyone else finds out you’re human, you’ll be the next delicacy on the grand table.”

A shiver ran down your spine. Her words were a warning, but her eyes… her eyes held something else entirely. Suddenly, they turned crimson, glowing ominously in the moonlight.

“May I?” she whispered, leaning closer. You didn’t have time to ask what she meant before her lips pressed against yours. The kiss was strange—her fangs grazed your lips, a sharp reminder of what she was—but it was also intoxicating. Her tongue teased yours, and you let out a soft whimper before pulling away, gasping for air.

Caitlyn smiled mischievously, leaning in to brush a kiss against your flushed cheek. “It was lovely meeting you, Miss… Human. Do visit again sometime. And next time,” she added with a smirk, “do wear a bra. Can’t have the others staring at you.”

With that, she released you and turned, her long blue cloak billowing behind her as she strode back toward the castle. You stood frozen, your heart racing and your thoughts a chaotic mess.

That’s when you noticed—your mask was gone. She had taken it.

You stood there in the moonlit garden, your legs refusing to move as Caitlyn disappeared into the grand castle. The night felt colder now, the absence of her presence leaving a strange void. You wanted to call out to her, to demand answers—what did she mean by “visit again”? Why had she kissed you? And why, despite the danger, did a part of you want to see her again?

With a shaky sigh, you began walking back toward the dimly lit path that led out of the castle grounds. Every step felt heavier, your thoughts racing as you replayed the events of the night. What was she planning? Was this all some kind of cruel game? And more importantly, what would the government think of your report if they knew how close you had come to becoming a meal?

As you reached the edge of the castle grounds, the faint sound of a rustling breeze caught your attention. You turned instinctively, scanning the darkness, but no one was there. The garden was eerily silent now, the festive hum of the masquerade muffled behind the castle walls. Still, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.

When you finally reached the safety of your car parked discreetly in the woods, you slid inside and locked the doors, your hands trembling as you gripped the steering wheel. You exhaled a shaky breath, telling yourself that you were safe now, far from her piercing gaze and cold touch.

But as you glanced at the rearview mirror, a flicker of movement caught your eye. A small, folded piece of parchment lay on the passenger seat. You were certain it hadn’t been there before. With a pounding heart, you reached for it and unfolded the note.

In elegant handwriting, it read:

*"Until next time, little journalist. Try not to get yourself killed before then."*

It was signed simply:

C.K.

You stared at the note, your heart racing. She knew who you were. She had always known. And somehow, despite everything, you felt the faintest smile tug at the corners of your lips. This wasn’t the end. It was only the beginning.

-------------------⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺----------------------

A/N: I think I'm gonna make more of these vampire au's because this was so much fun writing! Thank you for reading and if you have any commissions or ideas for me to write about next time let me know!

#Arcane #Lesbian #caitlyn kiramman #wlw #arcane #arcane fanfic #fluff #caitlyn x reader #vampire au #count fagula #caitlyn fanfic #Vampire

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weavewithin · 7 months ago

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Oh, how Taliyah's eyes sparkled like little geodes when she heard love to see your pebble collection and many fancy rocks and gems. There was little more exciting ( beside goats, poros, pretty views or pretty textiles. )

" Oh I'd gladly show you, and see your collection! "

Without further ado, the stone mage brought her open palms to her front, and copious pebbles dislodged from her shoulder guards and her hair adornment, summoned to idly drift around her hands.

" Here, " Taliyah grinned. " It's a bit many, so I'll just show you some of my favorites. "

With a nudge of her elbows, the stones flew back to their rightful places, save a few left in her palm. Those she lifted up for better view.

" That grey one, cracked open in the middle, has such a pretty blue inside. Who would've thought! I found it in Ionia. "

Next. " And that striped one has so many layers. It's from the Ionian coast, whereas the pallid one is from the Freljordian coast. I think it looks like the moon. "

She smiled at Caitlyn then. " When can I see your collection? "

@weavewithin

"I'd love to see your pebble collection! I also own many fancy rocks and gems the Kirmman family has collected, I'd love to share them with you"

#piltover-sharpshooter #/ cait is enabling her and she's so happy about it #weaving stone --- ic.

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thesilicontribesman · 3 months ago

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Iron Age Crafts And Trade, The Scottish Crannog Centre, Loch Tay, Scotland

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weavewithin · 1 year ago

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"What, why are you looking at me like that?"

- @shurimanpowerball

Rammus ( @shurimanpowerball ) catches Taliyah gazing at her.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐚, in the flesh, in the person. This awe-inspiring figure was smaller than expected, rounder and stouter, rendering the overall impression just okay, alright in the best proportions, not too intimidating, not too meagre.

So agreeable was he, so easy to look at, that Taliyah found herself gazing and nodding, unfurling her thumb from her fist.

Rammus was cool. He was okay, in the best way.

Still, Taliyah couldn't forget that she was in the presence of a great spirit, a great protector. Her elders had told stories of Rammus helping their elders, and Taliyah would thank him for it.

❛ Thank you for your protection, okay great Rammus. My elders used to tell okay stories of you. Your festivals are okay my favorites. ❜

#grounded?! --- silliness.#I hope this is okay (I'm sorry and ashamed)#shurimanpowerball #weaving stone --- ic.

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weavewithin · 6 months ago

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Content in the joy of having someone to tell those words to, Taliyah doesn't expect a reply nor reciprocation. To tell someone they're liked is a harmless gesture and the truth, but also much more than that to the lonely, wandering weaver. After so much loss and darkness, fate has brought her to a friend who shares in the heavy burden she'd carried silently like encroaching doom. It's a sign that she has woven truly, with all her heart and truth.

The fate is not a mystery to Kai'Sa. She speaks of it like over a completed tapestry, having already lived it and knowing how she will live it. It's a very characteristic thing for her friend to say, and in a bygone world, Taliyah would have laughed at how the words clash with the warm red glow and golden stillness around them. The serene desert opening before them from their high vantage point is like a painting of an untarnished future, unmarred by the destruction befalling the land not far away. It's a dream that Taliyah wants to be engulfed in, forgetting the cries in the earth and becoming again a mere nomad, simply enjoying the sunset and worrying only whether she admires her company too openly.

She wonders whether Kai'Sa sees the same in the glimmering dunes and craggy ridges. Whether she sees a fight looming in the horizon, like a pincer held back and aimed for her heart.

In the time before Taliyah returned to Shurima and learnt of everything that had changed, she would have told her friend that no end should be bitter. The past years have taught her elsewise, in so much loss and sorrow that they have become inseparable from her heartbeat. She has learnt the truth, and its weight grounds her feet to the terrain so she doesn't flee, so she hears everything.

While bitter things are bitter, the stoneweaver remembers joy. She has a true friend beside her to share in both, and in this moment her heart sings for it.

" I'll be by your side, " she tells her. It's why she might love her.

The stars come out as the sky darkens. They're joined by the cinders rising from the crackling fire, twinkling among them for a time before fading away. Taliyah watches the small lights get devoured into the dark night and hugs herself tighter. Everything is still and sound asleep, except within the earth, where distant, hollow chambers hum and lead to unfathomable depths. Taliyah shivers despite the heat of the fire and her brows furl in worry. In fear.

" It's like I need the sun for courage, " she muses, desperate to fill the silence. " As soon as the night falls, I... only hear everything below. " She refuses to say them, even though the skittering is almost palpable.

Her feet shuffle against her bedroll, and it's like she's speaking to them as she says, " I can fight through it, because you're here. "

She can't look at Kai'Sa directly, not with her words carrying the weight of the past nights of the huntress agreeing to sleep closer to her, providing security with her presence. They've made good progress tracking the large voidborn monster here, deep into Void territory, and immense guilt at her faltering courage gnaws at the mage, who desperately wants to see this mission through.

@weavewithin & kai'sa / unprompted

the weaver steals little glances, feet shuffling, fingers tracing over stone and dirt. nothing can usually steal her attention from the sun's good night song, it enchants her and lulls her deep into a dream broken only by the falling dark after the last red ray -- but now, oh now the sun has a formidable rival, winning the tug of war over the mage's heart. " I like you, " she says finally, her heart can't keep a single secret. " I like spending time with you, Kai'sa. "

𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘺𝘢𝘩 𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴 & 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮, just like the sand shining in the sunrays on the path ahead ; now, cooling off, the palette of oranges & reds a harbinger of a cold night awaiting.

kai'sa finds herself worrying over the stone - bender. she could easily cross the desert on her way to the next city by sheer will and her carapace leading on auto - pilot, but she wouldn't ever endanger her allies' lives if that wasn't for the utmost necessity.

they could camp here, far away from any living beings ; put up a tent & share the bedroll, keep watch & over the fire, too. kaI'sa takes everything into consideration : the clothes they have ( well, taliyah has, the void - shell sufficient enough ) ; the temperature, the wind, the possibility of a sandstorm, the…

huh?

neon - violet gaze of the void's daughter redirects towards taliyah, softening in an instant. carapace's hood melts into symbiotic skin & kai'sa narrows her eyes, the sun still too bright to look at her friend directly.

are these butterflies in her stomach, or is it the parasite trying to gain more power, more control over its host?

❝ i like you too, ❞ the huntress responds, voice gentle, but it's like she misses the point when she continues. ❝ i'll fight by your side till the bitter end. ❞

#psielapki #weaving stone --- ic.#all of this will lead me home someday --- threads.

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readychilledwine · 10 months ago

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The Prettiest Fuck You

Summary - After the birth of Rhysand and Feyre's 3rd child, Tamlin sends a coded message with the help of his mate

Warnings - slight jealously, mentions of breeding, little IC slander, Tamlin is in a goofy mood

Prompt Day 3 - Mate/Flower Language

A/N - just a short little silly for @tamlinweek I'm so excited for the masterlist for today to pop up. I'm going to eat it all up. I fell in love with the idea of a fuck you bouquet after several reddit posts and a few on here, and Tamlin would seriously love to send one. I just know it.

Tamlin Masterlist

You blinked at Tamlin as you looked over the list of flowers that he had given you. Fox glove, yellow roses and carnations, Cyprus, babies breath, and marigolds?

Insincerity, congratulations, disappointment, death, and jealousy? You put the list down on your work table, silently hoping it would somehow magically disappear under the thousands of stems and ribbons from all the arrangements you had worked in today. “Tamlin-”

“Just do it.” He tucked your hair behind your ear and kissed your nose, trying to convince you with that signature smile.

“Tam-” You wanted to object to what the bouquet said, even if you would be able to make it absolutely stunning.

“It's fine.” Both hands were on your face as he kissed you softly.

“Ta-”

“It will look beautiful. You make everything so beautiful, dearest.” You couldn't help the soft smile. His words were not a lie. You were the most sought-after florist to the 7 courts for a reason.

You shook it off, focuing again. “Tamlin, this is-”

“Perfect to congratulate them with!” He walked away from you, chuckling as he did. You had little choice. It was a done discussion.

Your mate wasn't a bitter male all the time. Life shined in those bright green eyes, and they were always full of wonder, amazement, love, joy. But the Lord and Lady of Night announcing the birth of their 3rd child and waiting for the praise and attention that was bound to come with it? That made Tamlin bitter, sick, angry.

He had been too stuck in himself, too trapped in years of trauma, to offer Feyre the life he had offered you. One safe from any duties you did not want. One safe from politics. One where you were free to give him a child at any point. One where a family was wanted, but in due time, instead of an expectation to prove your court was moving on.

You were not Tamlin's symbolic incubator. Your womb was not meant to be used to send a message. You were his wife, his love, the one he showered in red roses and baby's breath, a sign of his eternal love and devotion. You two would have children someday. You would have an army if he'd allow it. But for now, until this lingering bitterness passed, you two would just continue to learn and grow together.

