#where the branches intertwine

[galatially]

❝𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲❞

𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 / 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 / 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 / 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲

𝐕: 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐞

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 — 𝐨𝐫𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐮𝐬!𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐱𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐟𝐟 x 𝐞𝐮𝐫𝐲𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐞!𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 — she was my sun, my moon, the flesh i never shed; families grow and blend together more often than not

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 — 7.3K

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 — 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈, 𝟏𝟖+, strong language, heavy petting, honorifics (sweet girl, love), more Declarations of Love™, very Guess Who's Coming To Dinner-esque

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 — are y'all ready to wear pearls and meet the family? also can we get a little commotion for me updating? i haven't written in god knows how long and i'm happy i finally got this out of the noggin!

“Will they like me?”

Summer time in the temple were hectic at best and, in order to prepare for the solstice ceremony, several of the other scholars volunteered their time to Lady Agatha. Which left you to carry brunt of their work and yours. You were happy to do it, of course, but that left no time to meet with Pietro. So, like the warm breeze, he surprised you with dinner long after everyone else had gone. 

“I haven’t seen you in three days! That’s closer to eternity than I’d like to be, Y/N.”

After a back and forth that lasted almost a full minute, you relented and he’d been watching you work ever since. The remnants of dinner sat in a basket at his feet and he was watching you from his seat beside you. Every so often, he’d skim his fingertips along the length of your arm or absently brush the top of your knee, earning a breathy chide from you. But in the last hour, he’d gone quiet.

You looked up from your tome, Pietro’s blue eyes on you. “Who?”

“Your sisters. What have you told them of me?”

You lifted a shoulder. “I’ve told them enough. Who your family is, your time at war, our time spent together.” The left side of your mouth lifted. “Are you nervous, Your Highness?”

“Terrified.”

It always struck you how easy vulnerability came to Pietro. Everything he’d ever felt plain on his face for the world to see without any reservations, no qualms of being misconstrued. 

You turned towards him and put a hand over his knee. “They like you. They just want to get to know you outside of my praises of you.”

A smirk played at the corners of his mouth. “You praise me?”

You snorted, turning back to your pages. “You’re incorrigible, you know that?”

“You’ve not given me any complaints yet.”

“There’s no time like the present,” you teased. 

Pietro put a hand to his chest, his features faux-wounded. “And you say that I’m impossible.”

“Tell me, demigod, what apprehends you about meeting my family? Surely you’ve courted someone before.” After a few moments of silence, you looked to him. “You have courted someone before, yes?”

“Courted wouldn’t be the word I’d use.”

Your brows raised. “Pietro Maximoff, you rake!”

He chuckled, his palms face up. “I was a different man back then — a boy, really. I’d be remiss if I claimed to be virtuous in that respect.”

You hummed. “I suppose.” 

“Have you ever been courted before?”

“No, but Alma has.” You closed the tome. “His name was Logan and he was a soldier from Athens. I can’t recall him well, but he was a kind man, if not intense.”

“Intense?”

“Logan seemed the kind of man that only spoke when he had something to say. Like his words were better spent on things that mattered rather than wasted on idle things.” You sighed, mindlessly tugging at one of your curls. “I remember coming home and finding Alma crying in the garden. Later that evening, I overhead her and Daphne talking: she’d turned down Logan’s marriage proposal. She didn’t feel it was fair that she leave Daphne and I and that she shouldn’t have pursued Logan to begin with.”

Pietro put a hand over one of yours. “That must’ve been hard.” 

“I remember vowing to myself that I’d do everything in my power to never be a burden on my sisters. If their reasons for staying in Thrace and running the apothecary was to take care of me, then I’d be self-sufficient. I’d work hard and earn my keep.” You smiled at him. “And then your damned sandal hit me on the head and I’ve become selfish, wanting to be with you and you alone.”

His brows canted. “If I’m keeping you from your family, Y/N, I don’t — ”

You giggled. “Pietro, you have nothing to fear. Daphne, Alma, and I have spoken extensively about our courtship and they’re excited to meet the man that’s given me other purpose besides being a scholar.” You brought the back of his hand to your lips. “They will love you just as much as I will. I guarantee it.”

“And if they don’t?”

“Then they will have to deal with me,” you said firmly. “We’re orphans, so I don’t need their approval. But even if they won’t like you — which I don’t believe — it won’t change my feelings.” You put a hand to his cheek, a smile lifting in the corners of your mouth. “Unfortunately for you, Your Highness, you are stuck with me.”

Pietro slotted his mouth over yours, his moan echoing in your ears. You’d have thought by now you’d get used to kissing the demigod, memorized the feel of his plush mouth moving against yours and where his hands imprinted on your skin. But every time it takes you by surprise. Some days, he’s sweet — the kisses slow and all-consuming, your breathy sighs he swallowed down. Times like today, when you’d go days without seeing each other, he’d take your face in his hands and devour you. He eased you into his lap, pulling back to gaze dreamily into your eyes. 

“Having you is a sentence I would gladly serve, sweet girl.”

You were orphaned.

The realization kept rearing its head as you and your sisters prepared for Pietro’s arrival. Its customary for the father of the bride to meet with the soon-to-be groom and discuss the marriage contract, but both of your parents had been gone long enough for their memories to barely leave a stain on your mind. 

Which meant that this dinner was more of a courtesy than an obligation. Why that twisted your stomach and shook your hands, you hadn’t figured out yet. 

“There’s only so many ways you can arrange those flowers, Y/N,” Alma said, laughing beside you. 

Your eyes focused, a distracted noise leaving your mouth. 

“Hey.” She put a hand on your shoulder, motioning for you to face her. “If you’re uncomfortable, we don’t have to have Pietro over.”

You shook your head.

“Talk to me, Y/N.” She took your hands in hers. “What is ailing you?” 

“I…” You blew out a breath. “What was Logan like?”

Alma brows raised and she let out a surprised chuckle. “That’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time.” She leaned up against one of the chairs, a wistful smile coming onto her lips. “Logan was…kinder than he seemed. He treated it like a secret, something shared only between us.” Her brown eyes held yours. “Why do you ask?”

“When you were with him, did you feel as though your breaths were no longer yours? Like…like, when he left, the edges of your world began losing luster until he returned?”

“Like you’d disappear if you weren’t near him?” You nodded. “The day that I told Logan to leave, a pain that I’d never wish upon my worst enemy bloomed in my chest, clawed itself between my ribcage and squeezed my heart so viciously it could have felled me.”

“Did you end the proposal because of me?”

Alma put a hand to your cheek, a sad sigh leaving her nostrils. “I ended things because I was afraid. You and Daphne were all I’d ever known. Logan wanted to travel the world, settle in some far off lands, and have a brood of children. I was afraid because I could see it. Little girls with his proud countenance and gentle smile and little boys with my eyes and our shared dark skin. They would hang from our limbs, begging us for kisses and hugs. And it shook me to my core.

“I’d never thought of myself being a bride, let alone a mother. Convinced myself that roles like those were reserved for women like Daphne — kind, naturally maternal. What if I did not love my children after they were born? What if the did not love me?”

“You and Daphne have been wonderful mothers to me,” you countered. “I wouldn’t be who I am if not for you both.”

“Then promise me something,” she said, smiling now. “Promise me that you will not let fear into your relationship with Pietro. He clearly knows how much we mean to you for him to ask for a formal meeting, despite us being orphaned. That tells me he knows you.”

“You don’t think it’s too soon? That we’re rushing into things?”

Alma’s thumb brushed along the top of your cheek. “Love isn’t linear; there are no timelines or reasons. It just…is. It’s up to you whether you accept or reject it, I’m afraid.”

You heard Daphne calling for you both, only glancing towards the doorway of the kitchen as her tall frame came into view. 

“There you both are! What are you — Y/N? Are you okay?” She hurried to the other side of you, gathering your face in her hands and her brown eyes surveying your features. “What’s wrong? Are you feeling well?” 

“She’s fine, Daphne,” Alma said, chuckling. “We were just talking.”

Daphne pouted. “You both look like you’ve been crying.”

“We have, but we’re fine,” you answered, ��thank you both for doing this for me.”

Your eldest sister looked between the two of you, her brown eyes going from suspicious to concerned before she closed her eyes, shaking her head. “I swear, I will age fifty years because of you both.”

“We love you, too, sister.” Alma brought her hands together, a bright smile on her face. “Enough dawdling! We have a prince to entertain.”

Ale loosened Pietro, you found.

When he arrived, he’d given your sisters polite nods and practiced answers, but you noticed fixed his stance was, the tightness of his knuckles that were half-hidden against the flesh of your hip. You took hold of his wrist and gave it a squeeze; I am here.

Your sisters noticed as well, Alma hooking an arm around his neck and leading him into your home, a conspiratorial inflection to her words. Daphne chuckled and led you behind them. By dinner, he’d started to return to the charming bard you fell for, regaling your sisters with stories of his childhood and the parts of his travels that bore no bloodshed. 

When Daphne passed him a goblet of ale, he took a hearty swig of it, smacking his lips at the tartness between the sweet. 

“This is divine! You make this yourself?”

Daphne nodded. “Our father taught me. Alma and I will make different varieties and sell them in the marketplace.” Her eyes moved between the two of you. “We could supply some for your wedding, if you’d like?”

Blood pooled in your cheeks.  

A grin split across the expanse of Pietro’s face. “Have we been that transparent this evening?”

Alma snickered. “It would explain why she’s been so excited this evening.” She looked to you. “Have you accepted?”

You nodded, your fingers circling the mouth of your goblet. “I wanted you both to meet Pietro before we moved any further.”

“You’ve told us much about him already, Y/N. We would’ve given our blessing even without the formalities.” Daphne took one of Pietro’s hands in hers. “Can we speak? Alone?”

Pietro blinked. “Me?”

Alma nudged your shoulder, her head tilting lightly to Pietro. 

You nodded and turned to smile at him. “It’s okay, Piet. She wants to talk. You’ll only be in the back garden if you need me to rescue you.”

Another smile that stopped your breath pulled at his lips. “You’ve never called me Piet before.”

“W-well, I know that Wanda does and it just slipped out,” you stuttered, your eyes on the ceiling now. “Do you…not want me to?”

“You can call me whatever you want, sweet girl.” He turned back to your sister. “Lead the way.”

The moon was high tonight.

Daphne hummed as she led Pietro towards the stream near their home. He hadn’t expected your sisters to be so…welcoming towards him, a virtual stranger save for your praises of him. And he knew that Daphne, being the eldest, would have profound impact on your decisions. 

“Don’t be so tense, Your Highness,” he heard the smile in her tone, “we’re almost there.” When she stopped a few feet before the water, she lifted a hand, her index finger fixed ahead. “Our parents are those great trees across the way there. When they died, their arms were around each other as they started to transform. Their branches are intertwined forever.”

“That’s beautiful,” Pietro said, “they’re always together that way.”

Daphne nodded. “I was twelve and Alma was ten when they passed. Y/N was barely three years old and didn’t have many memories of them, but she still couldn’t understand where they’d gone. All she knew was that Alma and I weren’t smiling anymore in the days that followed.” She let out a watery chuckle. “A child no older than a babe would take our faces in her hands to wipe our tears away. She’d kiss out cheeks and tell us that we’d be fine.” She cleared her throat and looked to Pietro. “Has Y/N told you that she wanted to study as a sorceress?”

Pietro shook his head. “I had no idea.”

“She’s very adept at it, almost as well-versed as your sister. When she was younger, she’d sneak off to the marketplace in the city and tell fortunes to make money for us. Once Alma and I found out, she stopped, of course, but we encouraged her to hone her craft.” Daphne smiled. “Our mother was a fine practitioner and Alma and I did our best to teach Y/N what little we were taught to get by. If she’d have gone on with it, she’d be a wonderful priestess.”

“If she’s used to wielding magic, how did she come to want to become a scholar for Lady Agatha?”

“She tends to abandon things if she cannot immediately conquer them,” Daphne said, chuckling. “When she couldn’t perform spells of higher skill, she decided to find texts to practice with. Instead, she fell in love with history. When Lady Agatha sent word that she was looking for scholars, she applied.” She tipped her chin to Pietro. “Have you never noticed her using magic before? She uses it read faster, write for longer periods of time.”

He shook his head. “She hides it well.”

“Perhaps she just needs a safe space to express that part of herself.” Daphne took his hands in hers. “Pietro, you love my sister. I felt it the second you entered our home. You light up inside and out when you’re around her and I have no doubt that you’d love until your last breath. But before I give you our blessing, I want you to promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“I want you to promise me that you will encourage her to spread her wings. Yes, love her, respect her, be allies to each other. But give Y/N the space to explore and chase the dreams she has. Make sure that she travels, meets new people, experiences everything that excites her.” Her brown eyes shimmered with tears in the moonlight. “I want her to get everything she’s ever wanted and to never be afraid to want them. Promise me.”

Pietro understood now what inspired you about Daphne; her warmth was tangible and, within it, her love for you and Alma is the root. All night, she made sure that he felt like part of your family and extended some of her warmth to him. His heart swelled. This is what loving you meant, loving and being loved by your little family. As he stood before the woman that raised you, he put his hands on her shoulders, his blue eyes on her brown ones, and smiled.

“I promise.”

You should’ve known that something was amiss when Wanda met you outside of the library, concerned etched into her features. 

You blinked slow, confused. “Yes?”

“Did he ask you?”

Your brows knitted together. “Did who ask me what?”

