#where spring and autumn meet

[royalpumpkinplanet]

[seosracha]

⸻ SOUVENIR - park jongseong

SYNOPSIS ⸻ getting into your dream school, far away from the place you are forced to call home, in a romantic place like Paris has always been your dream. Even more dreamy is your fathers best friend, Park Jonseong, who just so happens to be a well-off lawyer in the heart of France.

PAIRING ⸻ dads best friend!jay x fem!reader

GENRE ⸻ strangers to lovers, smut, angst?, fluff

TAGS ⸻ power imbalance, age gap (jay is 38, reader is 20), daddy issues, multiple mentions of parental death, rich lawyer!jay :3, descriptions of France/Paris/New York that might be inaccurate, making out/kissing, f!ngering, slapping, dacryphilia, unprotected s3x, 4nal, plot with p0rn, lmk if I missed something!

FEATURING ⸻ enha hyung line + jungwon, aespa (-winter..), (briefly) riize's anton

WC ⸻ 17.5k

PLAYLIST ⸻ souvenir by selena gomez, paris by sabrina carpenter, je me souviens de tout by tayc, sad girl by lana del ray, dear god by tate mcrae gibson girl by ethel cain

MDNI. This is a work meant for entertainment purposes only. References to places are imaginary and not meant to deprecate their image.

There’s one thing about people who weren't born rich- they’ll tell you about it. 

Inherently, not bad. The right situation sometimes requires those exact words that make every head turn. For Park Jongseong, it made a great sob story. Especially the stories of Hewes Street and his mothers tragic passing. 

He was raised by his single, overbearing father who worked as a French teacher in a low income high-school. Their apartment in Brooklyn, New York was falling apart day by day. Sometimes, he’d even have to skip brushing his teeth because today might be the day their old, rusty pipes explode right in his face. 

His mother passed away shortly after he was born, leaving his dad crushed. In a way, he was the only tangible evidence of her existence. Pictures, videos, letters- none of that mattered when at the end of the day, his son was the only piece of his wife that was left on this cruel earth. 

At 15, Jay got a job at a restaurant near his school. That’s where he met your father. 

At first he was envious of him. Not because of the stupid reasons most people his age back then fought over- but because your father wasn't working at that restaurant to survive the next month, but because he was forced to by his parents for misbehaving. 

For him, it was just another month, another day. For Jay, it was all he worried about. Winter, summer, spring, autumn-all the same for someone who doesn't need to think about how they’ll heat up the apartment enough to get by and not freeze to death. 

Eventually, they got close. Really close. 

Your father would help him sneak out leftover food. He thought it was gross at first, and it wasn't hard to make that deduction, judging by his expressions and remarks. Jay knew it, and honestly all he could do was sigh. Soon enough, the boy understood that it wasn't really a choice for his friend, but an attempt to get himself and his dad through the day. 

3 years later, Jay got a scholarship from one of the best universities in France. This was his chance, his lemon that he’d squeeze every last drop out of. And so he did, even managing to stay in touch with your dad through it all. 

Life in a foreign country was fucking hard. Being treated like an idiot and broke scholar, was even fucking harder. Thank God the older people who employed him later on had a soft heart for those who didn't grow up in the land of prosperity.

He was already three months into his new life when you were born. Jay never got to meet his bestfriends little girl. Well, until today. 20 years later. 

Jay remembers it so vividly- the phone call from his dearest friend, who could barely get those two words past his lips- “She’s dead”. The love of his life, the mother of his two precious children was gone. And even though Jay’s mom was no longer here, he didn't really know what they felt, because he wasn't old enough to remember his own. He didn't know what to say, how to comfort him. 

That was 10 years ago. Today, it’s your father who's getting married again. Now, he’s finally back to see how everything has changed, even when it didn't seem that long ago when he left. 

…

It’s never too late to find love again, but Jesus Christ, why did the woman have to be only 7 years older than you? You really hated your father for moving on because to you, your mother was still here. You could feel her, and maybe if you reached out far enough, at the perfect moment, maybe then you could touch her too. 

Lee Ann was your fathers optometrist. He was her first long term patient after she finished school. They dated for 2 years before he finally asked her to marry him. She loves your father, she really does. And even if you wanted to deny it, you simply cannot. 

“He forgot all about mom” your younger brother, Jungwon, sighs, twirling the wine glass that you sneakily passed him in his hand. 

A weak smile forces itself upon your lips as you grab onto his hand “It’s not like that, Wonnie” he nodded his head, scoffing under his breath “As long as we’re here, he’ll never forget her. And she’d want him to be happy, you know that” you added, and he just hummed in approval, the sound forced. 

“I can’t wait to move out” he says, his eyes lighting up just a bit at the mention. 

It’s been a year since you moved out of your father’s house. The decision was a hard one to make- leaving your brother in a home that only reminded him of the mother he barely got to know terrified you. But when your best friends, Ningning and Sunghoon, offered to move in with them, you knew it was for the best. 

“I told you you can stay with us” he shook his head at the words, a small laugh escaping his parted lips. 

“Ningning hates me” you chuckled, remembering how the two would always bicker whenever your brother visited. 

“She doesn't hate you. And even if, Sunghoon loves you, so who cares?” you remind him, and he smiles. 

Park Sunghoon, your best friend, ex-boyfriend, your little brothers ‘older brother’- he’s been there. Jungwon absolutely adored him, and so did you.

You two met in high-school after he moved to New York in his sophomore year. He was absolutely terrified, growing up in a small village in Wisconsin where the kids weren't even comparable to the ones he encountered on his first day in New York. It didn't take him long to blend in though. Now, he is studying Fine Arts at Juilliard. 

“There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you two” a voice beams from behind you, and it doesn't take you long to figure out it’s your drunken father. You can hear Jungwon sigh, before turning around. 

He stands there, a half empty champagne glass in hand. Next to him, a tall, sharp featured man stands, smiling brightly as he looks at both you and Jungwon. You don't recognize him. 

“This is Jongseong, do you remember him? He flew in all the way from Paris to be here today for me! Isn’t that incredible?” your father beamed excitedly. It almost made you think it’s his friend who he was more happy about on this day, than his now wife. 

The man looked at you, sticking out his hand to greet you “It’s great to finally meet you two. I’ve heard only good things” he waits for you to return the gesture, and after a moment of silence and intense staring, you finally do. 

Jay thinks you really do look like your mother. He’s only seen the occasional picture that his friend would post on Facebook, but he never saw the resemblance. Well, until now. 

The softness in your features, the color of your lips, the mole he swears your mother had too- he feels his chest heavy uneasily as his eyes just can't seem to leave you. 

“Nice to meet you, Sir” you nod, releasing his hand. No wedding band, you note. 

He smiles with a chuckle before shaking his head “Just call me Jay” he corrects and reluctantly, you mumble an  ‘Alright’. 

Jungwon’s gaze switches back and forth from Jay to his father “Can’t believe you're actually his friend” the jab seems to make your father laugh, and it confuses the both of you. 

“That’s harsh” he chuckles awkwardly, forcing a smile on his face as he doesn't seem to understand the sudden hostility “Your dad has always been good to me” 

Jungwon just nods, unamused. He doesn't seem to believe that the man that has never been a good father to him could possibly be a good friend to anyone. 

“Paris, huh? I heard the women are the prettiest over there, right?” Jungwon asks, and Jay’s expression seems to change at the switch of topic. 

He looks at you for a brief moment before answering the question “I guess, yes, you can say that. Haven't found one though” he smiles, and it doesn't look like he’s saddened by the fact. 

Jay takes his job very seriously. Working hard is the reason he has what he does now, not taking shortcuts. It took reading between the lines and actually making a fucking name for himself to get here. 

He remembers his first years at university- he’d get out of class and not for a moment would he close his book. In the crowded metro, he’d revise and revise, and even when he got off, the disgusting smell of piss marinating in the underground, he still kept studying. 

“I heard you want to study abroad in Paris, hm?” his head turns as he asks you. His eyes move up your figure as he awaits your answer. 

It takes you a moment to reply “Ah, yeah- yes. I applied for a scholarship last month” he nods. 

Jay’s hand lands on your shoulder, slowly moving down your back “I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you” he smiles. You watch his hand on your skin, only looking away as he retorts it back to his side “And if you have any questions, don't be scared to ask” 

You honestly didn't care what life was like in Paris. You already knew it wasn't nice. Especially as a woman- something he’d probably never tell you anyway. Nonetheless, you mouth a ‘Thank you’ and bow appreciatively. 

“I still don't get this whole ‘Paris Phenomenon’, she can't barely speaks French!  You should talk her out of it, Jong” your father comments. 

You’ve heard his disapproval many times- from the moment you found the school, to last month when you applied. Maybe he was embarrassing you, but you can't expect the old fashioned man to understand the simple concept of studying abroad. 

“I don't think that’s a problem, eh? I’m assuming it’s an international program” he looks down at you with a comforting smile. Your father seems taken-aback by the defense on his friends’ side. 

You nod in agreement, and your father seems to give up on his attempts to talk you out of it yet again. 

Aunt Lu walks up to your father, eloping him in a hug, spilling applause at how beautiful the newlywed couple is and so on. Noticing Jungwon, she cups his cheeks, and with a sweet tone praises him for God knows what. 

Jay once again turns to you, and leaning down whispers “Don’t mind him, yeah? I’m rooting for you” a small smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. 

Your head turns to look at him, the proximity of his face thrilling. With widened eyes and parted lips you nod, even attempting a smile. He chuckles at the reaction, moving away from you and joining your father and aunt. 

The older woman beckons them to join her at another table, smiling brightly “Leoni wants to play you a piece, come!” (Leoni, your cousin who cut off your braid when you were barely 5 years old. Fucking bitch) 

Before parting, Jay bids you two a quick farewell, your father leaving with him. 

“If you want him, at least don’t make it so obvious” Jungwon snorted, his eyes following the two men, as he pressed his lips together to prevent himself from laughing out loud. 

“That’s gross. You’re gross, Won” you shake your head.  

… 

Early in the morning, Sunghoon kicks your door open, toothbrush in his mouth as he throws mail on your bed “It’s from IFA. Open it” he stands in your doorway, waiting for your next action. 

You look down at the envelope studying everything- your name, the address. “Maybe I should do it with my dad?”

He removes the brush from his mouth “Are you seriously gonna make me wait? Jeez, woman” he tries to be serious, but a chuckle escapes him as he walks out of the room, and into the living room. 

You didn't know if Jay had already gone back or not. Your father had scheduled his honeymoon two weeks after the actual ceremony for reasons you weren't quite sure of (maybe because of his friend, you note). 

You still think about the look on his face when he spoke to you, a hint of something inexplicably kind in his voice. His figure, the faint outline of his chiseled body on the light blue dress shirt. The slicked back blond hair, the pathway of veins on his arms- it’s all you can think about, really. 

And it doesn’t necessarily make you feel good about yourself either. What the fuck are you doing thinking about a middle aged man in ways that are far too perverse for comfort, truly? But you can't help it- it’s almost as if it comes naturally. Especially at night, when you feel the loneliest. 

You place the letter next to your bag, dialing your fathers number. 

…

He holds the letter in his hand as you continue to usher him to open it “Just do it Dad, I told you already that I want you to do it!” he sighs again, and starts ripping the envelope open. 

Jay turned out to be staying for the two weeks that led up to the honeymoon. Your room, turned guest bedroom was where he was staying. 

Today he looked even better, if that’s even possible. Comfortable attire is definitely his look, you note. 

Taking out the letter, your father reads through the content, his eyes soon landing on the bold, ‘ACCEPTED’. His expression doesn't seem to change, a whirlwind of thoughts passing through his head. He knows that you won't change your mind. He knows you’ll leave as soon as he tells you. 

“So? What does it say?” Jay perks, setting down his coffee mug, and scooting closer to your father. He smiles as he looks down at the paper. It brings him back to when he was in a similar position, asking your father to open the acceptance letter for him too. 

“Did I get in?” you ask, your hands going up and down your thighs as you await the answer. 

“What do you think it says?” Jay tilts his head, a smirk on his lips as he teases you. You bite down on your bottom lip anxiously and shrug. 

“Accepted” your father finally speaks, as he looks up from the letter. He doesn't seem as excited as you are at the words. You try to hold back, but the wide smile involuntarily appears on your face. 

“It’s great news, really” Jay beams, grabbing the letter from your father to pass it to you as the man still seems to be in disbelief. 

You look at it yourself and it feels unreal. A scholarship that’ll cover all three years of tuition- it almost feels like you don't deserve it. 

“What; what now? Are you actually going to go?” your father speaks up, his tone surprisingly stern. 

Your smile drops as you fold the paper, placing it back onto the coffee table “Of course” you manage to utter, your voice unsure. 

Jay’s face twists in confusion as he looks back and forth between you and his friend. You can’t seem to understand your father’s reaction either. 

“Yeah? And where will you stay? How will you pay for the living cost in a country like France? Have you thought about these things, or did you just stupidly apply out of curiosity?” he rambles, and his friends' presence doesn't seem to hold him back. 

You scoff “I’ll get a job. Ever heard of that one?” he doesn't seem to enjoy your attitude, his jaw clenching in annoyance. 

“You think a job at a café or restaurant will pay for that? That would be nice, wouldn't it?” he sneers. 

Jay sits up straight, reaching out to grab your fathers shoulder, an attempt to calm him down “She could stay with me” he suggests. 

There’s a puzzled look on your face as you take in his words. Does he actually mean it? Or is he just trying to save himself from a fight between you and your father? 

“Don’t be silly, Jong” he chuckles, shaking his head in bewilderment. 

He looks at you for a sign of discomfort. He can’t seem to find any “I’m serious. It’s the most I can do to repay you for what you did for me before I left” 

Jay remembers that day very well. He was at the restaurant when his father called him. “They cut off our power and water. I’m so sorry, Jay” he tried to calm his dad down as the man kept repeating endless sorry’s. He was two weeks away from his paycheck- Jay couldn't do anything. He was helpless. 

Your father witnessed the situation unfold, he saw how panicked Jay was, as he hurried to grab his wallet. With a bit of reluctance, he walked up to him after he ended the call “Stay at my place, Jong. Seriously” 

“I don’t know” your father mutters, rubbing his temples. 

“Would you like that?” Jay turns to you, letting the man next to him consider the proposition. 

It’s confusing to you how with no second thought he invited you inside his home. It’s so effortless and it doesn't seem forced- it’s almost like he wants you there. Almost like he wants to take care of you, give you a good environment to study in, and have you close. 

“You could stay until you find a stable job. Or longer. I don’t mind” he adds after your silence. 

You take a deep breath and nod “If it’s okay with you, of course”

“I’m the one offering, sweetheart” he chuckles. 

Your father leans back on the couch, exhaling slowly “I know you’ll go anyway. And It’s not like I want you to end up homeless on the streets of Paris” 

____ 

Shortly after, Jay returned to France. 

You spent most of your time with Ningning, Sunghoon and your brother during the rest of summer. You didn't know how long it’d take for you to see them again and that killed you. 

You and Jay exchanged a few messages during this period- he’d confirm if the packages with your belongings had arrived or send pictures of the room he’d begun renovating for you. 

You told him he didn't have to, feeling a little flustered by his kindness. Yet every time, he’d tell you it’s nothing. “I’ve been meaning to renovate it anyway.” he messaged you after you said it really didn't matter to you how the room looked. 

You wondered where his effortless helpfulness came from. Of course, you were his best friend's daughter at the end of the day, and that’s a good enough reason. That still didn't keep you from feeling like a stranger to him. Because well, you were. 

He knew about your existence while you weren't really even aware of his. You could never tell your father's friends apart, so that made Jay just another piece of his endless stories. And at times like these, you regret not listening. Maybe then you’d at least have a vision, idea of the man you’ll be living with for at least the next 6 months. Apart from being fucking hot, there was nothing that accompanied. 

“Still don’t understand why you chose Paris. Isn’t Parsons equally good?” Sunghoon asks, his hands folding your clothes as he helps you pack the last of your belongings. 

You chuckle “You’re only saying that because Niki goes there. And that girl you’ve been hooking up with” he looks at you with mock offense. 

New York had good fashion schools. Great, even. But you were too young to not go and explore the world. Staying in one place, never trying out new things sounded like a nightmare. 

“That’s a lie. It’s a good school, seriously” he defends and you nod, because there was no denying it “It doesn't matter though. Paris will be fucking dope. You better send us postcards with the Eiffel Tower on it” 

Ningning, Sunghoon and Jungwon see you off at the airport. All the way there, your little brother and Ningning argue, the younger one beating her to the passenger seat. It’s endearing, even if normally you wouldn't enjoy listening to it. Your father, too busy with yet another vacation, doesn't get to be there for your departure. Maybe you’d feel disappointed- the difference is that it isn't the first time, and it surely isn't the last time. 

“Visit me, mmh?” you mutter into Jungwon’s sweater as he hugs you tightly. You can feel him nod “Okay” 

___

Jay, who was always a clean person, seems to be even cleaner over the past week. He ferociously scrubs at the bathroom tiles, cleaning in between every crevice as if you’d even notice his hard work. He washed his windows on Monday, but on Friday, the day before your arrival, he feels a sudden urge to do it again. And the amount of money he’d spent on accessories and other decorations for his apartment that was already beautiful before that- he’d rather not say. 

Jay had texted you early in the morning “Work today. Left the keys in the lobby under your name” 

A hint of disappointment flashes across your face as you read his message. You don’t really know what causes the reaction- perhaps the letdown, as you were undeniably excited to see him again (who knows why, really?). 

You take the RER B train, the ride excruciatingly long as you wonder just how large the city must be. Navigating New York suddenly seemed so easy, as you try to figure out how exactly you should get to the apartment itself. 

At the reception, with the help of your broken French and a translator, you managed to convey to the old man that worked there that you were indeed the one Park Jongseong left his keys for. 

Jay lived on Rue Vaneau, close to Les Invalides, in a sunny corner apartment with east and south exposure. It had an impressive ceiling height, all the old elements on it and on the walls have been beautifully preserved. There was an entrance gallery, a dining kitchen, 3 bedrooms, one bathroom and a laundry room right next to it. 

Shelves with stacked up books were absolutely everywhere, and you use the opportunity of his absence to sort through them, see what the man does in his free time. You're shocked at how well he takes care of his plants- they all seemed so healthy. 

And the room he prepared for you was beyond perfect. He left it perfectly clean prior to your arrival, making sure you would be comfortable putting away all your things. The boxes you sent out through the entirety of summer sat in the corner of the room, along with fresh, new sheets he’d bought for you. 

In a way, this is exactly how you imagined him to live. 

It still felt extremely odd to be in his space all alone. This wasn't yours, yet here you were, unlocking the door, stepping inside and walking around. You knew he wanted this, or at least didn't mind it- that didn't stop you from feeling like an intruder though. You wonder how long it’ll take you to actually shake this feeling off and feel comfortable in your new home. 

For the rest of that day you unpack, and unpack, and after a short break- unpack some more. Jungwon calls you right after he wakes up, begging for a tour which you decide not to give him. “Won, I feel weird even being here. I’d feel even fucking weirder showing you around. Shit, like some stalker” he sighs at the response, and instead, asks for the view out your window and you gladly provide him with it. 

At around 7PM you received a message from Jay “I’ll be there in 20. Got some dinner”. Honestly you didn't know what made you happier- the prospect of his awaited return or some real, warm food. 

Jay went through his morning routine thinking about you. He sat at his desk at the firm and thought about you. And on the ride back to his place, he thinks only about you. He doesn't quite figure out why, but he’s aware of the fact that he probably shouldn't. 

What  shall he greet you with? Definitely not the Chinese in his backseat. But he’s far too exhausted to actually make something. And maybe he should feel guilty, but he hopes you won't mind. 

Stepping into his apartment, he finds it awfully quiet. Yet he still can feel someone's presence. A velvety smell lingers in the air, and he recognizes it. His hand pauses at your door- he thinks about the things he should say, or maybe not say. Eventually he knocks, and it doesn't take long for your voice to welcome him in. 

“Hey” he cringes as the phrase comes out awfully unnatural. 

You look up from your position on the floor (previously, consumed with sorting through your memorabilia), a small, little bit awkward, smile finding its way on your face “Hey” 

He leans against the doorway, scanning the room to see all the shelves and spaces suddenly filled with your belongings “How was your flight?” He thinks it's the right thing to ask.

You swallow, before speaking again “It was alright. Slept through half of it, honestly” you nod, and he chuckles reciprocating the action. 

“Hungry?” he asks, and you spot the plastic bag hanging on his finger. Normally, you’d feel bad about someone buying you something, but under these circumstances, you feel relieved. 

You nod, and stand up, following him to the kitchen. 

“I should've treated you to a nicer meal today. I’m sorry” he apologizes, and sets the takeout box in front of you. Handing you the utensils, he sits across from you. 

“It’s more than enough, don’t worry” you smile. 

“I hope you find everything okay in the room. Didn't really know what you like” he starts, and you shake your head. 

He asked his female coworkers for advice but instantly regretted it when they started interrogating him. It’s a hard thing to explain- the idea of his best friend's daughter that's nearly 20 years younger, moving in with him. 

“It’s perfect, Jay. You didn't have to, seriously” you say, and he feels his heart skip a beat at the sound of his name falling from your lips “Thank you. I don’t know how I would've managed without your help” you add. 

He can still sense the awkwardness in your movements and tone as you refer to him. He wonders when that’ll change. Soon, he hopes. Very soon, actually. 

“I’m sure you could do it. You’re a smart girl. And I’m also sure you’ll find your way around here soon enough” the reassurement warms your heart, as you thank him again. 

You are smart, and you would manage to survive on your own in Paris. But he’s secretly satisfied with the fact that you didn't.

Maybe this minimizes the chances of you finding random hookups or getting black-out drunk on the weekends. He tells himself he’s only doing this to protect you, and shield you from the dangerous men that walk the streets of this city. But he knows it’s not entirely true. 

Jay is certainly infatuated by you, and it feels really fucking wrong. But he can’t stop it, no. 

_____

Paris has never been louder. The air is filled with chatter, distant traffic and the inevitable end of summer. 

Jay didn't really plan on spending his day off walking around the city with you, but somehow, he’s here. 

To him, it was just Paris. He used to be like you and he remembers it well. The euphoria kept diminishing year by year leading him right to where he is now- wasting away his life in courtrooms and bars. But at least people knew his name. 

The city doesn't amuse him anymore- he’s been here, seen it all. But the flicker in your eyes and happiness that radiates off of every one of your words makes him feel it again. He’s back to the day where everything felt new to him. 

Early in the morning, two days after your arrival you told him you’d go out, explore the streets. You had to. Even Sunghoon had begun making fun of you “You’ve been in fucking Paris for the past two days and haven't even seen the Eiffel Tower yet. And you know, the longer you delay it, the longer it’ll take for our postcards to arrive” you smiled, and with a small sigh, told him you’d do it the next day. 

 “Wait here” Jay  said when you entered the living room.

He walked right into his bedroom, closing the door as you stood there with confusion painting your face. After a moment he came back, fully dressed, looking really fucking good “I’ll go with you” 

“I can manage” you said politely, feeling the tiniest bit of guilt. The man in front of you worked tirelessly everyday, and instead of regenerating on his day off, he’s forced to pointlessly walk around with you. 

“You’re a kid,” he chuckles, leaning against the wall. 

“You say that too much” you retort, walking over to where he's at, slipping on your shoes. 

“Because it’s true” he watches you with his arms crossed, waiting. 

You huff, shaking your head “I think it’s because you don’t want to see me as anything else” 

You didn't mean anything by it. Just a simple nudge at his superiority complex perhaps. But still, he seems to stiffen up at the words. 

Jay pretends he doesn't hear them, he acts as if they had never been said because it’s better that way, he’s sure. 

That day you actually spent time with him. Dinner was always the same- forced conversations that always ended with his infamous “I’m tired”. Shortly after, he’d be off to bed and you were alone, again. 

Of course you didn't expect him to become anyone to you. Being allowed to live in his apartment was enough. Anything else went beyond any kind of favor, and you were aware of it. 

Yet you still attempted to be in his space. Too in his space sometimes. 

You stop at a bookstore. It’s independent and most likely on 

the verge of bankruptcy. The dusty wooden bookshelves, and faint smell of old paper seems to bother you, as he looks like he’s in heaven. 

“Haven't you already read like all of these” you complain watching him flip through the books. 

He chuckles, handing you the red, silky hardback “That’s the sad thing about life. I’ll never get to read them all” 

“Wish that’s what my problems sounded like” you mutter, and he pushes off the shelf, stepping closer and reaching past you to grab another dusty book. 

“You're really judgmental. As expected for a fashion design student” he comments, and you nudge him with your elbow. He should move away, but he lets you. 

Jay keeps flipping through the pages, ignoring the way you huff in annoyance at his remark. 

“What does that even mean?” you ask, and his lips twitch, as a smile threatens to spread across his face. 

“I think you already know” you leave it there, pressing your back against the shelves, ostentatiously and playfully crossing your arms with an irritated exhale. 

Walking along the Seine at nightfall is awfully romantic, yet he still does it. For you. 

You stop at the edge, leaning against the low, stone wall “The water's really dirty” you say, and he just hums in agreement. You turn around, now facing him “Did you always want to live here?” your tone doesn't really make it sound like you're actually curious. 

He shrugs, moving closer. His body falls onto the wall, right next to you “No” it’s short and you can tell he isn't lying. 

It confuses you. This has always been your dream, and seeing the city only verified those desires “But you do now?” 

You almost need the confirmation, awfully scared to experience regret. At the end of the day, you two aren't much different. 

“It’s a city like any other. The longer you're here, you realize it’s nothing special” you scoff, looking up at him. 

His gaze is on the pavement, but as soon as he feels your eyes on him, he looks up. 

“You’re like really depressing and unromantic” 

He tilts his head, humming “I think you’ve watched too many French romance films” you nudge him with your body, and he chuckles softly at the interaction. He stays still,  watching you. 

“I just think it’s a waste to be here and not fall in love at least once” you reply, and he finds it humorous in a way. 

Jay has been here for most of his life, and never married. Somewhere in his twenties, right after finishing university, he’d use his degree to pick up girls. He cringes thinking about it now- how the only two things he had going on for himself was fucking everything in plain sight and a degree that he hadn’t even put to use yet. 

But as soon as he found a job, it stopped. He prided himself in his professionalism and control. That’s probably why he’s single and not even close to being not-single. 

“Sounds like a nightmare” his tone is mocking, and in response, you roll your eyes. 

“Why?” His gaze is steady and firm. A little knowing. 

He sighs “I think you just don’t really leave the same after” 

You hold his gaze like you want to say something more. Like you know something he won't admit. 

It’s late when you return home. The morning buzz falls, replaced by the intense Parisian nightlife. He didn't expect to be out so long- maybe 3, 4 hours. Still, he let himself be dragged around for the whole day. 

He should go to bed, he really should. Instead, he’s with you, on his balcony, drinking fucking wine. But he was the one who brought it out, he was the one to initiate this. He’s just trying to get to know you better, he tells himself.  

“You’re not even 21” yet he still hands you the glass. 