You went back to the task at hand

Gathering the buds he had requested and inspecting each and every single one to ensure its perfection and beauty. If you were going to do this. You were going to do it so well that Rhysand would not come mist your mate and then trap you in that damned Stone City. Tamlin learned through you to speak through flowers when they were sent as gifts or placed in his home. He had learned to say congratulations, to say his sympathy, to say his love, to show support. He had learned a new form of expression through you, and as intricately laced and weaved the flowers he had picked into an arrangement, you realized you thought him too well.

The flowers were beautiful, varying shades of yellows, oranges, whites, reds, and you had mixed your favorite feather-like greens in. It seemed so innocent to anyone who didn't know what the flowers symbolized, the language they spoke. It said “Fuck you and die,” in the most beautiful way possible.

You signed as you picked the vase, enchanting everything to last and stamping the card with the sign of the Spring Court, a rose and thorns. You sent it, hugging yourself slightly before walking into your shared room. it was quiet behind that door, and when you opened it, you could not help but to smile.

Centered on your vanity sat a bouquet of White tulips, red roses, and red spider lily. You knew immediately who they were from, who had made the arrangement, and who may be missing her favorite flowers from her garden.

It was stunning. Shades of red and white mixed with greenery that it was so perfectly balanced. It was huge, occupying most of the corner it sat on. He had surrounded it with poetry and chocolates. "Tam," you took one of those soft roses in your hands, smelling that familiar scent and sighing so happily.

You jumped as arms went around your waist, and kiss was placed to the side of your head. “How did it turn out?” His voice was laced with pride over his own creation.

“Gorgeous. I wouldn't make it any other way. Regardless of what you wanted it to say.”

“Elain lives in Day now, right?” You hummed and nodded. “But she will come visit them, won't she?”

“Of course.”

“Perfect. Perfect. And how about your flowers? How did they turn out?” Your mate, so handsome and strong, tended to need those compliments, and you were eager to hand him praise.

You turned into him, pressing a soft kiss on his lips. “So beautiful. Thank you for including Spider Lilies. This has to be the most stunning arrangement you've made so far." You touched the spider lily, fingers lingering on the off shoots as you did.

“Growth and new beginnings,” he whispered the meaning to you and watched as you nodded, looking up at him through watering eyes.

“And purity and true love.”

“To symbolize us, y/n.”

“To symbolize us,” you repeated.

Rhysand placed the bouquet from Spring centered on his table. He always admired y/n's work. Yes, Elain did wonderful things with flowers, but centuries of practice and studying had allowed you to create masterpieces with the blink of an eye. He smiled before walking away. Leaving a stunned Elain and Lucien to silently laugh.

Her mate leaned into her ear, red hair falling over her shoulder. “He really out did himself with this one.”

Elain had tears forming, “She made it so beautiful.”

“Do we tell him?”

“No,” Elain fixed the flowers from where they had been resting on Rhysand's chest. “Let Tam have this. I have enjoyed him alive lately. His gardens are exquisite."

"You're exquisite," Lucien squeezed the now supple hips of his mate, loving their new plush. "We should really visit soon."

"We should."

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @azrielsmate3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao @aria-chikage @hungryforbatboys @lilah-asteria

#tamlinweek2024 #tamlinweek 2024 d3 #tamlin x reader #tamlin x you #tamlin x y/n #lucien x elain #elucien

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rapturously · 1 year ago

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SIDELINES.

you haven’t seen jesse pinkman since high school — and he’s the last person you ever expected to connect with. however, times have changed — and so have you.

part 1. | part 2. | part 3. | part 4. | part 5.

༄ PAIRING. | jesse pinkman x [female] reader.

༄ FORMAT. | one-shot, multi-part — not requested.

༄ WORD COUNT. | 9.6K.

༄ WARNINGS. | drug use, references to substance use/addiction, past jane/jesse, emotional trauma/hurt, jesse’s internalized hatred/guilt, acquaintances to lovers, smoking, smut, smut with plot, making out, dirty talk, breast play, cunnilingus, hair pulling, bottom!jesse, riding, morning sex, aftercare.

༄ AUTHOR’S NOTE. | I don’t know where I’m getting these ideas, but I have a lot of projects in the works right now. Some are horror-related and some aren’t. Honestly, I’m just happy to be writing again no matter what the content is. Thank you guys for your continued support & love. I couldn’t do it without you all! Peace! ☺️

The scent of marijuana, pungent smoke, and a toxic amalgamation of sweat and AXE body spray wafted throughout the house, music jacked up so loud that it made your ears ring. You remained at your perch, stuffed along the wall of a stranger’s house while your friends got stoned in another room.

You were dragged to this party out of sheer loyalty to your friends and a boredom that outweighed anything else. Regret rippled through you, nose stinging from the foul smells that hung like a noxious haze in the living room. The drink you clutched within one hand was watered-down, tiny slivers of ice swirling around within the cup.

Some mediocre hip-hop song blasted throughout the house, bass loud enough to shake the very foundation — you were thoroughly surprised that the police hadn’t been called in for a noise complaint.

Grey wisps of smoke drifted in your direction, and you swatted at it with a wrinkled nose. It wasn’t your typical scene — the sort of party, at least. Partying was something you were accustomed to — harmless college parties with drinks and weed, but this was something else.

There were people snorting lines of cocaine off of a glass coffee table, and you swore that one person had passed out entirely in the kitchen. A strange sensation crawled across your flesh — a feeling that you weren’t exactly meant to be here. Your friends had driven you down here, but you were prepared to take your chances with walking home.

“Wanna hit?” A man asked you, gsze half-lidded, lips curled into a less than attractive smile. He propositioned you with a jerk of his head, motioning toward the thin line of fine, white powder sitting along the coffee table.

“No thanks.” You waved one hand in dismiss, weaving through the crowds to retrieve another drink. The kitchen was destroyed, ravaged by strangers with little respect for the home. Debris, trash, and the remnants of marijuana were everywhere. You nearly stepped on broken glass.

It felt like an out-of-body experience — as if you were simply a spectator, an observer who watched the chaos around you. You didn’t thrive or revel within it — you were indifferent. The vices of your friends differed greatly from your own, to quite an extreme degree.

As you watched the swarm of people, all huddled together within the living room, the air became stifling and stuffy, as if it threatened to suffocate you altogether. They reminded you of zombies — barely moving in one place, all drugged-out from whatever concoction of pills and illicit substances were available at this party.

You silently slipped outside, abandoning your drink somewhere on the windowsill as you stepped out into the cool night breeze. You inhaled, greedily drinking in the crisp freshness of dusk, hands roaming over your thin cardigan as you began to shuffle to the edge of the porch.

Moonlight pooled through the wispy clouds as they fluttered through the night — everything was so much quieter outside. The thumping of the bass had diminished, and the skunk-like scent had dissipated altogether.

The door opened behind you, a figure slinking out onto the porch a few feet away from you. “Hey.”

It was somewhat unfamiliar until you’d actually glanced over your shoulder, gaze landing upon a most familiar face — Jesse Pinkman. The two of you made eye contact; Jesse’s face blossomed with a subtle realization.

“Holy shit,” You let out a bark of a laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Jesse Pinkman, right? You went to J.P Wynne.” You hadn’t seen Jesse Pinkman since high school graduation — you distinctly remembered his social circle.

Jesse recognized you sometime during the midst of the party — a true wallflower, despite your popularity in junior high. It surprised him to see a girl like you at one of his drug-laden festivities, but then again, life was full of surprises. He looked tired, skin pale and eyes baggy as he leaned against one of the columns.

“Yeah,” Perusing his pockets, he fished out a cigarette, placing it between his lips. “You were one of the Honor Society members, right?” Jesse recalled your stellar academics and social standing — his polar opposite.

You made a face, keeping your arms folded across your abdomen. “Yeah.” Admittedly, Jesse wasn’t exactly someone you were friends with in high school. Cordial was a good word for it — your parents never would have allowed you to hang out with someone like him, anyway. “We were in Mr. White’s chemistry classes together.”

Upon mentioning Walter White, Jesse stiffened slightly, feigning innocence as he cracked a thin-lipped smile. “Jesus,” He exhaled, reaching for his lighter. “It’s been awhile.”

There was a prevalent exhaustion that hung within his eyes, a loneliness that almost felt tangible within that moment. He avoided eye contact with you at-times, hands fidgeting when you stepped closer.

“It has.” You paused, rubbing your palms across your arms. Despite the acrid heat that New Mexico produced during the day, the temperatures dropped drastically at night. You shivered, a delicate smile creeping across your features. “Did the party get a little boring for you, too?”

He’d forgotten about you a little bit — forgotten about just how beautiful you were. You’d only gotten prettier, too. Jesse felt the sting of sheepishness and inferiority that came with being around someone like you — a good person, someone with responsibilities and respectable morals. You weren’t a criminal — you hadn’t killed somebody.

Jesse almost felt as if he shouldn’t be speaking to you, but he pressed on. “I guess. Needed some air, you know?” He noticed your constant shivering, prompting him to remove the baggy, black jacket he wore. “You cold?” He asked, gesturing toward the garment he carried.

“Oh,” Warmth crept along your flesh, brows knitting together as you shook your head. “You don’t have to do that, Jesse.” It was a thoughtful gesture, something you didn’t expect, but you were freezing and the dress wasn’t doing you any favors.

“Nah, go ahead. Might smell like cigarettes, though.” Jesse forewarned, tucking one hand underneath his arm. The long-sleeved Henley he wore was more than enough for him.

You thanked him, slipping into his hooded zip-up. He wasn’t exactly incorrect — it did smell of cigarette smoke intermingled with the cologne he wore. You didn’t mind, though.

Silence drifted between the two of you, awkward enough to make you uncomfortable as you fished around for your cellphone. Minutes ticked by without a word. Jesse appeared to be a little nervous, and you wondered if it had anything to do with you.

There was a string of texts from your friends inquiring about your whereabouts. It was a little after ten o’clock, and you fully intended on walking home. “It was nice seeing you, Jesse. I hope you’re doing well.” You cleared your throat. “I’m going to head home.”

Jesse opened his mouth to speak, lips fumbling around the unlit cigarette. Surely, you didn’t want to talk to him — Christ, he was practically a stranger. It felt cruel of him not to offer to give you a ride home, or something like that.

“Hey, uh,” Jesse cleared his throat, clamoring after you. “I can give you a ride home. Could be stalkers or crazy people around.” His reasoning was weak, but it seemed to resonate with you, oddly enough. He felt strange — he barely knew you outside of what he perceived in high school.

You knew that Jesse had gotten in trouble with the law in school — everyone knew. Gossip was prevalent at J.P Wynne. Part of you screamed to refuse, to politely decline and endure the lengthy trek home, but a sliver of you wanted to accept, to indulge in your curiosity.

Jesse had always been kind to you in the very rare, occasional interaction you’d had with him. He hadn’t given you any reason not to trust him. It was a nice change of company — refreshing, almost. There was a clean slate between the two of you.

Your shoulders slouched and sluggishly lifted in a weak shrug as you rubbed your hands together. “You don’t mind? It’s on Nauman Drive, past downtown.” A decent drive, for sure — a half an hour or more. You expected him to reject you given the distance.

“Nauman?” It was a nice area, he knew that much. “Yeah, I don’t mind. You care if I smoke?” Jesse inquired, gesturing around toward the garage. He didn’t care about the house — it almost seemed to fade away into the background. He needed a break, time to think.

“Go ahead.” You trailed after Jesse, following him toward the paved stretch of driveway. A 1984 Toyota Tercel sat, red paint beginning to fade and show signs of weathering. It was beat-up, but certainly held a bit of rugged appeal.

Jesse awkwardly shuffled to open the passenger door, and you thanked him, sinking down into the felt seats. The car smelled of cigarette smoke and cheap air fresheners, but it was tidy and clean inside. You placed your purse down onto the floorboard in front of you.

Blowing a pillar of smoke into the air, Jesse hastily finished his cigarette, fingers beginning to quiver as he opened the driver’s side. He hadn’t really spent time with a girl since Jane — but you didn’t remind him of her whatsoever. There were many qualities you possessed that certainly contrasted from her, not that it was a bad thing.