“Did my brother ask for your hand?” You froze. “He’s my twin, Y/N. By now, you’d think he’d get better at lying, but I know when he’s trying to hide something from me.” 

You swallowed thickly. This wasn’t how you wanted the conversation to go; you’d planned the whole exchange. You’d ask her to accompany you on a walk and you’d tell her the truth, that you and Pietro were to be married and you wanted her blessing. 

“Oh, Gods be praised!”

Your jaw slackened. “What?”

She took hold of your hands, a warm smile on her lips. “It’s about time! I thought he’d drag his feet until I’d have to force him.”

You shook your head. “So, we have your blessing?”

Wanda snorted. “Of course you do! Why wouldn’t you?”

“I know how close you and Pietro are and I know that you’re both still navigating how to be since he’s come back.” You blinked back tears. “And you’re my best friend. I don’t want my loving your brother to create a rift between any of us.”

“Y/N, Y/N, listen to me.” She cupped your face in her hands. “I love my brother. Yes, we’re very close and, yes, we are learning each other all over again since his return. But he loves you. He’s always talking about you, even when I remind him that I’ve known you longer. I have never known my brother to be so enamored with a maiden before and if I had to choose anyone, I’d gladly choose you as his bride.” Tears fell down Wanda’s cheeks in soft streaks. “And once you’re both married, we’d be sisters!”

You laughed, sniffling. “We practically are, Wan. I don’t need to marry Pietro to know that.”

“Exactly,” her thumb swiped along the top your cheeks, catching your tears. “You don’t need my blessing, but I will give it to you. I would be honored to have you join my family and be at my brother’s side.”

“Ladies? Is everything all right?”

You both turned; Lady Agatha stood before you, concern in her blue eyes.

“We’re fine, mistress,” Wanda answered, smiling. “Y/N was just sharing some good news.”

“Oh?”

“She and my brother and getting married!” You turned to her with wide eyes, hissing at her to stop talking.

“Y/N! That’s amazing news!” Lady Agatha clapped her hands together. “We’ll have to host the ceremony here!”

Your heart dropped. “I couldn’t ask you to do that, mistress, truly.”

She waved you off. “Nonsense! You just let me know when the wedding is and we’ll get the temple prepared.” She pulled you into her arms. “I’m so happy for you, Y/N. You deserve this happiness.”

“I — thank you, mistress.” You pulled back, a small smile on your lips. 

“It would be my honor.” She winked at Wanda before walking towards one of the other sorceresses. 

Wanda turned back to you and squealed. “Have you thought about what color you want your dress to be?”

“I’m still wrapping my head around the fact that I’m engaged,” you admitted. “Besides, we haven’t talked about a date and he just met my family — ”

“You still have to meet our parents!” She gripped your forearms. “You and your sisters should come to dinner soon! Don’t worry, I’ll tell Pietro and we’ll talk to our parents.”

You giggled. “Don’t overexcite yourself, Wan. We have all the time in the world to plan.”

She pouted, her brows canted and her lower lip jutted out. “You don’t want me to help plan your wedding?”

“I didn’t say that. I’m saying that, for right now, let Pietro and I enjoy being engaged for a few weeks. Then, I will get you, my sisters, and your mother together to help plan. Deal?” You held up your pinky finger. 

Wanda smiled and hooked her finger around yours.

“Deal.”

“Are you sure your sisters are fine with us being along without them present?”

You looked at Pietro from over your shoulder. “Do you intend on ravaging me while they’re at market, Pietro Maximoff?”

He stood up from the table and wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his chin in the crook of your neck.  “Don’t tempt me.”

You let out a breathy chuckle. “Behave.” 

He nipped at the base of your neck, a chuckle rumbling in his chest. “I’m always behaved.”

You kept your eyes on the vegetables you were cutting before you spoke again. “Wanda wants to help plan the wedding, by the way.”

Pietro hummed against your skin. “Is that okay with you? If you’d rather leave the planning between you and your sisters, I’m sure she’ll understand.”

“I told her to let us enjoy being engaged before we start any planning,” you set the knife down, “she wants us to have dinner with your parents soon.”

“I know. I’ve been trying to wait until my father’s done hosting the other noble families to suggest a day with him,” he said. “Are you nervous about telling them?”

You lifted your free shoulder. “I’m more nervous about meeting them than I am telling them we’re getting married.” You turned around and put your face against his chest, wrapping your arms around his waist. “Will they think I’m too common for you?”

Pietro scoffed. “There is nothing common about you, sweet girl.��

“You know what I mean.”

“Despite what the populace like to believe, my family and I do not judge anyone based upon class. If anything, they’ll not even bring up your status.”

“I’m not ashamed of my status,” you argued, glaring up at him. “Is that what you think? That I’m ashamed?”

“What? No.”

“My sisters and I may not be as affluent as you and your family, but I love our life, Pietro. I just don’t want them to judge our union because I’m not noble or have a title. I don’t need them acting differently when we meet.”

“Hey,” he cupped your face in his hands, his thumb tracing along your bottom lip, “I promise you that they don’t care what your status is and neither do I. You’ve led a beautiful life and your sisters raised you well. I wouldn’t try to change anything about you for the sake of my parents. Okay?”

You nodded, shaking your head against his chest. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gotten cross.”

“I’m sorry for not being clearer in my intention.” He pulled back, smiling down at you. “If they make you uncomfortable, we’ll leave. Right then and there.”

“Thank you.”

He pressed his lips to your forehead, lingering on your skin before he looked down at you again. “Daphne told me that you can use magic.”

“I can.” Your eyes looked over his shoulder. “Are you angry that I didn’t tell you?”

“No. Shocked, at first, but once Daphne explained why you didn’t, I understood. You’ve told me before and I didn’t hear you.” He lifted your chin to fix your gaze to his. “I want you to be able to share every part of yourself with me. I don’t want to you to ever think that I won’t ever listen or that I will reject, okay? And if I ever make you feel the opposite, tell me. We’re partners in this.”

You smiled and pressed a kiss to the top of his knuckles. “I will.”

Pietro smirked. “So, what can you do?”

“I can scry and use very small levitation spells. But it’s been years since I’ve done either.”

“Have you ever scried your future?”

You shook your head. “I want to be surprised. But I can try to read your palm, if you’d like.” He shoved his hand into yours and you turned it palm side up, your eyes and fingertips surveying the lines in his skin. You hummed. “Your lifeline is interesting. It’s long but there’s an intersection that breaks it in half before continuing.”

His dark brows canted. “What’s that mean?”

“I couldn’t say. I haven’t scried in years.” You moved to the middle of his palm to love line. “Your love line is long and doesn’t intersect or run alongside any other lines.”

Pietro leaned forward. “Is that good?”

“It means you’ll have one long, great love.” Your cheeks heated up. “This love will be the most profound and impactful to you.”

“I can agree with that.” He closed his hand over yours. “I can only hope that my one, great love will accept me.”

“She’s accepted you since that first night she held you in her arms,” you answered, running your free hand up and down his forearm. “She hopes that you don’t change your mind about her once you both get closer.”

Pietro chuckled. “You love me and my scars. You’re stuck with me, I’m afraid.”

You leaned forward and pressed your lips to his.

“Having you is a sentence I would gladly serve,” you said, mirroring his words to you those weeks ago.

“You’re fidgeting.”

You looked up from your hands; Pietro was smiling at you, his chin resting against hand. 

“I feel underdressed,” you said, frowning.

“You look beautiful,” he tapped his foot against yours, “I love what you’ve done with your hair tonight.”

You smiled, tugging at an errant curl that escaped the braid Daphne and Alma had done for you. You suggested plaiting buttercups and daisies from the garden into your hair as a way to keep them with you. Alma tied the hair off with a silk ribbon that beaded resemblance to the color of Pietro’s eyes in the sun. “Thank you.”

His eyes raked over your body. “Did Daphne make your dress as well?”

You smoothed out the garment. Daphne had spent four days sewing and dyeing the periwinkle dress you wore. There was gold ribbon that you cinched your waist with and gold trim on the skirt of the dress that caught the light beautifully. When you’d tried it on this afternoon, you felt like a princess. 

“She did.”

“She’s a fine seamstress,” he said, smiling. 

You giggled. “I’ll let her know you’re a fan of her work.” Your eyes caught the trees blurring from the carriage window. “I’ve never been in a carriage before.”

“It’s quicker than walking,” Pietro said, lifting a shoulder.

“It’s easy to forget that you’re a prince,” your hands wrung together, “not that you act haughty, but I only see you as Pietro, if that makes sense.”

“I’m not much different with my family than I am with you.”

“Would it be silly to ask if they’ll like me?” Your voice sounded so small, foreign to your own ears. Suddenly, you were all too aware of you and Pietro’s differences. You’ve never convened with nobility and, despite how well-versed you were, you knew that you carried an accent native to denizens of the countryside. What was love when tradition loomed over you both?

Pietro tapped his finger against his thigh. “Come here.”

You raised a brow. 

He kissed his teeth, a deep grin curving along his lips. “Come here, sweet girl. I won’t repeat myself.”

The sensuous threat beneath his words made you clench your thighs. Your tongue wetted your bottom lip as you watched your fiancé spread his legs wide. Before you could retort, he lunged forward and gathered you in his arms. 

“Pietro!” you hissed. “We’re on out way to meet your parents!” Your eyes went to the other side of the carriage. “The coachman could hear.”

He gave you a toothy, wolfish grin. “Then I suppose you’ll have to keep quiet, then, won’t you?” His lips latched onto the column of your throat, sucking and laving at the skin. A chuckle rumbled in his chest at the squeak you barely caught with the palm of your hand. 

“Pietro!”

His large hands took hold of your hips. “Could you blame me? My bride-to-be is so beautiful that I cannot help but imbibe in her.”

Heat warmed your face and neck. “Your bride-to-be would like to salvage what little dignity you’ve left her to meet your parents. I can’t risk my current state to your lust.”

“And she will.” One of his hands dipped under your skirt, the knuckle of his middle finger ghosting along your folds. You sucked in a breath. “They will love you, Y/N. My mother has been excited to meet you since Wanda told her of your first meeting,” his teeth played at your collarbone, “my father is curious to meet the maid that has so rapt my attention these past months.” His free hand swept tendrils of curls from the back of your neck, his fingertips lingering on the warm skin. “Wanda already loves you. You’ve nothing to fear, my love, I promise you.”

“Curiosity does not equate to like,” you breathed out. Your hips bucked against his hand, desperate for friction. When he stopped his ministrations, your eyes narrowed in frustration. “Stop teasing me, Pietro. It’s unfair.”

“I would never,” he cooed, moving a hand to cup the back of your neck. Gooseflesh covered your body and, suddenly, the air in the carriage was hot and thick. Pietro continued sucking bruises into your soft skin, using his hand splayed against the base of your skull to expose more of your neck to him. A hiccup bubbled out of your throat, soft mewls that bordered sobs not enough for him to give you what you want. “Does my little nymph want relief?”

You blubbered out a “yes”, your head lolling from side to side. Pleasure tightened your belly and all you lust-fogged brain could focus on was, touch me, touch me, touch me. 

“Gods, you look divine, Y/N,” Pietro murmured against your ear. His hands cupped your breasts, fingers adeptly working your pebbled nipples. You whispered his name, your nails digging into the flesh of his thighs. “How sensitive you are, my love.” His lips dragged along the juncture of your neck and your ear, his canines gliding along your pulse point. You started to let out a moan when he eased three of his thick fingers into your mouth. “Shh, shh. Remember our coachman up front. You wouldn’t want him to know what we’re getting up to, would you?”

You moaned his name around his fingers.

Pietro groaned out your name, rutting his hips against your backside. You could feel his cock through his chiton, your mouth watering even more. He moved you further up his lap, your slick soaking through the fabric of his tunic. 

Two knocks from the coachman made you both pause. From his side of the carriage, you saw his ancestral home in the distance. You felt laughter against your back and turned to give your fiancé a simpering look. 

“Was that your way of distracting me?”

His left cheek dimpled. “Did it work?”

Pietro favored his father more than his mother. 

Seeing him, Wanda, and their parents standing with each other, they shared the same coloring: tan skin, dark, curly hair, and sharp, devastating features. But where Wanda and their mother were carbon copies of each other, Pietro and his father shared the same mannerisms and expressions. 

Wanda called your name, her hand held out to you. “This is our mother, Natalya, and our father, Erik.” A proud smile crossed her plush lips. “Mother, Father, this is Y/N Y/L/N, my very best friend and our Pietro’s bride-to-be.”

You went to curtsy when you were pulled forward, rose and marjoram filling your senses. Natalya’s hug was warm and comforting, easing your qualms almost instantly. Like Wanda, gold bands and thick, clay bangles hung from her wrists and thin, gold rings sat on every finger. Her deep, brown eyes sparkled as she regarded you. 

“My children underestimated your beauty.”

Heat pooled in your cheeks. “Uh — thank you, Your Grace.”

She chuckled lightly. “Please, call me Natalya. I’ve heard so much about you, it feels as though you’ve already been a part of the family.”

You’d have to remember to reprimand the twins at a later date. 

“So glad to finally make your acquaintance,” Erik said, giving you a warm smile. “You’ve caused quite a commotion for my children.” 

“You as well, Your Majesty.” Your eyes widened. “Not that you cause commotion — ”

A thunderous laugh rumbled from his chest. “Don’t be so nervous, Y/N. We’re happy to welcome you this evening.”

“Thank you.” Suddenly, Wanda and Natalya hooked their arms on either side of yours and hurried you up the stairs into their home. 