You laugh softly, looking around “We’re in Europe” he puts his hands up in defeat, his back pressed against the wall. 

You’re sitting on the railing, legs swinging slightly as the city spreads out before your eyes. He watches you, and it almost looks like you're memorizing it, afraid that soon that’s all it’s gonna be- a memory, a souvenir for your mind. 

“You’ll fall” his voice sounds a little lazy, but cautious. 

“Would you catch me?” you smile, tilting your head in a curious manner. 

Do you always have to be so teasing? Or are you just being yourself and he’s slowly spiraling into insanity. That’s a stretch, certainly, but Jay still hates the way he lets you. 

The wind lifts your hair, the lights make your skin glow and your body is positioned in such a welcoming way. You look so young, so fearless and most importantly- fucking tempting. Jay looks away before he lets himself think any further. 

He’s a grown man and you haven't even started university. You're his best friend's daughter with whom he is temporarily living. That’s all it is and that’s all it’ll ever be.  

“You sound confident” he retorts, and you smile, sipping the drink in your hand. He does the same. 

It’s only been two days. Where did it come from? 

“Because I know you like having me around” you grin, and he shakes his head with a soft chuckle. 

Oh you have no fucking idea. It kills him, and at the same time, makes him feel alive. That’s pure tragedy. 

“You’re putting words in my mouth” he mutters, lifting the glass to his lips. He’s trying not to look at you, he really is. 

You smile, and jump off the railing setting the drink down on a glass table. 

“And maybe that’s because you never say what you actually want to” you answer, passing by him and entering the apartment again. It’s so quiet, Jay almost thinks he imagined it, misheard it. 

Your fingers brush past his, and he feels it. He feels it even after you’re gone. 

He knows exactly what you meant and it should scare him. But it doesn't. Because the truth was, Jay wanted you to say it so he could be the one to prove you wrong. 

_____

It’s Sunday. And you're fucking stressed. 

The week that led up to the beginning of the semester had been fun enough to make you second guess going to school all together. Seeing the picture perfect city with your own two eyes was a blessing you never expected to experience. 

You’re on his couch, flipping through one of the aged books that could be found on his shelf. 

French. Complicated. Too serious. But at least you could pretend you understand, or even care for the piece of literature. 

Jay sits at the kitchen counter, typing away at his laptop. And honestly, he doesn't know why. Just five steps away is his office, perfectly designed to accommodate all his needs. Yet he chooses the hard, uncomfortable stool at the kitchen island. 

“Jay” you start, eyes still on the book that has caused you to become more bored than you were before opening it “What kind of lawyer are you? Like, what do actually do” your voice is casual, as you steal a glance at him. 

He fixes his glasses but doesn't look away. “Corporate” it’s fast, and automatic, almost like he’s heard the question millions of times in his life. Probably because he has. 

“Boring” you comment, expecting something more scandalous. 

“Pays the bills. That’s enough” his voice is even. 

You turn on your side, stretching out your legs. He watches. He watches you, comfortable in his space. Almost too comfortable. 

“Sorry to disappoint” he adds, putting his focus back on the unanswered mails in his inbox. But he knows you’re right there, and it bothers him. Not in a bad way- and that feels oddly unsettling. 

“Have you never considered something dirtier? Riskier?” you muse, tilting your head. 

It was just curiosity. You weren't doing it on purpose. 

Were you? 

“Dirtier?” he mutters to himself, before glancing away one more time “I don’t take risks. It’s idiotic” the explanation is accompanied by his firm tone. 

“Never?” his eyes gloss over the work he hasn't finished yet. He still closes his laptop though. Jay walks over to the couch, sitting down close to you, but not too close. 

A hum of disagreement slips past his lips “Never” he leans back on the couch, exhaling deeply as he looks at the time. 

“I think you like control too much” you know that you shouldn’t comment on his decisions or life, but it comes naturally as you can’t stop the words from coming out. 

He chuckles, looking over at you, watching the way your body spreads out on the brown leather couch “And I think you talk too much” 

Still, something inside him tenses. Jay knows you’re right, but at the same time, it pisses him off because- you have no idea. 

You laugh softly, shaking your head as you set down the book on his coffee table. Jacques Prévert. Opened right on the poem he knows by heart. 

‘Bête comme les regrets, tendre comme le souvenir’ - Foolish as regrets, tender as memory. Jay always liked the line. More than the poem itself, actually. When he first read it, he didn't quite understand. He still doesn't, not when he never experienced that fragile love, beautiful as day and cold as marble. 

His father had given him the book right before he moved out. Jay never really comes back to it- written in French, by a French author, it still reeks of the life he desires to forget. The life that he hasn't lived for the past 20 years- yet it always comes back to him in the most unexpected moments. 

He remembers the day when his father called him and sounded oddly unfamiliar. Jay had just turned 30- which was such a strange age to be, since you are far from being old but not young enough to be considered youthful. 

“I’m not one to get sick” his dad had said it like it was a mistake, a glitch that never should've occurred in the first place. And it was partially true- he can't recall his father ever coming down with a flu or even sore throat. Later, he was diagnosed with bacterial pneumonia. 

His father despised any form of sickness and anything that was associated with it. So he didn't want to get treated. And for him, that was fatal- the infection triggered a chain reaction throughout his body causing sepsis to arise. 

And just like that, New York became a stranger to him, a place where he thought only bad things were destined to happen. 

He thinks that he wasn't meant to be born there. Just like the pneumonia had been a mistake, his birth there must've been too. 

“You’re just like all of my dads old friends, I swear” It's playful, harmless. But Jay stills at the jab, his gaze freezing on you. 

“Old?” he raises an eyebrow, and there's a smirk that tugs at the corner of your lips. 

“Older” you correct, too deliberately. 

It’s almost like you're mocking him, testing his ignorance. It’s like you want to see if he’ll correct you. He doesn't. 

He knows you're not the stubborn kid his friend used to complain about. But he also knows how much older he’s gotten since then. It also seems to terrify him, because the fact doesn't stop him, not at all. 

Jay knows he’s the one who brought you here, and maybe he could blame it on the slip of his tongue, or perhaps the need to fulfil an obligation towards his friend, but that wouldn’t be necessarily true. 

He sullied his life with his own hands, and he knew how much harder it was only going to get to not dirty yours too. 

“You should get some sleep,” he mutters, standing up and collecting all the dirty dishes, dropping them in the sink. 

“I’m tired,” he added lazily, like always. 

It was his little way of ending a conversation when it became too much. His escape goat when he knew that he was close to letting go. And recently, he’s been dangerously close. 

You know there's nothing more you can say, so instead, you just nod, and without another word, walk off to your room. 

Your father has called a couple times since you arrived and every time, Jay sounds distant, keeping the conversations short, leaving out any details. He just can’t be friendly, pretend like everythings the same when it’s so painfully not. Jay can't be nice and enthusiastic when all he wants is to fuck his bestfriends daughter. 

Will it ever end? Maybe if he gave in, ruined them both. Maybe then. 

____

Cooking or baking was his escape whenever the stress became a bit too intense, and well, currently, he was really fucking stressed. 

Jay knew it’d be this way, and thinking otherwise would only prove him to be much dumber than he thought he was. But still, he hoped. He hoped that maybe the language barrier would be hard enough to conquer. He hoped that you weren’t the greatest at making new friends (that’s just beyond dumb. It even shocked him-that he has the capacity to think so stupidly). 

You started attending the academy a week ago. And of course you were the type of person that people naturally gravitated towards. Of course all the students spoke perfect English, it’s an international programme for fucks sake. 

So today, instead of staying home with him, you’re out. Out, where he can’t see you or find you. Waiting for you on nights like this turns out to be torturous- he can’t call or text because he simply shouldn't care. But he does. 

It’s past midnight and he should've gone to sleep hours ago. Instead, his fingers wrap around a knife as he makes a dish he doesn't even want. 

Growing up, cooking or baking was a luxury. He couldn't even bother to think about things like expensive clothes or tropical vacations.

At the restaurant is where he learned most of his skills. He was a server, but during slower days, he’d always peek around the kitchen. 

One of the chefs, a fat Italian man named Dante, had actually taken a liking to the young waiter. So every chance he got, he’d call Jay over and let him in on the secrets of his world. 

He hears you before he sees you- a stupid, youthful giggle and your hands latching onto the walls. Your heels clink against his wooden floor, falling as you kick them off your feet. 

He looks at you, takes you in. Hair tousled, a hole in your lacy tights, lipstick smudged (either by yourself or a stranger) and the strap of your dress hanging off your shoulder. It was like a transitional phase- physically, in his apartment, mentally, still part of the night. 

“You’re late,” he muttered, chopping up a cucumber. At your laugh, he presses harder, the knife digging into the cutting board. 

“I have a curfew? Didn't know” you grin, stepping forward until your elbows are propped up on the kitchen counter. 

His jaw tightens “Where were you?” The question sounds firm, and his expression is slowly starting to give away the jealousy boiling inside him. 

Your scent and presence is too intense. You’re almost too in his kitchen, too in his apartment and too in his head. 

“Out” its chaste, and you don’t even bother to look him in the eyes, only focused on his movements, making him feel like a fucking stranger in his own home. 

“With who?” God, he sounds like he cares. And maybe it’s a good thing, but not with you, certainly not with you. 

He sees you reaching out for the bottle of water, and passes it to you. Why won’t you just say it? Fuck, just tell him. 

“Evan? Maybe that's his name” you laugh, screwing the cap back on. Was this funny to you? You were doing it on purpose, he’s certain now. Trying to elicit a reaction from him- trying to see just how far he’d go if you pushed the right buttons. 

With a low chuckle, he mutters “Evan”. Jay repeats the name like it’s a fucking joke. You furrow your eyebrows at his reaction. 

“He’s a good guy” you insist and he muses, obviously not believing any word you say. 

“I’m sure he is,” Jay nods slowly. He turns his body to face you. You’re still there, with that shit eating grin he wishes he could just fuck off of you. 

“You think I can’t handle myself? Or maybe I’m too naive, hm?” you roll your eyes. He’s acting awfully familiar, and finally you realize those two years between him and your father don't really make a difference. They’re the exact same- overbearing and just way too interested for their own good. 

Yet still, it doesn't bother you. The opposite even- you want to say more, you don’t want to stop. You want him to care for you so badly, wash away the night from your body. All you truly need is his attention and the look on his face is telling you that you’ve got him right where you want him. 

After years of your own father not caring or showcasing the slightest hint of emotion towards you, it’s become somewhat of a desire to have someone that would. 

“That’s ridiculous” he smiles, peeling himself off the counter “I just think those French boys you like so much, they talk a big game, you know?” he’s inching closer, prying the bottle from your grip “But they don’t necessarily know what to do with a woman once they have her” 

Swallowing, you straighten your posture “And you do?” 

Jay doesn't say anything at first, watching the way you become impatient with every passing second of his silence. He takes a long, slow sip of water before putting it down on the counter in front of you. 

Reaching out, he turns off the stove “Eat it before it goes cold” he smirks slightly, walking off. 

____ 

“Maybe tomorrow? I’m really tired today” Jungwon mutters, his voice muffled by the blue sheets wrapped around his body. With a small sigh, and understanding smile you nod, ushering him to get some sleep. 

It was a usual occurrence by now- his tired voice would pick up the phone and barely five minutes into the call, he’d either be fast asleep or too drowsy to continue. And you tried to understand, you really did. It was Jungwon’s senior year in high-school, and you knew better than anyone how fucking frustrating it is to notoriously have the word ‘college’ thrown around you. That just didn’t stop you from feeling lonely. 

In recent weeks, Jay has picked up way too many cases than he probably should have. He needed an escape. He physically needed the restraint of his own job since staying at his apartment has become way too dangerous. And with you already aware of the things he doesn’t want to admit, it only gets harder. 

Sunghoon got a role in a play called “The Seventh Door”,  as a vampire detective named Nathan. That’s been his whole life for the past two weeks- and rightfully so. No doubt you were proud of him, even saddened by the fact that you wouldn’t get to see him perform it. But the offer just made Sunghoon another person you couldn’t call, at least for now. 

Ningning, casted in a movie adaptation of  ��Letters I Never Sent” (or Letters I Should’ve Sent? You never read the book, truthfully) was currently in Australia for the shoot. Her busy schedule and time difference had made it nearly impossible to talk. 

To say you were proud of them was an understatement. Witnessing your best friends become the version of themselves they worked so hard to be was something so beautiful, no words could possibly describe it. And you felt beyond ungrateful whenever the thought of their success was the idea of something you lacked- especially when luck was already on your side the moment you got accepted into the academy. It was simply grueling to be aware of the fact that there’s still so much to be done before you yourself can boast about these sorts of accomplishments. 

And on nights like these, where there is no one to call or confide in, you find yourself standing bare-foot, and disheveled in front of his door. 

The bright blue clock on his night stand reads 2:03 AM. It taunts him as he rolls and turns in his bed, unable to sleep. The presence of another, becomes too heavy on nights where he wants to see you, but knows he can’t. He’s never known this feeling, never known the weakness he’s bound to experience now. Jay hates it- wanting the same person that’s the cause of his personal inferno. 

He tries to ignore the first knock for the exact same reason he’s turning over on his side. Jay doesn’t hope you’ll walk away, he needs you to walk away. But by the time your fist hits his door again, he knows you won’t. 

Switching on the lamp, he sits up on his bed. A small, yet still audible “Come in” passes by his lips. It doesn’t sound hesitant- more like he’s finally succumbed to the inevitable. 

Your fingers linger on the doorknob for a second longer before ultimately turning it, revealing his scruffy state illuminated by the yellow light of his night lamp. The black tank top doesn’t leave much to the imagination, his muscles flexing as he runs his hand over his face. 

You look too small, too human. His chest heaves uneasily, his throat itches to say something, welcome you into his embrace, touch you. 

“Can I?” you ask, and for the first time in a while your tone isn’t mocking, or snarky. He doesn’t know what to say. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea” he means it. It isn’t. None of this was ever a good idea. 

Jay knows this is you asking for something- something he should never give you. But he wants to. God, he really wants to. 

“I don’t care” you murmur, glossy eyes staring over his figure. He shivers at the words. 

Watching you run a hand down your arm, he realizes he might have no choice 

Each step you take towards him erases the image of your father from his mind. Every movement that brings you closer makes him forget about the inescapable numbers that separate you.  It becomes a confirmation of his burning fucking need to have you close, feel the warmth of your skin on his. 

The mattress sinks slightly as you sit next to him. Your knee brushes against his- seemingly tiny, innocent. But it’s not. Not when he can feel it even after it's gone. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice unsure and rough. 

You look down, fingers toying with the bracelets around your wrist “Couldn’t sleep” it almost sounds like a question, like you’re just as clueless as he is. 

“And you thought my bed would fix that?” he tilts his head, eyes watching you intently. It doesn’t come off the way he planned it to, but you don’t seem to notice, or even care. 

“May as well” it’s quiet, and before he can say anything else, tell you to leave, or do something he might regret, you speak again “I miss home” . It rolls off your tongue so fast, almost automatic. He can tell just how much it costs you to admit it.

He nods, pursing his lips together. 

When his best friend's parents' company went bankrupt, he didn’t know what it felt like. When your mother died, he had no idea how to help your father. More so, when your dad was getting married again, and asked Jay for advice, he realized just how much he doesn’t know. But this time, he knows exactly how you feel. 

Jay was so alone when he first came here. He only managed to squeeze in one phone call with his father every week, not to even mention his friends, whom he had close to no contact with. The loneliness drowned him, and for the last 20 years it still has. He’s surrounded with people every day, yet still feels like the only one.

And in those moments he understands how little he knows about the world, and has to offer. How insignificant his story actually is, and how stupid he was to think it can actually serve him any purpose. His parents died- devastating- but at the end of the day, everyone’s parents eventually will. He’s not special. He’s not the odd one out either. 

Maybe that’s why he’s become so crazy about his best friend's daughter- because it all changed when you came into his life. And it gets harder to deny that whenever he remembers he forgot about it all. 

“Jungwon?” he questions, and you exhale at the mention. 

A small confirmation slips past your lips “Wonnie, my friends, everything” at first he doesn’t know what exactly he could do to help you. He knows what you feel, but can’t think of any remedy- probably because he never had one himself. 

So he just stays quiet. He knows how exhausting it is to be in a city that doesn’t feel like yours- and he just hopes you know that. He hopes that his presence is enough to provide at least a temporary cure to what you’re feeling. 

You move closer, and he feels his body stiffen up at the sudden contact. His eyes dart down to your figure, watching the way your head slowly, and tentatively falls to his shoulder. Jay exhales sharply, one hand on the small of your back, steadying, supporting. It’s instinct. He doesn’t think about it. 

Until he does. Until he feels you inch closer with every passing second. Until he feels your breath on his chest, the texture of your skin under his fingertips, the faint smell of your bodywash in the air around him. And if you think it’s nothing, he can’t bear the fact that it’s everything to him.  

He watches you covered in his sheets, your head flat on his pillow, staring up at his ceiling. You climbed in with no hesitation- like it’s completely normal. Like you actually should’ve done it or even belonged in his space from the start. 

For a while it’s quiet- only faint breaths console the brooding silence. The bedroom is dark, the city's brightness being the only source of light. He can still feel you pressed against his chest. And when your leg brushes against his under the white sheets, his hands shake. 

You move, your body now facing him. Looking up at him, you mutter out “Jay?” 

He doesn’t look, only a faint hum in answer “Mhm?” 

“Do you ever feel it too?” his jaw tightens, and his lips twitch. His eyes are closed, but he hears it- your figure slightly sitting up, moving closer to him. 

He knows it's not fucking loneliness you're asking him about. You're talking about this. 

It's not about right or wrong anymore. It’s about how fucking noticeable his want has become- how much it has begun to kill him. You’ve become severely undeniable and he’s just so helpless against the feeling. 

The air shifts as you await his response- anything, even a barely audible word or missable movement. 

“You should go to sleep” he swallows. 

His entire body goes stiff as your small hand softly lands atop of his stomach. It’s light, and he wants so badly to say pure- but he possibly can’t, not when it moves up, the pace menacingly slow. Jay places his hand on yours, the look on his face stern “We can’t do this” it’s hushed, and almost sounds like he doesn’t want to say it, but rather has to. 

“But you’re not stopping me” it rings in his ears as your touch moves further up- passing his chest, his collarbone, up to his throat. He lets you. 

This is exactly where he should pull away, exactly where he should remind himself about those many things that  actually separate you- but he can’t. Jay forgot all about it the moment he heard you knocking on his door. 

“You wanted this, huh?” he breathes out, heart pounding in his chest as the proximity proves too much for him to bear. The way you lean in closer only serves as a confirmation to his question. 

Jay meets you halfway, lips brushing, barely anything at all- but he feels it everywhere. It’s so soft, so fleeting and it’s more than he ever expected to have. It’s too much. 

He doesn’t hesitate to pull you onto his lap, fingers digging into your waist, his other hand holding onto the side of your face. 

The small gasp that escapes your lips is swallowed by his mouth. Deep, and devouring. 

________ 

On the couch, he checks his inbox eyes completely glued to the screen of his phone. He feels like the time it’s taking you to get ready is enough for him to get unready and ready again. At least 5 times. 

Before the night you came to him, the night he let go, he gifted you a spare ticket to a play, “Somewhere Between You & Me” which his friend had kindly invited him to. 

Jake was one of the lawyers at his workplace. He was 7 years younger than him, being Jay’s associate when he first arrived at the firm. Just a year ago, he became a junior partner. Between balancing work life, and his wife (whom he got married to just 5 months ago) he still managed to find time for his true passion- theater. Jay made fun of him for it of course, yet still,  he’d watch his friend on stage every time. 

“Somewhere Between You & Me” was one of his bigger projects. Tonight was the premiere and Jake’s hard work would finally pay off as it recently turns out, tickets sold out almost immediately. It’s also his last- because as it turns out, his wife is pregnant. 

Tonight is  also another day where Jay is unsure of how long he can hold up his disinterested facade. Definitely not long, definitely not when you look way too fucking good in that small black dress. 

“Change” he voices sternly after looking at you for a moment. Give him another second, and that knowing grin would be right back on your face- you knew him too well by now. 

It was just a kiss- all he can ever allow himself to do, all he will ever have. And he hopes soon the feeling of your lips on his finally vanishes from his mind. 

“Why?” looking down at yourself, you tilt your head in confusion. 

He scoffs “Because I said so” it’s quick, and he still doesn't dare to look your way. 

You are way too beautiful today- and it taunts him. The slit rides too high, the sides cling onto your curves with such effortless elegance and it just mocks him- it’s like you know this is the day he’s gonna lose. Lose it all. 

“That’s not a good enough reason” you huff, finding his attitude humorous. Humorous, meaning obvious. He may not be looking, trying so pathetically hard to hide it, but you already see what he hasn't admitted. You know damn too well what he thinks about at night, what he’s doing while the shower runs a little too long. 

“Fine” he sighs and stands up, throwing on his overcoat. Considering the traffic, limited parking space and weather conditions- he should leave 10 minutes ago. “I hope you plan on putting something on top” his eyes are locked on the window as you slide into your heels. 

“It’s fucking Novemeber, Jay. Of course I am” you retort, with a snarky grin. 

“One more word” his patience has seemed to run dry- still, you don’t seem to care, only finding it amusing. 

Ever since that night, you have purposefully been lingering around him longer than necessary. Wearing little to no clothes, 'accidentally’ touching him. And of course, he notices.

Jay is hyper aware of every single one of your actions- and to be completely honest, each time he’s a shot away from bending your frail little body over his knee and slapping the shit out of your ass. 

Trying to get work done in his home office is practically impossible- it always ends the same. 

“What are you doing?” you’d ask him, your voice sultry. And to make it even fucking better, the only thing that seperates him from your sweet pussy is a black thong and the oversized shirt thats (barely) covering it. 

And even when he managed to tell you ‘It’d be better if you leave’, you just fucking wouldn't. Not now, not ever. 

Instead, your hands would land onto his shoulders, massaging the tense muscles. The touch goes straight to his cock, and he really prays you don’t notice. It’s stupid- obviously you do. 

You slip your arm through his as the two of you enter the beauty of one of the Parisian theaters. He exchanges a few words with one of the workers, a polite smile on his face. You barely understand anything, of course. 

The private balcony Jake had acquired for Jay was way too perfect- secluded, away from wandering eyes. It’s almost like every possible thing has aligned just right for you to break him. 

Jake, completely unaware, got these seats for him strictly based on the flawless view of the stage. Jay isn't looking at it, not for a moment. 

Your legs are crossed as you watch the story unveil. The slit in your dress shifts just enough to expose the bare skin of your thigh, and he feels like a Victorian man seeing a woman's ankle. Fuck, he’s a lost cause, truly. 

Jay exhales, slowly, adjusting his sleeves, trying, forcing himself to look forward. Spotting Jake’s giddy face, he wonders if the man knows just how much he’s fucked him over with the private seats. His lack of attention to the play makes up for it though. 

You can feel his wandering eyes on you, on your body. Your hand lands on his thigh “You’re not paying attention, Jay” you say his name like it’s fucking funny, like you know just how much it will affect him. 

“And you’re pushing your luck” he whispers back, swallowing as your touch moves up higher. 

“Am I?” you breathe out. 

His hand catches your wrist in a firm, unwavering grip. He yanks you closer, his lips next to your ear “Careful”

You don’t move away, only further shortening the distance that separates you from him “You brought me here” the words ring in his ear as you press a slow kiss to his jawline “You know what would happen” lips slide down his neck, as teeth lightly nip the birthmark on his skin. 

He guides your hand closer to his crotch, pressing it firmly against his fucking obvious hard on “Did I?” he muses, his grip on your wrist loosening. 

Oh he did. He knew it would end like this- it was just the matter of when and where exactly. Here, in the car, in the foyer, kitchen, living room, your bed or his. But of course he wouldn't want to admit that to you, or better, himself even. 

You look around, and there is a sense of hesitance in your eyes. Everyones so focused, nobody would even notice if your hand just slipped underneath his pants. 

Jay wants to take you so fucking deep you won't even remember your own name. So hard you’ll end up forgetting anything before him. 

He removes your hand from his body, standing up slowly, smoothing down his pants. He moves around to stand behind you, and  leans down, his fingers pressing against your neck “So spoiled. Things won’t happen for you that easily” 

You feel his lips press against your skin in a fleeting moment before he leaves. It’s a promise of something forbidden, a claim he’s now placed on you that cannot be taken back.

______

For winter break, your father and Ann had asked if you wanted to come back, and spend Christmas in New York. They were willing to purchase the tickets, and it came to you as something rather surprising.  

You knew it was Ann’s idea- it couldn't have been your dad’s, it never was.  She would never become a motherly figure to you considering she wasn't much older, but that didn't mean her caring attitude for both you and Jungwon went unnoticed. 

Without much thought, you agreed, almost instantly calling Sunghoon and Jungwon to announce the news. 

Your brother was beyond thrilled to see his big sister,  complaining how hard it’s been without you by his side “I always hear them, talking, yelling- you know how loud they get, right? But still it feels so lonely. I miss you” he said, voice hushed. 

Guilt was something that arose only when you confronted Jay about it. Of course you felt bad- his kindness spread beyond any stupid favour he had towards your father. He welcomed you into his home, letting you freely live in the confines of his space, and even allowing your obviously flirty and borderline sexual behavior towards him. 

“Okay” he replied, lifting his gaze from a file he was currently working through. 

It was one of those clients where he was forced to rely primarily on research, and he hated those the most. The frenzied pace that came with cases his managing partner rushed him through were his favorite- probably because it gave him little to no time to think about everything else in his life. 

He came home at midnight, sometimes a little later and all he had energy for was a shower and falling into bed. So even on his days off, he tries to surround himself with as many things as he can. 

Right now, you  couldn't tell if he was mad, or maybe even relieved to have you gone for the next two weeks. On another thought, reading into his behavior is what continues to make you feel insane- so it’d be better not to. 

“Will you be fine?” he chuckles at your question, finding the answer almost obvious. 

He’s been fine his whole life, and truly, if only you knew how not fine he would be, you’d probably laugh at him. 

“It really doesn't affect me, you know?” he affirms, taking off his glasses and leaning back in his chair, not even masking the way his eyes wander over your body. 

You sit down on the desk in front of him, looking down at the file “Liar” it’s barely audible, but Jay hears you. He hears you very well. 

He scoffs softly, shaking his head “I really hate lying, you know?” The firm tone in his voice  almost makes it sound true. 

You prop yourself on one hand, tilting your head and quirking an eyebrow at his statement. It’s humorous in a way- how he desperately tries to pretend in front of you that nothing significant happened. 

“Yet you keep lying to yourself” you say it like it's obvious. Jay doesn't seem to enjoy the reminder of his stupidity and failed oblivion. 

“What about?” he questions, but already knows the answer. It’s almost like he just wants to hear you say it, test if you actually know what he thinks about every night. 

“About the things you want to do to me” the words come out so easily, like you’ve known far too long, maybe even before he did. He’s stunned, even though he expected it. 