“Do you live here?” You asked, head canting to one side. There were other cars scattered around the block and parked on the street, but his happened to be the only vehicle in the driveway.

“Uh,” Jesse glanced at you, absentmindedly wetting his lower lip. “Yeah, I do.” He turned the key forward, car rumbling and puffing to life. “Bought the house months ago — used to be my Aunt’s.” He clarified, wondering if you would ask about the obscene amount of drugs.

“You don’t think it’ll burn down while you’re gone?” You questioned, lips twitching into a thin smile as you rolled down the passenger window, letting your elbow rest up against the ledge.

Jesse let out a huff of laughter, and shrugged his shoulders. He began to back up, rolling out onto the empty roads. “It’s been through worse shit.” His wry statement only made your smile flicker again, but he vehemently focused on driving instead.

You felt the barrier melt a bit at that — it was comforting to know that the two of you didn’t have to behave like complete strangers. Silence simmered again, settling between the both of you as he concentrated on finding something on the radio. It served as suitable background noise.

“What are you doing nowadays?” You avoided the topic of the party — it wasn’t worth mentioning. A cool breeze whipped through the car as he began to drive, causing goosebumps to prickle along your shoulders.

“I don’t know,” Jesse confessed, cerulean hues flickering in your direction. “Drifting, I guess.” It was the first time where he’d revealed a sliver of his true feelings. The parties were a worthwhile distraction — soulless events where he could find solace in all of the chaos surrounding him. “Shit, it’s a long story.” His laughter was shaky.

“You don’t have to do a full confession, Jesse.” You reassured, playfully prodding at your cardigan. “I’m not wearing a wire.” With a gentle exhale, your tone softened as he pulled out onto the highway. It was almost soothing — driving back home with somebody you never expected to see again.

Jesse laughed at that, running a hand across his disheveled hair, and then planting it against the back of his neck. The support groups he’d been attending didn’t work — there was no comfort he’d been able to find.

Everything felt like some massive distraction from the root of the problem — the residual pain he was dealing with from Jane, from Gale. His heart hammered within his chest, and he looked at you again. Oddly enough, your nonchalant behavior and lack of judgment would’ve been enough for him to spill in a different setting.

“Hey, what about you? What are you doing these days?” Jesse immediately shifted the focus away from him. He was far more interested in what you had to say than his own life. Besides, it would pull him out of his own head for a little while.

The inquiry was unexpected but not unwelcome, causing you to adjust yourself within the passenger seat. “Oh,” You cleared your throat. “I’m in college at the University of New Mexico. I’m still trying to figure out what I’d like to study — getting basics out of the way. I work at a cafe.”

Normal, uneventful, peaceful — Jesse envied you.

You were achieving something mundane yet safe, something that he wished he would’ve done long ago. Maybe things wouldn’t have happened in the way that they did. His countenance became a touch forlorn, but it wasn’t the time to become mournful over the past. He couldn’t go back, not anymore.

“Yeah, that’s …” He nodded, attempting to conjure the right words to say. “That’s good, really good. You know you could do anything you wanted. You were always really smart and shit.” Jesse replied, gaze hyperfocused upon the road as headlights raced past.

You could detect that Jesse was holding something back — that minuscule flicker of pain had crossed over his visage before being forced to dissipate. Your eyebrows furrowed together, and you reached over, gently prodding at his shoulder.

“Hey,” You began, tone laced with concern. “Are you okay?”

Jesse felt his heart constrict within his chest, wisps of air stolen from his lungs. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had asked that — and genuinely meant it. It wasn’t out of obligation, that was easy to tell. He felt his throat grow thick, but he staved off any tears.

“Yeah.” It was a blatant lie, spoken through a clenched jaw. He nearly winced when you touched his shoulder, feeling as if he were souring the mood entirely. “Just, uh … You know, going to therapy and rehab right now. It’s been tough.” A very threadbare half-truth, but it was enough to placate you.

“Oh.” A warmth crept into your voice as you withdrew, countenance softening as you sank back into the passenger seat. “That’s understandable, Jesse. I’m sorry.” You replied, tucking strands of hair behind your ear as you looked out the window again.

Albuquerque was a sprawling city, and as the two of you neared the nicer end, Jesse knew that Nauman was only ten minutes away. He didn’t want to go back to the party anymore — but it might’ve been the best option. If he stayed with you, he knew the pain it would cause. He feared losing people — it was present all the time, a nagging dread that never stopped.

“Don’t be sorry,” Jesse interjected, knuckles tightening on the steering wheel. “Did that shit to myself, you know?” Addiction was behind him. He rarely participated anymore — he was just a silent observer, fueling everyone else’s vices while he withered away. What kind of a life was that?

You canted your head to one side, lips parting slightly as you spoke. “Jesse, that’s not entirely your fault. You can’t blame yourself for your environment or circumstances out of your control.” You were right — but he made the choice to shoot Gale, and he made the choice to shoot up with Jane before she died.

He was silent, feeling the sensation of tears swimming within his gaze. Jesse didn’t want to even remotely consider crying in front of you — he barely knew you. Instead, he focused on the road, taking the exit towards Albuquerque Studios. Nauman wasn’t very far away.

You couldn’t recall the last time you’d had a conversation with someone else that was this raw and vulnerable. Jesse’s discomfort was palpable and very real to you, and you felt horrible. Your countenance glistened with concern, brows furrowing together.

After the exit, Jesse drove onto Nauman Drive. There were rows of beautiful, lavish houses and apartment complexes, ones that he probably could’ve bought with the dealing money. He was blowing it all away right now on drugs for the parties — he was beginning to ask himself ‘why?’

“My apartment is at the end of the drive.” Your voice had softened, hands planted within your lap as he followed your directions. It was a smaller apartment complex but much nicer, your driveway occupied by your vehicle.

Jesse pulled up along the curb — it was eerily silent, aside from the cacophony of crickets that provided a steady ambience, and the occasional bark of a dog. He put the car in park, still gripping the steering wheel. “You got a nice place.” He murmured, a halfhearted attempt to shift the conversation to something else.

“Hey,” After unbuckling your seatbelt, you leaned over the center console, palm resting over his hand, the one that was strangling the wheel of the car. “Why don’t you come inside? I can make you coffee or something and you can just space out for a little while. We don’t even have to talk.”

The offer was generous — admittedly, Jesse wondered if it would benefit him in any way. If he could just lay on your couch, decompress, let the emotion off of his chest. He didn’t care about the state of the house — he didn’t care about anybody at that party. What he did care about, however, was you, and how you made him feel.

It was as if the invisibility he’d been safely floating in for so long was shattered, but there was someone who could actually see him — see the veil he’d been maintaining for this whole time. His gaze finally flickered toward you, who appeared genuinely concerned for him.

You were good — truly good.

There wasn’t an ounce of maliciousness or an underlying agenda. You didn’t smoke, you hadn’t touched drugs, you were in college with a steady, normal job that never got you involved with the wrong people. Jesse knew what he’d be putting you through if he let this drag out for too long. If he fucked up, people could hurt you.

“Listen,” Jesse swallowed, palm planted against the back of his neck. “You’re really sweet, okay? You’re nice,” He wanted to word it in a way that wouldn’t hurt your feelings. “I just — I can’t. I’m not in a good spot right now. I don’t wanna drag you down with me.” That sounded fair, didn’t it?

You could accept that.

If it had something to do with the drugs, which you assumed that it was, then you understood that he was trying to protect you. You wanted to encourage him to try, but the last thing you wanted to do was pressure someone in a fragile state.

“Okay, Jesse.” You hesitated, pressing your tongue against the inside of your cheek. “I just want you to know that you're not alone. If you need someone, I’m here for you. I know that there was a wedge in high school, but I don’t see any reason why we couldn’t reconnect.” You shrugged, popping open the passenger side door.

As you stepped outside, you made sure to remove his jacket, draping it over the center console as you shut the door. Jesse didn’t say anything as you rounded the car — he was biting his finger, eyes squeezing shut as you made the short trek toward your front door. It felt like an eternity until you’d actually gotten inside.

Jesse exhaled, hands trembling as he hastily wiped away straggling tears that he’d been withholding during the span of the whole drive. Part of him knew that he could use a positive influence like you in his life, but the danger that lurked around him, the cloud of loss, he was afraid that you’d become lost in all of that, too.

The deliberation between going back to his house and biting the bullet to stay with you was a tedious process. He sat out in the car for a long time — he was surprised that you hadn’t come back outside asking why he was sitting there with his head pressed against the steering wheel.

When he finally made the choice to go up to your door, the walk felt like a lengthy, eternal drag. Jesse rocked forward, pressing his hands against his face as he composed himself. Back in high school, he was suave — much more of a charmer. Nowadays, he felt incompetent, but it was largely due to an amalgamation of nerves and drug use.

He knocked a few times, skin crawling with a nervous sensation, but there was something exciting about it, too. You were familiar yet new, a breath of fresh air that he desperately needed. Jesse watched as the door opened, and there you were.

“Hey, uh,” Jesse stuck his hands into his pockets, rocking back upon his heels. “Is the offer still on the table?” He’d ask, and your lips split into a gentle yet bemused smile.

“Of course.” You’d changed into your pajamas — a baggy, oversized graphic t-shirt and cotton shorts that were dwarfed by your top. “Did you want to watch a movie? I was about to start Watchmen.”

Jesse watched as you stepped aside to invite him in, closing the door behind him and latching the lock. You had a weird itch for security, especially at night. “Yeah, that sounds cool.” He replied, having a look around.

Your apartment was tidy and very cozy, with a rather comforting aesthetic and atmosphere. Jesse felt a little more relaxed, wandering around in the small living room. The soft glow of a lamp illuminated the plush sofa, scattered with throw blankets and pillows.

As you prepared coffee, you wondered what changed his mind. It was a question that would likely nag at you until you asked. You understood being lonely — aside from the occasional hangout with your friends, you lived alone.

“Make yourself at home,” You chimed, weaving around the coffee table to place your steaming mugs down, settling into the couch. Jesse sat a comfortable distance away, arm slung over the back of the sofa. “What changed your mind?”

Your question caught him off-guard, but he wanted to be transparent with you. He owed you that much, especially after talking to him — after this, after everything. “I knew that I’d be miserable if I went back,” He shrugged. “I don’t wanna keep being miserable.” Loneliness also played a factor in this, but he didn’t really want to own up to it just yet.

“I understand,” You began, tucking one knee toward your chest as you played the movie. Admittedly, it served as better background noise than anything else. “I’m glad you came over.” Your lips split into a soft smile.

Jesse hesitated, glancing over at you as he stayed silent. He was most definitely drinking you in, gaze subtly raking you over as you took a sip of your coffee. For a moment, he envisioned this — getting close to you, hanging out with you, just getting to be himself, or as close as he could get again.

“I’m glad, too.” Jesse confessed, rubbing at the back of his head. He nearly shriveled at the eye contact you made with him, but he maintained it instead, lips twitching into a faint smile.

You nudged your drink back onto the wooden table, wordlessly slinking closer to Jesse until you were curled up beside him. The silence simmered with something else, perhaps a crackle of affection. Your gaze glistened with a peculiar softness, flickering between the movie and him.

Admittedly, this was the last thing Jesse expected — but that didn’t stop him from wanting it to happen. Once you initiated, he decided to meet you halfway, draping his arm around you, cheek pressed against the top of your head.

He’d been craving something like this for a while now. Jane left a void — a massive, gaping wound that he feared wouldn’t heal, but now? Maybe there was an end in sight — maybe there was a light at the end of the tunnel. Jesse relaxed, sinking into you as you cuddled up with him.

Your hands intertwined, fingers brushing together until they joined. Just like Jesse, you were chasing after the sensation of touch, chasing after that feeling of fulfillment — no more loneliness. You’d been dealing with it for a long while, trying to manage the sea of emotions, and this was a nice break from that.