“You look gorgeous, Y/N,” Wanda started, “but Pietro should’ve been more…methodical about displaying his…excitement.”

A few seconds passed before your eyes widened and you went cold. “No.”

“There’s a very prominent love bruise just here.” Natalya pointed to the space along your collarbone. “It’s wonderful to see my son so smitten with someone.”

“I can assure you that I’m not so cavalier to parade my private affairs on such an important night,” you pressed. 

“It’s okay, Y/N,” Wanda smiled, “Just wait until you two are married. You’ll probably never leave your bed.”

Natalya shushed her daughter. “Leave them be.” Her fingers quickly undid your braid. “It’s perfectly normal for betrothed to display affection.”

Wanda wrinkled her nose. “Mother, please, spare me. I don’t need the image of my brother bedding my best friend.”

“I’d prefer we not speak about this at all,” you said morosely. “We should get back.”

“Almost done,” Natalya sang, “just need to…there!” She brushed a few curls from your forehead. “Perfect.”

“You can’t even see the bruises anymore!” Wanda teased. 

Natalya brought her hands to your face, smiling. “Absolutely breathtaking.”

“You’re too kind, Your Majesty.”

“Natalya,” a warm smile stretched across her lips, “we are to be family soon and should refer to each other as such, yes?” You nodded, an apology falling from your tongue. “And no apologies! We’re happy to welcome you into our home, Y/N.”

“They must be waiting for us,” Wanda said, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Are you ready?”

You furrowed your brows. “For?”

She smiled broadly, a wicked glint to her green eyes. 

You thought your little family was boisterous, but the Maximoffs were a different beast entirely.

Wanda was regaling the table with a story of Pietro during their childhood, more relaxed than she was at temple. Your laughs intermingled with their parents’ as she spoke of a lover of Pietro’s past. Every now and again, Erik would mirror her mannerisms: wide, expressive eyes, big gesticulations. On either side of you, Natalya and Pietro were the same side of each others’ coins. They laughed along, more reserved than Erik and Wanda, their hands either clasped together or resting against their crossed forearms as they leaned forward. Their interjections were just as passionate as their family members’ but quieter. 

A memory — or a memory of a memory — played in your mind: Daphne and Alma’s boisterous laughter, your arms outstretched to a woman whose eyes you could not place. Warm hands cupping your face. Though your throat was clogged and your eyes started to water, your smile stayed. You had this once, a family like theirs. Perhaps you could have it again. 

“Y/N?”

You blinked. “Yes?”

“Wanda isn’t deterring you from this union, is she?” Erik’s blue eyes regarded you with concern, a small smiled eased in the corner of his mouth. 

You shook your head, turning a bemused grin to Pietro. “I knew that you were a flirt, but not quite to this extent, bard.”

Your lover groaned. “Can we please move on?”

You took his hand. “It’s all in good fun, Pietro. Despite your previous courting, I will still allow for you to have my hand.”

He chuckled, his cheeks dimpling. “Allow me?”

“I jest, my love,” you fluttered your lashes, “You have all of me.”

“Such a charmer,” he teased. “How could I say no to those beautiful, brown eyes?”

Natalya put a hand on your shoulder. “You’ve found quite the equal, Pietro.”

Pietro brought the back of your hand to his lips. “And I thank the Gods for her each day.”

Erik stood from his seat, everyone’s eyes shifting to his form. “Y/N, would you care to accompany me for a walk?”

“A walk?”

“Pietro’s told me of you and your sisters’ beautiful garden.” His pale blue eyes went from his wife’s back to yours. “Perhaps you could lend me your keen eye in crafting a bouquet for the Queen.”

You were nodding before you spoke. “Of course.”

He beamed at you. “Lovely.”

The Royal Gardens were far more impressive than the one off of the back of your home. Tall pomegranate and fig trees stood before the moon and created a looming shadow as you and the King walked. 

You turned to him. “What are some of the Queen’s favorite flowers? I saw some beautiful hyacinths and irises that would make for a lovely bouquet.”

Erik smiled. “I must confess that I asked you out here under false pretenses.”

You cocked your head to the side. “May I ask?”

“When Pietro came back from the war, we weren’t sure what to expect. Though he put on a brave face, he wasn’t the same.” He let out a deep sigh. “When he said he’d met someone, Natalya and I thought he was rushing into something because he felt that’s what was expected. Like he needed to fall back into the boy he used to be rather than stand as the man he now is.”

You hummed. “I can understand that.”

He turned to you, a dark brow raised. “Oh?”

“He came to me one night.” You chuckled, shaking your head. “I thought he’d stood me up, at first. I can handle a lot of things but the thought of him standing me up, leaving me alone like that, made me feel an embarrassment that I’d never experienced. I get it: I’m no one special. I’ve no status, no title. I’m no descendant of any dignitaries. Perhaps I was the distraction from himself he sought after.

“But then he kept coming around. Showed up at temple to walk me home, got me a journal to write in. One would not make such efforts if they did not spend time with another, no?”

“Correct.”

“He’s told me from the moment we met that I would be the woman he wanted to spend his days with.” You let out a small chuckle. “You can imagine how…unnerving that was for me, at first. Though I came to it slowly, I love your son, Your Highness. I just fear that I’m not equipped for all that it entails to love him.”

“You’re just as thoughtful as Wanda said.” Erik ushered you to a table sitting in the middle of the garden . Once sat, he smiled warmly at you. “It’s normal for some trepidation when considering sharing one’s life with another. When I proposed to Natalya, I spent too many months wondering if that was something if I was moving too fast. I wanted Natalya, I knew that, but I never thought about what being husband and wife meant for either of us. I was young and impulsive and in love with an incredible woman, unsure of what marriage looked like outside of my own family growing up.”

The Old Gods; the six original beings that birthed the world as you knew it to be. Erik’s father, known as Zeus, was the God of Gods. For as many miracles and marvels he performed, there were just as many tragedies belied in his wake. From your short time with him, Erik seemed like a wonderful man, someone aspirational. You could only imagine what he and his siblings saw on Olympus. 

“I have no reference for marriage,” you said, looking to the sky, “outside the tree in our garden.”

Erik’s features twisted. “A tree?”

You smiled fondly. “My parents’ bodies went back to nature. They never stopped embracing so the trunk of the tree and some of its limbs are twined.”

“That’s very beautiful.” He paused. “How did they die? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“My mother was dying of illness and my father died shortly after of a broken heart.” You wrung your hands together. “I wasn’t more than four and didn’t understand why they’d gone. How does one explain to a child their parents’ deaths?”

“I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

You shook your head. “Don’t be, Your Highness. My parents loved each other and, hopefully, are together in the afterlife and the next. My sisters and I remember them with love and reverence and that’s enough.”

“My son says that you were worried about your role as the prince consort.” You nodded slowly. “I can affirm that your studies will not cease because of your union. You will not be bound by duty to the throne.”

Your pulse kicked up. “Your Highness…”

“Erik, please,” he smiled warmly again. “I cannot very well bless this union without considering both of your wishes.”

“Pietro told you of our disagreement?” she asked, her voice small.

“He did.” He put a hand on your knee. “You’re just like my wife and daughter; determined and independent. You shouldn’t have to be defined by whom you love.”

You wiped at your face, soft chuckles spilling from your lips. “Thank you, Erik. I am forever indebted to you.”

He smiled at you again and you were struck with how much he looked like Pietro, a devastating, boyish expression that could compel you to commit any crime he’d asked. 

“We are indebted to you.” He stood from the table and kneeled in front of you, his blue eyes, holding your gaze. “Y/N Y/L/N, the kingdom of Thrace is forever indebted to you for your love and acceptance of my children. For your steadfastness and willingness to share your life with us. We are honored to welcome you into our family.”

“You’ve been quiet.”

You circled the tip of your finger along the lines of his sternum, moonlight painting his skin. “I’m just thinking.”

“About?”

You looked up at him, your breath catching at how intense his gaze was on you. “When are we to marry?”

“We could marry tomorrow, if you’d like.” You swatted at his chest. “My parents said something about a summer wedding but ultimately it’s your choice.”

“Don’t you mean our choice?”

Pietro gathered you in his arms and ran the back if his hand along the curve of your arm. “This wedding is for you. You could decide this very second that you want us to go to the temple and marry in front of a cauldron. I would follow you, no questions asked.”

Your face warmed and you cuddled more into his chest. “I like the spring.”

“Then the spring it is.” He kissed your forehead. “What else ails you, my love?”

You waited a few beats before you spoke. “Your parents are lovely. I wondered most of the night if my parents were like that when they were still alive.” Your lower lip quivered some. “I’ve refrained from thinking about my parents for so long because I have no memories of them. I’ve always felt that I couldn’t ask Daphne or Alma because I don’t want them to feel bad, but I want to know about them.”

“Would you like me with you when you ask about them?” He looked down at you. “I won’t speak but I’ll be there for support.”

Gods, I love this man.

You kissed the underside of his jaw. “When I’m brave enough to ask them, I would love that.”

𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 — i told myself that i wasn't going to go above eight parts and then i realized that most of my blockage with chapter five came from trying to shove over 10K words and a wide expanse of details into that one chapter so here we are lol

[mvth3r]

daryl doesn’t think he’s anything special. he never has. but to you? he’s everything.

or

5 times daryl feels your affection down to his core and the many 1 time he unconsciously returns the favor.

cw: 18+ MDNI, p-in-v, mention of injury, swearing, mostly fluff, 4283 words

a/n: this draft got the most votes in the poll, which was surprising tbh! next up medieval au, princess reader, forbidden romance?? hmmmm

one.

daryl hears you coming before he sees you. he knows it’s on purpose, so you don’t startle him (“and get an arrow in the tit or something, i don’t know!” you had explained, laughing). he’s long since taught you how to be quiet when walking over leaves and branches.

his eyes drifted in the direction of the noise, watching you melt out of the trees, water bottle in one hand and knife in the other. you had a bad habit of speeding through or ignoring your own duties in favor of tracking him out into the woods while he was hunting. the teasing looks from rick and carol when they saw the gates open in the evening, revealing the two of you instead of just him, were enough to have him blushing up to his ears, but he couldn’t find it in him to stop you. if anything, daryl found himself lingering closer to the prison when he was first setting out for the day and making his tracks a little easier for you to follow as he went on. he liked to think of it as a teaching moment, encouraging you to follow his lessons, but he knew what it really was.

he liked having you here with him, away from prying eyes and ears. daryl wasn’t big on pda, he’d never been, and you knew that, but you could be as affectionate as you wanted out here.

the smile that split you face when you saw daryl was blinding, creasing your eyes and cheeks, “hey, handsome.”

daryl felt his heart start to pound immediately in his chest and warmth radiate through his belly and down his limbs. he had the distant, bizarre thought that any walker for a few miles would probably be able to smell his blood as it rose rapidly to his face, coloring his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

he scoffed quietly to keep the words he really wanted to say from spilling unbidden from his throat as you caught up to him, instead deadpanning, “handsome? really?”

you hummed, raising a hand to card through his long bangs, eyes tender when they met his, “mhm, very handsome. don’t i tell you every day?”

you leaned up to press a sweet kiss to his lips, no longer than a moment. you hand drifted from his hair down to cup his jaw as you did, and daryl found himself leaning into your palm, his own hand coming up to grip your wrist loosely.

you pulled away with a smaller, more intimate smile, one that daryl had only ever seen directed at him. and, if you had felt the pounding of his heart through his shirt or seen the intensity of his flush, you didn’t say a word.

two.

daryl was distracted.

this council meeting was dragging on much longer than intended. what was initially supposed to be a quick conversation about planning a run to get supplies for judith and a few of the other kids had turned into a heated debate about possibly opening up the council to a few of the people from woodbury. he could understand why. there was still a stark divide between their group and the new people, but daryl had been content to sit back and let the situation mend itself, so long as it didn't escalate.

the discussion was split down the middle. or.. maybe there were more in favor of maintaining the current council? daryl couldn’t tell because he couldn’t focus and he couldn’t focus because every time he tried to lock in on the conversation, he could feel your fingers brush over his knuckles.

earlier, when the meeting started, you had sat yourself right next to daryl, reached under the table, and grabbed his hand where it was resting on his knee. no fanfare, no lovesick gazes, just your fingers intertwined with his calloused ones like they belonged there. which, he mused to himself, maybe they do.

and so there your hand had remained as the meeting went on. every so often, you would brush your fingers lightly over his knuckles, or give his fingers a squeeze if you happened to catch his eyes… which would lead to you chuckling quietly to yourself when his neutral expression would warm over with a blush.

the meeting had been going on for at least an hour. god.

“daryl, what do you think?”

glenn’s voice cut through daryl’s thoughts like a knife. he jerked a little, almost dislodging your hand when he looked across the table, meeting the expectant stares of the council.