The next morning, he drove you to the airport, the car ride terrifyingly silent. The radio in his car had been broken for sometime now and he’s been meaning to get it fixed, but the time he’s spent without it, naturalized it. 

So many things have become weirdly, almost unsettlingly natural that he craves so badly to remember what it was like before. He finds himself wondering how he possibly survived all this time- how did the loneliness not drown out every possible part of him until he was nothing but flesh and bones. 

You look out the window, tapping your fingers against your thigh. The silence is so foreign and you wonder where it comes from. 

Did you go too far? Did you finally break him? Could you have possibly said too much? But if he despised the art of lying so much, then how could the truth make him so uncomfortable? 

“Have a good Christmas” he said with a stoic expression, pulling out your small suitcase from his trunk. 

Jay stands there, waiting for you to say something that’ll let him leave, set him free. But you don't. You don't move either, just look around- at him, his car, the airport, the other cars and people- some kissing, hugging, crying or even smiling. Christmas seemed to be such a happy but equally miserable time.

He hates that this will happen again. He knows that soon enough, he’ll have to say goodbye and it won't be temporary. It’s just two weeks- 14 fucking days. You’re still there, only an inch of separation between you, but he's already missing you. 

It comes to him only when he’s leaned down, pressing you tightly against his warm body. He hopes you can't feel how fast his heart is beating and how his hands shake when they hold onto your waist and shoulder. At first it seemed like your body stiffened, and he thought you might push him away. But you didn't, soon enough melting into his touch. 

It seems so overly dramatic, but to you, it means the world. 

With a small smile he ushers you to go with a swify motion of  his hand, and you nod, descending into the airport. He watches you, and even after you're out of his sight, he stands there, perhaps hoping you’ll run back out. It takes him 4 more minutes to get back into his car and go off to the firm. 

Jay spends Christmas Eve with his friends from the firm (and their wife’s). He and Anton- another fellow senior partner- seem to be the only men at the table without a wife or child. And just that same thing seems to be the topic of discussion tonight. 

As they help Jake and his wife, Valérie, gather the dishes and clear the table, she turns to him, and asks politely “Where is that woman I saw you with?” he almost missed it over the sound of constant clatter and the running tap. 

He furrowed his eyebrows, looking at her with a mix of confusion and curiosity “What woman?” Anton seems to wonder the same thing as he places his interest back on the conversation at hand. 

Jake turns off the tap, taking the plates into his hands and drying them one by one. He joins in on the conversation, his expression one of slight excitement “The one you took to see the play” he confirmed what Jay had already been thinking about.  “I wanted to come and greet you two, but you disappeared before I even got the chance” he adds, saddened. 

Jay exhales. He doesn't know what to tell them when they soon start asking for specifics- he could lie, and it’d probably make him feel good too, but there's no way they hadn't noticed how young you are. He’d look like such a creep, wouldn't he? 

“Is she not your girlfriend?” Valérie flips the question,  making it easier to answer in a way. He feels just that small bit of relief. 

Jay swallows at the words. The implication makes him feel terrible- he lives in a world where conformity is encouraged and what he’s doing isn't normal or even accepted in the slightest by the masses. 

He shakes his head, avoiding eye contact. “No” it’s so quick he hopes they won't say anything else, and perhaps move onto the next topic. 

She smiles at him downwardly “That’s misfortunate” 

Oh, Valérie. Isn't it? 

After dinner with your family (and Sunghoon) you return to your room. You note how uncomfortably cold it seems to be in the house- how much more unfamiliar this place now felt to you. It no longer had the life you tried so badly to persevere. 

From the small cracks in your door, you hear Jungwon bickering with Sunghoon about a football match. The latter seems to be taking great pleasure in frustrating your little brother and you find it quite adorable how easily Jungwon gets bothered by things like this. 

It’s 12 and the atmosphere doesn't seem to be dying down as your father gets everyone started with another bottle of wine. 

It’s 7 in Paris. You wonder what he could possibly be up to- working himself away in his office, drinking with friends or maybe worse, on a date with someone. Your finger hovers over his contact number and it feels incredibly infantile. It takes you back to highschool- sleepovers with your friend where you’d play truth or dare, the challenge being calling the boy you like. In a way, it feels exactly the same this time, the difference being, Jay is a grown man and not some horny, sweaty teenage boy. And you, you’re not 15 anymore. 

He wouldn't mind, would he? Your only goal is checking if he’s doing alright, if he’s happy. There's barely any harm in that. But before you get to formulate a reasonable enough motive for your call, his voice sounds through the phone's speaker. 

“Hello?” He sounds surprised, a gratifying sense of tiredness lacing his tone. You exhale, before speaking “Hi” it’s quiet and uncertain, as if you hope the volume will make it less significant. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, a twinge of worry in his voice. 

He was back at his apartment with Jake when he saw you call. His friend had left with him, as his wife had promised her brother, Ezra, to stop by before the day ended (and Jake, well, he wasn’t quite fond of him). They lolled about, discussing Jake’s next play, The Night We Almost Met (Valerie had convinced him to not quit "Pregnancy is not a disease, Jake") the professional negligence lawsuit he’s working on, a case Jay is working on between a fast-growing software development firm and a cloud storage provider, and more importantly- Jay’s secretive love life. 

He stood from the comfort of his sofa, pointing to his phone “I have to take this” he said quickly to his friend who just nodded, a state of sleep overcoming him at a rapid pace. 

“Mmm” the sound of confirmation seemed to make his heart steady a bit- he wonders why he was even stressed in the first place. Perhaps it’s because sometimes he worries you’ll decide to leave for good, you’ll finally realize that this place was never meant for you and Parsons was the better choice “Where are you?” you add questioningly, and he takes a moment to reply. 

“Home” he makes it sound like a dual effort, and it makes you smile slightly. Like the home he means is not only his, but yours too. And in a way, it’s true- Jay has suddenly realized just how terrifyingly awful the silence is whenever he comes back to the apartment after a long day. He realizes just how much he needs you to fill the void in his heart- one created by the love he never received “Was Christmas nice?” His tone is confusingly soft, something you don’t even recall from the day that you came to him. 

“It was nice; it really was” you answer, and he hums in response, the sound ushering you to continue “I missed Jungwon. And Sunghoon. New York in general, I think though” you say, and he bites back his tongue before he says something stupid (because truly, how could anyone miss New York? Then again, he does realize he’s probably the only one with such an incessant problem towards the city). 

There’s a brief moment where neither you or him say anything, the time filled with unspoken thoughts and words that linger at the tip of your tongues. There are so many things he wishes he could tell you at the moment- how much he wants to kiss you, how much he misses having you around, talking to you. And how fucking much he wants to make the filthiest and most impure form of love to you. But he assumes it's probably better to let you live on without the knowledge. For now, at least. 

You hesitate, but before you know it, the words, almost involuntarily, slip past your lips  “I miss you”. 

There’s another pause, as he repeats it over and over again in his head. The knot in his stomach grows tenfold as he fully grasps the feeling at hand- how much it has actually taken over his life, and how he doesn’t mind it- not at all. 

Jay realizes that there is no fulfilling answer to his situation other than giving in, and that in itself, never really was an illicit or morally wrong answer.  He knows that he would hate himself so much more if he never tried, rather than if he let himself follow his desires and it resulted in failure. He was ready to take that risk, as long as you’d still have him. 

Through his drunken memories, he remembers when he first saw you, saying things he later cringed at and regretted. He recalls the exact thought process he had when you came to your home on Hester St., trudging towards your father with the letter in hand. It was obvious to him, and he didn’t even bother giving himself the day to think about it- right there and then he knew so well that he’d be the one to house you, and take care of you. 

You bothered him so much, when he was cooking or working or reading, yet he never even thought to get mad  at you. Jay wanted you to do it, sometimes even putting himself out there just so you could torture him a little more. 

“I miss you too, sweetheart”  

_____ 

A week later, you were back in France.

You had insisted on getting back home by yourself. At one point, he was practically begging to take you, but you prevailed “I have to pick something up from Karina’s” you told (Karina was your class partner turned friend, whom you were currently working on a collection with) He sighed, eventually accepting the reasoning. 

He sits in the courtroom, and curses himself because today, he’s truly a terrible lawyer. One that he himself would have hated just months ago. All he thinks about is you, unconsciously counting down the hours until he can go back home to you. He feels so childlike at that moment, but he can allow it, just this once, he thinks. 

Luck doesn’t seem to be on his side that day- as soon as he steps out of the hall, his phone buzzes with a call from the managing partner, Nicholas Allard, who informs him of a partner's dinner later in the evening “You better be there, Park. Especially since you’re eyeing name partner” the sternness in his voice makes Jay huff. “I’m not”

Nicholas always says that, and it inexplicably irritates him, because he truly isn’t. Jay was fully satisfied with being senior partner, furthermore, staying senior partner. Nothing would change if his name appeared on the wall- he’d be stuck with the same pretentious clients, and maybe even become pretentious himself. He didn’t want that. 

All the way through dinner he begs for it to finally end. Anton apparently had helped Nicholas choose the restaurant- Pur’ on Rue de la Paix- and he laughs at his friends’ desperation. He had been the one actually hoping to get his last name slapped right next to Nicholas’. Everyone had noticed by now, and secretly made fun of the man for it“The Russian hooker I slept with last Saturday is nothing compared to the way he’s riding Allards dick. Maybe he should take her place” They were out for lunch, absent-mindedly cracking jokes about their friend. 

You were working with Karina at her apartment. She lived on Rue Erard, near Reuilly-Diderot station. It was further away from the city centre, but she didn’t mind. Karina shared the space with a Japanese student, Aeri, who studied science at the European International University. They got along, she said, but it seemed like they lived in two completely different worlds sometimes. And you understood that. 

It was hard for you to have actual conversations with Jay at first. He was so engulfed in a world you had no actual grasp of. And he never cared for the arts of fashion that you loved so dearly. For you, he was too serious at times, and to him, you were too carefree. 

“Are you seeing someone?” she asked you, waxing a pair of pants you had sewn together. You shook your head, although it felt somehow wrong. It felt untrue even when it, unfortunately, was very much true. You wanted to say yes because a part of you had already begun to accept a reality that wasn’t quite veracious. A confirmation in the form of that short, simple and breathy ‘yes’ would help you go on with the zeal needed. 

By the time you got home, Jay was already there. He almost jumped when he heard the keys unlock the sturdy door. It opened with a creak and you softly glanced inside before opening it fully. He marks his book, slipping off his glasses and lying it all down on his coffee table. He trembles with desire, his leg twitching as the moment he’s woken up thinking about, has finally been handed to him. 

He clears his throat slightly, and it’s like a hand that he’s extending out for you, asking you to come with him. You drop your suitcase and bag to the floor, opening the glass door that separates the foyer from the rest of the apartment. He can almost grab onto the change that spreads through the air between you. Jay feels it with his bare hands as you sit down next to him, the silence acting as a welcoming gesture. It says enough for the two of you to know you’ve missed the other. 

“Tired?” he asks, and there’s a hint of guilt in his expression as he regrets not just forcing you to take his offer in the form of a ride home. But he knows you’re too stubborn anyway. 

You nod, and sigh softly. He doesn’t hesitate to open his arms, inviting you into his comforting embrace. You accept, almost too hurriedly. The action makes him chuckle. Jay wraps his arms around your figure, your back pressing against his chest. Your head leans back as you look up at him with a small smile. 

“Did you have fun in New York?” he asks, his hand moving up and down your arm in a soothing manner. He stops at your fingers, interlacing them with his own. You squeeze tightly and nod. 

“Yeah. Dad asked about you, a lot. You should call him” your response makes him tense up. He feels sick. 

Jay has been avoiding your fathers phone calls, or making them as short as possible. The frequency of his avoidance has increased substantially, especially since the night you slept in his room.There’s a prevailing guilt ridiculing him everytime he sees his best friend call- your father trusted him with you, and he probably never doubted that same trust. So easily, Jay broke it, never once thinking about the consequences, not when he was making out with you in his bed or touching himself to the image of you. 

He swallows, and nods, knowing  he won’t be able to anytime soon, especially not after today “I will” he falsely assures “How is Jungwon?” he rushes away from the topic of your dad, and you don’t seem to notice, smiling at the mention of your little brother. 

You play with his fingers “Fine, I think. He’s really impressed by you, y’know? God, maybe he’ll go to law school himself. That’d be good” you go on, and he laughs softly, nodding in acceptance. He feels a sense of pride at your words, but he’d never admit it. 

He hums softly in response, unsure of what he should say. He’s never been good with compliments. He just assumes you know he’s grateful, especially it being your brother whom he knew you cherished very dearly “Do you need anything?” he asks, and even though it’s almost midnight, he’s ready to get you anything you want, even if that request entails him going to the other end of the city. It really is serious for him. 

You shake your head, guiding his hand onto your stomach. He knows exactly what you're suggesting. And this time, he’s far from opposed. 

“You sure?” he whispers, his fingers moving against your skin as you let go of his hand. The softness of his fingertips causes your body to tremble slightly “Are you sure you don't need anything?” he asks again, his voice sultry. 

Jay eyes you intently, watching the way you fight back the words. You know that it was a matter of slightly parting your lips and he’d be made fully aware of exactly the thing you need. And he’d enjoy it too much, you knew that. Even in such an exposing position, you still wanted to hold onto that small piece of power you owned. 

He unties the strings of your sweatpants, the movement slow and teasing. He toys with it, toys with you. You’re so much smaller against him, so weak and delicate. You embody a cleanliness he can no longer have, and he’s tried so hard not to take that away from you- but he can no longer fight it. 

His hand comes dangerously close to the band of your underwear, threatening to slip past it. There’s a small whine that slips off your tongue as he continues to stay close, but nowhere near where you actually need him. 

And Jay wants to rip the fabric away, feel on his own skin just how much you want him too, but he finds the sight of you so restrained and at his mercy heavily amusing. You move in his embrace, desperately trying to create some sort of friction, but he quickly stills you “Stop moving. You want this, don’t you?” and when you nod, he squeezes your hip tighter. 

He traces the lace of your panties, chuckling as he watches you spread your legs wider for him. Unconsciously, but still, it makes even him impatient “Tell me what you want me to do” his voice is low, breath hot on your skin. His lips leave open-mouthed kisses along the vein on your neck “And I’ll do it”  

Your words come out in ragged breaths “I want you to touch me” there’s a small smile that spreads on his lips sas he hears you speak. 

Jay moves the loose strands of hair from your ear, his lips barely touching the reddened skin “Here?” he whispers, pressing his fingers into your clothed cunt, feeling the moisture wet his touch. He watches you nod repeatedly, moving your hips forward, trying to prolong the feeling. He laughs, allowing it for just a moment longer. 

“Jesus” he mutters, watching you slowly depricate yourself in his arms “So fucking greedy, acting like a bitch in heat” he laughs, rubbing his hand against you, moving back and forth, spreading your lips apart and fucking his fingers into your covered hole. He knows he’ll have to give in soon, the depth going as far as the stretch of the material allows it. 

Jay is honestly surprised by the person you’ve morphed into. You had so much to say before, but now, it seems like you’ve shied away from your snarky comments. You seem scared- scared that he’ll stop, leave you when you’re just steps away from the pinnacle of that moment. He likes how compliant you are, and wonders just how far he can push this newly discovered obedience “So, so impatient… Don’t you wanna show me how good you can be for me?” 

“I do; I do” you repeated after he stopped any and all movement, his other hand holding you down, preventing you from just doing it yourself “Then fucking do it” he groaned. 

He slowly, but surely pulled the fabric away, hissing as his fingertips were met with your raw, pulsing flesh. Your chest rises and falls unevenly, the sequence of sounds continuing as he picks up his pace, each time going further, and further, until two of his digits are fully plunged into your sopping cunt.  He takes on a slow tempo, savouring every sound- your legs rubbing against the leather of the couch, the wet slosh of his fingers reentering you, your body trembling in his grasp alongside the ruffle of his shirt, and ultimately, the sweet noises that escape your throat. 

Eventually, he adds a third digit, watching you wince slightly at the intrusion. He smiles, watching you take so proudly and wholly whatever he gives you “Good… you’re so good to me” the praise sounds through the room, and echoes through the canyons of your heart, as the strong feeling begins to overcome your senses with an intensity you’ve never known before “Such a sweet girl… Who has touched you like this before? Tell me” 

Through a daze, you manage to mutter out a response, signifying to him that there was only one person before him. He nods, a smile decorating his lips, as he finds the answer more than satisfying “You really are clean” the years of keeping yourself in check suddenly seem to have paid off. 

He’s impressed with how you’ve managed to sustain the drive he couldn’t even contain for longer than a week at your age. But then again, who would he be if he had saved himself longer? 

“Can I..?” you start, embarrassed to say the words. But Jay knows exactly what you mean, and after a moment he nods. Your body slumps against his, tired and ready, as you focus strictly on what he’s giving you. 

And even after you come all over his bony fingers, he doesn't stop, the speed increasing as if he wants to, and likes to watch you cry out with a fatigued expression, face twisting from the overstimulation “Just a little more” he mumbled the words a couple times, kissing your shoulder. 

Eventually Jay pulls out, smearing the release that paints his fingers all over your inner thighs “You look so pretty like this” he speaks, watching you breathe heavily, with half-lidded eyes that are barely able to stay open. 

He gently cleans you up, kissing you on the forehead as he rises back to his feet. He leads you to your bedroom, lying your frail body down in the cold bed. Before he can leave, you speak out to him softly “Stay” 

And so he does. 

____

3 years ago, for his 35th birthday, he bought land in Cassis, located in the southern part of France. Jake had been the one to convince him to do so, since Jay wasn’t the greatest when it came to spending such large sums of money. He never acquired the habit, most likely because he wasn’t even aware of the things he could possibly buy with the unexpectedly large amounts of money he earned every month. 

He had initially imagined living there when he retired- quiet and harmonious (since he certainly wasn’t planning on going back to New York). The months passed, he even received approval to build his dream house on the land, yet still, it was left abandoned as he occupied his mind with everything but actual construction. 

Valerie, who worked as an architect, made sketches for him which he honestly loved. The plans portrayed a one story, beautiful mediterranean estate with a large terrace and impressive garden. He could see himself in such a place- blissfully unaware of the horrors that unveil themselves around the world. Disinterested and free. 

Two months ago he had decided to call Valerie, and announce to her his willingness to begin construction. At first she didn’t believe him- “Jay, we both know you don’t”- and when he had finally convinced her it was real this time, she referred him to one of the construction companies she and Jake had hired when they were helping her parents build their home. 

Last month, assembly began- Jay had gone down to the property two times since, one time alone, one time with you. “This room” he points to a space on the drawing that faces a landscape of mesmerizing limestone cliffs and vast pools of aquamarine water “You could make those pretty things here. All day” he smiles softly, referring to the dresses you always made sure to show him before handing the projects in at the academy. 

You’d model for him, as he’d lean back on the couch, giving you instructions “From the back” there’d be a pause, a mischievous grin on his face “Bend down a little for me” he’d say, and of course, with a proud face you’d comply. He knew what he was doing and you knew why you were doing it. Because it would always end the same- he’d hold you down on his lap, watching the pretty faces you’d make while his cock fills you completely. 

But again, would it really be yours? He had said it so plainly, so much that it even seemed plausible. It imitated a normalcy that was never yours to begin with, and no matter how hard you tried to convince yourself, it never would be. 

Last week, the construction manager contacted him, and made him aware of the unstable soil in some areas. It would require additional foundation work to ensure structural stability- that entailed a supplementary plan and extra costs. 

The whole process began to get irrationally stressful for him as the build just kept on encountering problems, all while he was promised a smooth and fast completion. 

And he doesn’t blame Jake, Valerie, or even the company he hired. He blames himself, for his stupidity, for believing that he could have nice things in life. This has to be something telling him that the nice apartment, luxurious car and plump pay check was enough, all he can get. 

He keeps the door to his study slightly ajar. There's two piles of paperwork on the desk and both look terribly gruesome and tiring. He doesn't feel like thinking today- not about the house, not about his work, and not about what he’ll eat for dinner. But he chose this life- he can't complain when everythings he’s ever done was for this exact moment. 

With a sigh, and almost childlike tug of the lawsuit that’s been sitting on his desk for a good two weeks now, he begins to go through it. His head is propped up on his fist, eyes lazily scanning the words. 

Jay keeps looking over to the papers, plans, magazines on his table- he thinks about Valerie's call where she excitedly asked him about fucking kitchen tiles. To his surprise, he found it oddly entertaining and domestic. Jay Park, a well-known Parisian lawyer, prefers quarry tiles over marble. Revolutionary, truly. 

His door creaks open, and he looks up, seeing your head peeking inside of his office. He smiles softly, and nods- his way of telling you to come in. 

You close the door upon entering, and take a look around. Nothing ever changes inside here- it’s always messy in an organized way. There’s a woody and musky smell in the air, something that only stays in this same office. 

“Come here” he motions you to his lap, eventually closing the file and dropping it into his drawer, for later, of course. Well, he already knows he’ll probably pass it on to one of the associates, who'll see it rather as a blessing than a burden. 

“Everything alright?” you ask, watching his face, illuminated only by the yellow lighting of his small lamp. Jay slips off his glasses, tossing them lightly onto the desk. He sighs, and reluctantly, nods “Doesn't seem like it” you add after his confirmation.

“Sweetheart, don’t worry about me” his hand caresses your bare thigh, his touch barely anything. It was so light you could mistake it for something that it surely wasn't. 

Your fingers toy with the material of his shirt, undoing two more buttons. His tan skin glistens under the dim lighting, and you notice the mole on his collarbone. You hum softly, hand moving up to his shoulder “Tell me the truth” you plead, and he looks down, trying to somehow put into words the things that suddenly don't seem so troublesome or serious. 

“The house, you know, it won't be done soon” he tells, and his expression doesn't change “You shouldn't worry about it. I’ll get it figured out” he adds before you can answer. You wait for a moment, holding your breath, but eventually nod, understandingly. 

Jay doesn't share much of his thoughts, not ever, so you know that even if this is only half of his worries, he would never tell you the rest. He cherished your peace over any selfish act of  ‘getting something off his chest’. He didn't believe in that and never would. 

“I want to help you” you say, hand under his shirt, tracing the outline of his muscles. You run your thumb over his nipples, and he hisses at the sensation. He’s been touched, but never like this. He especially feels that touch go straight to his already hardening cock. 

“You do? Then bend over, pretty girl” Jay doesn’t feel like wasting any time. He knows he doesn’t need foreplay or any other form of preparation- you were ready before he even touched you. You came to him for the sole reason of getting fucked, and that’s exactly what he’s going to do. 

With a satisfied grin, you lean your elbows on his desk, turning your head to watch him unbuckle his belt. With a swift motion, the leather piece falls open, and he doesn’t even bother to remove it. He grabs your face, harshly pressing his lips onto your mouth, licking inside it, pushing his tongue against yours, past it, and as far down your throat as it will go. His hands tug at your shorts, yanking them off along with your underwear. The material pools at your knees, and he pulls away from the kiss, eyeing your half naked form. 

He plays with the plump skin, groping it, squeezing, slapping it until the spot turns red. He commits to memory how each action elicits a different reaction from you. When he strikes you again, a tear rolls down your cheek and he feels like he could come on the spot, untouched “Such a sweet little thing you are. I could watch you all the time” he coos, pressing a kiss to the side of your mouth. 

With one hand, he pries off his boxers, while the other caresses your sensitive ass. His fully erected, and leaking shaft springs out, slapping against his lower abdomen. He bites his lower lip at the feeling “Fuck” he groans, jerking himself off, spreading the precum that puddles at his tip along his entire length. 

You tug at his arm, whining impatiently “Jay..” he chuckles at your eagerness, finding the willingness almost equally as arousing as your pretty face and body. 

You’ve become fully dependent on him- he was your sole provider for everything- a roof over your head, a ride to the academy in the morning, a warm meal, and since he didn’t want you to work, all the money you had was his. And maybe it should bother you, the fact that nothing is truly yours, but it doesn’t. Jay is equivalent to your survival, and you’d make it a great priority to repay him for that. 

As he thrusts into you, his cock intruding your tight ass at a ferocious pace, the phone rings. 

Through blurred vision, you recognize it. A picture of Jay and your father (presumably taken right before Jay’s departure 20 years ago) stares back at you. His name flashes across the screen, ridiculing you. Jay peels the phone off the table, his thumb hovering over the green button. 

“J-Jay… don’t” you mutter, and at that, he cruelly tugs at your hair, causing your head to jerk back, teary eyes staring at his serious expression “Quiet. You don’t want him to hear you, do you?” 

You nod, and his finger presses the answer button. Your teeth bite down on your swollen lip, trying to encapsulate any forbidden sound. 

A beaming voice finally speaks “Jong! I thought you’d never pick up..” 

Jay laughs in such a natural, unbothered way, as if he’s not doing anything wrong, as if your father should have known this would happen. Because, he truly should have. “Life’s hectic” he answers, his best friend act almost too believable. 

But how could he ever consider himself a good friend again? After this? He stopped being your fathers friend from the moment you stepped into his apartment, and he should’ve realized it quicker. 

“How is she?” your dad asks, and the kindness in his voice is almost insufferable. Jay presses his palm flat on your back, his speed increasing substantially, tone unchanging though. 

“Really good. I take care of her well, I think” he answers, and feels himself getting closer. Your father, blissfully unaware, seems to be delighted at his friend's words, thanking him over and over again for his kindness. 

You and Jay never had anything in common to begin with. Being a lawyer was his whole life, helping greedy, rich bastards become even richer was the only thing that really defined him. And you were the artistic soul he could never find himself understanding. You were impractical in your work, and he- he relied on a firm law that bent under no circumstances. 

Yet still, you managed to have one similarity after all- you were a terrible daughter and he; he was a terrible, terrible friend. 

But Jay does take good care of you. He really does take great care of you. All the time. And well, if your father were to find out just how well, you’ll still be a living memory of him that Jay will hold onto.

His sweet, little souvenir. 

TAGLIST- @jooniesbears-blog @fancypeacepersona @somuchdard @yoonglestangies @petalsofink @strayy-kidz @thinkinboutbin @miuangel @jjongstar111 @sunooqvrlsx @jaeyunsbimbo @punchbug9-blog @hanibani-707

[prythianpages]

Tonight, the Light of Love is in Your Eyes

Azriel x Rhysand's Sister (reader) | You find yourself in the middle of a political affair, where you seek refuge in a dance with Azriel. And in the spur of the moment, Azriel tells you he loves you for the first time.

warnings: secret love, implied smut (brief mention), you and az being impulsive and risking it all

word count: 1,900

a/n: I used the dialogue of this scene from The Witcher as a prompt for this fic.

“Hybern is still close to Spring. Though they’ve lost the war, it seems their alliance still stands. Bradwell has shown interest in her, it’d be best if she takes his favor tonight. Or even Tamlin’s, they are closer in age.”

Your gaze is fixed forward, but your mind drifts, creeping into the quiet mental conversation between your father and brother. They speak of you, as if your own desires are inconsequential, and it stings more than you let show.