“I understand feeling miserable,” You murmured, head resting comfortably against his collarbone. “Sometimes it feels like you’re alone out on a raft, in the middle of the ocean.”

Jesse’s jaw tightened, but there was a mutual sense of empathy and understanding within your words. That was how he felt oftentimes — just himself, attempting to stay afloat. He didn’t say anything, but he did caress your knuckles with his thumb as a form of acknowledgment.

As the movie progressed, the two of you occasionally made small talk, but you were a little engrossed by the film, and so was he. It was comforting to just be near him — let him hold you, keep it light with gentle touches and whatnot.

It wasn’t until halfway through the movie that Jesse cleared his throat, glancing down at you with exhausted eyes. “Thanks for this,” He murmured, absentmindedly wetting his lower lip. “Would you wanna do it again? Like, uh … Hanging out, or something?” He was intent on cleaning up his place, now.

“Yeah,” You replied, twisting within his hold enough to peer up at him. “I would.” There was something special about this — perhaps a feeling of renewal, of starting something with someone you never expected. You had a feeling that Jesse needed a little bit of support, and you didn’t mind providing that.

“Shit,” Jesse breathed through a soft laugh, visibly bewildered yet pleased by your answer. “Okay.” He didn’t expect that from you — he didn’t expect anything, really.

The both of you were smiling, now. Watchmen dissipated into the background once more, simply serving as ambience as the two of you nestled together. “Okay.” You parroted, lips curling into a lopsided smile as Jesse gathered his bearings.

You had little time to fully comprehend his next actions — he moved inward, cerulean hues dropping from your face to your mouth. Everything about this screamed sudden and intense, but you didn’t care. He tasted like cigarette smoke and spearmint gum — he had a very sweet kiss.

Jesse inhaled, relaxing into you, careening right into the warmth of your body. Every fiber of his being felt electrified, and he became so incredibly nervous — he hadn’t done this since Jane. He didn’t want her death to tarnish the moment, but it was inevitable.

He pulled away, opening his mouth to speak, yet nothing emerged. Words turned to ash upon his tongue, dying then and there as he hung his head, fingers toying with yours.

It wasn’t difficult to tell that he was struggling with this — you didn’t want to pry, but you didn’t want him to feel obligated, either. “Hey,” You murmured, dragging one hand toward his face, fingertips grazing over his stubbled jaw. “What’s wrong?” It was written all over his countenance, this underlying sense of pain.

“Nothing, just …” Jesse shivered when your palm cupped his jaw, shamelessly leaning into the sensation you left behind from your hand. “I just don’t wanna leave.” It sounded so pathetic — he didn’t want to go back home to a drug-laden pit.

Your lips twitched into a faint smile. “Is that it?” You left it open-ended, attempting to stay on the side of not being invasive or pushy. You wanted him to be comfortable.

Jesse huffed, idly tracing the pad of his thumb across the delicate plane of your knuckles. “Nah,” He admitted, cerulean hues flickering toward your face. “Haven’t really done this in awhile.” Telling you the visceral, painful truth would’ve been too much for him, so he settled on something else, something superficial.

“What, kissing?” You teased, keeping it mellow and lighthearted before he shook his head. “If it’s any reassurance, I haven’t done anything, either. Don’t feel like it’s just you.” With a soft sigh, you watched as Jesse leaned back just an inch or two, head craned to rest against your couch.

There was something forlorn about him, a light aura of melancholy that swirled around his being. You didn’t want to ask, but you couldn’t help but wonder what happened. You were able to look past that — he was attractive. You’d always thought that he was handsome.

“You, uh … You mind if we do it again?” Jesse asked, head cocked to one side. He was some amalgamation of sheepishness and a suave charm, smile somewhat feeble as he held your hand.

“I don’t mind.” You replied, but before he could lean in again, you had something on your mind. “Jesse?”

Jesse stooped closer, forehead nearly pressed against yours. “Yeah?”

“Would it help if you stayed tonight?” Whatever was plaguing him, being alone around drugs was the last thing he needed. You didn’t mind him staying the night — you didn’t mind whatever came with that, too.

He remained silent for a few moments, and immediately felt as if he should say no — and against his own inner turmoil, he wanted to be with you. He didn’t care if the house was a mess or if it had been reduced to nothing — he’d rather stay here with you.

“I don’t wanna disturb the peace,” Jesse began, nose wrinkling slightly when you rolled your eyes. “I can crash on the couch.” Admittedly, that sliver of him that was desperate for affection also wanted to sleep with you, but it was only polite to keep his distance until you said otherwise.

“You’re not disturbing anything. Promise.” You reassured, fingers creeping toward the nape of his neck as you tilted forward. “I want you to stay.” You uttered, your own desire for fulfillment and company mirrored his own want to not be alone.

Part of him really wished you hadn’t said that — but once the gate was open, Jesse couldn’t stop himself, and neither could you. His gaze fell to your lips, thumb briefly caressing your jaw until the two of you were colliding into one another.

Jesse kissed you again, compassionate and borderline needy, hand dropping to grasp at the curve of your hip. His free hand still remained tangled with yours, eyes fluttering shut as you shuffled forward, partially planted within his lap. It was enough to make him forget about the downward spiral he was on, and it was as if the plummeting had ceased — for now.

You didn’t know where this would lead, but that was the exhilarating part about it. The uncertainty and the newfound territory that was Jesse Pinkman elated you. Maybe this was what you needed; he was what you needed — you needed a fresh start.

“Hey, uh,” Jesse whispered against your mouth, fingers teasing the hem of your baggy shirt, grazing over your thigh. “Where we going with this?” It was spoken with compassion and concern, out of total thoughtfulness for you. Maybe you didn’t want to sleep with a junkie — he couldn’t blame you.

“I think I know where I’d like to go,” You confessed, head canting to one side. “Where do you want to go?” You asked, idly trailing your digits through his hair. You noticed the subtle bobbing of his Adam’s apple, accompanied by a peculiar sheen within his eyes.

If it was something serious that you were after, Jesse was unsure if he even had that capability. After Jane, it almost seemed to shatter — fall apart. Maybe it didn’t have to be that way forever. Perhaps, there was a light at the end of the tunnel for the two of you.

Instead of recoiling, Jesse held you closer, wordlessly ushering you into his lap, palm splayed out underneath your shirt, resting soundly at the curve of your hip. “I just,” He hesitated, completely enamored by you — you were beautiful. “I don’t know if I can be what you need right now.” He admitted.

You respected him all the more for his candor, hands coming to rest at the nape of his neck. You decided to kiss him, slow and steady, tilting to one side for something deeper. When you withdrew, your lips twitched into a smile. “I’m patient.” With that conclusion alone, Jesse relaxed.

He felt a bit of pressure relinquish itself from him, like a weight being removed from his chest. Jesse was worried that you’d want something serious, something strict off the bat. He didn’t intend on sleeping around, but he was afraid of disappointing you more than anything.

Given the implication of your interactions, Jesse had something on his mind — he figured that the feeling was mutual.

Jesse remained quiet for a moment, pressing a sweet kiss against your jaw, and then another to your neck. “Where’s your room?” He murmured, nearly shuddering in delight when you absentmindedly tugged on his hair.

“Come on.” Reluctantly, you removed yourself from his lap, taking ahold of his hand as you led him down the short corridor towards your bedroom. It was, as Jesse expected, lavishly-decorated and aesthetically pleasing. It far outweighed the dump he was living in.

“Cute.” Jesse couldn’t help but comment, lips twitching into a smile as he observed your choice of style and the many pillows piled up on top of your mattress. Admittedly, it all felt so cozy and welcoming — it even smelled good.

With a playful roll of your eyes, you watched as Jesse nudged the door closed. The both of you were swallowed by the lower, dim lighting of your bedroom, slivers of orange encompassing your scantily-clad frame.

He pressed closer, hands roaming across your body, one palm gently slipping underneath the hem of your shirt to brazenly grab at your ass. Locked in another heated kiss, your hands moved to push his jacket away, draping across his shoulders.

The sensation of your fingers roaming through his hair was enough to make his knees weak, a low groan resonating within his throat. You tasted sweet, like the twang of strawberry chapstick and the citrus seltzer you’d been drinking at the party. Jesse kissed you again, greedily this time, one hand cupping the curve of your hip.

As the two of you fell onto your bed in a feverish heap of limbs and mouths, you withdrew for a moment, getting yourself adjusted. You prepared to remove your shirt until you saw Jesse laying there, eyes half-lidded. Exhaustion was scrawled into his face, as if it were a permanent feature.

“Are you tired?” You asked, more concerned about his state of wellbeing. You were getting hot and bothered, but your own desire could be put on hold for a little while.

Jesse appeared embarrassed, but with the bags underneath his eyes and the perpetual state of tiredness that hung around him, he couldn’t lie to you. “Yeah,” He chewed at the inside of his cheek. “Shit, this feels pathetic. I’m practically blue-balling myself.” He mused, and it made you giggle.

“It’s not pathetic, Jesse.” You reassured, opting to climb into bed and make yourself comfortable. Jesse kicked off his shoes, following suit until he was resting at your side, arms tangled around you. “You look like you’re seconds away from crashing. I think we can put sex aside for now.”

Begrudgingly, he felt you cuddle against him, head near his collarbone as he made himself comfortable with you. His erection happened to push into your rump throughout, but before you could make a playful comment about it, his breathing had steadied.

“Jesse?” You whispered, receiving no response. He was most definitely asleep, and you confirmed this by simply rolling over. His expression was cast into one of bliss, still clutching onto you even through slumber. You sank back down with a smile, and decided to sleep, too.

—

Slivers of dawn’s first light trickled through the gossamer curtains — faint enough not to draw any attention, but enough to signal to Jesse that it was early in the morning. He’d stayed the night, and even then, it didn’t seem real.

You were asleep at his side, still nestled against him, but beginning to stir. Jesse couldn’t tell if it was because you were really waking up, or because his hard-on was protruding into you. He remembered last night — kissing you before he’d fallen asleep.

It wasn’t one of his smoothest moments — not by a long shot.

“Hey,” As the haze of grogginess began to lift, you were elated to find Jesse — still in your bed, and still next to you. Even being disheveled from sleep, Jesse found you to be astoundingly gorgeous. There was perfection to you that he wanted to drown himself inside of. “You’re here.” You smiled.

“Did you think I ditched or something?” He asked, arm draped around you as you shook off the feeling of slumber. Admittedly, part of you thought he’d wake up and leave, but he proved you wrong.

“A little bit,” You confessed, feeling his hand trace idle patterns into the dip of your waist. You wriggled closer, pressing a soft kiss against his stubbled jaw. “But I’m glad you didn’t.” It was complete and utter bliss, waking up with him — it was the last thing you expected, but you could get used to it.

Jesse huffed, hand dragging from your waist to your face, palm cupping your cheek as he caressed your jaw with his thumb. “Nah,” He smiled this time, cerulean eyes boring into you, becoming lost in the mere presence of you. “Didn’t even cross my mind, if I’m being honest.”

You smiled, eyelashes fluttering in rapid succession before you planted a sloppy, slower kiss against his lips. “What crossed your mind instead?” You asked, careening into the sensation of his palm cradling your face.

Jesse felt much better, no longer plagued by the desire for sleep. Instead, there was something else he wanted — he wanted to pick up from last night. He leaned forward, pressing his lips against yours, hand skimming toward your thigh.

“Lots of stuff,” He began, coaxing you against him as he answered your question in between a series of heated, needy kisses. “All about you.” Jesse confessed, peering at you through his lashes before his hand gently grabbed at your ass.

“Yeah? Do you wanna show me?” You asked, becoming a bit breathless whenever he kissed you. It was accompanied by plenty of groping, ensuring that you were flush against him as the tension rose to a boiling point between the two of you.