“uhh,” he grunted eloquently, “‘bout bringin’ some of them folks on?”

hershel nodded expectantly, his voice thoughtful, “don’t you think we could afford their input? after all, this is their home now just as much as it is ours.”

your fingers brushed again over his knuckles and daryl willed himself not to lose focus. not to allow his mind to run on with thoughts about the softness of your fingers and how much he liked the feeling of your palm against his. how comfortable-

no.

daryl blinked and cleared his throat, “we don’ even have rick on the council right now, i’on think it’s a good idea.”

glenn nodded along with maggie and, reluctantly a moment later, hershel did too, though his mouth had settled into a thin frown.

daryl felt your hand squeeze his twice, taking it as a nonverbal ‘good job!’, and paused only a moment before squeezing back his own nonverbal ‘thank you’. he saw a small smile flit across your face out the corner of his eye.

before the debate could start up again, you were leaning forward and speaking up, saying, “alright, let’s table this for next time then. the run is already planned for the baby stuff, so—?”

hershel’s eyes swept across the table and he nodded, “meeting adjourned, i suppose.”

three.

the woods were clear as daryl looked out over the gate. he could see everything from the watchtower, as was intended, but for once the calm darkness was not a comfort.

instead, every moment that passed heightened the panic that had been swirling in his gut since earlier that evening.

it had been roughly fourteen hours since you had left on a run with glenn and maggie. there was a small gas station a little ways out that looked to be mostly untouched, and you had been pulled to fill in daryl’s usual slot since he was already slated to go hunting.

he was regretting it now, though, as he continued to watch the road leading up to the gate for any sign of maggie’s headlights.

while the general rule of thumb was to be back to the prison before dark, everyone knew that sometimes shit happens, whether it be walkers appearing at the worst possible time, or not being able to secure the haul. hell, shit happened more often than it didn't, as far as daryl was concerned.

maybe the haul had been much larger than the three of you had planned for, and you had to hide some of it away for a return trip.

maybe y'all had come across a herd large enough to block the car's path and had to find a way around it to get home without leading them back behind you.

maybe the gas station had been a bust all together and you’d gone further out in hopes of not returning empty handed.

the thoughts swimming through his mind sent daryl pacing across the small area of the watchtower. back and forth he went, eyes flashing over to the gate of the prison every few seconds.

“you’re gonna wear out your shoes like that.”

oh right. daryl isn’t even on watch, not officially at least. he’d joined carol a little after the sun went down and been up here ever since.

carol continues on despite his brooding silence, “they’re okay. something probably held them up, it happens.”

daryl turned to face carol, scrubbing a hand down his face. he opening his mouth to respond, but before he could, the sound of wheels crunching across gravel made him whip back around.

he barely registered that it was maggie’s car before he was yanking the floor hatch open and climbing down. rick, who’d been poking around the farm despite the late hour, unwilling to admit his own anxiety, was already pulling the gate open to let the car in.

daryl stopped further up the hill to meet you, and, as soon as you popped the lock on your door, he was tugging it open with one hand and reaching for you with the other.

you went willingly, a sheepish smile on your face as you let him turn you this way and that, checking for any injuries or bites, neither of which you had.

“sorry i’m late, handsome,” you whispered, “i didn’t mean to worry you.”

daryl grunted in response, resisting the urge to press himself against you and feel your heart beat against his skin. he understood that you were capable, and that you had lasted just as long in the apocalypse as he had, but he can't help but wonder if he'll ever get used to this, or if he'll spend any moment you aren't within his reach on the edge of a panic attack.

by then, rick had made his way up the hill to the car and was helping unload their findings from the boot. all things considered, the three of you had brought back a pretty decent amount of stuff.

“everyone alright?” rick questioned, eyes skirting over the contents of the trunk to scan the three of you instead. "what held y'all up?"

maggie shook her head with a smile, “nothing like that. we found a good bit at that gas station, but there was a map of a small trailer park a little ways away, and we thought it was better to go for it while we were right down the road.”

“and we had the space anyway. didn’t make sense to waste a second trip, but it took a little longer to search than we thought,” you added. you had turned to face the group and, under the cover of the dark, you leaned back just slightly into daryl’s side.

carol, who had followed daryl down from the watchtower, hummed, and rick nodded thoughtfully. they both followed behind maggie and glenn, grabbing as much as they could carry from the car and heading up to deposit it for sorting tomorrow.

now alone, daryl took a moment to breathe you in, but he was moving soon as well, heading for the trunk to grab what was left.

he didn’t notice you coming up next to him until he felt your fingers slipping into his pocket.

“found something for you,” you said quietly, standing at his side.

daryl patted his pocket, feeling the dented box of what he assumed to be cigarettes and looked over at you, brows furrowed in confusion.

“i noticed you ran out the other day,” you answered his unasked question, a small smile lifting your cheeks, “combed through every trailer looking for ‘em.”

with that, you turned away from him and back to the trunk.

daryl stood speechless, his heart building up to that rapid thrum he only seemed to feel in your presence.

you had brought something back for him. had spent the daylight rummaging through dirty trailers on the off chance that you’d find a pack of cigarettes to replace his empty one that he himself hadn't even bothered to go searching to replace.

he wanted to think he didn’t understand why you would do something like this, why you would care, but he did. he’d done the same for you, time and time again on the road, if only to see you smile. he understood exactly why.

“‘preciate it,” he grunted, thankful that the darkness surrounding you kept his blush from being too obvious.

you hummed in acknowledgment, and daryl could your small smile growing out the corner of his eye.

four.

having sex in the prison was no easy feat, mostly due to the lack of privacy. a sheet could only provide so much, and even then it did nothing for the noise echoing constantly off the concrete walls.

as far as most were concerned, maggie and glenn had found the best spot early on, making the most unused watchtower their designated private retreat, but you and daryl knew otherwise.

deep in the tombs, which were no longer a threat as they had long since been cleared and sealed, there were a few tucked away offices that had sat empty even after the woodbury residents had been moved in. noise didn’t escape the tombs, and no one ever just wandered in, especially not in the middle of the night, so despite the cell that you and daryl shared, you both much preferred spending your more intimate moments here.

well, daryl did. you weren’t picky, and could be quiet when you really tried, but it made daryl more comfortable.

he’d like to think it was just because he was wary of any listening ears, especially with all the children roaming around, but he knew the truth of his resolve.

daryl had never been a selfish man, and certainly not after the world fell. everything he had, everything he was, he would give to his family in a heartbeat.

but this.. this was just for him.

your body arched beautifully under his, legs falling open to accommodate his weight settling against you. daryl’s hand left your heat, fingers dripping with wetness, to squeeze your hips, using them to guide you as your moved against him.

you were already bare, both of you having stripped each other of your clothes between heated kisses while you stumbled in the office. you hadn’t even made it to the double-stacked cot in the corner, daryl instead pushing you firmly down on the dusty desk and leaning in to mouth at your neck.

you moaned under him now, a breathy sigh of his name, and the sound sent a shiver down daryl’s spine.

“needy girl,” he grunted teasingly, reaching down to grasp his hardness. he dragged the head of his cock up your slit, collecting your wetness and smearing it over your clit.

your head knocked back against the desk and a loud groan burst out of your throat. your knees tried to close around daryl’s waist as if to keep him away, but you arms came up to wrap around him, pulling him closer to your body, and he leaned into you willingly.

your voice trembled when you spoke into his ear, want dripping from every syllable, “please, baby. need you inside me so bad.”

and god, daryl wanted to make you beg for it. he wanted to wait until he could see the desperation in your eyes and then wait some more, but he couldn’t. not when you looked so pretty spread out beneath him and your hands were petting over his shoulders and neck just how he liked. he almost thought you were doing it on purpose, but he knew better. this was just you.

you couldn’t stay off him when he was in you, always tugging at his hair or rubbing his chest, hands scrabbling for any skin you could reach. it used to send him reeling, flustered and blushing bright, but now he looked forward to it. he could feel the want in your touches like physical imprints of your affection.

daryl pushed into your slowly, groaning deep in his chest. your slick walls felt heavenly around him, but daryl was more focused on you right now.

soft whimpers fell from your lips as your hands drifted over his sweat slicked skin. daryl’s thrusts were slow but purposeful, and he ignored your legs squeezing around his waist, trying to urge him to speed up.

“relax, peach,” he soothed, hands drifting up and down your sides in pace with his thrusts, “i’ma take care of you.”

“kiss, please,” you whispered, voice floating past daryl’s ear. he would have missed it if you weren’t pressed together like this.

daryl would not describe himself as a selfish man. he might have had his moments in the past, but now, with the dead walking and a prison full of survivors to protect, it was virtually out of the question.

but as he leaned down to press his lips to yours, feeling your hands finally make their way up into his long strands, daryl thought that he might be a possessive man.

he’d sooner spread you out deep in the woods than have you where anyone could see you like this or hear the noises you make.

no, daryl thought, tongue sliding in your mouth to tangle with yours, this would always be just for him.

five.

daryl came into awareness slowly and then all at once. he startled, trying to sit up, but a searing pain made itself known in his abdomen. the pain clouded his senses, blooming out across his torso and down his limbs. he flops uselessly, feeling like the wind has been knocked out of him.

hearing bits of voices above him, daryl wills himself to focus. he’s hurt, obviously, and it’s pretty fucking bad, but he’ll have to suck it up and figure out a way home if he’s in bad company.

the voices start to filter in. the volume makes his temples throb in rhythm with his abdomen and his heart as the situation starts to force adrenaline through his body.

“—harder! put more pressure on it!”

daryl relaxes just a bit. that’s rick. frantic, angry, but rick all the same.

“what the fuck do you think i’m doing?!” the other voice, higher, snarls in response, “just drive the damn truck!”

and daryl feels his body try to relax all together. he would recognize your voice in his sleep, and this milky haze of pain is no different. he can feel your hands pressing a wad of something soft into his abdomen.

he can hear your panicked breaths and feel the way your fingers flex continuously against his skin. whatever’s wrong with him must be bad, and it definitely hurts like hell, but daryl takes comfort in the weight of your body against his. you won’t let anything happen to him if you can help it, you’d sworn that fiercely, and if you can’t help it then he doesn’t think anyone could have.

daryl can just barely make out the creaking of the gate being pulled open over the sound of rick laying on the horn.

as they pull in, the gravel of the path rocks the truck and daryl feels the ache in his abdomen bloom again, distracting him from his thoughts, but here, knowing he’s safe and back with his family, he allows himself to drift away.

—

this time, when daryl comes into awareness, the first thing he feels is fingers carding through his hair, tugging gently as if to untangle a couple of knots and snarls.

without even opening his eyes he knows it’s you. he can feel the heat of your body settled next to him and smell the soap you like to bathe with. daryl leans towards you, chasing the warmth of your hand against his skin.

the bandages on his stomach are wrapped tight, but it’s more annoying than anything and the pain has finally, thankfully, subsided to a dull ache. daryl stretches on the cot, trying to loosen him limbs from their inactivity, but what he focuses on is your fingers immediately pulling away.

“daryl?” your voice prods quietly, “you awake?”

he opens his eyes slowly, squinting at the sunlight that streams through the bars of the cell. the privacy sheet isn’t down, actually there’s no sheet at all, daryl notes as he looks out. he must be in one of the cells near hershel’s.

“‘m up,” he grumbles, a cough working its way out of his throat. before he can attempt to clear the dryness, you’re standing to grab a bottle of water off some boxes stacked nearby and pressing it into his hand.

your fingers linger against his wrist as you pull away, but you’re resuming your previous position anyway, in a chair brought right up to his bedside.

daryl hasn’t sat up yet, staring instead at you as one of your hands return to his hair and the other rubs down his arm.

a few quiet moments pass before you speak again, head bowed and voice a little choked, “we almost lost you. i almost lost you.”

“didn’t though,” daryl croaks. he feels your grip tighten on his arm and just knows. knows that you’ve been sitting right here every moment that you could since he went down. knows that you probably haven’t had your hands off him. knows you’ve spent the time, however long it’s been, agonizing over what went wrong and how to keep it from happening ever again. he knows.

“i didn’t,” you agree with a barely restrained sniffle. you refuse to allow the tears beading your waterline to fall, but daryl sees them all the same.

oddly, he feels that familiar warmth blossom in his chest. he hates to see you upset, but to see your love, your heart laid so bare for him? daryl thinks he can finally understand the depth of your affections.

plus one.

to anybody who knew what to look for, it was obvious that you and daryl were.. something.

you remembered when the woodbury residents had really began to settle in, how they began to whisper about ‘the hunter and his lady’.

it had confused you at first. the group knew, of course, nothing could be kept a secret from them for too long, but for strangers? it was odd, given that you weren’t very public with your affections.

regardless, with an entire prison to secure and almost triple the amount of people to provide for, it was nothing to think too hard about. there was always something that needed to be done or something bigger to think about. you couldn't afford to think about it now.

eventually, though, you ended up mentioning it to carol, and the older woman had laughed, a teasing edge to her smile as she considered you.

“i think it has less to do with you and more with him, if i’m being honest,” she said.