“Why should she? When the High Lord of Autumn, who fought alongside our armies, has six sons and one on the way…”

Breathe in, breathe out. You force the command on yourself, struggling to maintain the composure you’ve perfected over years of courtly life. The mask you wear feels more fragile tonight, your heart threatening to crack the facade. 

You allow your eyes to wander and regret it when you meet the gaze of Bradwell–the eldest son of Spring. He is watching you, green eyes gleaming with a predatory sharpness, his smirk oozing arrogance. As if you’re a prize to be won–a prize already won. The sight of it turns your stomach. 

It’s instinctual almost–the way your eyes gravitate toward Azriel as they always do at the slightest discomfort. He’s been your anchor, your safety blanket for years. He stands just a few steps below you, tall and stoic. 

His hands are clenched into fists, shadows weaving and writhing along his limbs in a frenzy, whispering secrets to him that you ache to hear. His head is turned toward Bradwell and there’s no doubt his gaze is hardened into an icy composure when the eldest of Spring suddenly peels his gaze off of you.  

As you pull your gaze away from the Night Court’s Spymaster, you catch your mother’s eye. She sits beside your father on a much simpler throne. She sends you a sympathetic smile and you cast your gaze down, mask faltering as a blush creeps up your neck.

By the Cauldron, how you wish you could be anywhere but here. You’d much rather be alongside Cassian and Mor, who are most likely indulging in the fine wine and cheeses. The only redeeming part of these insufferable court parties.

“Is it not best to keep our most at-risk enemies close? Spring–”

Your body tenses, each muscle coiling as you listen to the words between your brother and father, their minds still unaware of your presence within them. It’s laughable, almost. Rhysand taught you well. You were a later bloomer when it came to the manifestation of your powers but the daemati power runs strong in you. 

Movement catches your eye. It’s Bradwell. He begins to make his way toward you, one hand already reaching for the sage-green handkerchief embroidered with a golden beast. A token you know he plans to offer. The sight of it makes something in you snap. You can’t take it anymore.

You whip your head around, your heart pounding, and your gaze finds Azriel once more—the only one you want. The only one you’ve ever wanted.

“Azriel, will you dance with me?”

The words escape your lips before you even realize you’ve said them. There’s a brief moment where the world seems to still as Azriel turns to meet your gaze. His eyes widen slightly, shadows pausing briefly in midair–the only sign of emotion he shows. 

But you feel a flutter in your chest.

It wouldn’t be the first time he’s danced with you. The two of you have danced plenty of times before. However, it’d be the first time you’d give him your first dance. A notion that seems silly but held to a high esteem in the Court of Nightmares.

You feel your father’s and Rhysand’s gaze also on you–the latter’s eyes narrowing at you. He’s already sensed the lingering presence you left in his mind, and you can feel his talons scratching at the edges of your mental walls. But you hold steady, just as he taught you and push him away.

Azriel keeps his eyes on you yet his shadows peer over his shoulders, the dark tendrils darting back and forth between your brother and father. Cautious and a bit defensive.

It’s your mother who breaks the silence. She had kept her gaze on the dance floor in front of her, that same knowing smile playing on her lips. “It is impolite to keep a lady waiting.”

Azriel nods his head. “Of course.”

He shifts forward–one foot resting on the first step while the other remains on the ground floor. He extends his scarred hand to you, his shadows barely able to contain their excitement, betraying the cool mask he dons.

You smile—truly smile—as you place your hand in his, and together, you walk toward the dance floor. Your heart swells with defiance as you purposefully avert your eyes when passing Bradwell, chin held high. Rhysand’s mental claws scratch harder, desperate to break through your defenses. You continue to shut him out, strengthening the walls of your mind. 

The Cauldron simmers in your favor. As you reach the dance floor, the music shifts to a slower, more romantic melody. Azriel’s hand wraps around yours, his fingers enclosing around your palm while his other hand rests gently at the small of your back. The tension in your body melts under his touch and you find yourself leaning in closer to him, your body always yearning to be with his.

Shadows slither softly around you, hiding within the seams of your black dress like a protective shield. Azriel’s eyebrows furrow and you recognize the brief distant look in his eyes. “Rhys is not happy,” he murmurs. “Your first dance was supposed to be with the eldest son of Spring.”

His jaw clenches and you see the way his shadows curl tighter around him as if to suffocate the jealousy he dares not voice.

“Let him sulk. I get to decide who to dance with, who to be with.”

Azriel was the master of composure. He’s always calm, steady, controlled. But tonight, something in his gaze feels different. There’s something vulnerable there, something pained. He looks away for a moment, as if trying to keep his emotions from manifesting further. 

“I can’t offer you what he can..."

His hand twitches in yours, like he’s about to pull away, but you hold him tighter. “Good,” you respond without hesitation. “I don’t want anything that arrogant ass has to offer.”

Azriel’s eyes snap back to yours, searching, conflicted. He hesitates, as if still grappling with the part of himself that believes he doesn’t deserve this. That you deserve more, much better than him. Someone who can give you the world, not someone who only knows to live in the shadows.

You intertwine your fingers with his, lips curling into a small grin. “Your ass is the only one I want,” you add, your power reaching out to him and gently slipping past his defenses to show him the marvelous view you had of his backside earlier.

And as your thoughts drift to the last night you shared together, where you got to see all of him, Azriel lets out an exhale, his lips mirroring the upwards curl to yours. Taking advantage of the grip you have on his mind, you show him more memories from that night. The way his scarred hands had caressed every inch of your body, his lips following the path his hands made…

 “I can’t give you much,” Azriel’s voice had dropped to a whisper, barely a rasp as he leaned his forehead against yours. His nose brushed with yours, lips hovering right over your own.  “But I can give you everything I have.”

You smiled softly at him, your fingers brushing the side of his face, tracing every line and contour of the male who held your heart. So beautiful, so perfect. 

“That’s all I’ll ever need,” you replied and then closed the small gap between you to kiss him.

The pained look in his hazel eyes melts into something warmer, something sweeter, as he takes in the memories of that night through your eyes. He had never doubted your love, but the weight of his own insecurities—his belief that he was beneath you—constantly gnawed at him.

Every time he touched you in secret, every night you spent hidden away together, he feared that someday you might wake up and realize he wasn’t enough.

But here, dancing with you, the way your eyes held him, he felt that overwhelming doubt ease. To see and feel the depth of your sincerity, as if your very soul called out to his…

“I love you.”

Your heart stilled at the words, your step faltering. In a smooth maneuver, Azriel spins you around, catching you effortlessly before you could stumble. His hands steady you as you face him once more.

 “That’s the first time you’ve said that,” you breathe, your voice barely a whisper, though you know Azriel’s shadows are already ensuring no one else can hear your words.

“It can’t be,” Azriel murmurs in disbelief, brows furrowing slightly. 

“You used to think it,” you quietly admit, your gaze dropping for a moment before returning to his. It wasn’t that you had ever meant to pry, but when it was just the two of you, his mind was often at ease, unguarded. Sometimes, his thoughts would be too loud for you to ignore. “But tonight, you finally said it.”

The shadows hidden within the lacey seams of your dress stir and you watch as one of the shadows lingering over Azriel’s shoulders slithers up and curls around his ear. His grip on you tightens and your ears perk up. 

The song is coming to an end and though couples continue to dance and whirl around you, your nose picks up on an approaching scent. Fresh wildflowers and oak—rich and lovely, exuding the essence of Spring. Yet it fills you with dread. You don’t want this moment to end. You’re tired of pretending, of living this life of secrecy.

“Azriel,” you say, one hand reaching out toward his face to turn his attention back to you. A bold move but tonight, you’re ready to be even bolder. “Kiss me.”

His shadows stir, swirling anxiously around him, their whispers warning that too many eyes are upon you both. You can feel his hesitation, the unspoken question in his gaze as he searches your face.

“In front of everyone,” you confirm. Show them I’m yours, you speak into his mind, and only yours.

Azriel pauses, his chest tightening at the implication of your words. He can feel Rhysand’s presence–furious and demanding– trying to slip into his mind. No doubt trying to steer him away from this impulsive display and away from you. 

He feels the weight of the room pressing down on him—the sons of Spring and Autumn watching his every breath.

But all of that falls away when he meets your eyes again. 

There is only you in this moment.

The one who had always been able to see through his walls, the one who made him feel like the most precious thing in the room, the only one he cared about.

“Kiss me,” you whisper again.

And Azriel is not going to let you ask a third time.

Not when the light of love is shining so brightly in your eyes. His hand covers yours on his cheek, and then, he leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss that silences the room.

Whatever comes next, you’ll face it together.

a/n: It's been awhile since I wrote for Az. Miss this shadow daddy lol. Part 2 is already up 🫶🏽 you can find it here.

General tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444, @lilah-asteria @the-sweet-psycho

@daycourtofficial, @milswrites, @stormhearty, @pit-and-the-pen, @mybestfriendmademe

@loving-and-dreaming @azriels-human @mrsjna, @adventure-awaits13, @lorosette

fic tag: @noisyinfluencerstrawberry

[yasministration]

hey! first want to say congrats on 3k i love your fics sm and you deserve it!! 🫶🏽

so i saw your 3k celebration could i please request Harry Potter x Fem!Reader. is it okay if i choose two seasons? 😭

autumn x spring tysm! there are so little for Harry so js want to say ty again

More than anything - harry potter

summary: keeping your relationship a secret is difficult when you just can't stop staring at your boyfriend wc: 1.1k+ i'm sorry, this turned out angsty too. i didn't mean it, it just happened.

Harry Potter was not the man you expected to be romantically involved in, but it was difficult not to be when he was so attractive and would not stop shooting you these gorgeous smiles from across the room. This romantic involvement though? Difficult when your parents are on the same team as the man who wants him dead. “Stop being so obvious.” Pansy hissed in your ear, sending a sharp kick to your leg under the table. You yelped, eyes going wide and you instantly dropped the smile from your face, looking back down at your food. Pansy was right. There were moles everywhere, and if any of them realised that you were dating the boy who lived, you were fucked.

You glanced up once more, eyes meeting Harry’s, and you watched as he stood up, keeping his gaze fixed on you before walking out of the great hall. “What’s going on with the pair of you?” Asked Draco, sat directly facing you. Both you and Pansy went silent, noticing how he, Theo, and Mattheo stared straight at you. You glanced at each other, and you swallowed a mouthful of food before turning your attention back to the three boys. “I have a crush on this Hufflepuff guy.” You regretted the words as they came out of your mouth, watching the three boys twist their torsos in unison to get a good look at the Hufflepuff table. “Which one?” Theo asked, craning his neck. “Yeah, they’re all ugly.” Added Mattheo.

You huffed, and took that as a perfect time to exit, with one last comment “You boys are mean.” As you walked away, you saw Mattheo throw his hands up in surrender. “Well, she must really like him.” You sped up your pace, taking the first staircase up as you made your way to the astronomy tower.

“Took you a while.” Commented Harry, a smile on his face when he finally laid his eyes on you. You panted, falling into his open arms for a hug. “I had to tell the boys I like a Hufflepuff kid because I — oh these fucking stairs — I was being too obvious.” Your arms snaked around Harry’s torso, and you felt his chest move as he chuckled. “At least you have Pansy to keep you in check. I felt that kick from where I was sitting.” You laughed whole-heartedly, looking up at Harry with a smile on your face. Harry leaned down, pressing his lips to yours in a soft kiss. When you broke the kiss, Harry noticed the sad look in your eyes. He sighed, moving one hand to rest on your cheek lovingly. “It’s a shame things just keep getting harder every year.”

Harry smiled sadly, pulling you back into the hug. You were right. When you had first formed your friendship in fourth year, things weren’t too bad. You could sit together in the library, studying with him and his friends. People shot you the occasional look, but none of your friends ever said anything about the friendship you'd formed with the golden trio. Political ties hadn’t been formed yet. In fifth year, you joined Dumbledore’s army. Sneaking around give you a thrill, and at least you could share you secrets with Pansy. Harry would often come to your dorm using his invisibility cloak, and he’d spend the night with you, whispering loving words to each other and gossiping with your best friend, who endlessly made fun of you but secretly admired your loving relationship.

But after the battle at the ministry? You couldn’t risk anything. When the death eaters made their presence known, you had run away, hiding behind thick rows of prophecy orbs and firing a curse that had hit your own father in the face, freeing Hermione from his violent grip. Unfortunately, that had attracted attention from the death eaters, and you had to run before you father could find out where your loyalties rested.

That night was the first night you and Harry realised the war would make your relationship harder than you thought. Many nights like those followed, including this one.

“Come sit down with me.” Harry mumbled, tugging you towards the edge of the tower. You both sat down, swinging your legs over the edge. You leaned your head on Harry’s shoulder, and thought out loud. “Do you think things will be different after the war?” Harry’s laugh surprised you, but he quickly explained himself. “Love, the second I kill that noseless freak I am finding you and kissing you no matter who is watching. Anyone who has a problem with us can fuck off.” You smiled, your eyes tearing up with guilt.

“I wish I could help.” Harry swung his legs up so he could shift to face you, and you mimicked his movements, now sitting face to face. “You have been helping. Remember when you taught everyone that wicked curse in the DA last year?” You laughed at Harry’s poor attempt to cheer you up, wiping at your cheeks when teardrops rolled down your face. “And don’t you remember how you sent Professor McGonagall an owl over the summer, telling her about everything Voldemort was saying in meetings? Who else could have done that?” You shrugged your shoulders, still feeling useless. “That could have gotten you killed.” You raised your gaze to meet Harry’s, and the boy mimicked your earlier movements, catching your tears with his thumb before softly kissing you.

“And when the war is over, we’ll buy a house at Godric’s Hollow. You’ll become a healer and I’ll be an auror, and if I ever come home hurt, you’ll take care of me.”

“I’ll take care of you whether you’re hurt or not, Harry James Potter.” Harry smiled at your words, grasping both your hands.

“But then we’ll take a a couple years off work because you’ll be pregnant and I can’t miss a second of our baby’s first year. And then we’ll have a couple more kids, and obviously I’l have to be there for them too.”

You laughed, “What, you think we’ll get by without working for the rest of our lives?” Harry shrugged. “I’m Harry Potter. I killed Voldemort. I can do anything I want.” You grabbed the front of Harry’s jumper, pulling him towards you to kiss him again. This time you didn’t pull away for a while, letting Harry keep you close to him by the hand on the back of your head. You felt Harry’s smile against your lips, and you giggled, pushing your boyfriend away from you by the chest. You didn’t stay apart too long though because you were on your knees in an instant, moving closer to him and throwing your arms around his shoulders. Harry uncrossed his legs, letting you straddle his lap, his hands on your hips. He swallowed thickly, feeling your lips hovering over his. “You’re confident we’ll win against them?”

“More than anything.”

taglist: @ravisinghs-wife, @starry-remus, @pain-in-the-ashe, @hiireadstuff, @treefairy-28, @superlegend216, @kitkatkl, @rory-cakes

[heich0e]

"can i call you later?"

the wind bites at your cheeks, but the sting you feel is as much from the smile on your face as it is from the chill.

"dunno," you muse, pursing your lips as though you're contemplating the question deeply. "can you?"

rintarou groans, but the sound isn't half as plaintive as it ought to be. you watch as his head hangs down defeatedly where his frame is folded over the railing that lines the front of the train station, his body pitched forward over the barrier like he's trying to reach you on the other side.

you've been saying goodbye for the past twenty minutes—or, you've been trying to. sort of. maybe. the train you'd planned to catch has already come and gone, and the next is set to soon arrive. one more and it will be the last of the night, but not even knowing that fact seems to be moving you closer towards the door to the station—content to stay here, like this, as the wind of the late fall night nips at your cheeks and the two of you muddle through your goodbye with the inelegance of two people who couldn't be less committed to it if they tried.

rintarou lifts his head to meet your gaze.

"i mean it, though." he says. "can i call you tonight?"

your stomach flips when he looks at you this way. when he keeps looking at you this way.

"we just spent hours together," you remind him, but your words are too breathy to make impact. too elated to be reproachful.

you've been on three dates with rintarou now. you think they're dates anyway, though it's never explicitly been stated. his invitations are always casual, sandwiched in between all the other texts he sends to you these days, so you might be reading into things too closely for your own good. but dinner doesn't just feel like dinner when rintarou has this way of looking at you like you're the only person he's ever laid his eyes on.

"i know," he answers. it's not an explanation, or an excuse, or even an apology. it's plain acceptance. a shamelessness you find wretchedly endearing.

you glance back at the station behind you, biting the inside of your cheek to temper your delight.

"my train is coming," you say.

he looks a bit crestfallen. laughably glum, considering the circumstances.

you drag the heel of your shoe back ever so slightly, not quite a step—at least not in any meaningful way—but inching in the direction of the doors at a glacial pace. continental drift seems positively hasty in comparison to your retreat.

"bye," he calls, his tone dejected. you watch as he lifts his hand weakly, still slumped over the railing, and waves at you with only a few fingers raised.

you want to laugh, but your chest is so full of something else—something syrupy and fluttering and good—that it's like there's no space for it underneath your ribs.

you call back to him just before you step into the station.

"rintarou—"

there are other people around, stepping between and around you both—rushing into the station to escape the cold, or moving briskly as they brace themselves and step out into it—but you hardly notice them when your eyes meet.

you smile.

"—call me later."

he calls you almost every night after that.

even as the cool autumn winds change with the seasons; carrying flakes of snow as winter blankets nagano, warming with the spring, turning heavy with humidity in summer, and then repeating the cycle anew.

even as your reluctant goodbyes turn from late nights outside of train stations to early morning words whispered under blankets as rintarou leaves for practice or away games.

even as the uncertainty of whether or not you're getting your hopes up—of whether those meetings were even really dates at all—melts away into nothing more than a memory.

you're not even sure what the two of you manage to spend so much time talking about on the phone. nothing, really. everything in its own right. rintarou's phone calls are something you come to look forward to at the end of a long day. something you anticipate when you have exciting news to share. a comfort when you're missing him and a relief when you need him most.

"is that the last one?" you ask, turning just in time to see your boyfriend—your live-in boyfriend now, officially—flop back on the sofa after he drops the last moving box atop the stack piled near the balcony door.

"yeah," he wheezes, evidently winded from the exertion—from the exhaustion—of moving house. you laugh a bit to yourself as you shuffle over to the sofa, leaning over the back so you can peer down at him where he lays sprawled against the cushions.

"aren't you a professional athlete?" you tease him. "shouldn't you have better stamina?"

rintarou cocks a brow, something sly swimming behind his gaze.

"i need better stamina?" he drawls. "you're usually complaining about the opposite."

you roll your eyes in the wake of his remark, grabbing a throw pillow from beneath his head and yanking it from under him unceremoniously, only to press it lightly against his face.

you shuffle back towards the kitchen where you'd left the box you were unpacking abandoned. you grab a plate from inside the cardboard and turn to place it on the shelf you'd decided would house your dinnerware.

"it's late," you tell him, reaching for the next plate in the box. "you should go wash up first."

you don't get a reply, and that surprises you. you creep over to the sofa again, only to find rintarou staring up at the ceiling, lost in thought.

"hey," you laugh a little, leaning on your elbows against the back of the couch. "where'd you go?"

rintarou's gaze snaps back to yours. he still looks at you like he did on your first date. like he did outside the train station on your third. he smiles, bit it's a bit sheepish.

"sorry, was just thinking," he answers quietly. he reaches up from where he's lying on his back, brushing his thumb against your cheek. his smile turns a little bit giddy, then. boyishly charming. "can't believe we finally got a place together."

you lean into his touch, huffing a little breath through your nose—halfway to a laugh.

"guess you won't have to call me anymore," you joke, and rintarou's expression changes—falls slightly—but only for a moment. you realize what you've said, or at least think about the implications more, and you sort of understand the shift.

you fell in love through those phone calls.

you'll miss them—the ritual, the familiarity, the comfort—even though you know they've been replaced by something better.

you turn your face, pressing a fleeting kiss to rintarou's palm. "go wash up," you tell him again, heading back towards the kitchen and your (now twice abandoned) box of plates.

he seems to heed your advice this time, peeling himself up off the sofa and shuffling off in the direction of the washroom.

"don't use all the hot water!" you call after his retreating frame, and you hear him reply noncommittally under his breath before the door clicks closed behind him.

you've only got three dishes left to unpack before your box is emptied, but the shelf you'd been organizing doesn't seem to want to accommodate all of your bowls in the way you wanted, so you're left arranging and rearranging them as you try to find a way to get them to fit.

in the back pocket of your jeans, your phone begins to ring. with three plates balanced in one hand, you reach for it with the other—the movement muscle memory now, instinct more than volition, after all this time. you answer the call without even looking at the screen, holding the phone between your ear and your shoulder as you continue juggling the dishes in front of you.

"oop—hello?"

you pause after you answer the call, realizing for the first time that you shouldn't be getting a call at all. not at this time of night. not in this apartment.

the line is quiet, just the sound of breathing that you could recognize anywhere to be heard from the other end of the call.

"why are you calling me?" you ask rintarou, but the words are light. too fond to be reproachful.

you hear rintarou laugh—from the other end of the call and from the other side of the bathroom door.

"just wanted to hear your voice," he answers you (the same way he has a thousand nights before when you've asked him that same question.)

"you're ridiculous," you tell him, completely enamoured.

"i know," he replies.

it's quiet for a moment as the two of you stand on opposite sides of your apartment. on opposite ends of your call.

you shift a stack of bowls a little to the left. it all fits now. just the way you wanted it to.

"y'know, the hot water won't run out as fast if we shower together—"

you hear the bathroom door open, and when you look over your shoulder, rintarou is peeking at you from around the edge of the door—his phone held to his ear, a smile on his face you know is mirrored on your own, and a look in his eye that's never once wavered.

he tilts his head.

"—wanna join me?"

[lazy4honey]

Hybrids: Wolf x Hare

I saw a post mentioning Wolf hybrid x Hare hybrid where the hare is dominant and I thought “oh a hare hybrid topping a wolf hybrid, cool!” only to discover they meant a power bottom… So this is a hare topping a wolf.

Contains: past tense, second person perspective, fingering, lube, condoms, anal, some dirty talk, a little rough, “pup” and “leveret” instead of “babe”, possibly friends to lovers and also a hate fuck…? NSFW & MDNI

As a buck hare hybrid, your long, powerful legs have already helped you find a good mate for your spring frenzy many years in a row.

And then your frantic performance during that month would scare them away, complaining about how you didn’t listen and should be more gentle and so on — all things you’d explained to them beforehand, which they had explicitly consented to.

Of course, you’d also tried sitting it out once, specifically your first time, but that went so terribly haywire you didn’t want to remember it.

Since the relationships never survived the spring, you’d start looking for a new mate the moment they ended. For this, it was useful to have a friend circle where each friend’s circle overlapped with other circles and then some more. It greatly reduced the chances of fucking yourself through your friends and then ending up with no friends.

However, this year, this well-tried system suffered a bug.

No, not a real bug, not a bug hybrid either — actually, that would have been leagues better than your current situation. Maybe getting fucked by a hybrid in possession of an ovipositor would have been an eye opening sexual experience for you.

This summer, an old friend had invited you to an outing where another old friend whom you hadn’t seen in years brought their partner who in turn brought some of their friends. Among these friends was a red wolf hybrid.

You were introduced to each other and happened to sit together, so you casually chatted a little with him. Finding him pleasant, you felt he would make a good additional connection to your network, and so repressed your solitary nature to talk with him more than you would have otherwise.

The next time you met was a coincidence. Both your friend groups had gone to the same beach and then spontaneously joined together. It was a fun time, and when the red wolf approached you, you were in a generous enough mood to exchange numbers with him.

You met every now and then, more often through your friends holding parties or going to clubs, and over time you became friends.

By autumn, you were close enough to meet alone, taking walks, going out for some coffee, or meeting at the library. It was quiet and cozy, but you still wouldn’t invite him to your home or go to his for watching movies together or such.

Then winter began and January rolled around.

You still hadn’t found a mate for your spring frenzy and were feeling a little anxious.

Actually, there had been a few candidates among the friends of Jules, the red wolf, but every time at the next meeting after chatting them up, they would awkwardly tell your various reasons why it wasn’t possible anymore. The most common reason was that they had already found someone different to mate with and were very happy.

Jules would then pat you on the back, lowering his already deep and sexy voice to comfort you.

But when he showed up on your doorstep on the first day of January with his tail wagging and asking you to be his mate, you suddenly understood—

This guy was doing the same shit as you!

And he was even worse, sabotaging your chances by excluding you when playing matchmaker for his friends!

You slammed the door shut, right in his face, and decided to cut off contact.

It was a pity for the nice time you had spent with him, but a wolf in rut was just as bad as a hare in their spring frenzy, and you weren’t about to get yourself railed by a wolf!

Unfortunately, Jules disagreed.

Ever since that first day of January, who knew how he did it, but he would follow you wherever you went the moment you left your house.

Buying groceries? He was there.

Going to work? Also there.

Shopping? There!

At first, he just wagged his tail. After a few days, he walked closer to you. Then he took every opportunity he could get to stick close to you, to touch you, first your fingers, then your hand, cheek and ears, followed by your sensitive neck, and he even went as far as creating situations where he could sneak touches at your butt and tail. To others, even your closer friends, it looked like you two were a pair.

But that wasn’t the straw that broke the camel’s back.

It was his dirty talk that started in February.

He would tell you whenever he got hard and the reason why. Be it your thighs outlined by your tight pants, the twitch of your tails and ears, or the way your eyes shone when you had a new idea on how to deceive him so he’d leave you alone, it all seemed capable of arousing him in an instant.

Then came how he wanted to ram his big cock into your tight hole, fuck you until you were all loosened up for him, shove his fat knot inside you and make you cum until you couldn’t anymore while he filled you with load after load of cum and made your belly bulge with his seed.

A few days after voicing these obscene thoughts that you didn’t want to hear, Jules suddenly started calling you Leveret. He hugged you tightly, his hard cock straining against his pants and poking your ass as he confessed in a panic so needy and whiny like you’d never experienced that he’d had a crush on you since autumn. He wanted you completely to himself, the less you talked with others and the more attention you paid to him the happier he was, and for some reason he decided the best way to keep you from dating someone else was by playing matchmaker for them.

It was utterly ridiculous.

You somehow managed to get him off of you and quickly left, wanting to calm down and reorganize your thoughts.

But Jules didn’t give you that chance.

He showed up at your door the next day. Before you could slam the door or scold him, he lunged at you, pressed you into his chest, and kicked the door shut.

Instead of nuzzling your neck like he’d done before, he stared at you, his brown eyes filled with a mix of determination and an attempt at looking pitiful, “Leveret, I didn’t mean to scare or anger you, I-I just like you so much I want to be with you all the time…”

“So you decided to ruin my life?” you frowned at him.

“No! No, I- Leveret, you can do to me anything you want, just let me be with you.”

You doubtfully stared at him. “Do anything I want?”

Jules eagerly nodded, “Yes! Anything!”

“And what if I want to beat you?”

His ears and tail drooped a little, but he tried to play it off. “That’s also fine! Even if you want to insult or punish me, I will accept it.”

You didn’t understand. “Why? It’s obviously making you uncomfortable, and I’m not—“

“Because it’s you.”