You weren’t about to recoil, reciprocating his kiss with a passionate one of your own, stomach churning with anticipation. Your hand moved toward the nape of his neck, fingers lightly grabbing at his hair. Each kiss was sweet yet sloppy, and you could feel Jesse’s hand underneath your shirt.

“Yeah, I do. Do you wanna do this?” Jesse murmured, ensuring that he wasn’t jumping the gun. You could’ve changed your mind from last night — that was certainly a possibility, and he’d be just fine with it. He was partially on top of you, but he leaned back enough to gauge your answer.

“Absolutely.” You smiled, sitting up enough to get your shirt off, which Jesse kindly assisted with. The both of you sank into a rather peaceful moment, blissfully quiet as he wriggled out of his shirt.

Jesse leaned forward again, capturing your mouth in a passionate, heated kiss, his hands finding the smooth curve of your hips. “You’re so pretty.” He exhaled, feeling that little pang of nervousness. He hadn’t touched a girl since Jane, but he wasn’t about to let himself be thrust into the past, not now.

Heat saturated your skin, crawling all over you like a fever. In the wake of Jesse’s compliment, you felt sheer elation, feeling his lips roam from your mouth to your jaw. His hands were everywhere, inevitably finding their purchase against your thighs. He peppered a string of kisses from your jaw to your neck, though his kisses soon turned to suckling.

“Jesse.” You moaned, haplessly grasping onto his shoulders as he left a series of hickeys on your neck. You felt his digits curl around the waistband of your panties, but he made no motion to remove them just yet.

Your moan was enough to make him shiver in delight, gaze following the path of your hand as you hastily unclasped your bra. You had such a beautiful body — Jesse felt some semblance of awe, snug against you as you got comfortable atop the comforter.

Continuing his previous route, Jesse’s mouth kissed down your neck and collarbone, stopping above your breasts. Even your smell was intoxicating — everything about you reeled him in. “Jesus,” He mumbled against your sternum. “You’re beautiful.” It was an endless string of softspoken praises that escaped him.

He was scrawny, with a lanky musculature — you found it attractive in the best of ways. Your gaze occasionally fell across his many tattoos, committing every detail to memory. Your fingers continued to tug and pull at his hair, body jolting into him when his mouth wrapped around your nipple.

A low groan resonated from his throat, rippling across his chest when you continued to toy with his hair. His hand traced down the plane of your stomach, slipping underneath the elastic trim of your panties. You nearly buckled, writhing underneath him when his digits slipped against your cunt.

You felt his mouth suck and kiss at your breast, in-tandem with the teasing ministrations of his fingers. It was feather-light, enough to drive you to the brink of frustration. “You wet already, angel?” It was almost an incredulous statement instead of a question.

Fuck — the nickname was enough to send shockwaves pulsating through your body. Your skin became awash with warmth, lips falling apart as you peered down, enough to catch a glimpse of those half-lidded, cerulean eyes and the adoring tilt of his lips. Goosebumps snaked across your spine, back arching off of the bed.

Jesse wasn’t dumb — he knew that your reaction was from the nickname. He pressed his tongue against his cheek, pressing a string of kisses from your breast to stomach, tattooed hand curling into your panties as he inched them past your thighs.

“Say it again,” It was a command that fell from your mouth, and not a plea. Your fingers happened to tense within his hair, enough to make his jeans become uncomfortably tight. “Please.” With a breathy exhale, you felt Jesse’s lips trace across the curve of your hip.

He felt his heart hammer with erratic excitement, tongue absentmindedly flicking out to trace across his lower lip. Christ, you looked so perfect like this — Jesse watched you, breathing intensifying as you spread your legs just a little bit. He often walked the line between nervousness and confidence, feeling a sense of boldness swell within him.

His breath fanned across the inside of your thigh, lips ghosting over the soft skin there. Jesse’s gaze remained fixated upon you, glistening with a sheen of lust as he finally began to kiss his way to the throbbing between your legs. “Where do you want me, angel?” Jesse murmured, assuming that he knew the answer.

You couldn’t recall the last time you’d felt this way — floating, so unbelievably slick and warm that you felt feverish. Jesse brought out a new level of neediness and desperation that you never thought possible. “Jesse,” You moaned, squirming haplessly as you urged him closer. “Please, please.”

Jesse swallowed, wordlessly following the motion of your hand as he lapped at your cunt, tongue dragging along the length of your slit. You were whimpering, one hand grappling at his freckled shoulder. He was so turned on from the noises you made, enough for him to grind his hips into the mattress.

You sputtered a very pitiful apology when your hips bucked forward, but you were met with a barrage of needy licks and a faint moan. Slivers of morning light pooled through the curtains, falling across Jesse as he buried his face between your thighs. His weeks-old stubble rubbed against the sensitive flesh of your legs.

Nimble digits skimmed forward, one palm splayed against your pelvis as the other gripped down on your thigh. You wanted to sob from how good it felt — he was talented with his mouth, that much was for sure. His tongue flicked over your clit, gestures rhythmic and steady.

A knot formed within your stomach, a coil that continued to tighten, threatening to burst if Jesse kept it up. It all felt like some foreign fever dream, but you much preferred the current reality — Jesse Pinkman, eating you out until you cried. You felt his hand brush against yours, a gesture that was startlingly tender.

One hand untangled itself from his hair, deciding to give him a break, going to hold his hand instead, fingers lacing together. You felt his lips begin to purse around your clit, simultaneously eliciting another noisy, elated moan from your lips.

Your chest heaved with a myriad of throaty, high-pitched whimpers as he sucked on your clit, stars rippling past your vision. No one had ever gone down on you with such reverence and passion before, but now that you’d gotten a taste, you wanted more.

Jesse hadn’t realized it, but somewhere in the thick of hooking up with you, he was feeling like himself again. It almost felt as if he’d been transported back to a time before he’d met Walter White, to a time where he was slinging crystal and simply enjoying life. Each moan, every little mewl and keen that escaped you was akin to music.

“Jesse,” You panted, breathing somewhat ragged as he lapped at your clit. That coil began to unfurl, blistering heat coursing through you, a white-hot rush of sheer ecstasy that caused you to moan and cry out. “Jesse!” You felt him squeeze your hand, a silent reassurance to let go.

Unbothered by the mess, Jesse groaned, feeding off of your orgasm as he lapped at your cunt, ministrations lacking the vigor from before. Your stomach felt like mush, but you wanted him to fuck you senseless — you almost felt embarrassed for how wound-up you’d become.

He was quiet, kissing your thighs as he began to sit back up, wiping off his mouth with the back of his hand. Jesse ogled you, head cocking to one side before he spoke. “You are so beautiful.” It wasn’t something spoken lightly during sex — you felt it seep right into your bones, genuine as ever.

“So are you.” You replied, and you watched his throat bob as he swallowed. Jesse crawled up, and in a flurry of unrestrained passion, he kissed your mouth. You could taste yourself, taste him — it was enough to make your cunt throb again, still dealing with the aftershocks of your orgasm.

“Could you, uh …” Jesse mumbled, erection pulsing and rubbing right into the pliant flesh of your thigh. “I want you on top.” He was used to climbing on top of girls and going to town until he ran out of stamina, but he had different reasons this time. “I wanna see you.”

Your heart fluttered within your chest, and you nodded, watching as he rolled over, making himself comfortable atop the mound of pillows lining your bed. There was something eerily intimate in the way that he spoke — maybe it was just you. It was soft and sweet, enough to make you shudder as you straddled his hips.

Reaching for his belt, you unfastened it, moving enough for him to kick his pants off. His hands moved toward your thighs, fingers caressing across your flesh as the both of you worked to remove the final article of clothing. He was quiet this time, staring up at you with a searing, intense look — it was almost adoring.

He was unbearably hard, hips writhing slightly, desperate to be inside of you. Jesse nearly melted at the sensation of your hand wrapping around his cock, giving it a few, sluggish strokes, thumb swiping across the head before you lifted yourself up just enough.

Jesse groaned in tandem with you as you sank down onto his length, digits tensing into your thighs as you adjusted yourself, lips falling apart. You reached for his hands, fingers twining together. Goosebumps erupted across his body, chest fluttering with an unshakable warmth.

“Jesus.” Jesse breathed, watching as you stooped down to press your mouth against his, open-mouthed and sloppy. His tongue traced across your lower lip, and you responded by rolling your hips forward. He exhaled, reciprocating with another heated, messy kiss.

He released one of your hands, enough to grip onto your hip, guiding you into a steady rhythm. Your pace was somewhat sporadic and erratic at first, slipping into a natural flow once he held onto you. Jesse groans, unable to keep from staring at you as if you were perfection incarnate.

You whimper, using your knees to rock yourself up and back down, sinking onto his cock until he’s bottomed out. The intermingling of your moans fill your bedroom, accompanied by the faint squeak and creak of your bed frame. “Jesse.” You mewl, feeling his lips smack against your collarbone.

What started as something slow and sluggish had gained traction, your pace increasing slightly. A crackling, familiar heat raced across your body, making your stomach churn with anticipation, simultaneously pooling with warmth.

A soft moan tore past his lips, skin flushing with a rosy shade as you careened forward, one palm splaying out across his chest. “Shit,” Jesse’s voice emerged again as an excitable pant, squeezing your hand as you continued to piston yourself up and down. “You feel so good, baby.” Any little nickname was enough to make you preen.

Heat rippled through you, continuing to consume your body in waves. He sat up, enough to be within reach of you as he pressed a messy, sultry kiss against your collarbone, clamoring for your mouth as you tilted your head downward.

Your hand snaked from his chest to the nape of his neck, gripping his hair once. Your motions became somewhat uneven and less rhythmic as you rocked yourself on his cock, mewling and whimpering, noises intertwining with his strenuous groans. His palm grabbed at the curve between your thigh and ass, gripping you tight as you rode him.

“M’close,” You huffed, prying your lips away from his, only for you to press a trail of haphazard kisses against his stubbled jaw. “Jesse.” Another whine escaped you, followed by a cacophony of lewd noises. Your thighs felt a strain and burn from pistoning yourself onto his cock so many times, heat pooling between your legs.

Jesse was right there with you, though he wasn’t entirely sure where you wanted him to unload, to put it mildly. “Where do you want me?” He asked again, mirroring his inquiry from earlier. You slowed somewhat at that question, but he shook his head. “Keep going.” Despite the sting of borderline overstimulation, he didn’t want you to stop.

Both of his hands redirected themselves to your hips, guiding you along, letting you grind yourself forward, rolling your hips up and back onto his length. He groaned again, forehead pressed against yours, skin feeling as if it were set ablaze. The hold you had on him already was rather ironclad.

He kissed you again, unusually intimate and full of desire, digits groping and kneading into your curves. Your skin felt velvety underneath his fingertips, and your scent invaded his senses, overwhelming him in the best way possible. His cock was throbbing, swallowed by your tight cunt as you whimpered his name.

“Not inside.” You cautioned, breathlessly clashing with him again — all tongue, teeth and want as Jesse nudged you back. With your newfound position, legs locked around his lanky musculature as he rutted into you, you felt like you were seeing stars. “Holy shit, Jesse!” You moaned.

Jesse wasn’t grotesquely well-endowed, but he knew exactly how to utilize what he had. He felt like he’d broken the barrier right then and there, bottomed out inside of you before he pulled out, cumming onto your stomach. It was one of the hottest things he’d ever seen as thin ropes of slick seed fell across your abdomen.

His chest heaved with recuperative breaths, perspiration glistening along his brow as he hovered over you. The two of you sighed in-tandem, both coming down from a blissful high. Those pretty, cerulean eyes of his consumed you over and over again, fluttering in rapid succession before he lowered himself to kiss you.

It was slow — too slow, almost, but Jesse savored you, instead. Your nails ghosted across his forearm, tracing around the intricate pattern of his tattoo before skimming toward his shoulders. You reciprocated the kiss with a familiar sweetness, unhooking one leg from his waist.