“more to do with.. daryl?” you said slowly, raising an incredulous eyebrow, “nah, no way.”

carol hummed, her smile turning knowing, “just watch. he’s more affectionate than he gives himself credit for.”

you’d left the conversation feeling like carol had no idea what she was talking about. later that evening, though, when you were sitting with the group for dinner and daryl was sliding a couple pieces of meat from his plate to yours despite your multiple protests, you understood.

your face must have been the textbook picture of a lightbulb going off because carol sent you a wink from across the table, lips twitching like she was hiding a laugh.

it wasn’t that the woodbury residents were over analyzing the very minimal physical affection that passed between you and daryl in a day, no. instead they were observing his quieter, more unconscious actions.

they saw the way that daryl always took care to come and find you before leaving for a run, even if it meant holding everyone up a little.

and how every so often they could find daryl sharpening a knife that was far too small for him to be wielding safely while you sat nearby, watching with a grateful smile.

and how whenever you were in the same room, you always had his eye. daryl had been adamant about keeping you within his sights while you were on the road, and the habit hadn’t left him just because you were behind walls now.

even now, months later, the newer additions to the prison were starting to catch on quicker and quicker.

they overheard daryl talking to glenn about taking your place on the run later today because you’d overdone it in the sun earlier and he wanted you to get some rest.

they saw you gush excitedly every time daryl brought you back any kind of gift, whether it be a pretty rock that he thought you’d like, or your favorite animal to cook into the stew.

they watched him watch the road every time you left for a run, regardless of who was with you, and also saw him come back to be the first to greet you when you returned if he could help it.

daryl was a quiet lover and a private man if you didn’t know what to look for, but if you did, you’d see that his affections ran just as deep as yours.

your thoughts brought a sleep smile to your face as you stretched out on the cot in your shared cell, waiting for daryl to shut off the lantern on your makeshift nightstand in the corner.

you could barely make him out in the dark, but the weight of him settling in next to you sent you right into his arms, your head pillowed on his chest while his arms came up to wrap around your back.

you tilted your head up to place a small kiss to the bottom of his jaw, mumbling a quiet, “love you.”

daryl’s arms tightened around you momentarily before loosening again. you felt him lean down to press a kiss to your hair in turn.

just over the steady thumping of his heart against your ear, you could hear him whisper back, “love you too.”

[ghelgheli]

i would actually like to hear more of your thoughts on whipping girl, whenever you feel ready enough to talk about it. i've only ever heard positive recommendations for it. i was thinking of reading it. i've read one or two introductory 101 texts on transmisogyny as well as some medium/substack posts, and always looking to read more as a tme person. ty!

thanks for asking! I'm gonna try to be concise because I'm stuck on my phone for the month, but here are my thoughts on whipping girl:

serano is at her strongest in the book in three areas: manifestations of transmisogyny in media (e.g. how trans caricatures pervade movies), the history of medical institutions developing a pathology of transsexuality (like the diagnostics of blanchard et al. or how trans people seeking healthcare were and continue to be forced into acting out prescribed expressions and manufacturing memories), and the construction of her own transition narrative (telling the reader what it was like for her to grow up desiring femininity in a way that confused her, the experience of crossdressing, the effects of hrt for her)

whenever she's just sticking to this, I think she effectively communicates a lot that the unaware reader could benefit from—even many trans women/transfems/tma people who are otherwise in tune with the history of medicalized transsexualism and our popular depictions could probably benefit from her own personal narrative, by nature of how variegated our experiences can be.

unfortunately I think the book fails at its primary—stated—goal, which is to theorize about transmisogyny. in the big picture this is a bifurcated failure:

on one branch of her argument, she remains committed to there being something biologically essential/innate about gender. this manifests thru multiple claims: that we have "innate inclinations" toward masculinity/femininity and "subconscious sex" rather than what I believe, which is that the latter are constructed categories imposed on different matrices of behaviour/expression/desire in different cultural contexts; that there is "definitely a biological component to gender" (close paraphrase) after a discussion of how she believes E and T tend to affect people (thus equivocating gender with dominant hormones!); that we have such a thing as "physical sex" which is the composition of our culturally decided "sex characteristics" (don't ask me how the dividing line is drawn) even as she says we should stop using "biological sex" as a term; that there is "no harm" in agreeing that "sex" is largely bimodal with some exceptions; that social constructionism is necessarily erasure of transsexual experiences in early childhood... altogether she is unwilling to relinquish arguments about the partial "innateness" of femininity/masculinity and gender. this is at tension with her admission on several occasions that these are neither culturally/geographically nor temporally stable concepts! but that doesn't seem to be a line she can follow thru on.

on another, intertwining branch, she engages in what I think is a deep and widespread mistake in the theorizing of transmisogyny: reducing it (mechanistically) to what she calls effemimania* or essentially anti-femininity. it is her stated thesis at the start that masculinity is universally preferred to femininity. she doesn't offer a definition of either term until one of the final chapters, where she defines them as the behaviours and expressions associated with a particular gender. but I think this reduction just misunderstands transmisogyny. it is even in tension with an observation she makes early on, that trans women are often punished for their perceived masculinity! but again, this is a thought she seems unable or unwilling to follow thru with.

my problem with the thesis is that masculinity and femininity do not float free of gender—it is not possible to speak of their valuation in the abstract. anyone who grew up as a masculine cis girl and never "grew out" of that "phase" can attest to the violence wrought upon expressions of masculinity from women. and this applies doubly so to the subjects of transmisogyny! not only are we punished for any perceived bleed-through of masculinity from our supposed "underlying male selves", those of us who are willingly masculine and thriving as mascs are punished for our failure to conform to the rules of the normative womanhood that is imposed on us (just as we are punished for any willing femininity as "false" and predatory upon cis womanhood—observe that transmisogyny is reactive degendering in every case!).

on both branches serano makes only perfunctory remarks about the intersections with race, class, and colonialism. "sex" as such was made to only be accessible to the "civilized", most of all the white european! for a racialized person and particularly a Black person navigating gender the waters are just not the same; the signifiers of sex neither available in the same way, nor granted the same medical legitimacy. what is the "physical sex" of someone who is de-sexed altogether? how can gender have a "biologically innate" component when its expressions between the bourgeoisie and the working class are at total odds with one another? this all goes for the masculine/feminine distinctions as well. what sense is there in the claim that we have innately masculine/feminine inclinations when globally (and transmisogyny has been made global!) what is feminine and masculine can be very nearly mirrored? nor is "masculinity is always considered superior to femininity" innocent of obviating race. transmisogynoir adds yet further degendering thru the coercive masculinization of someone as a Black woman—masculinization as punishment, again!

and as a final point, the account fails to be materialist. there is no attempt to place transmisogyny in its role as an instrument of political economy or, as jules gill-peterson might say, as a tool of statecraft. it is just a psychological response to the way the world is, as far as serano has anything to say about it. but how did the world become that way, and why?? serano's solution, the abolition of what she calls gender entitlement, is naive to the fact that gender entitlement is necessary to the maintenance of the capitalist state, which is structured thru patriarchy and built on colonialism. it is not possible to reskin this into something innocuous!

this is why I cannot recommend whipping girl as a work about transmisogyny except at the most shallow level. it could be a helpful critical read, but imo, it is just wrong about transmisogyny.

[parkerslatte]

Down Comes The Blade

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: blood and injury.

Summary: While on a mission with Azriel, Y/N’s mind gets taken over and she only has one thought on her mind. Kill Azriel.

A Court of Thorns and Roses Masterlist

•••

The rain poured down heavily as Azriel and Y/N surveyed the small cabin from the dense forest. There was a flicker of candlelight through the window signalling someone was inside. Next to him, Azriel felt Y/N shiver. He had noticed it more than once since the rain started over an hour ago though Y/N never mentioned anything about it. 

Slowly, Azriel wrapped his wing around her body, doing his best to block out the rain. The movement caused a stir in the trees sending a few leaves falling to the floor and branches to shake. 

“What are you doing?” Y/N asked, her voice quiet. 

“You are cold,” answered Azriel, taking his eyes off of the cabin for a brief moment to look at Y/N. If it were anyone else, he certainly wouldn’t have done it. 

Y/N shrugged. “It’s part of the job.”

“I did tell you to wear your winter leathers,” Azriel said as his gaze returned to the cabin. 

“It wasn’t cold when we left,” Y/N said. “And they are getting too small for me now. It’s been a while since I wore them.”

Another shiver from Y/N caused Azriel to pull her closer to him by his wing. His arm twitching by his side in desperation– desperation to wrap it around her body and pull her flush against him. 

“Surely this isn’t practical?” Y/N asked, her gaze slipping from the cabin to glance at Azriel. 

“You being cold isn’t practical,” Azriel said, flexing his hands which were beginning to become stiff with the cold. 

As he rested his hands back on his knees, warmth encased his hands and Azriel couldn’t help but look down to find Y/N’s glove covered hands wrapping around his. 

“You being cold isn’t practical either,” Y/N said, her body shuffling closer to him and Azriel felt his heart beat a little faster. 

Y/N didn’t let go of Azriel’s hands, even as she fixed her gaze on the cabin once more. Once Azriel followed in her footsteps, he suddenly remembered the reason they were sitting in the pouring rain. The patience Azriel had was high but it was wearing thin. All he wanted to do was return home and relax, preferably with Y/N by his side– if he could ever muster up the confidence to confess to her.

A crack of a log behind them diverted the duo’s attention. It was pitch black through the trees. 

“What was that?” Y/N whispered. 

Another crack. 

“Stay here,” Azriel said. “I’ll go and look. It might be nothing.”

And it was nothing. 

There was nothing at all and Azriel sighed as he trudged back to Y/N through the rain. He hadn’t even wanted to go on this mission in the first place as it didn’t seem to be a priority. However once Rhys mentioned that Y/N was to accompany him, Azriel immediately accepted it. He still hated sitting in the rain in the dark. 

Azriel slowed his pace as he came to the area where Y/N was sitting not even a few minutes ago. She wasn’t there. A quick glance around the area confirmed that this was where she just was. The same two trees that began to intertwine the further up they became. The same fallen tree not even a metre away. Y/N should have been here. 

“Y/N?” Azriel whispered as he frantically looked around. “Y/N, where are you?”

The thumping of his heart quickened as Azriel scanned the area for any sign of her. There were not even footsteps in the mud below his feet. Pushing his wet hair out of his eyes, Azriel looked toward the cabin. The door was wide open and a familiar figure stood in front of it. 

Without thinking, Azriel rushed forward. “Y/N,” he whispered. 

Y/N didn’t turn to him, not even as he was standing an arm length away. He spared a glance to the open door of the cabin, there was no one inside. The flickering candles were nearly burnt out. 

“Y/N,” Azriel said. “We should go.”

Once his arm found its way onto her bicep, Azriel noticed Y/N slowly pulling the blade strapped to her side free. 

“What are you doing?” Azriel asked, his normally calm voice rising with a hint of panic. “We need to go now.”

It happened fast. Y/N’s blade flew past his head and embedded itself into a tree behind him. Azriel let go of her arm and took a step back. There was no time for a rest as Y/N drew her other blade, the one Azriel had gifted to her just before they went on this mission, and held it tightly in her hand. She lunged at him. 

With a quick dodge, Azriel was out of the way but that didn’t stop Y/N as she only lunged again. And again. And again. 

“Y/N!” Azriel exclaimed as he tried to hold her off but Y/N knew every single move he made, even going so far as to prejudice them before he made them. It was incredibly useful when they were working side by side. But now as she continuously tried to slice him with her blade, it wasn’t ideal. 

“Y/N, stop!”

Y/N didn’t stop even as Azriel procured truth teller. Metal scraped against metal as their blades met. With one arm, Azriel managed to hold onto Y/N’s wrist, holding her hand with the blade out to the side just as he pulled her back against his chest, breathing heavily. Truthteller hovering close to her. 

“Why are you doing this?” Azriel asked, desperation evident in his tone. He didn’t want to fight against Y/N. He didn’t want to hurt her. 

Y/N thrashed in his hold, grunts of frustration slipping from her lips. She sounded almost animalistic. With a thrash of her head that was when Azriel noticed it. It was small but it was there. A small slice across her collarbone where her leathers had been ripped away. It had been too dark to notice it at first. The skin surrounding the cut was purple and black. Poison, Azriel concluded. 

Guilt crept up Azriel’s spine. He shouldn’t have left her. He should have known that those sounds were simply a diversion. 

“Y/N,” Azriel whispered, his voice softer as his lips grazed her ear. “Please.”

Y/N screamed and tore out of Azriel’s grasp. Truthteller slicing her cheek in the process. Azriel stilled as blood poured from the wound. It wasn’t a shallow cut, he was sure he felt the blade touch her bone. He had caused that injury. If he hadn't been holding truthteller at that specific angle…

Everything was quiet as Y/N stood before him, her chest heaving, blood pouring down her face. It was clear the poison, along with controlling her mind, was also taking her energy. Those eyes that Azriel loved so much were clouded over with a haze. 

“Y/N,” Azriel said, his voice shaking. “I know why you are doing this and I know you cannot help it. The poison will make you fight me until either I drop down dead or you drop down dead. I could fight you until either Rhys or Cassian arrive to help but I won’t do that. I can’t do that.”

There was still no recognition in Y/N’s eyes but she didn’t seem to lunge at him so Azriel continued. “I won’t fight you.” Azriel dropped truthteller to the ground. “I will not hurt the person that I love. So if you want to fight, you will need to kill me here because I would rather die than let you get hurt again by my hand.”

Slowly, Y/N stepped forward, the grip on the blade loosening. A spark of hope lit up within Azriel. His gaze didn’t break from hers as she stood close to him now he could smell the familiar and comforting scent of her, even in the rain and through the blood. 

“Y/N,” Azriel said softly, his hand coming up to caress her face. “I love y–”

The phrase wasn’t completed as a cold blade found its mark in Azriel’s side. His eyes widened in shock. Y/N pulled the blade out and blood poured from the wound. Stumbling back, Azriel crashed onto his back in the mud, coughing up blood. 

Y/N looked down, the haze over her eyes lifting. Azriel wished he was dead. He wished the moment Y/N stabbed him he would have died instantly. 

He watched as the horror of what she had just done wash over her features. She screamed his name as she scrambled in the mud to get to him. Nothing she said was clear as she put pressure on his wound. 

“Why didn’t you fight me back, you stupid male,” Y/N said through her tears.

“I couldn’t hurt you,” Azriel said, resting his hand on top of hers. 