You felt your heart miss a beat.

Was this guy serious?

He swallowed nervously, “If-if you don’t want to…”

You closed your eyes for a moment. When you opened them again, you were expressionless. The red wolf stiffened, thinking you were really angry now, when you suddenly threw him over your shoulder, marched into your bedroom, and tossed him onto your bed.

He was still stunned when you pressed down on top of him and held his damned handsome face, squishing his cheeks together.

“Are you sure?” you asked, staring into his eyes.

He slowly nodded.

“Anything?” you asked again.

His eyes shone and you could feel his tail start wagging again as he gave you an enthusiastic nod.

“Well then, my little pup, let’s hope you won’t regret it, hm?”

He shuddered at your words, his eager eyes gleaming with a watery sheen and his cock pressing into your thigh as if he was about to start humping you right in this moment.

Considering he’d annoyed you for almost two months and ruined your search for a mate for even longer, you decided to relieve some of your pent-up irritation.

You roughly removed his jacket and shoes and carelessly threw them aside, then plopped your firm ass down on his crotch, triggering a muffled groan. Following that, you ran your hand down the close-fitting shirt showcasing Jules’ tight muscles, grabbed the hem, and tore it open. You felt his dick twitch against your ass.

“So you like it rough, huh, little pup?”

You leaned down, your hands sliding up his muscular abdomen to his sturdy chest and pinching his nipples. Your face stopped just above his, close enough to kiss if he just raised himself up a little, but your hands pressed down on him, preventing him from touching you and making the red wolf whimper pitifully.

“Then let’s fuck you up,”

“Leveret…”

Jules’ husky murmur was cut short by your biting kiss. Teeth collided and tongues entangled. His paws slowly slid up your powerful thighs and settled on your buttocks, kneading them in a way that his claws dug into your flesh and pulling your tail.

The pain elicited a moan from you.

Before the red wolf could feel happy with himself, you bit him forcefully enough to draw blood. Then you grabbed his wrists, pulling his arms up and securing them above his head.

“Little pup, why are you acting up? Just let yourself obediently get pampered by me, hm?”

“…Mhm.”

You bit his jaw in satisfaction and started making your way down, leaving bites on his rolling throat, his protruding collarbone, and his undulating chest.

His needy pants made you smirk.

Sitting up on his crotch, you let go of his wrists and got off of him. You licked your lips at his adorably confused look and grabbed him to turn him onto his stomach in one smooth motion. Like he did before, you grasped his tail and gave it a good pull. He shuddered and gasped as a tingle ran his tail up his spine and into his balls and dick.

“Leveret…”

You chuckled and held the base of his tail, massaging it while biting along his spine from his neck down to the small of his back, coaxing needy moans and shallow hip thrusts out of him.

Suddenly, your grip on his tail tightened and you pulled his ass up into the air. It was firm and round, with the reddish tail sticking out from his pants’ aperture at his butt cleft. After admiring his form for a moment, you ripped the obstructing pants off of him and found that he had completely foregone his underpants, immediately revealing his balls and his hard cock protruding from its sheath to your view.

Holding against the tail that reflexively pressed down due to his arousal, you leaned closer to examine his small puckered asshole, your breath spraying on the sensitive skin.

Jules trembled and his dick and asshole twitched as his claws dug into your sheets and he desperately breathed in your scent, trying to keep calm but still unable to resist pleading, “Leveret, hurry, do whatever you want, just fuck me, please!”

You bit his ass cheek, inducing another tremble.

“Sure.”

Then, hand sliding down from his tail to his asshole to circle around the delicate skin, you leaned over to your bedside table and retrieved a big tube of lube.

You held it in front of him, “You’re not allergic to anything in there, are you?”

Jules swallowed and focused his gaze on the small writing with some difficulty before shaking his head, “No…”

“Good,”

So you proceeded with opening the tube and squeezing some of the unscented gel onto his asshole and your hand. He shuddered at the cool sensation and hugged your pillow, desperately breathing in your scent in deep pants, seeming unable to relax. You didn’t feel like comforting him, but you didn’t want to really hurt him either, so you slowed your pace.

Holding up his tail with your dry hand, you used the lubed up finger of your other to circle around his puckered hole and gently prodded it. The regular motion allowed the lube to warm up a little and Jules gradually got used to the feeling.

And the moment Jules got used to it, he started causing trouble again.

“Leveret, hurry up, I want to feel you inside me… I’ve thought about how tight and hot you’d feel around my cock so many times, how your asshole would clench around my knot when you come from me pumping you full of my cum again and again and how you would cry when it gushes all out once my knot loosens, and then you’d feel so empty you’d beg me for more, for me to cockwarm inside of you, and— Ah!”

Annoyed, you unceremoniously shoved your finger inside his asshole and wriggled it a little. You felt the muscles of his anus clench around your finger, as if wanting to force the invading thing out, and you chuckled darkly.

“If you want to dream, go to sleep. Today, it’ll only be me fucking you, my little pup. I might not have that fat knot you’re so proud of, but I will certainly make good use of what I have and fuck you senseless. Just imagine you cockdrunk from my railing, begging unintelligibly, not remembering whether you want my dick to fuck you faster or slower. Oh, and once my spring frenzy comes, it’ll get real fun, then I’ll make you unable to even crawl out of bed…”

You whispered in his ear as you pumped your finger in and out of him, adding some more lube so his dry little hole could take you better.

The red wolf groaned and wriggled his hips, making you curl your finger and eliciting a low growl. Jules turned his head to look at you with his lustful brown eyes, and the way his husky voice arranged the words was simply baffling.

“Does that mean I’ll still be with you in spring?”

“…If you can hold on that long, maybe.”

His eyes curved as he smiled, overflowing with an emotion you couldn’t quite name, yet it felt all encompassing.

You stared into his eyes, lost in that strange yet cozy feeling until Jules suddenly hummed and shook his butt, and then you remembered that your finger was still sticking in his butt and what you were about to do had at least the slight flavor of a hate fuck, or maybe rather revenge sex.

“Leveret, please fuck me,” Jules whined and pushed himself further onto your finger, making his voice a little breathy, “I want to know what your cock feels like inside of me, I want you to touch and kiss me, I want…” He panted as he twisted his neck to look at you, “I want you…”

As you wondered if there would ever be a day when his sweet or dirty talk wouldn’t set you off like a firecracker, you squeezed some more lube and pushed a second finger into him.

His breath hitched and his ears quivered, the tail pressing down and almost getting his own fur into his ass. You couldn’t help but feel a little annoyed and soon added a third finger, almost stretching all the folds out of his poor hole. Ass crammed with your fingers, every deliberate push producing squelching sounds, the red wolf’s thighs trembled and he kept whimpering like a wronged puppy.

You sped up your hand movement, your fingers glistening with lube easily sliding in and out of his asshole. Every now and then you would brush against a certain spot inside of him that made Jules clench each time, allowing you to clearly feel the pulse going through his rectum whenever it happened. Gradually, you started targeting that spot, and it didn’t take long before unrestrained moans and whined filled your bedroom.

The thought of it being your cock instead of your fingers enveloped by him, causing him this pleasure, made you hard, and it also made you lose your patience.

You pulled put your fingers with a loud squelch.

He looked at you, both confused and still caught in his pleasure slowly approaching the peak. Then he saw you rid yourself of your clothes, fully revealing your slender yet powerful figure before him for the first time. His gaze roamed over your body, fervently admiring every inch of you before settling on your erect cock.

He audibly swallowed at the sight.

“My, my, so eager, my little pup?” You smirked at him and leaned over, pressing close to feel his heat and bite him a few more times.

Jules whimpered and rubbed against you, clearly eager for more.

So you fished a condom out of your bedside table and bit it open while locking eyes with him. Then you retreated, sat up behind him, and properly put on the condom. You squeezed more lube onto your hand and held his tail up with a tight grip.

“Ready?”

He adjusted himself a little, his buttocks swaying right in front of your eyes as he tried to get a little more comfortable and dug his claws into his own ass cheeks to pull them apart and reveal his loosened hole to you in all its glory.

“…Ready.”

You generously slathered your dick with the lube and smeared the rest onto him, then held his hips and aligned yourself with his entrance. The tip of your cock poked at the loosened, lubed up hole, and you could see it close and open as if breathing, lightly brushing against your glans.

“Leveret, hurry up…” Jules whined and recklessly shoved his ass towards you, incidentally directly impaling himself with half your dick. He inhaled sharply, “Fuck…!”

You felt his ass clench around you and groaned, “Little pup, you’re really impatient, aren’t you? Your greedy little hole is so eager to eat me up, the bite it took was a little too big for you… Ah, I’ve never encountered a pup begging to be fucked so desperately, and by a hare at that…”

While speaking, you slowly pushed your dick inside him. Watching him swallow you was a most arousing sight, enticing you to give up the slow and steady approach and just ram into him, to go balls deep and make his ass jiggle with each thrust, have him cry put until his voice was hoarse like the call of a crow…

His hands holding his ass cheeks shook as you buried your cock inside his asshole. The hot, tight walls of his soft insides squeezed your length and reluctantly clung to you as you very slowly pulled out. It sucked on your glans before being forced to let go, producing a wet plop sound.

Jules whined and wriggled his ass, so you pushed in again, faster this time, moaning when the heat enveloped you. His ass was so tight you felt like it would milk you dry the moment you didn’t pay attention, yet at the dame time you couldn’t wait to loose control and cram yourself inside his hole regardless of everything.

You sped up as your sanity slipped away, your mind echoing with the wolf’s moans and whines that were growing louder and more frequent.

As you pumped in and out, you occasionally grazed that sensitive spot inside him with your glans. Every time it happened, his ass would throb and tighten around you, causing both of you to moan, inducing you to search for that spot and target it once you found it. You wrapped an arm around his waist, pressing him firmly against you as you fucked him, your dick never leaving his asshole before thrusting in again.

Jules could barely hold himself up anymore and, head only filled with desire, reached for his own engorged cock to help a bit. The knot was already swelling up, indicating he was about to cum.

Your thrusts shook his entire body, making his hands basically jerk his dick all on its own. Yet it just didn’t seem to be enough, the pleasure neither releasing nor fading, just constantly building up as you fucked into him.

“Leveret, Leveret, I want to cum…”

You almost couldn’t hear his whines over your own panting and the noise of your naked bodies smacking together, the lube squelching and the bed creaking, thumping against the wall, and you weren’t really clear about what you could do to help him release. So you just did whatever you liked, one hand gripping his waist so hard your nails dug into his flesh and the other following his arm to his cock, teasing his glans, rubbing his knot and kneading his tight balls.

As your climax approached your thrusts grew sloppier and more irregular, almost frantically chasing that high. Then, you came. A wave of pleasure crashed over you, making you tighten your grip on Jules and fiercely bite down on his nape. You felt his asshole flutter around your cock, squeezing more cum out of you while he shot his own load onto your sheets with a loud moan.

The peak of your ecstasy was extended for an unknown time, and by the time your mind returned, you realized you were both panting heavily. Still intimately connected, Jules lay bonelessly in your embrace, unable to hold himself up.

When you pulled your dick out of his asshole, you saw the reddened, stretched hole pitifully contract and relax as if breathing, unable to close properly. The clear lube smearing his ass and dripping down his balls made you regret wearing a condom for a moment, wishing it were your cum making such a mess out of the red wolf, but after a moment of thought, not having hurt him was a much better outcome. After all, like this, you could happily go for another round…

[illyrianbitch]

Of Our Own Devices

For @erisweekofficial Day 1: Bargains

Pairing: Reader x Eris

Summary: Desperate to reunite with Lucien since his exile to Spring, you find yourself paying an unexpected price to his older brother.

Warnings: some mentions of death & injury, swearing, spitfire reader and a cunty eris. <3

Word Count: 3.2k

Part Two

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

The storm had rolled in with frightening speed.

It was one of the rarer, powerful storms of Autumn. The type that caused the sky to turn to charcoal, produced lightning that illuminated the canopy of fall leaves and made them seem like flickering, live fires. 

You stumbled into the dimly lit cabin, drenched from the rain that had come pouring down in sheets. The cabin was one you had never seen before— a hidden refuge of Eris’s that you weren't aware existed. Despite its small size, it was surprisingly beautiful, furnished with deep, velvety fabrics. Eris had pulled you into the home without a word. 

Crossing your arms across your chest, you turned to him, watching as he shed his outer layer and hung it on a hook near the door. He moved to the cold, empty fireplace next, and with a flick of his fingers, he summoned a flame from his hand.  The flame danced briefly in his palm before he extended it toward the blackened wood in the hearth. 

Seconds later, a crackling sound filled the room, bringing the fire to life and filling the space with a warm, golden glow. Eris watched the flames for a moment. Then he stood up, facing you once more. 

"You promised me I'd be in Spring by tonight," you said. 

Eris tsked, brushing past you as he sat himself on a velvet, red couch. His scent lingered in the air—a smoky, strong aroma. A shiver ran through your body. You attributed the reaction to the influence of the rain on your warm skin. 

He didn't bother to meet your eye as he responded. "I promised no such thing. I said I'd take you to Spring tonight."

"Then take me."

He raised a brow and for a moment, you almost expected him to make a childlike comment, a brutish joke about the sentiment those words could hold outside of the context. But he didn't. His eyes, however, told you that he was thinking about it. It was unnerving, how you could read him so well, how years at Lucien's side had come with an unexpected consequence: becoming familiar with his brothers, too.

"It's a storm. Winnowing is risky in this weather," he said smoothly, voice as cool as ever. "I’m not risking both our lives just because you're impatient."

The wind howled outside the cabin, rattling the wooden shutters as you took a deep breath— in through your nose, out through your mouth. The eldest Vanserra noticed the frustration immediately, and your efforts to calm yourself dissipated as a small smirk tugged at the corners of his lips.

“I’m not staying here,” you snapped. “I’ll walk if I have to.”

At first glance, the couch appeared almost pristine, but as the firelight grew and you paid closer attention, you could make out traces of dark grey, black, and brown hairs—the hair of his hounds.  The detail settled somewhere inside you. You weren't sure where.

“If you do that, you’ll either die of exposure or run into my father’s men. Either way, not a great plan.”

You froze, your hands tightening around the fabric of your cloak as you grasped your arms, fingernails digging into the material. “So my options are to stay here with you or die?”

He shrugged lazily, but the motion still held a sense of regality to it, an eerily elegant form. It made you even angrier.

“Seems so," he said, a smile forming on his lips. It was as warm and genuine as a snake’s kiss, much like the disarming charm you had come to expect from Eris.

You'd never spent this long with him alone, never needed to manage his calculated gaze or purposely chosen words without the buffer of Lucien. You would've gladly gone your entire immortal life without doing so. But you missed Lucien— your heart ached without him, longed to be near him, to have his laugh echo in your ears. And this was the only way to be with him again, even for a few days.

And Eris knew that. He knew it all. You assumed it was why he bothered to take you in the first place. It gave him the pleasure of knowing he had power– control.

Your blood boiled.

“Are you enjoying this?” You stormed toward him, standing over the couch as he stretched, clearly unbothered by the storm—or your anger. “Trapping me here, knowing I have no choice.”

“Trapping you?” He laughed softly, sitting up slightly to meet your gaze. “You came to me, Vixen. If you want to go, the door’s right there.”

The sound of the wind howling through the trees outside made his offer ring hollow. You struggled to rummage through your thoughts, through the anger, frustration, and disgust that he managed to stir in you.

The stupid, stupid nickname was all you could focus on, now. Memories of a younger you flooded your senses, memories of a younger Eris, one much less rigid, much more open, almost. An Eris you crushed on. You'd never admit the truth to anyone— that the reason you and Lucien had become so close, despite your natural connection, was because once upon a time, he was glued to his older brothers hip. And so you'd glued yourself to Lucien's.

Eventually, the years evened things out, and your feelings flowed from the eldest Vanserra to the kindest one. To Lucien.

Lucien. Your mind reminded you. This was for Lucien. Don't piss Eris off, don't ruin your chances at seeing him again. Don't engage—

"Stop calling me that, you arrogant prick."

Your hands dropped to your sides, instinctively curling into fists as Eris peered at you with a burning, amused stare. His amber eyes gleamed like a predator toying with its prey.

"I see Lucien's absence has impacted your ability to maintain that temper. Those breathing exercises not working well for you?"

Something twisted deep in your gut.

"Now that I think about it, I think I'll take my chances with the storm."

Before you could make a move to leave, Eris was standing, his chest now inches away from you as he peered down at you. You didn't move, then, only straightened your shoulders and met his gaze.

Eris wasn’t the beefy, broad-shouldered type that other males in the court might have been. He didn’t have large, bulging muscles meant to intimidate. Instead, he was a lean kind of strong, with a pointed nose and sharp features that cut through the dim light of the cabin. He exuded a different kind of intimidation, one that stemmed from his inherent authority and the staunchness of his posture. He carried himself like a prince—elegant and commanding, every inch of him a testament to his future role.

Beron was merely keeping the throne warm until Eris was ready to claim it for himself.

"We both know you're not going to do that."

You tightened your fists further. "And why not?"

"Because you aren't stupid, Y/n."

Eris cocked his head, his eyes narrowing as he studied your face with a cold, calculating gaze. His features were sharp and chiseled, the faintest freckles dotting his high cheekbones. 

"You're not going to risk losing your chance to see Lucien."

 He leaned down and his breath fanned your face, warm and mingling with the scent of cedar and smoke. His eyes danced across your face, moving from holding your gaze to traveling further down, lingering on your lips—on the scowl you wore on them—before he met your eyes again. The fire's flames grew larger, consuming the oxygen in the air that had already seemed to be thinning. 

You said nothing as he continued, "Uncurl those fists, take that soaked cloak off, and wait. "

You stayed quiet, taking a deep breath before you stepped to the side, purposefully brushing your shoulder against his broad chest as you moved. Despite your urge to resist him out of spite, you reluctantly removed your cloak and tossed it on the clean floor of the cabin.

Eris scoffed. "Really? Must you act like a child?"

The floorboards cracked as he walked and, faintly, he mumbled something about how his hounds were better mannered. Eris picked up your cloak, dusting it off with a gentle hand before hanging it up next to his own.

"I'm curious," he began, glancing over his shoulder as he walked towards the couch. "Does Lucien know?"

You glared at him. You were growing tired now, the exhaustion of the trip slowly growing deep in your bones.

"What are you talking about?"

Eris smirked, his gaze lingering on you with a knowing glint as he settled back on the couch. "I'm talking about how you're in love with my sweet, sweet little brother."

You stiffened, a wave of emotion crashing over you—cold and awakening, a nauseating mix of embarrassment and fury. 

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Eris's face remained insufferably composed, a cocky grin playing at his lips. His eyes gleamed with a self-satisfied spark.

"No need to lie. It's just us two here," he purred. "I've always enjoyed how honest we can be with one another. It's why I preferred you over Jesminda."

A sharp, uncontrollable heat seared through every nerve in your body, a wave of anger surging like a wildfire.

"Keep her name out of your mouth."

It felt like a disgrace to have him say it, to hear her name immortalized on the tongue of the brother that allowed her to die. The brother that had killed her, according to Lucien. His sobs still echoed in your mind, the image of a broken male etched into your memory. You'd had only five minutes with him before he fled, five minutes of frenzied packing, desperate promises, and anguished confessions of what his father—and his brothers—had done.

Eris's gaze lingered as he analyzed you.

A beat passed.

Then another.

You were beginning to feel naked, as if he had stripped you of every defense you'd managed to muster around him. You turned away, unable to bear the weight of his stare any longer.

"I didn't kill her. I didn’t help.”

Your face went slack, caught off guard and momentarily confused. You pulled yourself together quickly, straightening your back, hoping he hadn’t noticed your reaction.  As you turned a little, your face almost sad now, you could’ve sworn you saw something in his eyes—something akin to regret, maybe even compassion.

Your voice was low, not bothering to hide the sadness, mourning, the raw anger, as you responded.

“I don’t believe you.”

The trace of care in his gaze vanished as he shrugged, the same indifferent gesture he’d made earlier. “Have I ever lied to you?”

You stared at him, taking him in with the same analyzing gaze he'd offered you. 

It was strange how alike he and Lucien looked, how alike yet so different all the same. But the longer you stared, the more you began to feel stuck— hypnotized, tempted to walk closer to him, to ask him what it was that went on in his mind, what caused those flickers of emotions you couldn't name across his face. 

But another moment passed, and all you could see was a male who Lucien hated, a male who was selfish, who reveled in the pain caused by chaos.  Your mind drifted to other rumors and stories you’d heard about him. You settled on one in particular. 

"You left an innocent female to die in the woods because she didn't want to mary you. Butchering your brother's lover doesn't seem outside of your past-times."

A cold shift washed over Eris’s face. His disinterested expression hardened into a mask of disappointment, then flared into a simmering anger. It was a contained fury, like a finely tuned flame.

"Don't tell me you believe the lies of Night Court trash. Surely you're smarter than that. I know you are."

"Fuck you," you snarled. "You know nothing about me. I'm not going to let you play some twisted mind games with me. I'm not a doll."

He shook his head. "You are not."

A beat. Then a smirk grew on his lips. "But you are just as pretty as one, if we're still being honest. You're wasted in your one-sided love, Y/n."

You said nothing, turning to walk to the other side of the cabin. The corner held a bookshelf with carefully arranged volumes, a finely crafted wooden table, and a collection of artifacts on the windowsill.

Eris just laughed behind you, a sound so smooth and soothing that it felt sinful against your skin.

You resisted the temptation to snoop, to explore the cabin and bask in the rare vulnerability of the brother who had always captivated you in the most wretched of ways. It felt strange seeing him like this—relaxed, almost at ease— as if simply crossing the threshold of this modest cabin had stripped away the invisible chains and burdens only a prince could bear.

You stayed still and stared out the window, focusing on the sounds of the storm. You hoped that the rain would drown out the sounds of his breathing— sounds that rang too loud in your mind. You didn't want to know why he seemed to do that, why he lingered so deeply in your head. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

The storm raged on for a few more hours.

The time was spent in tense silence—at least for you. Eris remained on the couch, reading through a novel about the history of the continent. You would've never thought him to enjoy such a thing, to want to know about those outside of his court, of mortals, humans, no less.

And when the rain finally stopped, he rose wordlessly. With a brief gesture toward your cloak, he led you out, winnowing you the rest of the way in silence.

When you finally reached the border of Spring, a wave of relief washed over you.

The vibrant greens of the new season were almost blinding after the gloom of the storm. You took a step forward, eager to escape the tension that had gripped you for hours. You'd be with Lucien soon, be able to hug him, to tell him of all the things he'd missed in your life since his exile. 

But before you could move any further, Eris's hand closed around your arm. You turned to him with a glare, meeting his glowing gaze and infuriatingly calm smile.

“Are we forgetting payment?”

You strengthened your glare, gritting your teeth before you pulled yourself out of his grasp, reaching for the small bag hidden within your layers. 

Eris stopped you with a casual wave. “I don’t want your money.”

You stiffened, straightening your posture. The sounds of Spring echoed behind you, their vibrant melodies almost taunting as you lingered on the border. Eris’s smile shifted into a smirk, his eyes glinting with something dangerous, something that made you swallow instinctively. 

“I’m surprised you didn’t ask sooner.”

You thought back to how he had offered to take you to Lucien, how this entire arrangement had been his idea. You should've held back, should've been more wary of his motives. But you'd been too excited, been too blinded by the joy of being with Lucien once more. 

“What do you want, Eris?” 

He took a moment to take you in fully, eyes scanning you from head to toe, and then he took a small step back.

“A bargain,” he finally said.

 “A bargain?” 

He nodded. “You will not tell Lucien it was me who brought you here.”

You frowned, a crease forming between your brows as you blinked at the male before you. Perhaps you'd heard him wrong. “What?”

“If he asks, you’ll say you bought off a hunter in Autumn, a mercenary. Whatever you’d like,” Eris continued.

You drew your brows tighter. 

“I thought you'd want to revel in the fact that he might somehow owe you. Prove your power, even."

Eris shrugged nonchalantly. “Then maybe you don’t know me as well as you’d like to think.”

He extended his hand, his palm open and the gleam of his ring-clad fingers catching the light. You hesitated for a moment, body still stiff with unease, with confusion. 

You scanned his face. Eris loved played games. This was no different. There was no point in reading into it. So you rolled your eyes and prepared to shake on it, reaching for his hand.  He pulled it slightly out of reach.

“What now?” You groaned.

He hummed in amusement.

“And when I come to get you to return to Autumn, I want your help.”

You raised a brow. “My help?” you asked, incredulously. "How the hell would I ever be able to help you?"

Your family had no title, no powers beyond a tame ability to fight and heal. You survived in Autumn because you were ordinary—and ordinary meant no one looked for you. Noticed you. 

“I want to call in a favor,” he clarified.

“What favor?"

"We'll see," Eris said with a smile and a tilt of his head. “I think you could help me out dearly."

You let his words settle for a moment. His eyes, glistening with a dangerous glow, seemed to hold something predatory, something that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. There must've been an underlying threat in his proposition, something sinister you had yet to notice. After all, he was a male known for his ruthlessness— 

You stiffened.

He was a male. There was one easy way for males to assert their dominance, to gain pleasure, to accept payment. 

You took a step back instinctively and Eris’s gaze tracked your movement before returning to meet your eyes. A shadow flickered in his eyes, reminiscent of the dark, unsettlingly soft gleam you’d seen in his cabin when he first glimpsed your saddened expression. Seconds later, his face shifted to one of mild amusement. He rolled his eyes with an empty chuckle.

“Settle yourself, Y/n. Not that kind of favor. I can bed females without resorting to bargaining for their affections,” he said, his tone dripping with condescension.

A flush of embarrassment crept up your cheeks. You looked to the ground for a moment, taking a deep breath as you regained your composure. When you finally met his gaze again, he was already extending his hand towards you once more.

“A favor in the future in exchange for this time with Lucien,” he purred smoothly. “And your silence. Consider it our little secret.”

The smirk that grew on his lips was maddening and you could feel the heat of his gaze, the flickering fire of his amber eyes urging you to comply. Every instinct told you that binding yourself to him was a terrible idea.

You glanced back over your shoulder, looking to the green, sunny expanse behind you. Lucien was there, somewhere amongst the greenery, and with a simple bargain you'd be with him again. 

Without a second thought, you turned back to Eris and took his hand.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

happy eris week yall!!! rising from the dead specifically to post this lol, i fear i love this pairing so lets see if i decide i wanna write anything else for them. thank you for reading!! (i miss writing so so so much)

i might make this into a miniseries, so lmk if you’d like

to be tagged <3

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

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

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

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered @feyretopia  @ninthcircleofprythian @velariscalling @azrielrot

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@melissat1254

@m4tthewmurd0ck @beardburnsupersoldiers @isnotwhatyourethinking @tothestarsandwhateverend @raginghellfire

[hrrtshape]

　　　　　marauders era: an eyewitness report

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　back to the masterlist bla bla bla, insert something clever about time being a flat circle and the questionable ethics of meddling with it.

anyway, hi, hello, welcome. i’m emma, and i shifted to 1970s hogwarts because clearly, the 21st century wasn’t serving. if you’ve ever wondered what the marauders era was actually like, beyond the fanon embellishments and the tragic foreshadowing, i’ve got you covered (hopefully?). think less epic chosen one narrative and more obscure hogwarts lore, questionable teenage decision-making, and why butterbeer is the most overrated beverage of all time. let’s get into it.