“Sorry,” Jesse mumbled, gesturing toward the sticky mess that was splattered all over your stomach. “You look so pretty like that.” His tone lowered, taking on some delicious pitch that itched a certain part of you, sending goosebumps trailing across your spine.

Before you could respond, Jesse slipped off of you, tugging on his boxers as he wandered toward your bathroom to grab a towel. It was the first one he could get his hands on, returning to you with a rather adoring look in his eyes.

As you cleaned yourself up, making sure to discard the towel into your laundry basket, Jesse reappeared with a glass of water. It was quite endearing, watching the way he took care of you afterwards without being asked to. He sat next to you, watching as you pulled your panties back on and your t-shirt.

“That was really nice.” Admittedly, you needed it — but it felt better than before, all due to Jesse. You curled up next to him, head resting against his collarbone as his palm moved to cradle your face.

“Yeah, it was.” Jesse murmured, wishing that he could stay with you. He needed to get back home — the house was likely ruined. He’d also briefly glanced at his phone and noticed four missed calls from Mr. White’s number. “I wanna do it again.”

You giggled, nose wrinkling in amusement. “Hanging out together or having sex?” You asked, and he scoffed, lips twitching in a brief flash of a smile. “You can be honest, Jesse. I can handle it.”

“Both,” He confessed, savoring the feeling of your hand delicately tracing over the tattoo on his collarbone. “What if I took you out somewhere, yeah? Like on a date.” Jesse couldn’t believe that he’d asked you, but it was out in the open, now — no going back.

“Okay.” You mused, gaze flickering toward his lips. You would never get tired of kissing him — the taste of spearmint and cigarettes had become borderline addictive. “You can take me out.” With that, you leaned forward, pressing your mouth against his.

Jesse exhaled, reciprocating your kiss with one of his own. He squeezed his eyes shut, pad of his thumb caressing over your jawline. “Shit,” He sighed, a forlorn look within his eyes. “I gotta get going. I don’t want to.” He didn’t want to leave, but he had a feeling he’d be seeing you again soon. His phone vibrated again.

You yearned for the contact when he’d rolled out of your bed, getting himself dressed again. Once he found his jacket and keys, you decided to walk him to the door, standing with him in the cool morning breeze. Sunlight glittered down, bathing the both of you in picturesque lighting.

“Jesse,” You murmured, hand poised along the doorframe. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” You asked, watching him linger around on the front step as he glanced toward his car. After everything that happened, from last night to now, you were a little worried. He wasn’t exactly in the best state of mind — that much you knew.

Jesse hesitated — he didn’t have a viable answer to that. His house was a drug-laden pit, he was beginning to spiral, but you’d kicked him back onto a different path. It was an unpredictable road ahead. Even he had no idea how he’d feel by the end of the day, but one thing was for certain — he’d be okay for you.

He swallowed, and then nodded twice. “Yeah, I think so.” His chest tightened with a flurry of emotions, ones he hadn’t felt since Jane was around. Jesse was absolutely enthralled by you — and he wondered if that would lead to your doom.

With that, you nodded, beginning to turn around. Before you could, you felt a hand curling around your wrist, as if guiding you elsewhere.

“Hey,” Jesse muttered, reeling you back in for a gentle kiss. “I’ll see you later.” It was a promise to himself, more than it was to you. He was reluctant to pull away, but the buzzing in his pocket became rather urgent.

The kiss caught you off-guard, stealing every wisp of air right out of your lungs, warmth creeping across your skin until it burned something hot within your cheeks. You opened your mouth, unable to keep from smiling.

“See you later, Jesse.”

You really hoped that you would.

#jesse pinkman x reader #jesse pinkman x you #breaking bad #jesse pinkman fanfiction #jesse pinkman #breaking bad fanfiction #breaking bad fanfic #better call saul #female reader #aaron paul #sunkendreams masterlist

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lovesickeros · 10 months ago

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☆ you sow; & thus you shall reap what you are owed

{☆} characters tsaritsa {☆} notes cult au, imposter au, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings blood, violence {☆} word count 0.8k

You are dying.

Gold melts into the dirt, bleeds into the very earth that you'd molded by your own hands – a familiarity you do not understand the source of – you know it to be true, yet you do not remember it as Teyvat does. It weeps, in turn, for the way you bleed upon it, the way your lungs strain for breath.

It is fury and sorrow and fear and hatred so raw that your mind buckles.

You will die.

"A dying godling and its judge, it's jury – it's executioners," The voice is hollow and cold, sweeps across your broken body like the first chill of winter, "Archons who saw themselves Gods, now brought to heel by their own hubris."

A cold hand upon your cheek, the brush of a thumb across your lip, the gentle caress of cold across your skin. You know her – you don't remember, you shouldn't recognize her but you do – and she knows you. The cold beckons and you follow, let her kindness settle in the hollow space of your chest. You want to speak, to cry and scream and rage, let the world burn around you in a fit of flames so hot even she cannot contain it – but she silences you, quiets the anger seeping into your blood, quiets Teyvat itself.

"Do not speak, little godling. Guide my hand," She is cold; her hands are not gentle, yet it is bliss compared to the callous, cruel hands that have shattered you. She is cruel and cold and brutal but she is love in the way she kisses the crown of your head. She is love in the way she is the bulwark between you and the world that has scorned you – she is fury in the way she brings them to their knees. "And I shall enact judgement most divine."

They will pray for forgiveness, and they shall find themselves wanting.

"It wasn't our fault!" They cry, but you cannot recognize the voice – it breaks and cracks like glass. "They were too human. How were we meant to know? We– we thought they were.."

Silence.

You watch your judge – the executioner, the blade that shall carve their sins into the very marrow of Teyvat, stand above you like death. As cold as winter and just as brutal. Your temple has been painted in the gold of your divine blood, and she shall complete the masterpiece with their own. The Archons shall become the grandest art in the world – this temple the canvas, their blood the paint and their bodies the palette. The cold that cuts sinew cradles you – it sings to you, whispers sweetly in your ear and carves bone from body in the same breath. The cold presses it's lips to your wrist and it cradles a heart within it's palm – judges them and finds them guilty.

It is her spear that rests between their ribs, her sword that dissects and her dagger that carves – the cold devours.

In the breadth of this divine sanctuary, the Archons dwindle. They become the pieces of a divine work of art, they bleed and bend and break upon her hands. She shakes the heavens and carves mortality into the bones of the divine – your word is Law, and you weave their deaths into the roots of Teyvat itself.

They shall know of their grand folly in every moment henceforth and longer still and they shall weep.

And as the curtain falls, as the world crumbles beneath fist and blade, she cradles your face between hands too cold – as gentle as a shard of ice between your ribs, as brutal as the kiss of gentle snowfall. The world buckles at the loss of six, but she alone does not allow it to break – you will have to mend the wounds of the world when you are well, but today you weep and Teyvat weeps with you.

And alone, the cold remains.

Stone has eroded, the wind has ceased, the flames have been extinguished, the storm has been silenced, the forests have gone quiet and the seas go still.

But the cold remains, bathed in gold.

It wraps you in thick furs, cradles you against the winter storm that brews beneath a veneer of composure. It brings you home – lets the world settle into a stillness and silence that inspires only dread and still she presses a kiss to your brow.

It is cold, but there has never been something so warm.

Where hands have broken you, she drapes you in furs, wipes away the thick gold that clings to your skin. She pieces you back together where you have been shattered, reshapes you where you have been bent – makes of you something new. Not a god and not a mortal but something wedged between them.

But you are yourself.

And you are where you belong.

They shall put you back together and you shall know only the worship worthy of the divine. They shall carve this world into your image, tear out and burn away the rot that festers.

All you need to do is say the word and they shall be your tools to make this world your own.

One word and those who wronged you shall burn, too.

Just one word. That's all it takes, and they shall take away your pain.

#sagau #genshin sagau #self aware genshin #genshin impact sagau #self aware genshin impact #fic tag #genshin cult au #genshin impact cult au #tsaritsa #“eros you left for a month again” yeah.................#anyway. posts tsaritsa fic and leaves #i kept it kinda vague but the fatui are all on your side. whether or not your actually the creator or not though..#now thats up for debate.#did they tamper w teyvat to kill the archons? to break the world to be remade in whatever image they see fit?#using you as the means of their end?#maybe you are the creator and they just saw an opportunity. maybe they are just devoted to you.#i just think lowkey villain au but specifically imposter au where the only ones who side w u r the fatui like OUGH #i love the fatui. them being the only ones 2 side w u is so tasty #prime material for angst bc the self doubt if the only ppl who believe u r the “villains”#a lot of this is just like. tsaritsa posting again though #the tsaritsa who loves so deeply yet cannot love #contradictions all the way down #she loves you but she cannot love you.#she loves you but she will put a dagger between your ribs. she loves you but she is incapable of love #tsaritsa the woman that u r ough #harbingers and their complex relations 2 love my beloved #smth smth tsaritsa seeing an opportunity to install a puppet “creator” which creates a separate imposter!au when the actual creator pops in #did i write this just 2 write tsaritsa being vague and Weird and horrifying and a horror and a lover and just a woman and #yeah :]#please talk 2 me abt the tsaritsa pleas epleas pleas eplease please please please p[lease please pleas

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weavewithin · 8 months ago

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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐧 𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐥 𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐤𝐲. Like always these days, Taliyah had greeted its first rays and was going to bid good night to its last. This small, remote seaside town was one she always returned to, come the first signs of summer, like some part of her was forever tethered there.

The slopes of the strand and craggy cliffside were as familiar to her as her own heartbeat. When something was out of place, she knew.

A distant rumble that she recognized from her time spent near cities, so incredibly rare in this remote place, was the fanfare of something foreign. She was in her staff uniform, running the last errands of the day, expecting the approaching speedster to be more loud than fast, and to pass by along the adjacent street, the way they usually did when they wandered into these parts. But neither of her predictions hit its mark, this one rare time -- and Taliyah, carrying a surfboard from a nearby van, wasn't prepared.

There, at the perpetually roomy, overgrown parking lot, her trajectory crossed with a motorcycle the like of which she'd never seen before. She stepped out of the rapidly approaching vehicle's way, but not without losing her balance in astonishment. She fell to the worn pavement, surfboard in tow, yelping in surprise. A raking, scraping sound ensued, as the surfboard slid against the ground, pushed by her weight.

Everything would be fine, she knew immediately, having fallen onto her side in a relatively controlled way. It was clear however, that her elbow hadn't fared so well, with its awkward positioning over the surfboard. Dazed but alert, she began to move, intent on getting up and having a word with the reckless driver.

@weavertali - 🩵 ⁺₊⋆ ☾

Motorcycling was probably one of best and worst things he's ever picked up. It was another thing for everyone in his life to worry over for him, and had the potential to mess him up badly - and permanently. And it was one of the most exhilarating activities Aphelios has ever done. And probably the loudest he's ever going to be. He'd been riding ever since he crawled out of his surgery result stupor.

The foreshore road was quiet as the late afternoon sun cast the sky in amber, the waves rolling in smaller with their energy used throughout the day. Until the drone of a telltale engine rolls in, and a blue bike starts speeding down much faster than what must have been legal. With a rev of the engine, the front wheel lifts off the tarmac in a display of skill and lack of well-being. The vehicle was almost vertical as the rider leaned forward, helmet stoically focusing like his life depended on it - at those speeds, it most certainly did. It isn't until the road curves into the beach carpark that he relents, the motorcycle bouncing back down onto two wheels, and begins to slow as it turns in.

#the ocean calls; and I must answer --- 🌺 surf / modern verse.#aphellos #weaving stone --- ic.#all of this will lead me home someday --- threads.