“Hurt me all you needed,” Y/N said. “Anything to stop me from doing this.”

Azriel shook his head as he closed his eyes. It was getting hard to keep them open. “I couldn’t hurt someone I love.”

Despite Y/N’s pleading and begging for him to stay awake, Azriel welcomed the darkness not knowing if he were to wake up again. 

***

When Azriel woke, he was surprised. It felt as if only moments had passed since he had last closed his eyes but as he moved his hand and felt the stubble on his face, he could tell it had been longer. Beside him in the chairs, Rhys and Cassian sat sleeping soundly, though looking quite uncomfortable. 

“Where’s Y/N?” Azriel asked, his voice hoarse. 

Rhys opened his eyes and sat up straight in the chair. “No hello for Cass and I?”

Azriel didn’t have time for Rhys’s attempts to cheer him up. “Where’s Y/N?”

Rhys sighed and shared a look with Cassian. “Y/N hasn’t left her room since we saved you a week ago. She explained what happened and locked herself away from everyone. Madja didn’t even have the chance to treat that cut on her face.”

Azriel solwy sat up. “I did that to her.”

“And she stabbed you,” Cassian said. 

Azriel growled. “She didn’t do it on her own accord, Cassian. I need to see her.”

“You need to rest,” Rhys said. 

Azriel ignored him. “Order me all you like. I’ll only ignore them.”

Even if it had been a whole week since Azriel was stabbed. His body was still in pain and he groaned as he stood up from the bed.

“At least rest until the pain is bearable,” Cassian suggested. 

“No,” Azriel responded and before either Rhys or Cassian could stop him, he allowed his shadows to encase him and before he knew it, he stood inside of Y/N’s room. 

The curtains were closed and she was laying down in her bed. From the sound of her breathing, it was clear she wasn’t asleep. 

“Y/N?” Azriel spoke up. 

“Please leave, Azriel,” Y/N replied, her voice muffled by the blanket she was cuddling. He knew exactly what blanket it was and it wasn’t even hers– it was his. She has most likely taken it from his room. 

“Don’t shut me out, Y/N,” Azriel pleaded, limping over to the bed. 

There was no response from Y/N as Azriel climbed into the bed, facing her back. His wings were uncomfortable hanging off the edge. He wanted to reach out to her but if Azriel knew anything about Y/N, it was that she would simply flinch away from any kind of touch after anyone was hurt on a mission, especially pain she had caused. 

“Can you look at me?” Azriel asked. 

There was a brief moment of hesitation before Y/N turned over in her bed. The wound on her face was mostly healed and Azriel could already tell it would leave a prominent scar. Guilt crept up his spine once more. 

“I’m sorry. For doing that.” He gestured to the scar.

“It’s not anything I don’t deserve,” Y/N replied.

“No, don’t say that. Don’t ever say that. Y/N you didn’t know what you were doing, you couldn’t control what you were doing.”

“You’re wrong on one of those statements,” Y/N confessed. “I knew everything, Azriel. I saw everything I was doing. I was aware of everything but it felt as if something else had taken over my body and I was simply a spectator. I begged myself to stop, I couldn’t sit there and watch you be killed by my own hand. But nothing I did seemed to work.”

Azriel’s hand moved until it was placed next to Y/N’s on the pillow. He didn’t touch her, allowing her to make the first move if it was something she wanted. “Y/N, please listen to me very closely. There was nothing you could have done. What you were poisoned with, I have read about it. There was no way to get it out of your system without either you severely injuring me or me killing you.”

“I wish you would have killed me,” Y/N muttered. 

“Killing you would have only killed the both of us,” Azriel replied. “I could not have lived with myself if I would have killed you.”

“And you think I can live with myself for nearly killing you?” Y/N exclaimed. 

“Yes, because you are stronger than me, Y/N,” Azriel said. “Yes, you would have been upset about it. Perhaps you would have done exactly what you are doing right now, locking yourself away, not interacting with anyone. But I have known you for many years. I know that you would have eventually found yourself moving on, intentionally or not. Because I know you and I know that you want to live, you love your life and you love your friends and family. You know that they will help you through anything.”

“They would do the same for you,” Y/N said. 

“I know but I am not as strong as you, Y/N. If I were to kill you, I would lay down in my bed and I would never rise from it. I would die there and follow you into the afterlife. I would never forgive myself for it. Whereas you had no choice or control if you had killed me, I would have had full control and it would have been my actions that would have caused your death.”

There was no response from Y/N but her fingers gently brushed Azriel’s before she laced her fingers with his. 

“Did you mean it?” Y/N asked.

Azriel knew what she was talking about. “I did.”

“At first I thought you were only saying it to get through to me,” said Y/N, shuffling closer to Azriel in the bed. 

“I was saying it to try and get through to you,” Azriel said with a squeeze of her hand. “It doesn’t mean I didn’t mean it.”

“I wished you would have told me sooner,” Y/N replied. 

“I wish I did too,” Azriel said. “There have been so many times where I wanted to but didn’t have the courage to say it. Call me a coward if you wish.”

“If I were to call you a coward, Az, then it would be extremely hypocritical of me,” Y/N admitted. “Whenever we are alone I have the urge to confess my feelings to you but I always hold myself back. Afraid of your reaction.”

Silence consumed the room, although it wasn’t uncomfortable. Azriel continued to look at Y/N while she looked at their clasped hands. Of course he had held Y/N’s hand before but there was something different about it this time. Perhaps it was because of the indirect confession lingering over them. 

“Can you stay here with me?” Y/N asked. “I haven’t been able to sleep while you have been recovering and knowing that you are here will help I think.”

Gently, Azriel unclasped their hands and opened his arm for Y/N to slot against his chest. “Come here,” he said softly.

Her warm body pressed against his and Azriel practically curled his body around her. Somehow her touch lessened the pain in his body that it wasn’t his primary thought. He was consumed by Y/N as he had been for many years now. Y/N’s arms wrapped around his torso as she buried her head into the crook of his neck and breathed him in before relaxing fully. Azriel assumed it was the first time she had relaxed since she locked herself in the room.

“I love you,” Y/N muttered. 

“I love you too,” Azriel replied with a kiss against her head. 

“You’ll still be here when I wake up?” Y/N asked.

“You would actually need to kill me to get me to leave,” Azriel replied.

“Not funny,” Y/N groaned and buried her head deeper into his neck, her lips brushing over his skin. 

“Of course I’ll be here,” Azriel said softly. “I’ll be by your side for eternity if it is what you wanted.”

“As long as you promise me the same thing.”

Azriel held her a little tighter. “I promise.”

With that promise, Azriel felt himself drifting off into a peaceful sleep with the female he loved in his arms. 

[writing-fanics]

underneath the willow tree [everything stays]

Lucifer Morningstar x Reader

[summary: he left you waiting in the garden and slowly nature reclaimed you]

Let’s Go

In The Garden

You’ll find something waiting

Your laughter seemed to echo throughout the garden. You were always so cheerful and full of joy, that was your gift after all bringing joy to others in Heaven and Earth. You sat there in the garden, waiting for Lucifer. He promised that he'd meet you in the garden, as he had something he needed to tell you something very important.

You were naive and innocent and unaware, of his infidelity. How he'd been spending time with Lilith, sleeping with her when he was supposed to be meeting up with you. You were blissfully unaware, of how your very own fiancee is cheating on you.

He was drawn to Lilith, Adam's wife, because of her independence, which made him infatuated with her. Unfortunately, he was unfaithful to you, and you were unaware of his infidelity.

You believed that your relationship was flawless and were looking forward to the upcoming fall wedding. Between you and him, and you wondered what he had to talk to you about.

Maybe new adjustments to the wedding?

As you waited for your fiancée to return, you spent hours standing amidst the serene beauty of nature, listening to the sweet melodies of birds and the soothing sounds of nature. You were filled with a sense of innocence and contentment, as you played with the ring on your finger - a symbol of your love and commitment to your significant other, Lucifer.

You giggled as butterflies landed on your nose and then flew away. You began humming the songs that Lucifer would sing to you. As the sun slowly started to set, you looked up at the sky and whispered, "He's been gone for a while." Despite this, you continued to wait.

and waited

and waited

The passage of time seemed to have flown by as you looked down at the ground. You noticed that roots had wrapped around your legs and your hand had been in the same position for so long that you felt rooted to the spot.

You couldn't help but frown as you wondered if you were doing everything correctly. Had you accidentally missed seeing Lucifer? And where was your fiancée? It was difficult to tell, as it had been a long time since you last saw him.

You found yourself weeping while standing there, wondering where he could be, as the cold breeze sent shivers down your spine. Your legs felt rooted to the ground, making it impossible to move a single step.

As you stood there, you noticed something strange happening to your body. You felt an unseen force pulling you down, and before you knew it, roots had wrapped themselves tightly around your legs and arms, preventing you from moving any further.

You struggled in vain, but the roots only grew tighter and stronger with each passing moment. As time went by, you realized that you were slowly transforming into a tree-like shape, and your tears fell to the ground like rain, watering the soil. The roots that had once trapped you were now a part of your being, intertwined with your limbs and coursing through your veins.

You couldn't help but weep, and as you did, your tears began to take on a life of their own. They sprouted from your body like leaves, delicate and dainty, resembling the graceful branches of a willow tree. You were no longer just a human; you were a part of nature, forever frozen in time, a poignant reminder of what once was.

It wasn't until centuries later when the King of Hell, arrived in Heaven for the centurial meeting he had a few minutes to spare. He'd seen and walked passed the willow tree that rested in the courtyard of the courthouse.

As he sat underneath the huge oak tree in the park, he couldn't help but notice the strange looks he was getting from passersby.

Perhaps it was because he was dressed in a suit and tie, an unusual sight in a public park. But he didn't care, he just wanted to enjoy the peaceful surroundings. Suddenly, a gust of wind blew through the branches of the tree, and some leaves fluttered down around him.

As he brushed them off his lap, he noticed something small and shiny land on his thigh. When he looked down, he saw that it was a ring, a familiar-looking ring. His eyebrows shot up in surprise, and he couldn't help but wonder how it ended up in his lap.

As he held the ring in his hand, he couldn't help but notice the delicate engraving on the band. He began to read the words, and with each passing second, his heart sank deeper and deeper.

He felt an overwhelming sense of guilt and heartache wash over him as the true meaning of the words became clear. It was as if the words were a painful reminder of a past mistake that he could never undo.

‘To my love, my everything,’

- Love Lucifer

Everything stays

Right where you left it

[fangswbenefits]

Backfire

(amazing art by @dopepoisonivyoncrack 🥺🩷 thank you so much!)

Summary: You should have known better than to make Astarion jealous, and now you are left to deal with the consequences.

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. Jealous/Possessive Astarion. Orgasm denial. Fingering. Edging. PiV. Creampie. Knife (dagger) play. Body worship. Innuendo.

Word count: 3.4k

You vaguely wondered how long it would take to set Astarion off.

He was glancing at you from across the camp, leaning against an oak tree as he twirled a dagger in between his masterful fingers.

The fluid motion broke your concentration for a moment.

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth and you quickly realised he was aware of your attempts.

Shit.

So much for subtlety.

Maybe you should have picked Wyll to test his jealousy as you reckoned it would have been more effective.

But now it was too late.

You feigned innocence as you patted Gale's arm, mindlessly nodding as he happily explained the intricacies of a chicken broth that he was preparing for later.

“See, the essence of this dish lies in getting the proper ingredients,” he went on, dipping the ladle into the steaming pot and stirring it gently before bringing it to his lips. “Hmm. Definitely lacking something, as I suspected.”

“Really? It smells very pleasant,” you said truthfully as the soft breeze wafted the delectable fragrance your way.

Gale raised one finger. “Mushrooms.”

“What?”

He nodded. “It requires a touch of mushrooms to fully bring out its flavour.”

You patted his shoulder with a warm smile. “I’m sure we can do without it.”

But Gale’s enthusiasm immediately wavered, his brows sinking. “Absolutely not. We require a proper meal and a proper meal is what I shall provide.”

Oh.

He stirred the broth again before rummaging through a satchel at his feet. “Well, I don’t suppose you could fetch me a few?”

Glancing over your shoulder, you found that Astarion had vanished.

Shit.

Your plan shattered into pieces as the object of your teasing was nowhere to be seen.

“Could you?”

Gale’s voice snapped you out of your frustration and you found yourself frowning slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I need some mushrooms, my friend.”

Your frown deepened, but you really had no choice now and a refusal would most likely break his heart.

“Where can I find them?”

Gale beamed with a wide grin. “I spotted a few on the side of the road and near some trees as we were setting up camp. I was foolish enough not to pick them and now I’m burdening you.”

You shrugged with a sigh. “It’s no bother. I was the one who asked you to teach me some of your cooking tricks.

“Ah! You should have trained to become a wizard,” he said with an approving nod. “A hungry stomach and an equally hungry mind.”

As much as you wished to return his enthusiasm, you couldn’t help but to feel annoyed at yourself for the appalling attempt at riling Astarion up.

Maybe he had seen right through it and merely walked off, probably chuckling.

But maybe you had stirred something inside him that ultimately caused him to leave.

Maybe.

Hopefully.

You followed Gale’s instructions, nearing a forest area, shaded from the sun as the canopies of the surrounding trees grew denser and branches intertwined with each other above you.

It didn’t take you long to spot a conglomerate of a few rounded caps by the protruding roots of a large and thick oak tree.

Unsheathing your dagger, you squatted down and began dicing through the spongy stalks.