❛❛ how is it in hogwarts?

hogwarts is exactly how you'd expect it to be, except bigger. and colder. there’s always a draft coming from somewhere, and half the corridors feel like they were designed with the intention of making you late to everything. you take a wrong turn, and suddenly you’re in a wing you didn’t even know existed, where the paintings all look at you like you’ve interrupted something. if you don’t pay attention, you will go your entire time here without ever setting foot in the same hallway twice. the staircases move, but not for you. they move when they feel like it, and they don’t care about your timetable. some people have a knack for navigating them, like an internal compass adjusted to the whims of enchanted architecture. others, myself included, are at their mercy.

❛❛ what do you do with your friends on break time?

break time is a loose concept !!!!!! in theory, it’s a chance to relax between classes, but in practice, it’s chaotic. if you’re lucky, you have enough time to find a bench in the courtyard, let the sun hit your face, and pretend you’re not about to be tested on sixteen types of transfiguration theory. if you’re unlucky, break time is spent half-jogging to a classroom on the other side of the castle, trying to remember if you left your wand in your dorm or if you lent it to someone in a moment of poor judgement. the library is a common meeting point. if you don’t mind whispering your conversations and being glared at by ravenclaws who take their revision schedules personally.

❛❛ what house are you in and how is your common room?

gryffindor . . . it’s warm, loud, and always slightly chaotic. the common room smells like old wood and a perpetual fireplace that never quite burns out. there are chairs that have been claimed for generations, and if you sit in the wrong one, someone will make sure you know it. the windows overlook the grounds, and at night, if you press your forehead against the glass, you can see the lanterns floating over the lake. the dorms are small (and i scripted that to each their own), but they feel like home in the way that things do when they belong to too many people at once. trunks half-open, shoes kicked under beds, parchment crumpled in corners. it’s messy, but it’s lived in.

❛❛ what's your favourite activity to do in hogwarts?

favourite activities shift with the seasons. in autumn, it’s walking down to the black lake when the air is crisp and everything smells like leaves. in winter, it’s sneaking hot chocolate from the kitchens and drinking it by the fire while it storms outside. spring is for sitting on the lawn, watching the younger students chase enchanted paper birds. summer, or at least the first week of june before you go, is when the castle starts to feel too big, too heavy, and every gryffindor with a broom suddenly fancies themselves the next quidditch star.

but mostly, it’s the small things: late-night conversations in the common room, running through the corridors when you’re not supposed to, discovering a shortcut and pretending you invented it.

❛❛ do wizards / witches from differing houses naturally gravitate to one clothing aesthetic or the other?

there’s an unspoken aesthetic to each house. slytherins have an expensive, effortless sort of style, pressed robes, sleek hair, an air of knowing something you don’t. ravenclaws lean into the academic: ink-stained fingers, stacks of books they actually intend to read, a perpetual expression of mild distraction. hufflepuffs have an almost curated casualness, jumpers too big, scarves wrapped twice, a kind of warmth that feels deliberate. gryffindors don’t care enough to have a set aesthetic, but somehow, they all end up looking the same: slightly disheveled, like they just ran from something or are about to.

❛❛ by extention . . . are there certain houses that work good together? like is it more common for ravenclaws to date slytherins or is it super rare to see a hufflepuff date a gryffindor?

as for house compatibility, it’s not as rigid as you’d think. slytherins and ravenclaws make sense together. intellectual ambition meets calculated charm. gryffindors and hufflepuffs are a common pairing, reckless enthusiasm balanced by patient loyalty. but it’s not a rule. i’ve seen hufflepuffs date slytherins, ravenclaws fall for gryffindors, and everything in between. the houses matter until they don’t.

❛❛ is it possible to visit other houses if you are not in it (for example slytherin will go meet gryffindor in their room)?

you can visit other common rooms, but it’s not easy. the entrances are guarded, passwords, riddles, enchanted barriers that don’t take kindly to uninvited guests. slytherin’s door is hidden in the dungeons, gryffindor’s portrait won’t open for strangers without a password, ravenclaw demands an answer to a question you probably don’t know, and hufflepuff’s entrance is practically a secret.

it happens, but it’s rare. most of the time, if you want to see someone from another house, you meet somewhere neutral: the great hall, the courtyard, a tucked-away spot in the library.

❛❛ what were the students from each house like?? were there any house stereotypes that you found to be untrue and which ones did you like or dislike the most?

each house has its reputation. slytherins are meant to be cold, calculating. ravenclaws, distant and analytical. hufflepuffs, kind to a fault. gryffindors, reckless beyond reason.

but like all stereotypes, they’re half-truths at best. there are cunning hufflepuffs, quiet gryffindors, slytherins who would rather read than scheme. the most misleading stereotype is that slytherins and gryffindors are natural enemies. the truth is, they understand each other better than most. both houses value strength, loyalty, ambition. the difference is in the approach.　　

❛❛ anything about hufflepuff?

hufflepuff is the most normal house, in the best and worst way. no one's trying to prove anything, no one's particularly scheming. it's a house of competent people who do their work and don’t make a big deal about it. they move in packs, they bake things at odd hours. their common room smells like honey and old books, and the couches have been sat on so much they’ve molded into the shape of generations of students. there's always someone napping in there, always someone explaining something in a way that actually makes sense. they don’t play the game, and somehow that makes them better at it than anyone else.

❛❛ anything about slytherin?

slytherin is not what everyone thinks it is. the worst people in that house are exactly what you'd expect: conniving, cutthroat, performatively aloof, but they’re in the minority. the rest are just people who have their own plans, and if those plans happen to align with yours, great. if they don’t, good luck. the common room is dim and cold but in a comforting way, like you're standing in the shadow of something vast and ancient. there’s an unspoken rule about looking impressive at all times, even if that means sitting in an armchair pretending to read a book just for the aesthetic of it. it’s less about blood purity and more about making sure no one ever underestimates you. and they love a grudge, but they love a comeback story even more.

❛❛ anything about ravenclaw?

ravenclaws aren’t just about books and wit, they’re about obsession. they’re the ones who get stuck on an idea and won’t sleep until they’ve figured it out. they love a good mystery, even if it drives them insane. they are competitive, but mostly with themselves, and they have an encyclopedic knowledge of the most random things just because they got interested once and never let it go. their common room is airy, full of books and weird little projects no one remembers starting. they don’t just value intelligence, they value curiosity, knowing things just for the sake of knowing them, turning over every rock just to see what’s underneath.

　　　　classes .

❛❛ were classes fun or boring like here?

it depends on the class, the professor, the day, the phase of the moon. some classes feel like pulling teeth, some feel like being let in on the mechanics of the universe. the problem with magic is that once you get used to it, it stops feeling like magic and starts feeling like another subject you have to pass.

❛❛ is potions class kind of like a cooking class?

sort of. if cooking involved more opportunities to set things on fire or accidentally poison yourself. the people who are good at it tend to have either a natural instinct for how ingredients react together or an obsessive need to follow instructions perfectly. it smells intense. everyone always leaves with their robes stinking of something they can't quite place.

❛❛ what’s the rarest position to brew?

depends on what you mean by rare. felix felicis is obviously difficult, amortentia is infamous, but there are older, more obscure potions that no one bothers with anymore because the knowledge of how to make them has been lost or because the ingredients are impossible to get. there’s a potion that allegedly lets you see a few seconds into the future, but no one knows if that’s true because no one’s been able to make it in centuries.

❛❛ did you enjoy astronomy class?

it’s cold. you’re always tired. sometimes you look through a telescope and see something that makes you feel incredibly small. sometimes you look through a telescope and just see clouds. if you’re lucky, you get a professor who understands that making you write essays about planets you’ll never visit is less important than making you understand the vastness of what’s out there. over-romanticised.

❛❛ what do you learn in ancient runes? how is the homework? how is the class?

ancient runes is for people who like puzzles. it’s part history, part language, part divination if you squint at it the right way. the homework is exhausting because it’s not just about translating the words, it’s about understanding the context, the intention, the layers of meaning. it feels like trying to communicate with something impossibly old, something that was never meant for you but is still willing to be understood. 7/10

❛❛ there’s so many classes at hogwarts, how many do you have to take? which ones are mandatory and which ones can you choose to do?

the core classes are charms, transfiguration, potions, history of magic, defense against the dark arts, astronomy, and herbology. then you pick electives in third year, things like divination, care of magical creatures, arithmancy, ancient runes, so on. most people take two or three, but some overachievers take more. you can technically drop subjects in later years, but that depends on how much you want to make your own life easier versus how much you think you’ll need them.

❛❛ which class is your favourite?

it changes. sometimes it’s history of magic because you get to see how everything fits together and realise how much was left out of the stories you were told. sometimes it’s astronomy because standing on the tower at night makes you feel like you’re part of something infinite. sometimes it’s ancient runes because there’s something deeply satisfying about unlocking a language older than time, like you’re uncovering secrets meant only for the stubborn and the curious. also whatever coryo is in.

❛❛ besides the subjects covered in the books, are there any others?

there are obscure branches of magic that don’t fit neatly into one subject. things that get covered in passing or are only taught to the few students who actively seek them out. there are duelling lessons, semi-legal extracurricular projects involving experimental charms, whispered-about advanced alchemy classes. if you know the right people and ask the right questions, you can learn things that aren’t in any official curriculum.

　　　　the castle .

❛❛ are there study halls?

yes, and no one uses them. they exist in theory. quiet little corners with a few rows of desks and an old grandfather clock ticking ominously, probably enchanted to remind you of your own mortality. but unless you're a ravenclaw or someone hiding from a crime (which, honestly, who isn't?), you're better off staking out a spot in the library or bribing a house-elf to let you into the kitchens with your books. and then i'm gonna go ahead and contradict myself by saying that if you study, it'll probably be in the great hall when it isn't meal time.

❛❛ did you explore the castle and find secret spots? did you know it like the back of your hand already?

of course. it's practically a requirement of being a student at hogwarts: either you learn the castle or you spend seven years getting lost like a fool. there are entire passageways no one talks about, places where the floor feels strangely warm underfoot, staircases that don't appear unless you mutter something in latin. the thing about hogwarts is that it’s alive. it breathes, it shifts (ha), it decides what you get to see. sometimes you’ll find a new corridor only for it to be gone the next day.

hogwarts’ secret places. were you able to find anything never mentioned in the movies and books?

yes. so many!!! (so many in fact that i could probably make a whole post about it). a spiral staircase in the astronomy tower that leads to a locked room with nothing inside but a single candle and a chair facing the wall. a wooden trapdoor in the divination tower that drops you into a tunnel lined with old paintings, all the subjects in them fast asleep. a door in the library that only appears past midnight, opening into a room full of books that aren't written in any language known to man.

❛❛ have you ever been sent to dumbledores office? i’d love to know what’s it’s like in there. what does it smell like? does he have lots of magical objects? a phoenix? what does he even do all day?

yes, multiple times. it smells like old parchment and something vaguely sweet, like honeycomb melting over a fire. he has so many magical objects, glowing things, whirring things, things that look like they should be locked away in a department of mysteries vault. fawkes is always there, watching, judging. as for what dumbledore does all day . . . unclear. sometimes he’s deep in thought, other times he’s offering you a sherbet lemon like he's a retired grandpa with nothing better to do. i think he just enjoys the performance of it all.

❛❛ what’s your favourite part of the castle?

there's an arched window in the gryffindor tower that looks directly over the lake. in the winter, you can see the frost creeping across the glass like veins. in the spring, you can lean out of it and catch the breeze. it feels like the most still place in the whole castle.

❛❛ how many ghosts are at hogwarts? and what’s the strangest way one has died? and how old is the oldest one?

more than anyone bothers to count. the strangest death has to be this one boy from the 1400s who was trampled to death by a herd of magically enlarged rabbits, no one really talks about it because it sounds made up, but it’s true. the oldest ghost is a woman from the 11th century who only appears in mirrors.

❛❛ obscurials, do you learn about them? is there a subject where you learn about things like that because i can’t think of what class you’d learn about random wizard things? anyway how do they work and is there any currently alive?

you learn about them in charms or history of magic, but it’s not a major subject. you can find books about it in the library. but it's more of a side note, like, "oh, by the way, some children explode if you repress their magic too much, moving on." how do they work, well, suppressed magic turns in on itself, feeds on fear, manifests as uncontrollable bursts of destruction. whether there's one alive right now....who knows. but if there were, hogwarts would be the worst place for them. too much power in the air, too many people watching.

❛❛ when you look out the windows of the slytherin common room do you just see water? do you see fish swimming by or is it just pitch black like you’re in a submarine?

you see water. sometimes greenish, murky, with the occasional flicker of a giant tentacle or a school of fish darting by. at night, it gets darker, more like a deep abyss, but there's still movement. like something is always out there, watching. pretty cool.

❛❛ can you ice skate on the black lake?

yes, but it’s risky !!! the ice never fully freezes in some places, and the giant squid is not above dragging someone under just to mess with them.

❛❛ is there any part of the castle that’s not in use anymore?

so many. whole wings that have been sealed off for centuries, a bell tower that’s half collapsed, a staircase that leads to nowhere. there’s even an old hospital ward from the 1600s that still smells faintly of medicinal herbs, even though no one has set foot in it in ages.

❛❛ in the library, are the books only school books or are they normal books too?

both. there are shelves of regular books. old wizarding novels, histories, weird magical self-help guides. but the second you start reading something not related to school, madam pince will materialise out of thin air and threaten you with eternal banishment . . . it's allowed, of course, she's just judgy.

　　　　hogsmeade .

❛❛ can you go to hogsmede every weekend? or is it different weekends for different year groups? i’d think once you get to the last couple years you could just go when you want?

third years and up get designated weekends, but once you hit sixth year, no one really enforces the rules. if you have an excuse or a good enough invisibility spell, you can go whenever.

❛❛ what are the shops like in hogsmeade or whatever that street is called with the butterbeer? have you tried butterbeer?

the shops range from cosy to mildly terrifying. zonko’s is always packed, honeydukes smells like sugar and childhood, the three broomsticks is warm and bustling. butterbeer is fine. as i said somewhere, for me it's too sweet, not enough bite. but if you know the right people, you can get something stronger.

　　　　the people .

❛❛ did you get to meet dumbledore?

yes, multiple times. the man loves a dramatic entrance.

❛❛ is sirius close with regulus?

not really. they don’t hate each other, but there’s a distance. like looking at someone through a glass wall. can't say i haven't tried to get them to hang out together.

❛❛ what is regulus like in you dr? his personality, style, looks, and aesthetic.

regulus is sharp, controlled, always put together. he moves like he knows exactly how much space he takes up. he dresses impeccably, all tailored robes and expensive fabrics. his aesthetic is dark academia but real, not just a pinterest board. (@kerryshifting hi)

❛❛ is remus more fanon or canon?

depends on the day. sometimes he’s quiet, bookish, distant. other times, he’s effortlessly charming, all quick smiles and easy wit. makes me go a bit brrr when i remember the obsession i had with him in my cr.

❛❛ was lily ever friends with severus?

not in a way that matters anymore.

❛❛ just a random curiosity: does remus play on the quidditch team?

no, but he watches every match like a commentator narrating in his head.

❛❛ what’s it like when remus turns into a werewolf?

horrifying. heartbreaking. not something anyone (by that i mean the marauders and lily) jokes about.

❛❛ does alice ( neville's mom ) exist in your dr?

yes. she’s bright, kind, a little reckless. a cutie, honestly.

❛❛ do you know any parents of the people who studied with harry?

a few. some of them were in school with us, others were just names in passing.

❛❛ what's the last name of pandora ( luna's mom )?

rosier !

　　　　the social scene .

❛❛ what are the best pranks the marauders have done?

we got every single gryffindor student to sleep in a different bed for one night. no one knew where they’d wake up. it was like a hostage situation but with pillowcases. sirius and james put a massive litter box outside her office when she was in cat form. she stared at it for a long time. didn’t use it, but the psychological damage was done.

(james and sirius . . . are we surprised?) stole about 30 howlers from the owlery, opened them all at once in the great hall, and then fled. the cacophony was biblical. james charmed enchanted fireworks to spell out "evans, marry me" over the quidditch pitch during a match. lily nearly hexed him into next week.

i also really want to talk about a thing we did with nifflers.......

❛❛ juicy gossip in your marauders dr?

there was a hogwarts’ most eligible bachelor list that somehow always had regulus black at the top, despite the fact that he actively despised everyone. (except my girl @kerryshifting , hi once again). also my man was on there too....that kind of annoyed me i'm not going to lie..........

snape once got hexed so badly that his hair stayed pastel pink for a week, and no one let him live it down.

there’s a conspiracy that filch once hooked up with a ghost.

that one time slughorn got drunk at a christmas party and revealed that he knows who the next minister for magic is going to be. he wouldn't say who. coriolanus, whose dad was minister of magic, and was also a star pupil of slughorn's was on his case for the next three weeks.

❛❛ how are gossips treated? with no socials, do people just make up anything and that person will drown in shame because they can’t prove it’s fake?

you’re cooked. no socials, no receipts, no 'actually, that’s fake, here’s the screenshot,' just pure hearsay and mob mentality. you could be a virgin at breakfast and a confirmed homewrecker by lunch because someone swore they saw you leave the astronomy tower looking 'disheveled.' you can’t even deny it properly because the more you insist, the guiltier you look.

❛❛ how do rumours spread?

like fiendfyre. whisper networks are faster than any owl. slytherins weaponise it, ravenclaws track the origin like a research project, hufflepuffs might feel bad and try to correct it, but gryffindors just believe it.

❛❛ how is the animosity between girls? since hogwarts is basically a boarding school, the girls you share a dormitory with are more like a sisterhood or it’s just like a war zone?

animosity between girls is like a regency-era novel on steroids. you are eating, sleeping, breathing, and getting dressed next to these people for seven years straight. sometimes it’s sisterhood, sometimes it’s psychological warfare over a hair ribbon. a dorm feud can be quiet and insidious (stealing your favourite quill, 'borrowing' your sweater and stretching it out) or an outright battlefield (yelling in the common room, hexes thrown behind the teacher’s back). alliances are formed, betrayals are dramatic, and the worst thing someone can say is 'i think she’s just... annoying.'

❛❛ do the portraits really gossip that much?

the portraits gossip like hell. 400 years of painting-based boredom and all they do is eavesdrop. they're the medieval twitter. if you do something scandalous, hope to god that the fat lady wasn’t awake or you’ll have a reputation before breakfast.

❛❛ what couples exist there that no one talks about here, like rarepairs?

yes. flitwick and sprout had a thing. some seventh-year slytherin in 1975 had a deep and tragic enemies-to-lovers arc with a muggleborn hufflepuff no one remembers. also, why does no one talk about the fact that madam pince (the librarian) and filch might have had a little something? they were 'we eat lunch together in complete silence but understand each other’s pain.'

❛❛ are there any school events like balls or christmas parties ect?

there’s the yule ball, obviously, i need attention, but also christmas parties (professor slughorn’s are elitist as hell but the gossip is good), valentine’s day might involve an awful match-making charmed scroll, and there’s definitely a secret end-of-year party where everyone signs their name on a hidden wall before they leave forever.

❛❛ how are the parties there? which house does the best ones?

gryffindor has the most chaotic ones (unplanned, loud, might end in a duel). slytherin’s are exclusive.. ravenclaw’s parties feel like salons until someone brings out a banned potion. hufflepuff’s are secretly insane, casual 'just a gathering' but the best drinks, the best music, and the least likely to get shut down. and weed. they have weed, it's not just a joke.

❛❛ by extension . . . are you able to sneak alcohol?

absolutely. firewhiskey in a hollowed-out book. butterbeer bottles charmed to refill endlessly. one hufflepuff seventh-year is running an illegal distillery in the room of requirement.

❛❛ are there any cool clubs?

dueling club (dramatic). wizard chess club (intense). potions club (run by that one student who thinks they’re smarter than snape). there's a new secret 'muggle pop culture' club for people obsessed with star wars. art club that is run by the chillest ravenclaws, deep underground. i can definitely speak more about those <3

❛❛ where do couples go to you know......wink wink.

astronomy tower is the classic, but so obvious. the greenhouses (if you like the risk of professor sprout catching you). the room of requirement if you’re smart enough to get it to cooperate. an abandoned classroom with a locking charm. some absolute lunatics have tried the restricted section (looks around). broom closet is tried and true.

　　　　q & a .

❛❛ would having modern technology (mostly phones) work in hogwarts (if it was? in current year)?

if hogwarts was in 2024, the wards would probably block all service but students would find workarounds. enchanted tiktoks? anonymous wizard gossip accounts? absolutely.

❛❛ does hogwarts have school fights? if so how are they?? are they fun to watch?

oh, 100%. duels in the courtyards, fistfights in the common rooms. the slytherins fight with words, the gryffindors with fists, the hufflepuffs will beat you up and then apologise, and the ravenclaws keep hexes in their back pocket just in case. there were a few highlights that i'll never forget.

❛❛ how are the robes? were they super hot in the summer or are they charmed?

charmed to be temperature-regulating, still insufferable in mid-may.

❛❛ how were the uniforms like at hogwarts? how long were the skirts?

skirts were knee-length but girls (ahem) hiked them up in the bathrooms or just hexed them. mid-thigh at shortest. any shorter and mcgonagall gives you thee look. boys loosened their ties as an act of rebellion.

❛❛ how strict was the dress code, could you wear jewellery and accessories?

technically strict, but if you’re subtle you can get away with jewellery and accessories.

❛❛ is makeup allowed?

yes.

[lemonlover1110]

𝐎𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐬

Satoru Gojo

[Chapter 1] Twenty-Four Years

Story Masterlist

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x f!Reader

Chapter Summary: He's been waiting twenty-four years for this moment. For twenty-four years he's only thought of seeing you again.

Chapter Warnings: Bit of angst if you squint

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It’s that time again. The cherry blossoms fall from the trees and Satoru watches from the window. The petals always reach him either way, even if he doesn’t want them anywhere near him. Most of the time, he doesn’t. 

The cherry blossoms remind him of his solitude. Yet another year where he can only think about his beloved. It’s been twenty-four years since her passing, and she’s the only thought in his mind. It’s her favorite time of the year.

Every time he meets her, cherry blossom season is her favorite. He can only think about how your eyes sparkle at the sight of the pink petals, and how you begin to ramble about how much you love the spring time. The petals would usually fall on your hair, and Satoru would pick them out. Oh, and he certainly can’t forget the sneezes that would follow.

It’s funny, really. Someone that loves spring so much is mostly allergic to it. He almost feels pity for you because of it. Every lifetime is the same way.

“Your majesty,” that firm voice knocks him out of his trance. Satoru’s eyes tear away from the window, looking down at his right hand man. Right hand man… But Satoru can’t remember the man’s name. Immortality is hilarious, at some point you simply stop caring about everyone else around you. “Everything is set up for the spring ball.”

“Wonderful.” Satoru spares a look before glazing eyes land on the window again. He’s tapping his finger on the throne, bored of the place. It’ll get more lively soon.

It’s that time again. He gets to see you twenty-four years after your death. He can only hope that this time around things are different. Perhaps you won’t be allergic to the spring.

Your awful fate will change this time around. You won’t be allergic to the spring but there might be a chance you’ll hate it– It’s fine, he always considered autumn to be more befitting to you anyway. Perchance you’ll be more hateful, which would be wonderful in his books. You’ve always been too nice for your own good. And there’s always the possibility that this time around you hate him… But that’s nearly impossible. 

There’s absolutely no way that you’ll hate him. Not in this lifetime, nor the next. But if there is that possibility that you do hate his guts with every fiber or your being, he can only hope that your awful fate has changed. Even if it’s at the cost of your love, Satoru can only hope that you have a better destiny.

“Be on the lookout for her.” Satoru orders. He doesn’t have to explain, everyone knows. You’re the only person he talks about. You’re the only thing Satoru talks about in general. From the point of your death up until your rebirth. “If she appears with a date, get rid of him. One way or another.”

“Yes, my king.” 

Satoru always considers his time with you to be short. Two years is not enough to get to know someone. Two years is all he gets with you in each of your lifetimes. But once you get to know someone for twenty lifetimes, you get to know them pretty well.

They’re your favorite flower every time he meets, and even though they aren’t officially in season, they adorn every inch of the palace. Peonies will be the most notable flower of the night, a flower that only a king can get in full bloom this month. Everyone will be impressed by the effort, truly. The usually cold blue palace is now completely pink with flowers.

Satoru watches from a distance. Nobody actually knows what he looks like, and Satoru likes to keep it that way. People talk, and it’s well known that the king is supposed to be senile at this stage in life. However, the senile old king is stuck in a twenty-seven year old’s body. Never aging. Forever youthful.

He taps his finger on the cold railing, watching from above. He has no interest in socializing anyway. When you live to a hundred years, you get to hear every story in the book. Imagine what you hear when you get to live four hundred more. 

Every face just blends together lately. It’s because he’s on the lookout for someone. He’s been waiting for a specific face the last twenty-four years, and that’ll be the only distinct face here tonight. How he longs to see it. 

He waits twenty-four years to spend two years by your side. Most of his days are lonely but the wait is worth it. He’ll spend the rest of eternity waiting for you, even if it is for five minutes. 

“Your majesty,” Satoru turns around, slightly annoyed. Knowing the people in the palace, this is for a trivial matter.

“What is it?” He doesn’t give an opportunity for a second thought before answering.

“There’s reports of your beloved by the garden.” The man says, making Satoru raise his brows. Genuine excitement flows through his veins for the first time in twenty-four years. He almost smiles– But he’ll remain stoic, there’s no point in showing emotion when he hasn’t even seen your face. For all he knows, the fool could be lying to his face.

“Right.” Satoru answers before stepping away. His feet pick up a bit of speed as he heads to the garden. His heart begins to race as he thinks of you. He just knows you look as beautiful as ever, this lifetime will do you wonders. This time it won’t only be two years. 

This time around, he’ll make sure that you spend eternity together. 

“Hime, look at these flowers! Who knew the castle had a garden?” You exclaim as your fingers glide over the silky petal of the peony. The flowers aren’t in season yet so it takes you back to see them in full bloom at the palace. You wouldn’t expect it anywhere else.

“I think we should go, I don’t think his majesty intended for us to be here.” Utahime’s hand wraps around your wrist, attempting to drag you away but your force is far too much for her to pull you away. 

“It’s just for a moment, Hime. I doubt anyone will notice us out here. No one is expecting us either.” You tell her, head peeking out from the bushes to see if there’s any guards around. It’s just the two of you, there’s no way for you to get caught.

“It’s not about if someone is expecting us or not, we’re just not supposed to be here.” She argues, making you click your tongue. A low laugh leaves your lips as you link your arm with her own.

“Fine then, let’s leave.” You smile at her as you begin to walk out of the garden, heading towards the entrance of the castle. 