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dahliah-blackened · 7 days ago

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The Golden Boy

Ahhh this is a long one! I've had this idea cooking for a while so forgive me for indulging. This is a hungerfic about two of my other OC's, Julien Lee and Kobi Theres. They both attended the same culinary school and that's where their rivalry began, but those feelings are soon pushed aside when Julien begins to overwork himself. Contains hunger that is eventually satiated, stomach rumbling, and food as comfort. Let me know if you'd like to see part 2 where we stuff Julien to his limits :))

Kobi wiped her hands on the front of her apron and glanced up at the clock on the wall. The ice cream parlor had just closed, and the soft hum of the refrigerator was the only noise in the otherwise quiet space. The sweet scent of vanilla and caramel still hung in the air as she began to pull her jacket over her uniform. It wasn’t a glamorous job by any means, but Kobi didn’t mind. At least she was on her own terms. The other job offers after culinary school had all felt like a trap—a stepping stone to something that wasn’t hers, something that wasn’t her dream. She shoved her hands into her pockets as she stepped outside into the crisp evening air.

The bright lights of Le Ciel, the fine dining restaurant, gleamed across the street, catching her attention like a moth to a flame. Through the large windows, she could see the bustle of service—silver trays in hand, waiters weaving expertly between tables, the quiet elegance of it all. But then her eyes found him.

Julien Lee.

She remembered the way Julien used to walk into every room with the confidence of someone who knew they were always going to get the top grade. The way he always had the best knives, the finest ingredients. The best of everything. Meanwhile, Kobi had scrimped and saved just to get by, working part-time jobs and never feeling like she could catch up. She’d spent hours laboring over dishes that he would finish in half the time, his pristine work barely breaking a sweat while she wrestled with the pressure. He had it all, she thought, the bitterness creeping up in her chest again. The day they graduated from culinary school, they promised they’d never speak to each other again. Kobi’s luck, however, ensured she ended up working just across the street from him.

But as she continued to watch him, something past her resentment made her furrow her brows. Julien looked much different. He wasn’t the confident, untouchable figure from school. His movements had lost their precision; his face was too pale, and there was something about the way his shirt clung to his frame that made him look even thinner than before. Her arms crossed instinctively as she leaned against the bus stop sign.

Kobi’s silvery eyes rolled as a smug smirk tugged at her lips. It served him right. After all, this was the guy who always thought of her as an underachiever. Who always got what he wanted. He deserved to know how the struggle felt. “Sucks, doesn’t it, Lee?” She muttered under her breath into the chill air. But as the minutes passed, and as she saw how ragged he looked, something about the way he hunched over the counter, wiping his brow, felt wrong.

He moved frantically, dashing from one end of the restaurant to the other, adjusting silverware, delivering dishes, coordinating with the kitchen. His dark brown hair was slightly disheveled, his dress shirt too loose over his shoulders, sleeves rolled up in a half-hearted attempt at efficiency. The stress that flashed through his eyes sent a pang of pity through Kobi’s chest, much to her annoyance. “It’s not your business.” She mumbled. Yet, she couldn’t pull herself away.

She let out a huff and pushed off from the bus stop sign. It wasn’t her business, but something told her she couldn’t stand by and watch him crumble without at least saying something. She marched across the street, ignoring the discomfort that crept up on her at the thought of facing him. Just a few words, nothing more.

Stepping into the restaurant, she felt all the familiar weight of the place, the high-end decor, the clink of fine china. She wasn’t supposed to be here—wasn’t supposed to be this close to the world Julien had created. She was just a speck in it. Kobi waited by the entrance, watching him scurry across the room. Then, finally, he looked up, and their eyes met. Julien’s face went stiff, and his eyes narrowed. He didn’t have time for her now.

His eyes darted around the room before quickly making his way towards the girl standing in the middle of his dining room. “Do you need something?” he said, voice cold, clipped, chocolate brown eyes scanning her as if trying to figure out what she was doing here. Kobi smirked, though it felt hollow. “I was just passing by. I noticed you’re not lookin’ so hot.” She tilted her head with a teasing grin. “Not that you looked any better before.”

Julien’s jaw clenched. The briefest flicker of frustration crossed his face. “Go away, Kobi. I don’t have time for your crap.” She caught the words and took a small step forward, her smirk faltering slightly as she looked him over again. There was something about him that felt different. More fragile than she remembered. His hair was too messy, his eyes sunken. But instead of pushing those feelings away, she pressed on.

“Are you getting enough to eat?”

The question slipped out before she could stop it, and for a moment, they both stood there in silence.

Julien blinked, taken aback by the question. His lips parted, but the words got caught in his throat before coming out. “What kind of question is that?” he finally scoffed, though the sharpness in his voice didn’t match the exhaustion in his eyes. “I work at a restaurant. I’m literally surrounded by food.” Kobi didn’t miss the way his fingers twitched at his sides, nor the slight hesitation in his tone. He was offended. And yet, she could see something else beneath it—something raw.

“Yeah?” she challenged, arms crossing over her chest. “Then why do you look like you’re about to pass out?” Julien bristled. His mouth opened, but before he could fire back a retort, the low, painful sound of his stomach rumbling filled the space between them. Kobi almost thought she imagined it. But the way Julien stiffened, his entire frame going rigid, told her she hadn’t.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Kobi raised an eyebrow. Julien’s face burned. A flicker of panic crossed his features before he turned his head away sharply, jaw tight. “Tch. It’s just—” “Oh, this is rich.” Kobi smirked, tilting her head. “Julien Lee, starving in a restaurant? You see the irony, right?”

“I’m fine,” he snapped, too quickly, too defensive. But Kobi wasn’t buying it. She had spent too much time competing with him, too much time watching him, to not notice when something was wrong. “You’re running yourself into the ground,” she muttered, her voice lower now, not teasing anymore. “Are you even—”

“Excuse me, madame?”

A voice cut through the air, and Kobi turned to see one of the waiters eyeing her with mild confusion. The man, a polished and poised server with a neatly pressed vest, flicked a glance between her and Julien. “Is there a problem?” Julien straightened immediately, as if shaking off whatever vulnerability had slipped through. His lips pressed into a tight line before he turned to the waiter. “No,” he said coolly. “She was just leaving.” Kobi scoffed. “Oh, come on—” Then, just as subtly as ever, Julien shifted his foot—just enough to nudge her ankle. It wasn’t forceful, but it was enough to send a very clear message: Drop it. Kobi shot him a glare, but the waiter was already waiting for her to move along. Julien didn’t look at her again. With a sharp exhale, Kobi rolled her eyes. “Fine. Whatever.” She spun on her heel, throwing a pointed look over her shoulder as she walked away.

But as she stepped out of Le Ciel and back onto the quiet street, her smirk had faded completely. She knew what she saw. She knew what she heard. And whether Julien liked it or not, she wasn’t going to let this go.

Another day, another close.

Kobi wiped down the counter of the ice cream parlor one last time before tossing the rag into the sink. The shop was already dark, the lights dimmed save for the neon sign flickering outside. It cast a soft glow onto the sidewalk as she locked up, stuffing her keys into her pocket. The night air bit at her cheeks as she made her way to the bus stop, but for once, the relaxing ride home wasn’t the first thing on her mind. It was Julien.

Kobi scowled to herself, arms crossing over her chest. She hated that he was taking up so much space in her thoughts. It made no sense. She didn’t care about Julien Lee. He was an arrogant, insufferable workaholic who had spent all of culinary school one-upping her at every turn. Yet she couldn’t shake the way his dress shirt had hung looser on his frame, the sharp cut of his cheekbones that hadn’t been there before, or the way his stomach had betrayed him with that awful, hungry growl. It nagged at her—biting, insistent.

With a huff, Kobi reached the bus stop, but she didn’t sit. Instead, her gaze drifted across the street to Le Ciel, the restaurant’s pristine glass windows revealing the usual flurry of movement inside. But before she could spot Julien—

Bang!

The glass doors of Le Ciel swung open violently, crashing against the frame as a figure burst through them. Kobi’s breath hitched. Julien.

He staggered forward, his steps unsteady, his chest heaving. His hair was a mess—strands sticking to his forehead with sweat—and his normally pristine uniform looked disheveled, the sleeves rolled up unevenly. Then, without warning, his knees buckled.

“Shit,” Kobi whispered, already moving before she even realized it. The Maître d' rushed out after him, his polished demeanor cracking just slightly as he hovered over Julien’s collapsed form. “Lee!” The older man’s voice was clipped, impatient, but there was a sliver of concern beneath it. “Are you alright?” Julien pressed a trembling hand against his temple, trying—and failing—to push himself upright. “I’m fine,” he muttered, but his voice was hoarse, barely above a breath. The Maître d’ didn’t look convinced. “Should we call an ambulance?” Julien’s head snapped up, his eyes sharp with something close to desperation. “No. I don’t— I just need to… Stay here for a moment.”

Kobi felt something twist in her chest.

The Maître d’ exhaled through his nose, clearly weighing the situation. But after a beat, his shoulders relaxed, and the concern in his gaze dulled—like Julien’s insistence was enough to settle the matter. “Well then,” he said, straightening his sleeves, “catch your breath, but I expect you back inside in ten minutes. Understood?”

Kobi froze. Seriously? Julien didn’t even have the strength to stand, and this guy was still expecting him to work? Julien, for his part, said nothing. He only gave a small, tight nod, his fingers curling into the pavement beneath him. The Maître d’ took that as confirmation, brushing nonexistent dust off his cuffs before turning on his heel and heading back inside. The glass doors shut behind him, the restaurant returning to its usual elegance, as if nothing had happened at all.

But something had happened.

Julien was still on the ground, his breath uneven, his hands shaking. And Kobi was done just watching. She moved.

Kobi didn’t rush. She wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was because she knew Julien would bolt if she came at him too fast, or maybe it was because she still wasn’t sure why she was doing this in the first place. Either way, she took slow, deliberate steps toward him. Julien was still on the ground, one knee bent, his palm braced against the pavement as he tried to steady himself. His breaths were shallow, his fingers twitching where they gripped his black pants. When he caught movement in his periphery, his head snapped up. His shoulders went rigid. Kobi stopped a few feet away. She wasn’t close enough to crowd him, but she wasn’t far enough to ignore, either. For a brief moment, something flickered across his face—something raw, unguarded—but it vanished as quickly as it appeared. His features smoothed over, his usual mask slipping back into place, though there was a crack in it now. A fracture.

“I don’t need your pity,” he said, voice quiet but sharp. Kobi almost rolled her eyes. Typical. Even now, when he was at his absolute lowest, he still had his pride. She didn’t respond right away. Instead, she let out a slow breath before lowering herself down beside him, stretching her legs out like she had all the time in the world. Julien’s gaze snapped to her, eyes narrowing. Kobi didn’t look at him. She just stared straight ahead, arms draped over her knees. “I don’t pity you,” she said simply. “But I do know when something’s seriously wrong.”

Silence stretched between them. Julien’s jaw tensed, his throat bobbing as he swallowed thickly. His hands curled into his pant legs, as if trying to physically hold himself together. Then, before he could come up with another excuse—

Grgggllrrrrk.

The sound that tore from Julien’s stomach was long, raw, and absolutely miserable. Kobi blinked. Julien stiffened, his entire body going taut. His hands clamped over his abdomen like that would somehow take back what had just happened, but there was no hiding it—not from Kobi, and certainly not from himself. His face burned. “…Shut up,” he muttered under his breath, barely audible. Kobi arched her brow. “You talkin’ to me or your belly?” Julien groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “For the love of—”

Another deep, pained rumble rolled through his gut, cutting him off. He clenched his teeth as his stomach twisted, curling in on himself slightly as tears pricked his eyes. Kobi didn’t smirk. Didn’t taunt. Didn’t take the easy win. Because for the first time, she wasn’t thinking about the guy who had beaten her at everything back in school. She wasn’t thinking about the smug, arrogant, privileged chef who had looked down on her. She was looking at Julien—the person. The man who was clearly running himself into the ground, too exhausted to even eat. And something inside her softened.