You were halfway through your task, when you felt the cold press of metal resting on the side of your neck, freezing you in place.

A smile crept across your face.

“I don’t suppose you value your life enough if it’s this easy to sneak up on you.” The blade moved upwards and along your jaw, causing you to turn your head. “Darling.”

You flinched away from Astarion’s grasp and both of you rose to your feet in an instant.

“I doubt any foe would be as delicate as you should they intend to truly harm me.”

He twirled his dagger, offering a devious smile. “Point taken.”

As expected, praising him always did wonders. 

And it was absolutely true and equally expected that a skilled rogue could move in the shadows with unmatched prowess. 

But then, the mood shifted as he deepened his smile. “What were you doing back there with Gale?”

Oh?

You cleared your throat, sheathing your blade once again at your hip. “I was merely observing his cooking skills.”

He took a step in your direction.

“Were you, now?”

“Yes.”

He scoffed. “You’re not as subtle as you think you are, darling.”

You allowed yourself to move back with each step he took. “And you’re not as perceptive as you think you are.”

“You weren’t trying to deliberately make me jealous, were you?”

You shook your head, feeling your heart drumming hastily in your chest.

Astarion’s feet only came to a brief halt once your back hit the rough surface of the tree trunk behind you, effectively rendering you immobile.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

A shameless lie that he immediately tackled. “A lousy liar who’s even worse at vexing me,” he tutted before pressing one knee right in between your legs. “I taught you better than this.”

The air in your lungs stilled momentarily as his arms were now on either side of your head, caging you. 

“Gale was the one offering his teachings.”

He dropped one hand below your chin, tapping it teasingly with the side of his blade and tilting your head back. “Please. I highly doubt that dullard could offer anything of value where it really counts.”

“Astarion…” you drawled in delight. “Are you actually jealous?”

His brows furrowed together. “Obviously not.”

Inside, you were thoroughly enjoying how your fleeting attempt had indeed been successful, despite Astarion’s denial.

You could see it in his narrowed crimson eyes and how the faintest of scowls deepened the lines on his handsome face.

That stroked your ego in a way that almost made you shudder.

You tried to ignore how he was now pressing his knee harder.

His lips almost brushed against your and, for a split second, you thought he was going to kiss you, but he tipped his head to the side and you felt his cold touch on your cheek.

A shiver ran down your spine and you gripped his arms.

“What are you doing?”

He chuckled. “Showing you what really counts.”

“And what is that?” you asked, words coming out shaky.

Astarion adored taunting you with words, but he excelled at rendering you speechless with his skilled touch. 

So it came as no surprise when eventually sheathed his blade and had his hand tug your shirt free from the waistband of your trousers, sliding his hand underneath.

This was bad for you.

Terrible, in fact.

He had the upper hand.

And he fucking knew it.

His fingers brushed along your lower abdomen and his voice was raspy in your ear. “If I slide my hand inside… what will I find?”

Your body was too used to him by now to the point that he could have you throbbing for him with little effort.

The knee dropped and you almost whined at the loss of friction against your swelling clit.

“Answer me,” he said, tugging at the waistband.

You swallowed. “Nothing much…”

Was there even a point in deceiving him now? 

Expert fingers tugged at the lacings, loosening the fabric just enough for him to be able to slip underneath, his fingertips gently gliding in between your folds, avoiding your clit altogether. 

But you were wet enough to draw a pleased grunt from him.“What is this, then?”

You gasped, involuntarily clenching around nothing and feeling a gush of wetness spilling as your body reacted in anticipation.

“Use your fingers properly and find out.”

Your taunt didn’t go amiss. “Maybe an apology is in order,” he said, arrogance dripping from each word. “It seems that your foolish attempt at making me jealous has backfired.”

Much to your frustration, your hips rolled into his touch, silently wishing he would stop avoiding your swell.

“How has it backfired?” you managed to say as one finger teased your entrance.

He ignored your question and began trailing kisses along your jawline, his other hand working hurriedly at the front of your shirt.

Of course.

You knew all too well that you’d feel his cock hard enough if he was already this eager to expose your breasts.

One by one, he undid each lacing, and he pulled back just enough for his gaze to drop as the fabric parted and he gently pulled down the binding that held your chest in place.

Your nipples quickly hardened and you rolled your hips once more, causing one of his fingers to slide inside.

He hadn’t intended for that to happen, but he was so transfixed with your breasts that he was caught off guard.

It was the vicious clenches around his finger that snapped him out of it and his lustful eyes met yours. “Give me one reason not to slide out of you.”

You smiled in between gasps as he sank deep inside. “Should I ask Gale what he’d do in your position, then?”

And just like that, Astarion snapped.

A second finger slithered past your tightness and he brought his lips to your ear. “Careful, darling. Choose your words wisely or you’ll be riding your own mage hand instead.”

Oh, this was delicious.

Astarion was visibly annoyed and it did wonders to your confidence. 

It wasn’t easy to get him all worked up, but it only fueled your ego and made you quicken the pace.

Your whimpers increased in intensity and you looped your arms around his neck for added support, lifting one leg to wrap around his waist. The new angle allowed him to go knuckle-deep and you shuddered as his strained erection pressed against his hand nudged him even deeper.

He groaned first, clearly enjoying the newfound friction, and you clenched hard at how his face twisted in pleasure.

“Look over my shoulder,” he suddenly said, his half-hooded eyes finding yours.

Somehow, and in between each roll of your hips, you complied, realising just how close to camp you truly were. Close enough to make out the silhouette of Shadowheart who was now at Gale’s side as he worked on his broth, probably wondering what was taking you so long to bring him some mushrooms.

“What about it?” you asked, a bit louder than intended when he sank all the way in once more.

His lips brushed against yours this time, dragging his fingers back as you clenched desperately around him. “You either keep it down or we’ll have an audience soon enough.”

“Would you mind?”

He stilled abruptly. 

“What? Having Gale hear you coming undone for me?” he taunted as you tried to have him back inside, your hips following his retreating hand. “That he would soon realise he could never provide such bliss to his lover?”

You whined in responde, frustrated that you were now faced with an agonising emptiness.

“See, darling,” he continued, sliding one finger back inside, but not quite deep enough to fully satisfy you. “I can be quite generous when I want to.”

“But what?” you groaned, trying to have him sink deeper to no avail.

There was always a ‘but’.

He placed a kiss to the corner of your mouth before pulling back. “But I am not willing to share your cries of pleasure with anyone else.”

“Then silence me.”

The most devious grin settled on his face and you knew you had just offered a challenge he would gladly take.

And with his other hand, you watched as he brought the handle of his dagger close to your lips.

“Open.”

Your eyes widened and your heart immediately skipped a beat. “Astarion…”

“As much as I’d love to have your lips wrapped around my cock,” he said with a click of his tongue, parting your lips for him. “I am more interested in finding out how quiet my dagger can make you.”

You clenched around him so fiercely he actually growled.

Your teeth sank into the handle and you readied yourself for what was to come.

Astarion trailed your lower lip affectionately as it wrapped around the leather wrappings and a second finger joined the first, the heel of his palm rubbing against your clit as he pumped in and out, never breaking eye contact with you.

The moans and whimpers and gasps that slipped from you were being effectively muffled and you were thankful he had decided to silence you this way, because when the third finger nudged at your entrance, you could only roll your eyes shut as your bit hard around his dagger.

“Surely you can take one more,” he teased, his voice low.

You eagerly nodded, rolling your hips into him, knowing you were more than ready for the added thickness.

It slid inside painfully slowly and the stretch had you gasping and nearly dropping his dagger, which he promptly secured in place.

“Now, I know it’s not as thick as my cock, but I am sure you can keep those pretty lips wrapped around it,” he taunted.

You groaned with a nod eager to please.

Eager to come undone for him.

The combination of being so full of him and how he allowed you to rub your clit on his palm was too much. The lewd sounds were almost too obscene and you gripped both hands together, holding onto the remainder of the sanity you had left.

For a brief moment, he allowed you to ride three of his fingers, giving you the illusion that you’d reach your peak easily and rather quickly.

But Astarion wasn’t forgiving even if he had been rather generous thus far. 

And you should have known that your actions would have consequences.

His generosity came to an abrupt halt just as you felt the familiar coil down below becoming more and more overwhelming, your body quickly reaching the point of no return.

Your gasps were now becoming more erratic and you were visibly struggling to keep a hold of the dagger in your mouth.

And then you felt a painful emptiness as he pulled out from you at once.

He chuckled when you groaned in sheer frustration, not allowing you to spit the dagger out and curse him to the Nine Hells.

You felt the urge to cry as he denied you from reaching your high, your hips still moving on their own accord in the hopes of finding his fingers again.

“Now, now,” he tutted, caressing your flushed cheek with his thumb, a single tear streaming down your face. “You didn’t think I would be that generous, did you?” 

Fuck you!

Your words came out muffled, but he understood enough to continue his taunt. “I know you want to, but not before I have some assurances first.”

Impatience took over you, but you managed to arch an inquisitive brow at him.

He pressed his lips where his thumb had been, kissing your tear away. “Tell me no one can make you feel like this.”

Your eyes widened once more as he pulled the dagger from your teetering teeth.

“I’m all pointy ears, love,” he urged, meeting your eyes. “Go on.”

Astarion adored being praised, but this was just cruel.

Your teasing hadn’t been solid enough to warrant such punishment. You had been so close to your peak… 

“Astarion…”

He shook his head with a frown. “No, no, no. You do not get ‘cuddly and sweet Astarion’ after what you’ve pulled, sweetheart.”

Your hands came to grip his shoulders almost pleadingly, but you knew you had no other choice if you were to reach your climax anytime soon.

“No one can… no one…” you whispered, your voice cracking.

But he wasn’t satisfied.

Of course he wasn’t.

It took more than that to fill his ego.

“I’ve ruined you for anyone else,” he said with an intense smile. “You know that, don’t you?”

You immediately nodded, fully agreeing and not out of despair.

“Can you be good for me, then?”

Another nod as you tried to nudge him closer with the leg wrapped around his waist just to prove your point.

“Your pleasure is mine,” he said, bringing the handle of his dagger back to your lips and, this time, you quickly wrapped them around it. “My pleasure is yours.”

He removed his hand from inside your trousers and he pushed your leg down so he could tug them down your legs to give him better access.

Once you had slipped out of them, he eagerly wrapped you around his waist as he tugged at the front of his own trousers, until he freed his cock.

You gave it a quick glance, pleased to find the tip glistening with precum.

“Bite down hard, darling,” he warned, aligning you with him. “I know you adore how my cock stretches you.”

You did as you were told and he sank into you in one swift thrust of his hips.

He was all the way in and your back arched as he steadied you with both hands.

The first clenches around his cock made him mumble a string of curses as he tried to adjust to your tightness.

It didn’t take long for him to set the pace, slowly fucking you against the oak tree.

You weren’t going to last long from this new angle, and neither was he. It would be rather easy to get him to lose all control if you lost yours first. Astarion was rarely able to withstand your contractions as you rode out your climax.

His eyes were locked on yours, but something caught your attention.

Suddenly, your hazy eyes managed to focus on the camp nearby and you watched as someone seemed to be approaching in the distance.

Oh… fuck…

Was it Gale?

No.

It was Wyll.

You clenched around him almost panicking, until you realised he wasn’t coming any closer and had simply taken a turn down the hill, waving at Gale.

Your mind was too overtaken by how his cock felt inside you to care about the context of that exchange. 

Having Astarion being so eager to prove you that no one else could fuck you this way, had you undulating your body against his, always making sure he could bure himself fully inside you with each thrust.

Oh.

You were too close.

“Eyes on me,” he hissed, punctuating each word with a snap of his hips.

Dangerously close.

Especially when you met his crimson eyes again.

And you almost topped over the edge at once when you saw him doing something you had never witnessed before.

He finally broke eye contact and his gaze was once again on your breasts and hardened nipples.

And then…

With his free hand, he pulled his own shirt up the length of his body, securing the hem in between his own teeth, fangs digging into the fabric.

What…

He wrapped his arm around your torso and pulled you into him, your breasts pressed against him. The sight was breathtaking as you felt your nipples rub briefly against his, earning a guttural groan from him.

Astarion allowed you to sink all the way down his cock and you could no longer hold back the intense wave of pleasure that came crashing down as you felt his balls pressed against you.

You were biting down so fiercely on the handle of his dagger, you feared youd snap it in half as your first contractions tore through your body.

He pressed your back hard against the tree, and with a final grunt into the crook of your neck, he began spilling inside you, allowing you to squeeze his cum with each of your rhythmic clenches.

You clawed at the back of his shirt, feeling your mind blank as you came down from the overwhelming height of your pleasure mixed with his.

It was hard to steady your breaths and you weren’t sure you had ever come this hard in your life, but it felt like a shared sentiment as Astarion remained buried inside you even when his cum began to spill and drip.

The dagger fell to the ground and you gasped for air, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing a soft kiss to the side of his head through his messy curls.

“Gods…” he eventually groaned, showing no intention of pulling out. 

You grunted in agreement, caressing his damp hair.

“Should I tease you again?” you almost chuckled in between heated pants. “Wyll next?”

He pulled back and shot you a murderous glare. “Don’t you dare…”

Masterlist

[amaranthineghost]

hello!!!

can you do a one shot/ fanfic that Lando has been dating Y/N since they were 15/16, so for a long time, and she just found out she’s pregnant. you can come up with how they would react and how lando would react but i’d love if they were unsure of it in the beginning, but it grew on them as time went by.

thanks!!!!

| OUR WORLD IN YOUR HANDS ( lando norris. ) |

ꕥ pairing: lando x reader

ꕥ summary: they hadn't planned for pregnancy, but it changed their life.