“I don’t know what it is with you and wandering off.” She comments, quickly followed by a laugh. She wants to scold you, but she can’t keep a straight face. It’s adorable, truly. It’d be more adorable if you did it somewhere proper. The last thing she wants is to get in trouble here, where the king is known to be ruthless.

“Such a beautiful garden that only his eyes get to relish.” You respond, looking back at all the beautiful flowers of the place, quickly followed by a sneeze. 

“Maybe it’s a good thing.” She replies, and you roll your eyes. She’s right though, maybe it is a good thing. You wouldn’t last a week if you had this sort of garden. 

“Flowers don’t stay in bloom forever. I’d be just fine with a garden like this.” You say. She stays quiet, deciding not to argue with you about it. Even if she’s in the right, you’re still set on your point. 

You stop in your tracks when you notice a guard from your peripheral vision. You yank Utahime, hiding behind a bush before you can possibly get caught. Oh, it would’ve been perfect if Utahime hadn’t loudly yelped the moment you brought her down. 

“What–” She begins but you shush her. She looks at you with wide eyes, and you squeeze her arm is an attempt to help to calm her down.

You stare at each other in silence for a solid minute, hoping that the guard completely misses you. You feel a cold sweat run through you, your heart nearly beating out of your chest. And you begin to feel comfortable, but that’s your worst mistake.

“Ladies, what are you doing here?” You’ve been caught. You slowly turn your head to look up at the man that’s caught you redhanded. There’s a frown on his face as he looks down at both of you. “You’re not supposed to be out here.”

“We’re sorry.” Utahime quickly speaks up, standing up from the ground. She extends her hand for you to take, but the guard has already done so. You sheepishly smile at him, using his support to get off the ground.

“Insteresting tattoo.” You mention, fingers tracing over your own nose to point of the tattoo across the bridge of his nose. You can’t help but also mention, “I didn’t know the castle allowed that.”

“I’ll escort you back.” He doesn’t pay attention to the statement. He’s been trained to deal with this, even if it’s rare for the castle to receive visitors.

“Of course.” Your voice is suddenly sweet, trying to make up for the fact that you’ve been caught in a place where you aren’t supposed to be. You and Utahime begin to follow him as he leads you back to the castle. You take a swift look at Utahime, and you feel the nerves radiating off her.

You clear your throat and try to engage in conversation with the guard, hoping to lighten her nerves. “So what does it take to become a guard around here?”

No answer.

“Might think about becoming one. Would his majesty accept me in the castle?” You chuckle, making it painfully obvious that you’re joking around. Still, there’s no answer. “Does his majesty have a rule about not fraternizing with peasants?”

“Quit it.” Utahime tells you through gritted teeth, making you laugh. 

“It’s just some harmless chitchat. If he doesn’t want to answer, that’s on him.” You reply. You’ll keep your comments to yourself from now on. You look back at the garden as your view of it grows narrower, admiring it for one last time, knowing that you’ll never get to see it again.

“Oh–” You almost bump into the guard by not paying attention. He’s come to a sudden stop. He kneels down, lowering his head at the sight of an unusual man. You squint, trying to figure out who’s the man in the distance.

Utahime stops as well, mimicking the guard. He’s royalty, that’s clear– But you try to figure out who he is. The king is ancient at this rate… He’s been reigning for damn near a century. The man that walks towards you looks too young to be the king. Is he an unspoken prince? It’s well known the king was married twenty five years ago, it’s the only explanation.

“Your majesty.” The guard speaks, and you furrow your brows as the man comes into view.

“Bow down.” Utahime whispers, pushing your back down when she realizes you stand dumbfounded.

“No need.” The king speaks. Your eyes stare at the floor as you try to make sense of it all. Your majesty…? His hand comes into your view, filling your head with even more questions. “Please, no need to bow down to me.”

“Your majesty…” Your hand lands in his palm, and you look up at the king. You feel your breath get caught up in your chest as you look at his face. A sense of familiarity seeps from your core as you look into his eyes… Familiarity from a face that you’ve never seen before, that’s when you know that your brain plays tricks on you.

“Not you two, you stay kneeling.” The king comments when he notices the guard and your guest straightening up. The king then stares at you, a predacious look in his blue eyes; one that he attempts to hide with his sickly sweet smile. “Beloved, it’s a joy to be reunited again.”

“I beg your pardon?” You’re suddenly perplexed by the words that leave his lips. “You must be mistaken, my king. I’m not–”

“Satoru. Please. No need for such formalities from you, beloved.” He cuts you off. 

“Your majesty, that isn’t appropriate. I’m Lady Utahime’s lady-in-waiting. I’m a mere pea–” You begin, but it seems that the king has a love for cutting people off. And while you’d express annoyance with your facial expressions, shock is what takes over you when he says your name. Not beloved, but your actual name.

“We have a lot to catch up on.” He smiles, and you feel the nerves that so rarely consume you, slowly take over.

“I’m sorry–”

“Guard, escort the lady to the castle. I must speak to my beloved in private.” The king cuts you off yet again.

“You must be confusing me for someone else, I’m not your beloved, your majesty. We’ve never met.” You attempt to explain to him, as he leads you back to the garden. Pleas fall on deaf ears as he insists you walk with him. “Your majes–”

He freezes as he hears you sneeze. A reaction that makes you assume that the king is some sort of gemaphobe.

“I apologize, I can’t control it.” You sheepishly say while he slowly turns to look at you.

“Allergic to pollen?” He questions, and you hum. 

A pathetic chuckle leaves your lips before you attempt to joke, “But who isn’t these days. Everyone inside the castle must be sneezing.”

“Right, of course.” He gives a subtle nod, and you swear that a sudden gloom radiates from him. As if hearing about your mild allergies has suddenly ruined his night. “Bless you, beloved.”

“My king, I must remind you of someone but I assure you–” You begin, and though he doesn’t use his words to interrupt you, his hand goes up to your cheek. A large cold hand suddenly turns warm as he caresses your skin. You almost feel pitiful, knowing that he’s confusing you with someone else. Giving all this affection only to realize that you’re not who he’s thinking of.

“You’re her.” He says. “Doomed from the very start. You’re still her.”

[when-november-ends]

What You Need To Know - Romance Edition

Left: The Lanterns | Middle: The Flowers | Right: The Waterfall

Disclaimer:

This is an intuitive reading done without any tools like tarot cards or runes. This is also a collective reading, which means it is less accurate than a personalized one. Take what resonates and leave what doesn't. <3

The Lanterns

It's okay to be by yourself, whether that means doing activities without your partner sometimes, or learning to be fine with not being in a relationship.

You are someone.

You don't depend on another person to be interesting, likeable or whole.

Take some time to figure out what defines you. What you like, what kind of person you are, what values you hold, when nobody's there to judge you.

You are enough as you are.

The Flowers

Don't isolate yourself so much.

You're comfortable inside your comfort zone, but that's not a place where you can grow.

It's scary to do things you're unfamiliar with, but it'll be worth your time and effort. You are special in your very own way and the world is going to love seeing you blossom when you decide you are ready.

Love can't be found or maintained with so many restrictions. You need to interact with the world around you in whatever way possible, and open yourself up to the uncomfortable things like criticism and heartbreak.

There's no life without death. There's no bravery without fear. There's no spring without autumn.

The Waterfall

You are a soul who loves to be free.

The ability to do whatever your heart tells you is something you value deeply. You are spontaneous and love life, but finding the right partner is difficult in a world where most people choose safety over adventure.

However, that doesn't mean it's impossible.

Don't make yourself small for anyone you meet, no matter how charming. The right person will be wild and unpredictable with you, instead of expecting you to slow down.

Be yourself, always.

click here → My Etsy Shop

[royalpumpkinplanet]

[scorpioriesling]

Hii, hope you are having a good week! I saw your prompt list and that your requests are open👉👈🥹 I was wondering if I could request number 4.Make up sex with Tamlin x reader where they are mates??? I love himmm

Discussions in … Strategy

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Pairing(s): Tamlin x reader

Warning(s): 18+, mdni, nsfw, p in v, oral, semi-public sex, slight angst

Summary: While in the Winter Court for a meeting with your mate, a simple discussion of strategy gets out of hand. After a heated argument, and words said out of anger -- your husband knows just how to make it up to you.

SR’s Note: This one has been in my inbox / WIPs for SO LONG, and I'm so excited to finally finish it and share it with all of you lovely people. (: This uses prompt #4 from my prompt masterlist -- please feel free to send me an ask/idea/request at any time! There are a few unused prompts from the list that I would still love to incorporate.

Tags: @mellowmusings @rcarbo1 @lilah-asteria @kitsunetori @velarisdusk (inbox me or comment if you'd like to be added!)

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The wind was cold as it whipped against your face -- you hadn't enjoyed the Winter Court much for that. It was rarely warm in this court, no sun, no humidity... it almost made you miss the Summer Court.

Perhaps I'll just go back there, you thought.

Shaking your head, you let the angry feelings recede a bit. As you closed the open window and made to look in the mirror instead, you let out a long sigh.

Is the Spring Court High Lady supposed to look so... blue?

You reached for the jewelry you'd laid out for today's meeting; a pair of pearl earrings your mother had once given you, and a golden necklace with a heart-shaped pearl hanging from it.

That one was from your mate.

Your mate. Your husband. Your Tamlin. Your brows furrowed as the sinking feeling in your heart returned, one that made its debut the night prior. The night prior, when, being so stubborn as usual, you and your mate got into a tiff. More of an argument, really. It was the worst one you'd ever had.

You glance at yourself in the mirror again, frustration reddening your face as you try to clasp the jewelry around your neck. Usually, your husband would be there to help you out with that -- but, he had left early this morning, after a long night with not so much as a cuddle from you.

Maybe he was rethinking his original proclaimation to make you his High Lady...

Last night's argument was rough, sure. But the Tamlin you knew, one so changed after his falling out with Feyre, wouldn't think twice about you being his equal. You knew that -- but the feeling still lingered.

He was so upset last night, so worked up by the things you were saying. You'd never so much as heard him raise his voice before, let alone gripe at you so loudly during the disagreement. But, last night was different.

"You're not hearing what I'm saying, Y/N," he started.

"I don't need to! I already told you, the best course of action was to ally with Kallias, and-"

"Is that much not already clear? By the Cauldron, Y/N, we've travelled all this way to meet with him in his palace-"

"Exactly!" Your voice rose one octave, the knitting of your brows only making him frown.

"So why aren't we focusing more on our alliances with-"

"I swear to the Cauldron, Tamlin, you don't listen to a word I say." You huffed, tossing your worn gown into the closet and slamming the door. You pulled your sleeping top over your head, continuing on.

"We already have the Autumn Court on our side. The only other party here right now, for this meeting tomorrow, is the Night Court-"

"Right, the Night Court that we still need to forge an alliance with."

You glared at him hard.

"You really think Rhysand is going to hear a word either of us have to say? After all this time, how blinded are you-"

"For the record, I've been doing this a lot longer than you have, High Lady. I think I know what I'm doing." He glared back at you.

That's when your heart sunk, and a few beats of silence passed between you.

"That was low, even for you."

His face softened at your words, his eyes downcast as you slid into the cozy, winter-white sheets.

He let out a small, saddened sigh as he changed, and slid in behind you.

"Y/N, I'm sorry. I didn't mean-"

"Don't." Even with your back turned, you could still hear every word he said, and sense he had reached out to embrace you.

You didn't care. Your feelings had been hurt -- and your heart felt as cold as the snow gathering on the windowsill.

Standing before the closet once more, you ruffled through the gowns you'd packed, not quite sure which one was best fit for the meeting. Originally, you thought the pale blue would be best, as you were in the Winter Court after all -- but, you were the High Lady of the Spring Court. You didn't want your potential allies for this upcoming battle to feel as though you were trying to be somebody that you weren't.

You bent at the waist, picking up the discarded gossimer from last night and hanging it straight on a hanger. That one was a rather expensive one, one your mate had bought you for your anniversary; you'd have to consult with Alis about the wrinkles.

Thumbing through the dresses once more, your eye caught on the moss green gown, one you hadn't worn often, but one that surely got other's attention. The last time you'd worn it, you took your honeymoon with Tamlin in the Dawn Court... oh, what a lovely trip that had been.

You tried to ignore the growing pulse between your legs at the memory.

Snatching it from the closet, you put it on, fixing your hair once before giving yourself a confident smile in the mirror.

You'd make things right today, you thought. Just after you got through this meeting.

✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

"My Gods Y/N -- you're ravishing as ever!"

Vivianne greets you with a warm embrace, and you chuckle as some of the fur on her long, white coat tickled your nose.

"It's good to see you again, Viv."

You pulled away, smiling politely before she pulled you close conspiratorally.

"Hey -- we really need girl's weekend again, don't you think?"

You smiled, the memory of the last weekend spent in the Summer Court a happy one.

"Oh, I most certainly agree. Tamlin's been..." you trail off, trying to find the right word to describe, but not insult your husband.

"...Tamlin?" She finishes, and the two of you chuckle. Your stomach drops a little as you see the familiar head of blonde hair waltzing over to the two of you, one that didn't particularly like you or your husband.

"Morrigan!" Vivianne cheered, embracing her long-time friend as she'd just done to you. "I missed you so much!"

Morrigan flashed her a beaming smile, her attention solely focused on her friend. Your cheeks heated in that moment. Of course they were closer than you and Vivianne were -- they'd both been doing this for a lot longer.

Maybe, you should've trusted your husband's judgement, instead of snapping at him like you did.

"Mor, I'm sure you've met-"

"Yes, I have. The, High Lady, of... the Spring Court." Her words are punctuated, but she extends a hand to you nonetheless. You take it, plastering the most confident smile on your face as possible. "Your name was...?"

"Y/N," you fill the silence, Vivianne's eyes switching between the two of you. "It's Y/N." She only nods, dropping your hand as she subtly glances at your necklace.

"Yes, Y/N and I were actually just talking about another ladie's weekend!" Vivianne chirps excitedly. "Do you think you'll be able to come this time?" Morrigan's gaze returns to her friend.

"It depends -- Rhys always has something for me to do, we have more of an army than we know what to do with, and..." she glances sidelong at you. "I suppose it depends on how this meeting goes today, doesn't it?"

Vivianne bites her lip, trying to feign nonchalance as she offers a simple shrug. "I... I suppose, so."

Morrigan takes in a breath, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "It'd be so much easier if the men here could get off their high horses; if we started working together years ago, we would already be prepared for something like this." She lets out a short laugh, and you can't help but crack a smile.

You definitely should have heard Tamlin out. An alliance with the Night Court? That was absolutely the move.

Vivianne and Morrigan shatter on as you reflect on how wrong you were, shouting at your mate like that last night, what were you thinking? You were already friends with Vivianne, which meant Kallias was willing to work with your court-

"Hello, everyone! So glad you could all make it." Kallias' voice rang out through the room, his voice bouncing off the ice-walls. "Please -- join me at the table, everyone, as we discuss this upcoming war."

Morrigan tutted, and Viv muttered a "men, right?", which caused you to chuckle as you made your way to your seat. Your heart caught in your chest as you observed Tamlin in the chair beside yours, his chosen outfit for the day was green, fitting, and... attractive.

You began to pull out your chair, only stopping when his large palm covered yours atop the wood.

"Allow me."

The quiet offer was all you needed, as you moved to sit, allowing your husband to push you closer to the table. He sat quietly next to you, and it took everything in you to not lean over and kiss his cheek.

"Alright -- at our last meeting, I believe we were discussing the matter of battle origin," Kallias begins. He droned on, and on, and on, discussing various maps of each court as he earned input from the other two High Lords in attendance. Beron, though he was your ally, didn't know how to say anything respectful; you opted to sneak a glance at your husband instead of listening to his opinion.

Boy, what a mistake that was.

You felt silly, foolish for the thoughts running through your head. Your mate's jawline was clean shaven, his silky golden hair flowing to his shoulders. The way his cream-colored pants fit him... Gods, you only could imagine the way his strong thigh muscle would feel against your aching clit, his strong hands guiding your waist back and forth as you made a mess on his-

"And, what do you have to say about this?"

You were so wrapped up in your dizzying thoughts that the question came as a shock to you. While you were trying to come up with an answer, something to say to that -- Tamlin spoke up.

"I believe we will have to agree with Kallias on this one."

His answer washed over you like a bucket of ice water. Kallias? The Winter Court? Examining the maps laid upon the table, one thing was clear -- the decision of where to camp for battle was very divided.

All it took was one look to the High Lady of the Night Court's face to realize the grave mistake your husband just made -- they'd never align properly with you, given that you'd taken the side of the court in the minority over their plan that made much more sense.

Even Beron frowned.

"I... I think, what Tamlin meant," you spoke up. "Was that while the Winter Court would be ideal..." you could feel the nerves creeping in. Everyone's eye was on you. Public speaking wasn't a comfortable skill you'd taken on, usually opting for your husband to do most of the talking -- after all, he was much better at it than he had been.

"I think that, while your Court is ideal," you repeated, looking to Kallias and then to Rhysand. "The weather for said activity, is not. From my understanding, the Night Court is much better suited-"

"We think the Night Court is a good idea, but it may be better to lie in wait here where invading armies are less likely to look." Tamlin interrupts, trying to steer the conversation in favor of the Winter Court. You huff, only trying to show your change of heart from the night before.

Kallias' satisfied expression changes when Rhysand opens his mouth.

"Let the lady speak, Tamlin... she is your High Lady, after all." He offers you a polite smile, and you clear your throat once more.

"I think... we have to agree with the Night Court, on this one." Tamlin shakes his head beside you, his knuckles white as he clasps his hands together atop the table.

"No no, we are aligning our judgement with the Winter Court." He half-smiles at Kallias. Beron raises an eyebrow.

You look at him, brows knit. "I think my husband is... confused, as we already talked about our allegiance with the Night Court," you punctuate, hoping to get the memo across that yes, he was right, and yes, aligning with the Night Court would be best.

He stares blankly. "I'm not confused. About any of it." The two of you stare eachother down, only interrupted when Beron claps his hands loudly.

"Well, as it seems the two of you don't have your court's beliefs in order quite yet," he looks to Kallias. "How about an intermission?"

The High Lord of Winter nods. "An intermission -- meet back here after dinner?" Many attendees nod, moving to stand from their chairs. You catch a small wink from Morrigan, clearly pleased with your interest in her native court. But before you can make to stand, your husband's hand braces your thigh.

"You're not going, anywhere." He growls. You sit still, watching as every other member filters out, and Kallias closes the door behind him. Turning to Tamlin, you take a steadying breath as his eyes meet yours.

"Tamlin, I-"

He rushes toward you, his free hand bracing the back of your neck as his lips crash into yours. His other hand squeezes your leg, feeling up and down as he rumples your dress. Lips moving against one another, you let out a soft groan at the feeling of his tongue slipping between your lips, tasting you and fighting for control against yours.

You pull back breathless, your eyes meeting his once more. The dark green irises are filled with pure hunger.

"What are you playing at, Y/N?" He growls, and you have squeeze your legs together.

Your mouth opens and closes like a fish, already longing to be on his again. "I... I realized, you were right, last night, and um-"

"And, you thought leaving your mind open to me, during this crucial meeting was a good idea?" His brows lower, while yours furrow in confusion.

"What? I..." Oh.

"You think I can't hear what you're thinking? See what you're fantasizing about, while I'm trying to focus on the plan you suggested-"

"Woah woah woah," you held your hands up, chuckling humorlessly. "How did you miss that I was trying to follow your plan?" He glowered at you. "Tamlin, I know what was said last night was in anger, but you were right-"

"Do not apologize to me." He says lowly. "I had no right to speak to you that way. Speak to my mate that way." Your heart aches at his wors, his mouth mere inches from yours as he maintains eye contact. "And I don't want you ever, thinking I'd want you in any court than mine. With me. Leading, with me."

Your bottom lip quivers. He must have heard your negativity this morning, too.

Before the tears well up too much in your eyes, you pull him in, kissing him again. Your fingers grip his emerald jacket collar, holding on as his mouth devoured yours at once. His hands, Gods his hands... he hoised you out of your chair, placing you on his lap to straddle him instead. You moaned into the kiss, his cock throbbing beneath the restraints of his pants and sending waves of desire straight to your core.

His hands roved all over you, sliding down your back and across your covered thighs before settling on your hips, moving you back and forth across his hardening length. You only break the kiss to gasp when he leans you back, splaying you flat on the table while he pushes up your dress.

"T-Tamlin, we're..." you suck in a breath, his eyes meeting yours as he slides his tongue flat against your clothed pussy. "We could... someone could..."

He reaches out a hand, the small click of the door locking behind him all the assurance you need. His gaze returns to the masterpiece before him, his mouth practically watering as he slides your panties down your legs, tossing them to the side.

"Oh... OH Gods," you groan, his tongue returning to your quivering hole at once. You write beneath him, every lick and soft bite around your pussy pure torture. He lays one hand on your lower stomach, pressing down as he inserts two of his fingers inside, curling them deep inside of you.

"T-Tamlin, oh Gods...yes, yes," you chant, feeling the tightening in your lower stomach as his mouth continues eating you out deliciously. At once, the lewd sounds stop -- and you lift your head off the table for only an instant before his hand wraps around your throat, pushing you down to lay flat again.

"You want to tease me during an important meeting, hm?" He smirks, shoving down the waistpant of those well-fitting pants at once. His shoulder muscles flex, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he gazes into your eyes while jerking himself off. "This dress? Your attitude?" He tuts, and you clench around nothing as he presses the head against your awaiting hole.

"You're getting what you wanted, my love -- I'll always, give you exactly what you want."

A gasp breaks free as he pushes into you, his girthy length stretching you in the best way. His hand grips your ass, pulling you to the edge of the table. Your hair lays splayed beneath you, your beauty only more captivating to him as he squeezes your throat slightly.

Breathy pants escape with every thrust he gives you, every vein and ridge felt against your sensitive walls. He groans in pleasure, licking his lips as he speeds up, pounding mercilessly into you.

"I... oh, Tamlin, oh... fuck," you moan, and he chuckles slyly at you.

"What a dirty mouth you've got for a High Lady," you suck in a gasp as his hand leaves your throat, opting to slide along your jawline as his thumb runs over your bottom lip. You open your mouth, sticking out your tongue as he slips his finger inside.

"Mmm... good girl," he grunts, watching as you squeak in pleasure beneath him. His hips slap against your thighs, the angle at which his dick is thrusting into you bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

You open your mouth, gasping for a single breath. "Tamlin, I'm gonna... oh Gods!" You squeeze your eyes shut as you cry out in pleasure, the pressure in your belly finally releasing as your orgasm rolls through you. He continues fucking you, only slowing when he drains himself inside of you. Pulling out, he offers a small laugh as you make eye contact.

"I think... we need to clean up, before the others return." You giggle, taking his offerring hand and hopping off the table. The both of you work to re-arrange the maps as they'd been before your activities, and you smooth your dress down once you're satisfied with the room's presentation.

"I'll keep these," Tamlin reaches for your undies, pocketing them for later. You blush as the two of you approach the door, unlocking and opening it to reveal a shocking scene.

Kallias stands before you, a brow raised in amusement.

No words are exchanged, until your husband clears his throat.

"We were just discussing-"

"Oh, don't worry. I heard your discussing." He chuckles, and your face reddens. How long had he been waiting there?

Tamlin coughs, opening his mouth again to speak. Kallias only raises a hand.

"No need to explain, friend -- I've already called off the meeting for tonight." Tamlin's brow furrows, and you exchange a look of confusion.

"But, we haven't even discussed our final decision yet-"

"You both... discussed, rather loudly. Assuming you'll give your wife exactly what she wants..."

Your face deepens more in color.

"...you'll be in favor of the Night Court's plan. That's 3 votes to 1." He glances to you, smirking as he turns on his heel. "Seems as though the High Lady of Spring is going to get exactly what she wants."

He begins ascending the stairs, and Tamlin takes your hand in his. The rosiness on his cheeks is cute, but you can tell he's embarassed too as he calls after his ally.

"Kallias, wait-"

The white-haired male turns, looking at you two with an amused grin.

"Maybe, next time, don't use my round table for your...discussions."

✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

[ahqkas]

♯ PRACTICE MAKES IT BETTER ; theodore nott

PAIRING! theodore nott x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS! struggling with the local slang, you feel out of place until you meet theodore nott, the silent slytherin (based off this req.!!)

WORD COUNT! 2.3k

WARNINGS AND TAGS! fluff, kissing + lmk !

NOTES! reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated :)

HARRY POTTER MASTERLIST!

AMERICA WAS VIBRANT AND DIVERSE. The music scene was thriving with genres like grunge, hip-hop, and pop dominating the airwaves. To you, it was a place of contrasts and boundless possibilities. It was a land where towering skyscrapers stood next to historic buildings, and where you could find everything from bustling cities to quiet, open countryside. The diversity was striking; every state feels like its own little world, with different cultures, foods, and ways of life. It was a country where you could experience all four seasons, with hot summers, cold winters, and vibrant springs and autumns. The sheer size and variety made it feel like there was always something new to explore, whether it was a national park, a music festival, or just a quirky little town.

Then you moved to England.

Leaving behind the familiar sights and sounds of America, you stepped into a new world of magic and centuries-old traditions.

The first thing you noticed was the climate change. England's weather was full of frequent rain and cloudy skies. You had to get used to bringing an umbrella everywhere with you.

Hogwarts in Scotland was completely different from Ilvermorny, which resided on Mount Greylock. The towering buildings of the castle intimidated you a bit as you were used to the more modern school, but you were excited for the change of scenery.

The stone corridors, moving staircases, and enchanted portraits had captivated your imagination. The castle itself was full of new discoveries. Sure, you missed your old friends dearly, every one of them, but the owls worked hard and you managed to make new friends here.

As an exchange student from America, walking the hallowed halls of Hogwarts was a totally new experience. The ancient castle with its sprawling grounds, enchanted staircases, and hidden passageways was like stepping into a dream. But it wasn't just the magical environment that threw you off balance; it was the British slang that seemed to pop up in every conversation.

During your first week, you found yourself constantly bewildered by the new expressions. At breakfast, when a cheerful Hufflepuff asked if you wanted a "banger" with your eggs, you hesitated, unsure if it was an insult or a menu item. When a Ravenclaw mentioned being "knackered" after a long night of studying, you had to suppress a laugh, thinking it sounded more like a sound effect from a comic book than an expression of exhaustion.

The confusion was endless: "snogging" instead of kissing, "knickers" instead of underwear, "blimey" instead of a simple exclamation of surprise. You did your best to keep up, but the nuances of the language often left you feeling like you were missing the punchline of a joke. To put it simply, you were lost.

One afternoon, you were sitting in the library, poring over a stack of books for a Transfiguration assignment, when you heard a familiar voice behind you.

"Ciao, piccola," Theodore Nott drawled, sliding into the seat across from yours. His presence was effortlessly welcomed, with his cool demeanor and piercing blue eyes that seemed to see right through you. He was a strange boy at first, never letting anyone, but when you warmed up to him, he was a totally new person.