“How long?” she asked. Julien blinked up at her. “What?” She didn’t waver. “How long has it been since you’ve had a real meal?” His lips parted, but no words came out. He looked away, his grip tightening on his slacks. Another slow, hollow growl gurgled from his stomach, dragging out into the night air. Finally, in a voice so quiet it nearly got lost to the wind, he admitted: “A few days.”

Kobi exhaled through her nose. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Julien let out a bitter, humorless chuckle. “I wish I was.” He leaned his head back against the wall behind him, shutting his eyes. “I get home, and I’m too damn exhausted to cook anything. So I just… sleep.” Until the next shift. Until the next demand. Until the next impossible expectation. His stomach clenched again, the sharp pang pulling a small wince from his lips. Kobi saw it—saw the slight twitch in his brows, the way his fingers dug into his knee.

She sighed, running a hand through her strawberry blonde hair. “…Alright,” she muttered, pushing herself up. “C’mon.” Julien cracked an eye open, wary. “What?” She rolled her eyes. “You need food, dumbass,” she said, extending a hand. “Let’s go.”

Julien didn’t move right away. He glanced at her outstretched hand, then back at the restaurant. The golden glow of Le Ciel’s grand entrance spilled onto the pavement, its pristine glass doors shut tight, but inside, Kobi could see the movement of staff weaving between tables, the ever-rotating dance of fine dining. Julien exhaled sharply through his nose. “I need to be back in a few minutes.” Kobi snorted. “No, you think you need to be back.” He shot her a look, but she crossed her arms, unimpressed.

“Come on, Julien,” she said, tilting her head toward the restaurant. “With your degree, your qualifications, your reputation—do you really think they’d fire you over one meal?” He hesitated. She could see the war waging in his mind—the deeply ingrained fear of failure, of being seen as anything less than perfect. But then—

Grgghhhrrkk.

Julien flinched as another slow, dragging groan rolled through his stomach, louder than the last. Kobi grimaced at the sound. His ears burned red. “…Shut up,” he mumbled, more to himself than to her. Kobi sighed, shaking her head. “That thing’s practically begging you to eat, dude.” She extended her hand again. Julien let out a quiet, defeated breath. His shoulders sagged slightly, and after a moment’s hesitation, he reached up. His fingers curled around hers, his grip weak but warm. Kobi steadied him as he shakily rose to his feet, his body sluggish, stiff from exhaustion and the deep hunger that curled within him. He wobbled slightly, and her grip instinctively tightened. “…Fine,” he muttered, voice low. “Where are we going?” Kobi smirked. “I know a good place.” She gave his hand a small tug, and this time Julien followed.

Kobi led Julien down the street, her pace slower than usual to match his sluggish steps. The crisp night air carried the distant hum of the city—passing cars, muffled voices, the occasional flicker of laughter from a late-night wanderer. Streetlights buzzed softly overhead, their glow casting long shadows on the pavement. Beside her, Julien walked in silence, shoulders slightly hunched.

Gggrrrrghhkk.

Kobi’s eyes flicked toward him. His stomach had been growling non-stop since they started walking, each protest more insistent than the last. He kept his gaze forward, jaw clenched, but she didn’t miss the way his hand twitched toward his midsection before balling into a fist. Kobi hesitated. For a brief, fleeting second, she considered reaching out—placing a hand over his stomach, a quiet attempt to soothe the ache. But she quickly stomped down the thought. She was just making sure he didn’t keel over from sheer stubbornness—that was all. She wasn’t here to coddle him. She shoved her hands into her pockets and picked up the pace.

A few minutes later, they arrived. Kobi’s favorite 24-hour diner, just as dingy and reliable as she remembered. The warm glow of neon signage flickered above the entrance, casting a soft pink hue onto the sidewalk. Through the glass windows, Kobi could see red vinyl booths, a long counter lined with spinning stools, and a few scattered night owls nursing mugs of coffee. A bell chimed as she pushed open the door, stepping into the inviting scent of butter, bacon, and maple syrup. Behind her, Julien froze. The smell of food hit him like a freight train. His stomach let out the loudest growl yet—an aching, hollow sound that made him recoil slightly as it rippled through him. Kobi glanced over her shoulder, watching as he stiffened, his ears tinged pink with embarrassment.

She smirked. “Guess your stomach likes the place.” Julien groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Kill me.” Kobi chuckled. “Eat first. Then I’ll consider it.” She grabbed his wrist and tugged him inside.

They slid into a booth near the window, the red vinyl cool against Kobi’s arms as she leaned forward. Across from her, Julien settled in stiffly, his fingers absently tugging at the cuffs of his dress shirt, as if trying to compose himself. A middle-aged waitress with a warm smile approached, flipping open her notepad. “What can I get for you two tonight?” Kobi stretched her arms above her head with a yawn. “I’ll take a cheeseburger, fries, and a vanilla milkshake.” The waitress jotted it down with a nod before turning to Julien. “And for you, sweetheart?” Julien hesitated. His eyes flicked to the menu, scanning it as if searching for the smallest, least intrusive option. “…Just a—” He cleared his throat. “Just a side of toast.”

Before Kobi could say anything—

Grrrrrrrggggghh.

Julien shut his eyes, exhaling slowly as his stomach let out another deep, drawn-out groan.

The waitress raised a brow, biting back a smile. Kobi didn’t even try to hold in her laughter. Julien slumped, dragging a hand over his face. “…Sorry.” Kobi grinned, nudging his menu toward him. “Don’t be modest, chef. You’re not impressing anyone.” The waitress chuckled. “She’s right, hon. You sound like you need more than toast.” Julien sighed, clearly reluctant to let himself indulge. Kobi rolled her eyes and plucked the menu from his fingers. “He’ll take a double stack of pancakes with extra butter, scrambled eggs, and a side of bacon.” The waitress hummed approvingly as she scribbled down the order. “That’s more like it.”

Julien shot Kobi a look. “I didn’t agree to all that.” She smirked. “Your stomach did.” Julien groaned, slumping against the booth as Kobi grinned in triumph. The waitress chuckled, flipping her notepad closed. “I’ll have that out in a jiffy.” As she walked away, Kobi rested her chin in her hand, watching Julien with an air of amusement. “You’re so bad at taking care of yourself, Lee.” Julien sighed, shaking his head. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

The diner hummed with late-night chatter, the clinking of silverware against plates filling the comfortable silence between them. Kobi tapped her fingers against the tabletop, debating whether she should let the quiet linger or dig a little deeper. Against her better judgment, she chose the latter. “So.” She leaned forward slightly, watching him. “Why are you running yourself into the ground? Neglecting your poor belly like it’s some kind of inconvenience?” Julien exhaled through his nose, tilting his head back against the booth. “It’s just… expected of me.” Kobi raised a brow. “To starve?” Julien quickly shook his head. “To work myself to the bone.” He rolled his shoulders as if trying to shake off the weight pressing down on them. “My family has high expectations. They invested a lot in me. It’s my job to meet them.”

Kobi studied him. His exhaustion was bone-deep, the kind that seeped into a person and made a home there. This wasn’t the Julien she knew from culinary school—the arrogant, well-fed prodigy who seemed to have everything handed to him. No, this was someone else entirely. The person underneath what his family wanted him to be. A pang of something uncomfortable twisted in her chest. Pity? Sympathy? She shoved it down before she could give it a name. Before she could say anything, Julien’s stomach let out another miserable groan, louder and longer this time. He shut his eyes, as if that would somehow block out his body’s very clear demand. Kobi sighed, shaking her head. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself.” Julien let out a quiet chuckle, though there was no humor in it. “I know.” His voice was quieter now. More unsure. “I just… I don’t know what to do about it.” Kobi watched him for a moment before leaning back against the booth. “Well, for starters, you can stop acting like you’re above basic human needs.” Julien shot her a dry look, but before he could retort, the waitress arrived, balancing two plates stacked high with food.

The waitress set the plates down with an easy smile. “There you go, hon. Get some food in that belly, yeah?” Julien lowered his gaze, murmuring a quiet, “Thank you.” His voice was barely above a whisper, but the sincerity in it was clear. Kobi didn’t comment on it. Instead, she picked up her burger and started eating, figuring it would make him feel less like she was watching his every move. From the corner of her eye, she saw him hesitantly take his fork, twirling it between his fingers before spearing a small bite of food. Slow. Careful. Like he wasn’t sure if his stomach would accept it. The first bite went down fine. Then another. His chewing was methodical, almost reluctant, as if some part of him still thought he didn’t deserve this.

But then something shifted.

The moment the warmth of the food settled in his stomach, his body seemed to realize just how deprived it was. His hunger fully awoke, clawing at him from the inside, and before he could stop himself, he was eating faster, each bite filling a void that had been gnawing at him for days. Kobi glanced up briefly, watching as his careful restraint crumbled under the sheer force of his need. He wasn’t just eating—he was devouring, as if he were afraid the food might disappear if he didn’t finish it fast enough. She didn’t say anything. Didn’t tease or make some smart remark. She just let him eat.

Julien set his fork down with a quiet clink, his plate wiped completely clean. For the first time in what felt like days, his stomach wasn’t hollow and aching. Instead, it was pleasantly full—maybe even too full. Kobi, still working on the last of her meal, glanced at his empty plate and let out a low whistle. “Damn, you really were starving.” Julien stiffened slightly, a flush creeping up his neck. He sat back in the booth, exhaling slowly as his overworked stomach settled heavily against his dress shirt. The comforting warmth of the meal was quickly giving way to a dull pressure, and he shifted in his seat, trying to discreetly ease the strain.

“I don’t usually eat food like this,” he admitted, rubbing his fingers along the seam of his cuff. “I think it… sat a little heavier than I expected.” Kobi leaned her chin against her palm, studying him. She could tell he was trying not to grimace, and that only confirmed her suspicion—his body wasn’t used to eating this way, not with how long he’d been depriving himself. Idiot. Still, she decided not to call him out on it. Not directly, at least. Julien reached for his wallet, pulling out a few bills and setting them on the table, but before he could push them toward the check, Kobi reached over and snatched it up first. “I got it,” she said simply.

Julien frowned. “Kobi—” She gave him a look, daring him to argue. “You can get the next one.” His brow furrowed, processing the weight of that statement. The next one. For the first time since this night started, he allowed himself to believe—just for a second—that maybe this wasn’t the last time they’d share a meal.

As they stepped out of the diner, the night air hit them with a crisp chill, a stark contrast to the warmth of the meal settling in Julien’s stomach. He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck before instinctively glancing down the street. The glowing sign of Le Ciel flickered in the distance, the restaurant still alive with movement. “They’re gonna be pissed,” he muttered, more to himself than to Kobi. She barely spared the restaurant a glance, shoving her hands into her jacket pockets. “They’ll be groveling at your feet by morning,” she said with a dismissive snort. Julien huffed but didn’t argue. As much as he wanted to dispute it, the truth was… she wasn’t wrong.

They fell into step beside each other, the quiet hum of the city filling the space between them. Julien still couldn’t quite understand how they got here, how they went from barely tolerating each other to this—whatever this was. Then Kobi spoke up again. “You should come over.” Julien turned his head sharply. “What?” She shrugged. “My place,” she clarified, her tone casual—too casual. “Figured you could use a proper night’s sleep.” His brows knitted together, suspicion creeping into his expression. “Why?” Kobi rolled her eyes, feigning exasperation. “Because somebody has to nurse that stomach ache of yours. And, well…” She shrugged. “Thought maybe you could use some company.”

Julien studied her for a beat, searching for an ulterior motive. But there was no smug amusement in her voice, no teasing glint in her eyes—just an easy sort of honesty that made something shift uncomfortably in his chest. He wasn’t sure what to say to that. But before he could overthink it, his stomach gave a soft, residual gurgle—nothing painful, but just enough for Kobi’s lips to twitch into a smirk. “See? You’re still a mess.” She nudged him lightly. “Come on. Let’s go.” And for once, Julien didn’t fight her on it.

#hunger fic #hunger kink #stomach growling #oc #oneshot #stomach kink #stuffed stomach #hungry

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