"Hi, Theo," you greeted him with a smile playing on your lips. Theodore had been one of the first students to approach you, his Italian heritage a surprising connection. He often teased you in his native language, enjoying the way you fumbled with the unfamiliar phrases. A nuisance, that he was.

"Come va la tua giornata?" he asked, his eyes twinkling with mischief. ("How's your day doing?")

Already hearing this phrase a few times, you learned to understand its translation. With a sigh, you ran a hand through your hair. "It's been . . . interesting. I'm still trying to understand half of what everyone says here."

Theo chuckled, the sound rich and warm to your ears. "British slang getting to you?"

"You could say that," you admitted, leaning back in your chair as you watched his amusement at your misery. "I feel like I need a translator just for conversations."

"Well, if you think British slang is confusing, wait until I teach you some Italian slang," Theo smirked at the idea that appeared on his mind. "It's a whole different level."

Now this got your attention. "Teach me, then. It can't be that difficult from the British slang."

Over the next few weeks, Theodore Nott became your informal language tutor. He started with simple phrases, weaving them into everyday conversations until you began to pick them up naturally. He taught you how to greet someone with "Ciao, amico!" instead of a formal "Buongiorno," and how to say "Andiamo!" when you were ready to go.

One rainy afternoon, as you sat together in the Great Hall, Theo decided to test your knowledge. The rain tapped persistently against the high, arched windows, casting a muted gray light across the large hall. The enchanted ceiling mirrored the sky outside, swirling with dark clouds and flashes of lightning that illuminated the space completely. Despite the dreary weather, the Great Hall buzzed with the soft hum of student conversations, punctuated by the clinking of silverware and the rustling of pages.

Theo, seated across from you at the Slytherin table, leaned back casually, a mischievous glint in his eye. His dark hair fell slightly over his forehead, framing his sharp features. You had grown accustomed to his teasing, the way he delighted in challenging you with phrases in Italian, watching with amusement as you thought through the unfamiliar language. Today was no different, his eyes scanning the hall as if seeking inspiration for his next test.

You had been in the midst of revising for an upcoming Charms exam, your notes spread out around you in a chaotic array of parchment and textbooks. The soft light from the floating candles above cast a warm glow on the pages, making the ink shimmer slightly. As Theo's gaze returned to you, you knew another one of his lessons was coming.

"What would you say if you were really tired?" he asked, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

Theo's questions were always a blend of practical and playful, designed to push you just a little further each time. He spoke with the ease of someone completely comfortable in his skin, his words flowing like the rain outside, steady and sure. His Italian phrases, though foreign at first, began to weave themselves into the mind of your understanding.

Your responses grew more confident, the hesitation in your voice diminishing with each passing day. You found yourself thinking in Italian at times, the language slipping into your thoughts as naturally as your own. Theo's delight was evident, his eyes lighting up whenever you got something right, his praise sincere and heartfelt.

The rain outside showed no signs of letting up, but within the Great Hall, a warmth lingered.

You thought for a moment, then confidently replied, "Sono stanca morta." The phrase rolled off your tongue more smoothly than before, each syllable a small victory in your journey to master his native language. The meaning — "I'm dead tired" — was all too familiar after long days filled with classes and studying.

Theo laughed, the sound rich and genuine, echoing softly in the near-empty Great Hall. His laughter was like a reward, a confirmation that you were getting it right. Silver eyes sparkled with approval, the corners of his lips curling into a smile that made your heart flutter. The warmth of his reaction was comforting against the dreary, rain-soaked afternoon outside.

"Well done!" His voice was filled with genuine pride and delight, making you feel accomplished. His praise was never out of place; it was always heartfelt.

Your heart swelled with a mix of pride and joy. Learning Italian was not just about understanding a new language, but also about bridging the gap between your worlds. Each phrase, each word, was a step closer to understanding Theo better, and a way to connect on a deeper level.

He leaned forward slightly, his eyes searching yours, waiting for your next move. "And if you wanted to compliment someone on a job well done?" His question was another gentle challenge, pushing you to dig deeper into your newfound vocabulary.

"Bravo!" you answered without hesitation. The word felt natural, a perfect fit for the context. As you spoke, you couldn't help but smile, the simple word carrying a world of meaning and mutual respect. Seeing the approval in Theo's eyes, you felt a surge of confidence.

Theo's smile broadened, and his expression softened with pride and admiration. The approval in his eyes was more than just about your grasp of the language; it was about your willingness to immerse yourself in something new, to share a part of his heritage, to make an effort to connect.

The atmosphere around you felt lighter, the earlier tension of the day's studies dissolving into a shared moment of triumph and connection. The Great Hall, with its towering windows and ancient stone walls, seemed to fade into the background, leaving just the two of you in your own little world of language and laughter.

The candles above flickered gently, casting a warm glow that danced across Theo's features, highlighting the pride in his eyes.

One day, as you walked together by the Black Lake, the cold water reflecting the moody sky, Theo turned to you, his expression thoughtful. The gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the ancient trees that lined the shore, their branches swaying rhythmically as if in silent conversation. The scene was picturesque, the expanse of the lake stretching out before you, a serene contrast to the bustling life within the castle walls. It was quiet out here, and you liked this spot.

"You know, you've picked up Italian slang faster than I expected," Theo remarked, his voice carrying a hint of admiration and surprise. His thoughtful tone blended seamlessly with the natural sounds around you, creating a moment of perfect harmony.

You laughed, the sound bright and carefree, echoing across the still waters. Nudging him playfully, you replied, "Maybe I had a good teacher." The playful banter was a reflection of the easy camaraderie that had developed between you, a testament to the countless hours spent learning and laughing together.

Theo's smile softened at your words, a tender expression that seemed to light up his face. His gaze lingered on you, the depth of his affection and pride evident in his eyes. The way he looked at you made your heart flutter, each shared glance made your knees tremble. Like you were the only girl at Hogwarts.

"Maybe," he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, yet filled with a warmth that enveloped you. "Or maybe you just have a knack for languages." His words were a gentle compliment, a recognition of your efforts and abilities.

The path around the Black Lake was peaceful, the occasional ripple disturbing the otherwise mirror-like surface of the water. The air was crisp and fresh, carrying with it the faint scent of pine and damp earth. As you walked side by side, the world seemed to shrink to just the two of you, the rest of the universe fading into the background.

Your footsteps synchronized, a silent dance of familiarity and comfort. The conversations flowed effortlessly, alternating between Italian lessons and shared dreams, each word weaving a tapestry of understanding and companionship. Theo's presence was a constant, steady and reassuring, his thoughtful insights and quiet encouragements a source of strength.

The sun began to dip below the horizon, casting a golden glow over the landscape. The twilight hues painted the sky in shades of pink and orange, a breathtaking sight that added to the magic of the moment. Theo's silhouette against the backdrop of the setting sun was a picture of serenity and quiet strength, a reminder of the stability he brought into your life.

Before you could fully process what was happening, the Slytherin boy took a small step closer, closing the distance between you. The warmth of his presence enveloped you, his proximity sending a gentle thrill through your body. He reached out, his fingers lightly brushing against yours, the touch sending a spark of electricity up your arm.

In that moment, with the golden light of dusk casting a magical glow around you, Theo leaned in. His movements were deliberate, filled with a tender hesitation. As his lips met yours, the world seemed to dissolve, leaving only the two of you in a bubble of pure, unadulterated connection.

The kiss was gentle at first, a soft press of lips that spoke everything you needed to know. The taste of his lips, the warmth of his breath, the gentle caress of his hand against your cheek — it all combined to create a sensation that was both exhilarating and deeply comforting.

Theo's hand moved to cup your face, his thumb gently stroking your cheek. The kiss deepened, becoming more confident, more insistent. Your hands found their way to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips. The connection between you intensified, the kiss becoming a language of its own, expressing everything words couldn't.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting against each other. The world slowly came back into focus, the sounds of nature reasserting themselves around you. Theo's eyes, still holding that mix of affection and awe, met yours. A soft, contented smile played on his lips.

"Grazie, Theo," you said softly, your voice filled with gratitude.

"For what?" he asked confused, his brow furrowing slightly.

"For being patient with me. For this. For . . . everything."

Theo's eyes softened, and he reached out, intertwining your fingers in one. "No worries," he replied, his voice just as soft. "I'm glad I could help."

[prythianpages]

Just A Girl | Eris x Rhysand's Sister

series masterlist | summary: Your father throws a ball in your honor. When Beron belittles you, you decide to show him what you're capable of, catching the attention of his firstborn.

word count: 2K

a/n: Hi guys! It's been a hot minute since I've written anything and I feel rusty lol (kinda like when you stop riding your bike and have to relearn type of feel.) Anyway, this is entirely based off no doubt's just a girl bc I felt like it gave off Rhys's sister vibes and then I thought why not incorporate this into an au I had planned for an Eris x Rhys's sister one shot??

“When I’m High Lord, I’ll go–”

“I’m sure you’ll go far,” you interrupt, a half smile playing on your lips as you look up at the first born of Spring. With his luscious blond hair, striking green eyes, and well-defined jawline, he's undeniably a sight to behold. Unfortunately, his personality doesn't match his looks—dull yet somehow arrogant and miserably misogynistic. 

You don’t have it in you to spare him a moment longer, especially not when his overbearing pride is becoming overwhelming for your senses. You push past the desire to call upon your abilities and manipulate his emotions into something more humbling. He is not worth exposing your powers.

With a pat on his shoulder–too harsh for his liking– you add, “and I really hope you stay there. It was nice speaking with you, Heathen.”

“It’s Heath.”

You give an uninterested hum before making your way to the refreshments table, desperate for something to soothe the tension between your brows. A silent prayer is sent to the Cauldron that no other male approaches you with a lame attempt at conversation. If they are interested in you, they should at least be able to hold a good one. One that doesn’t incorporate any microaggressions toward you.

Fortunately for you, it is your brother who approaches you next. He takes your–what was it? fourth or sixth, you can’t remember– champagne flute from your grasp with an effortless ease. A glare settles upon your features as you watch him chug it before fixing your gaze straight ahead, to the dais where your father and mother sit. 

Your father occupies the grand throne, while your mother sits beside him in a smaller, less ornate chair. The Lady of the Night Court—magnificent and burdened with countless responsibilities—receives none of the praise that is lavished upon your father. Despite her contributions to your court, she is not held in the same regard… simply because she is a female.

It leaves you to wonder what your destiny is.

Rhysand looks at you with sympathy, and you realize that in your moment of vulnerability, you've let your mental shields slip. “Please, save your breath,” you mutter.

Sensing Cassian and Azriel approaching, you flash them a small, relieved smile. “And please, stay by my side,” you say, your eyes scanning the room where multiple pairs of eyes are fixed on you. You feel so exposed and though it’s no surprise, it still leaves you unsettled. When your gaze meets that of one of Autumn's sons, you quickly look away and strengthen the shield around you.

“I could use my scary brother privileges right now.”

“Who are we scaring, princess?” Cassian asks, flexing his muscles as he pretends to adjust the cuffs of his dress shirt, rolled up to his elbows.

Azriel lets out a snort, but his keen eyes are already scanning the room, easily locating the Autumn male. The red-haired male immediately cowers under his cold, hard stare.

“No one.” Rhysand replies, shooting them both a warning look. He then turns to you and you don’t need his daemati abilities to know what he’s about to say. “y/n–”

“Don’t you think I know exactly where I stand?” You interrupt him with an exhausted sigh.

Tonight was a celebration–a ball to honor you and all you’ve done for the Night Court during the war. When the war started, you were twenty-three and deemed too young to participate. Though, at that age, Rhysand had already completed the bloodrite and was esteemed a formidable warrior. You were fortunate that your father allowed you to train and even more so that he allowed you to join the Night Court council.

You quickly mastered the politics of war and the intricacies of the Prythian courts. Midway through the war, your father entrusted you to visit the war camps and delegate on his behalf. There was no doubt that it was a privilege you were granted due to your powers. Still, you embraced it eagerly and tonight was the night you would officially be recognized as an emissary.

But of course, many–especially the sons of the High Lords–confused tonight as your debutante ball. You were in your third decade, after all. While your brother was recognized as a fierce warrior and heir, you were regarded as a highly sought out bachelorette. 

Lucky you.

“I am meant to be pretty and docile,” you continue, gesturing to yourself. 

The dress you wore was far from your usual preference. The bodice, adorned with intricate beadwork and sequins, featured a sweetheart neckline that teased a glimpse of your breast—but not too much. The skirt of the gown was voluminous, made of layers of soft tulle that shimmered with every step as the light caught the scattered sequins. It was a beautiful black ball gown, crafted by your mother's talented hands. Yet, you much preferred dresses that clung to you like a second skin, revealing more of your figure.

To put it frankly, you felt quite suffocated in this gown. And you rather not even get started on your makeup. You were transformed into a perfect painting of a sweet and innocent princess. Not the daring and powerful female you knew yourself to be.

“Desirable but not too attainable.”

 “However, that does not mean I need to be consistently tortured by dull conversations and hungry stares from controlling males,” you finish, crossing your arms against your chest with a scowl. “No one has even asked me about my role in this court.”

“Oh, yeah. How is it being an emissary to the Night Court?” Cassian asks, earning a smack to the back of his head from Azriel.

“Just splendid,” you reply with a sarcastic smile.

“You played a significant role in establishing peace between Spring and the rest of the courts after the war. I’m sure your efforts will not go unnoticed,” Rhysand assures you.

“Perhaps I played my role too well. Heathen has seemed to have taken an interest in me.”

It’s as if he heard his name being called, for the blonde male’s gaze meets yours across the ballroom. He winks at you with that stupid, cocky smirk of his. A grimace crosses your face. You had been hoping your conversation from earlier would deter him. It seems it has only spurred him on.

“He’s... pretty,” Rhysand starts, but then trails off, struggling to find a compliment for Heath. “Pretty full of himself,” he finally manages, shooting you an almost apologetic glance.

Both of you erupt into laughter.

“It could be worse,” Azriel comments after a moment, a futile attempt at making you feel better. “It could be the heir to Autumn. As the by-product of growing up under Beron’s cruelty, I hear he’s pretty ruthless. Might even turn out to be crueler than him. At least Heath isn’t as bright…”

“Ouch,” Cassian says with a playful wince, almost feeling bad for the Spring heir.

Your eyes find the male in question. Eris Vanserra. His vibrant red hair makes him and his siblings easy to spot in a crowded room. Surprisingly, Eris hasn't made any attempt to approach you tonight. Unlike his brothers. Instead, he stands by his mother's side. She appears uncomfortable and weary, her arm linked with his as she rubs her swollen, pregnant belly.

 As you focus on him, you feel a mix of anger and concern. “Somehow, I doubt that,” you voice your thoughts out loud, following the trail of emotions. Your eyes land on the recipient of his anger. Beron. The High Lord of Autumn stands amongst the other High Lords, engaged in conversation with your father.

Sensing your gaze on him, your father looks up from where you stand. He holds a hand up, summoning you and your brother.

“Time to shine,” Rhysand says, holding his hand out to you.

**

“Ah, my son,” your father greets with a smile as you and Rhysand come to a stop before him and the other High Lords. He then turns to you, violet eyes alight with pride that has your chest swelling with warmth. At least your father recognizes your worth and you don't dare to wonder if he'd see you the same if you weren't blessed with your power.

“My daughter, the guest of honor," he introduces, reaching for your hand to pull you to his side. You offer a polite smile and curtsy to the High Lords. “Y/n has done a lot for this court and all of Prythian. Tonight is a means to show my immense gratitude and present her with the official title of lead emissary of the Night Court.”

It is the High Lord of the Winter Court who speaks first, offering a slight bow of his head. “I look forward to continuing working with you, Lady y/n.”

“A wise and thoughtful member of the Night Court.” High Lord Thesan says with an amiable smile, the High Lords of Day, Summer and Spring sharing his sentiments.

However, the same cannot be said for the High Lord of Autumn. His lips curl in distaste, the thought of having to interact with a female tasting sour on his tongue. He had tolerated you before but only due to the war.

“You expect me to welcome her to my court to discuss important matter?" Beron huffs. "She’s just a girl.”

You don’t speak. You don’t even make a sound. But the look in your eyes…the look in your eyes was downright murderous.

Memories begin to flood your mind of you being berated and undermined. The box in which you had locked away your emotions can no longer contain them. A wave of anger and frustration begins to surge forth...

Rhysand knew exactly what was about to happen, his hand silently reaching out for yours. To hold you back.

But it was too late. Your mind was like a wall of steel. Impenetrable.

All you saw was red, your wings bursting forth from your glamor, unfurling behind you. They tore through the seams of your dress, provoking gasps. Swiftly, your magic mends the fabric, accommodating your true form.

Tendrils of darkness emanate from your outstretched hands, weaving through the air like sinister ribbons. Your gaze, unwavering and intense, remains fixated on Beron.  With each movement of your fingers, the room plunges deeper into shadow. The once-illuminated space is now consumed by a thick veil of darkness. Even Azriel’s shadows, accustomed to the darkness themselves, cling onto him like a second skin.

As the last glimmer of light fades into oblivion, the ballroom becomes a chamber of obsidian night. With a mere thought, you tap into the emotions swirling within the hearts of those present. Careful to be subtle upon the intrusion as you do not want to expose the true extent of your abilities.

You summon only the most negative emotions like a maestro orchestrating a symphony. Screams erupt, drawing your lips upwards. You can feel resistance against your power and whether it is from your father or brother or even one of the other High Lords, you can’t tell.

Gathering all your pent up frustrations, you use it to fuel your strength, wanting to hold onto this moment of mayhem just a bit longer. It is only when you feel Beron’s heart racing, feel the trace of fear threatening to dim the fire in his veins that you let go.

In the blink of an eye, your tendrils of darkness disperse, succumbing to the resistance. The faelights around the ballroom shimmer to life once more and the moon’s light seeps back into the room. It casts an ethereal glow over you, revealing the calm and cool expression on your face. Yet, your eyes remain seething with the fury of a dark, raging storm.

Beron's scowl deepens at your display. He parts his mouth in disbelief, looking towards your father, who says nothing. Beron then looks back at you.

For once in his miserable life, he is at a loss for words. Pride swells in your chest and you push against the talons raking across your mind, wanting to bask in your small victory.

“I’m just a girl,” you finally say and then give a nonchalant shrug of your shoulders before turning to leave.

Reveling in the animosity radiating off of him, your smirk deepens as you recognize a faint trace of humiliation somewhere among the fire of his wrath.

The assembled crowd parts before you, their gazes a mixture of disdain, shock, and fear. You keep your head held high and eyes focused straight ahead. Dread begins to settle in, the onset of a headache from overexertion threatening to break your composure.

Still, you carry on, feigning nonchalance. The only sounds echoing through the room are the hushed whispers and the sharp click of your heels against the marble floors.

Yet, amidst the sea of wary onlookers, one figure stands apart.

Eris.

The heir to the Autumn court is leaning casually against the wall near the exit doors, his mother nowhere to be seen. The corner of his lips are upturned into a smirk, amber eyes alight with amusement and curiosity and perhaps, even something more.

Your steps threaten to falter as your eyes meets his. He looks back at you, holding your gaze with a searing intensity, it sends a shiver down your spine. He looks at you in a way no one ever has...as if he can see you for you who you really are.

Because you aren’t just a girl.

You’re the daughter of the Night Court. A shining star. A force to be reckoned with and one he finds himself irresistibly drawn to.

series masterlist

a/n: I honestly don't know how to feel about this one. I guess it's kind of a prequel to my upcoming one shot. Also, you can't tell me Eris wouldn't find anyone besting his dad like reader did in this hot lol

general tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444, @lilah-asteria

[hattiewritesalot]

I Despise You.

Eris Vanserra x fem!Archeron!reader

Summary: You despise Eris Vanserra. No, but seriously.

Warnings: MDNI!!!!!! smut below the cut, piv, rough sex, spanking, spitting, hair pulling… 😃 lowkey a bit of a plot twist at the end

A/N: This one’s been in the vault for a very long time and I’m only now posting it - I’ve literally never written smut before but here we are. Pls do not interact if you’re a minor pls and thank you.

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

“I despise you.” 

Eris fucking Vanserra. You hate him, every inch of him, from his auburn hair to his russet eyes to his cocky smirk. The male infuriates you.

Your journey as a fae has correlated with your younger sister Feyre's, the two of you having been turned at the same time, trapped in the Spring Court at the same time, taken to the Night Court at the same time.

You first met Eris-asshole-Vanserra when you were running away with Feyre and Lucien, and he showed up with a few other of the Vanserra brood to try and cause you, if anything, a massive inconvenience.

He'd been disgustingly, horrifyingly, devilishly gorgeous back then. He's even more so now that you've had time to grow accustomed to his face.

He grins at you. “You flatter me, Archeron. Such a way with words.”

“Get out of my way. Go and have your meeting with Rhys, I don’t care. Just leave me be.” You grumble, pushing past him. His fingers latch around your wrist, tugging you to a halt.

“Don’t be so hasty, darling. Wouldn’t you like to stay for a chat?”

“With you?” You scoff, and bare your teeth at him. “I’d rather boil in the Cauldron for all eternity.”

His eyes darken. “Careful.” He drawls. “One day, that attitude will be your downfall. You could get in all sorts of trouble for that.”

You almost laugh. “And who are you? My fucking master?” You look him up and down, and glare at him. “Now you take your asshole hand off my wrist, and leave me be, Vanserra. My attitude is none of your concern.”

He narrows his eyes, and cocks a brow. “Isn’t it?”

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

And that is how you find yourself bent over one of the tables in the library, the Autumn Court heir’s pelvis slapping against your ass, the wet sounds echoing around the empty room.

“Not so bold now, are you, sweet girl?” He breathes into your ear, words drowned out by your moans as he pounds into you, hands gripping your hips. His glorious cock, possibly the only part of him you like, is hitting that one sweet spot inside of you, and you’d be lying if you said you’d ever felt this much pleasure before. “So fucking wet for me. Shiiiiit.”

One of his hands wraps in your hair, yanking it back so his lips can attach to your neck, teeth scraping the sensitive skin. “Where’s that attitude gone?” He nips your pulse point. “Thought you despised me.” 

His hips slam faster. You cry out pathetically, eyes rolling back, a sob of his name escaping you. He coos. “There it is, baby. Right there, huh? You like this? You like getting the attitude fucked out of you by a male you despise?” And you whine, nodding, jaw going slack.

“Good fucking slut.” He sucks at your neck, landing a harsh spank to your ass, chest pressed flush against your back. You moan at his words, and he grins. “Yeah? Is that right? Are you my good fucking slut?” He spanks you again. You gasp, because, Cauldron boil you, you’re about to come harder than you ever have before, and he knows. Of course he does. 

He’s getting close too. You can feel it in the way his groans are getting breathier, and his pace is hastening. He hisses. “Fuck. Cauldron boil me, I love this pussy. All mine.” His hand comes down against your ass again, but this time, he gropes the flesh, growling. “Look at me, baby.”

You manage to turn your head, looking at him over your shoulder with lidded eyes. He cradles your jaw, parts your lips, and spits in your mouth. “Swallow.” He snarls, voice low and raspy. You shatter.

You barely have time to warn him before you’re toppling over the edge, a noise nearer to a shriek escaping you as your orgasm hits you like a freight train, hot and loud and the best fucking thing you’ve ever felt. Your body slumps against the desk. Good timing too, because his hot seed is coating your walls, and his grip on you is loosening, sweat dripping down his forehead as he comes down from his high. 

You stay like that for a few minutes, before he huffs, pressing the gentlest of kisses to the back of your neck, and pulls out of you. You slump to the floor, your shared releases pooling out of you, glaring at him through your lashes as he dresses.

He smooths his hair back, and looks at you. “Same time next week?”

You scoff. “I despise you.”

His eyes twinkle. He grins at you. “So you claim.”

And then he’s gone, sauntering out of the room, and you can’t help laughing, closing your eyes. 

You love these secret meetings with your mate.

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

what I wouldn’t do to be bent over by Eris Vanserra smh

[vestaignis]

Зао Онсен - горнолыжный курорт с потрясающими ледяными деревьями.

Горнолыжный курорт Зао - это уникальное место, где встречаются природа, активный отдых и традиционная японская культура. Расположенный в горах Ямагата, курорт предлагает посетителям захватывающее катание на лыжах и сноуборде, невероятные виды и расслабляющий отдых в горячих источниках.

Зимой горы Зао покрываются мягким порошковым снегом, создавая идеальные условия для катания. Курорт предлагает более 30 подъемников, включая гондолы и канатные дороги, а также трассы для лыжников и сноубордистов всех уровней подготовки. Самая длинная трасса тянется на 10 километров и проходит через знаменитую территорию снежных монстров - покрытых инеем и снегом деревьев, которые в морозные дни приобретают фантастические формы. Это природное явление делает Зао одним из немногих мест в мире, где можно увидеть такие снежные фигуры.

После дня на склонах посетителей ждут горячие источники - настоящая гордость Зао Онсен. Серные воды, известные своими целебными свойствами, не только расслабляют тело, но и улучшают состояние кожи. В деревне доступны как общественные бани, так и уединенные в��нны-ротенбуро под открытым небом, где можно наслаждаться видом заснеженных гор.

Курорт Зао привлекает туристов не только зимой. Летом и осенью он становится местом для пеших прогулок, благодаря живописным горным тропам и знаменитому кратеру Окама, известному как «озеро пяти цветов». Его воды меняют оттенок от изумрудного до ярко-бирюзового в зависимости от погоды, оставляя незабываемое впечатление.

Zao Onsen is a ski resort with stunning ice trees.

Zao Ski Resort is a unique place where nature, outdoor activities and traditional Japanese culture meet. Situated in the Yamagata Mountains, the resort offers visitors exciting skiing and snowboarding, incredible views and relaxing hot springs.

In winter, the Zao Mountains are covered in soft powder snow, creating ideal skiing conditions. The resort offers more than 30 lifts, including gondolas and cable cars, as well as slopes for skiers and snowboarders of all skill levels. The longest run stretches for 10 kilometers and passes through the famous territory of snow monsters - trees covered with frost and snow, which take on fantastic shapes on frosty days. This natural phenomenon makes Zao one of the few places in the world where you can see such snow figures.

After a day on the slopes, visitors can enjoy the hot springs - the pride of Zao Onsen. The sulphur waters, known for their healing properties, not only relax the body but also improve the condition of the skin. The village offers both public baths and secluded open-air rotenburo baths where you can enjoy the view of the snow-capped mountains.

Zao is not only a winter destination. In summer and autumn, it becomes a hiking destination, thanks to its picturesque mountain trails and the famous Okama Crater, known as the "lake of five flowers". Its waters change from emerald to bright turquoise depending on the weather, leaving an unforgettable impression.

Источник://www.gltjp.com/en/directory/item/13684/, /go-japan.ru /sights/gornolyzhnye-kurorty/Zaōonsen%20sukī-ba , //www.tripadvisor.ru/Attraction_Review-g1023191-d1425459-Reviews-Yamagata_Zao_Onsen_Ski_Resort-Yamagata_Yamagata _Prefecture_Tohoku.html, /travel.rakuten.com/contents/usa/en-us/guide/ski-resort-zao-onsen/.