ꕥ authors note: enjoyed writing it more than I thought I would honestly. tried to make it so she was more unsure than he was and in the end, I liked it. working on incorporating more dialogue in the future because it is definitely not my strong suit. I'll also alternate between requests and my own ideas so if you requested something, keep it in mind <3

ꕥ warnings: mentions of alcohol, sex, barely mentions thoughts of abortion

TWO RED LINES. her heart had skipped a beat, more like several as she stared at the dark red line and a faded pink one next to it. she couldn't believe her eyes. it couldn't be possible, it repeated in her mind.

but it obviously was. they hadn't been very careful, they're young and dumb and in love. two people so deeply in love that they couldn't care less. at least she thought they did at the time.

staring at the test in front of her shook her whole world, an entirely different branch of her life she'd never expect to take this soon. it was right in front of her.

despite being together for a year or two shy of a decade, it felt too soon. they were still young, had plenty of parties lined up in the near future. plenty of drunken nights running through the streets of monaco barefooted, hands intertwined as the world was focused on them. how they'd escape to the farthest rooftop, drunken makeouts leading to more as they came together under the stars.

they still had time. time to be what they'd missed as teenagers, to make memories. they had time to spend countless nights, wrapped in each other's arms under cold skies on balconies across countries, discussing their future. when they'd get married, where they'd like to live, if they ever left monaco which seemed unlikely, the places they've yet to see, how many kids they'll have and their names.

time for reckless driving through the streets of monaco with the wind crashing against them, hands raised as they cheered. he always drove to the most beautiful sight in the city, but always claimed it would never come close to the beauty she possessed.

time for runs across the beach in tiny bikinis and swim trunks as they raced on the sand. his arms capturing her waist as he tossed her around, feeling the vibrations of her laughter and screams against his skin. a feeling he'd forever cherish.

it all disappeared with a single faded line. everything she knew about their future collapsed with the test barely bigger than the length of her hand. it would affect everything.

it was conflicting. becoming a mother was all she ever dreamed and talked about, when she became older. she'd mention to her curly-haired boyfriend countless times of her dreams of having the mini versions of him running around the house they shared. the longing to see his eyes and curly hair with features of her own on another warm body. their child.

but she wasn't ready. in her mid-twenties, with years of life left to live child-free. tens of grand prix's to attend in support of her mclaren lover, watching 10 feet away from his car. nights to catch up on hours of sleep she lacked from keeping up with lando's lifestyle.

having a kid swept it all off the table. no more late night dalliances, or getting so drunk to the point where lando would have to pull over the car to hold back her hair as she threw up in the bushes.

no more parties at ungodly hours of the night, watching drunk lando stumble his way to the dj booth, giggling over a glass of alcohol at his actions.

no more sleep. she knew she'd be woken up numerous times in the night from the cries of her child, and she wasn't sure if she wanted to give up sleep yet.

and she wasn't sure lando wanted to give up formula one either. obviously, a balance between the two worlds is possible, but she knew he would want to be there with her, and she didn't know if he could.

it scared her. the thought of this changing the dynamic of their relationship on levels she couldn't even begin to think of. she's seen countless videos of how having a child completely changed the way couples worked, good and bad, and she didn't want that fifty-fifty.

she'd sat staring at the test between the tips of her fingers for a solid twenty minutes before she heard a patterned knock she grew familiar with from her beloved boyfriend.

the door muffled his voice just slightly, "darling, you 'right in there?" his hand wrapped around the now cold door handle and twisted it, but it failed to turn as it pressed into his palm.

it was unusual for her to lock the door, she knew he would question it. and she knew she couldn't use the excuse of that she's changing or showering because lando simply didn't care whenever she was. he'd sit and keep her company till she was done with whatever she was doing because it was often what they did. sit in silence, enjoying the presence of one another.

"yeah, I'm fine!" she called out to him in a rushed tone, flinching enough that she nearly dropped the test. she watched as the door knob shook, shoving the stick into the bottom of the trash temporarily. she'd remember to remove it eventually.

she turned on the sink as she hid the box of tests in the depths of the cabinet under the sink. looking at herself in the mirror, she'd wipe away the tears that built in her eyes. she didn't want him to notice, but like always he would.

from the locked door to the second she opened it, he'd watch it. she'd see him leaning on the wall just outside the door, patiently waiting for her to come out to him. he wouldn't question it, he trusted that she would eventually come around to tell him. she always did.

with the frequent trips to the bathroom and the slimmed selection of foods in the fridge, he'd suspect something, but he wouldn't know for sure. not without her word.

because for the time being, it was a secret she kept to herself, as much as she despised secrets. she felt like she was guilty to be hiding something from the person she trusted most in the world.

times when she thought the room was empty, she'd be pacing long ways back and forth with her arms crossed and her face solid. he'd watched her from the doorframe with his arms crossed against his chest, mirroring her position slightly.

times when she'd drop whatever she was doing to rush into the bathroom and spill her guts into the toilet as he held her hair and ran his fingers along the nape of her neck. she claimed it was a stomach bug, but he knew better. he also knew better than to question her words so he said nothing, but made a multitude of soups for her to sip on, taking notice of her now acute taste.

times when she'd cry over the tiniest of things, comforting her in his arms while she sobbed against the fabric of his very worn hoodie that happened to be her favorite.

it wasn't a great shock when she first told him. stuttering over her words as she fumbled with the sleeves of his long-sleeve shirt that went well past her fingertips, he could see tears brimming her eyes with her heightened sensitivity.

so when she muttered the words, "i'm pregnant," his world stopped, restarted, reloaded and stopped again when he finally processed the words. though he knew he could've expected it, hearing the confirmation leave her lips left his world tipped sideways.

but he wanted to hear it again, needed to, words breathlessly escaping his lips, "what, love?" he heard her the first time, but he wanted to hear it again. and again and again.

she choked on her words, sobbing out again, "I'm pregnant, lan," he pulled her into his chest, his hand finding it's way to the side of her head as he cradled her, pressing his lips against her hair.

as they swayed, it finally dawned on him, muttering unsure and excitedly against her head, "I'm going to be a dad?" his breathing deepened, his tongue gliding across his lips, then biting at the sensitive flesh. he felt his heart hammer in his chest, nearly comparing to when he first asked the girl out all those years ago. he reminisced the time when the biggest deal he could think of was rejection. now the girl he had crushed on when he was just a teenager just told him she's pregnant. with his kid.

part of him couldn't be happier, they had spent countless nights in bed, lying on their sides facing one another with stupid grins on their faces as they pondered their future together. whatever they wanted, it always had the other in their thoughts and plans.

this was just their plans manifesting faster than they might've hoped, and sure, he wasn't totally certain that it was the right timing after all. but this was their dream, and maybe they just needed time.

time to accept how greatly their life would be affected. he thought about how he'd have to leave her for days, weeks for his career, the few outlying times when she'd travel with him. he knew that would change, leaving her home with a new life to take care of besides her own. he hated the thought of leaving her.

they needed time to think, whether it was together or just by themselves. they needed to figure out how they'd make it through, if they could. which was a question in itself.

they needed to talk because part of her didn't think he would be so accepting of the change life threw them, permanently altering their course of life and the years to follow.

deep inside, they're scared. they knew they would've been, planned or not. it didn't make it any easier. but when he asked such a simple question, it lifted a massive weight that had been carrying on her shoulders. part of her knew he'd always be so accepting. everything is an experience after all.

with every month passed, every growth of the life within her body, he'd mention. he was the nerdy type to compare the size of the baby with fruit. he'd goggle each week with every new development she'd create. it shook his mind to even comprehend. she could make bones, organs and the tiniest lashes of their soon-to-be kid all within the confines of her body. to him, it was sacred.

and of course, he'd tell just about everyone from every team. all the drivers, mechanics, pit crew, team principals, the list goes on and so does his rants about her.

countless photos of appreciation for her on his social media, after all she was carrying his child and he was ecstatic. he'd spent every waking moment he could with her, his hands always somewhere on her, prodominantly on her growing stomach.

when he felt the first kick, he pulled his hand away sharply, looking at her with a dropped jaw and wide eyes, "it kicked me!" he'd exclaim and she slapped his shoulder, scolding him.

"don't call the baby an 'it!'"

"what else am I supposed to call it?" again, earning another slap to his bicep, and he'd look at her with a growing confused look.

"stop slapping me!" he held up his arms in defense as she scowled at him, her arms crossed over her chest. she pursed her lips before sighing as he'd replace his hand on her stomach.

"babe, I don't think this baby likes me," he looked between his hand and her eyes, feeling the movement under his palm. it was a weird sensation, something he'd never expect to feel so soon, or at all.

all she could do was laugh at the stupid expression across his face as he looked back and forth in bewilderment. the warmth from his hand, and the small calluses sent goosebumps across her skin. it incited a smirk to take place on his face, but she slapped it off. he'd expect to feel more of those as the months went by, especially with all the sly comments she'd hear slip past his lips.

with every ultrasound appointment, he'd be there. he'd make sure of it, no matter where he was or what he was doing. she also scheduled them in accordance to his race and where in the world it took place.

every time, his eyes would be locked on the screen that projected his child, a part of him in another life form. a smile always creeping into his face as he held her cold hand. more often than not, he'd get curious and try to become the technician, stealing the equipment out of the professional's hand. his girlfriend would scold him like he was some sort of dog. in response he'd groan, rolling his eyes at her.

he'd still try though, and the technician laughed it off. he'd make comments to her in reassurance, "babe, i've got this," he'd tell him as his hand with the wand came closer to her stomach.

"where's your degree then?" she snapped back, giggling at his sudden pause before he shrugged, waving it off his other hand.

" 's at home."

when the time finally came to birth their new life into the world, god did lando panic. everything he had prepared himself with went out the window when she'd mutter the words he'd been waiting to hear.

"lando," she mumbled as she sat on their couch, turning to him with wide eyes, "I think it's time." her sleeve-covered hands were at her face as she bit nervously on her nails.

he'd stutter over his words, hands in his hair, "you're joking." he'd say repeatedly as he rushed around the apartment, grabbing things. he was the type to grab everything and forget her still on the couch.

she'd call him on her phone when she sees him in his car from the window, through the pain, she laughed at him, "forget something, norris?"

"no, darling, I've got everything-" she'd see his movement pause, his hand returning to his hair, "fuck!"

when he'd come back to help her, she was nearly collapsed with laughter despite the pain she felt through her body.

"stop laughing at me!" he whined but he was laughing with her. nonetheless, they'd get to the car.

she was in labor for hours, crunching on ice chips that he'd fed her carefully. he'd massage her shoulders, hold her hand when contractions got particularly unbearable. he knew not to mumble bullshit words of encouragement, a word of advice from his mum, advice he'd gladly listen to.

instead he'd show her he was there by doing everything she asked until it was time to actually deliver their child they've been waiting 9 months to finally meet.

with a pale face, lando would comment, "I think one kid is fine after all." she'd roll her eyes at his words as she held their daughter in her arms, already seeing themselves in her. she was exhausted and he knew. he put her hair up, cooing words of appreciation to her now that all was done. he took care of her.

he'd remember call his mum later to tell her thank you.

[evielmostdefinitely]

scorned earth |young!coriolanus snow x capitol!reader|

prompt: the last stop on your honeymoon tour of the districts, leaves coriolanus to show you parts of his past, making new memories with you. based off this ask from the other day :)

contains: smut 18+. dark!possessive!coriolanus. mentions of corio's past. dom/sub dynamics. skinny dipping, semi-public sex. pinvsex. mean-ish!coriolanus.

“Where are you taking me?” You looked around at the tall trees, the sun peaking through the branches onto the moss covered ground. Your hand in Coriolanus’, fingers intertwined, letting him lead you through the thicket of trees. 

“It’s a surprise, my love. I told you.” Coryo’s eyes were bright, daring with excitement. Turning back to look at you over his shoulder, the sun caught in his baby blues, making your heart skip. “You trust me, don’t you?” 

You melted at his words, smiling softly. “Of course, I do.” You whispered, letting him tug you through the forest. “I-I’m just worried about snakes, or bears, or-” 

“-I won’t let them hurt you.” Coryo smiled, squeezing your hand. The pistol resting on his hip offered some comfort to you. “That’s why I’m going first.” 

You’d blame it on the warmth of the day, hot but breezy, as the reason you were so flustered at his words. The heat in your cheeks, tingling up your spine. District Twelve was the last stop on your tour, the last stop on your honeymoon. Coriolanus insisted on showing you around, to some of his favorite spots from his Peacekeeper days. After putting the town on a strict lockdown- you weren’t sure why he did it, but you didn't dare question it- he dragged you out here. 

“This is…” You looked at the water, sparkling from sunlight, and the greenery all around it. 

“Breathtaking isn’t it?” Coriolanus’ arms found your waist, chin tucking over your shoulder. The breeze fell between the two of you, fresh air, not smoggy or stuffy like the polluted city air of the Capitol. 

“It is.” You nodded, hand sliding over his biceps, leaning back into his touch. “How’d you ever find this?” 

Coriolanus paused for a moment, heart skipping a beat at the thought of her. He wouldn’t tell you about her, not now, at least, it was your honeymoon. “We used to come out here on our days off.” He said instead. It wasn’t a complete lie, he supposed. 

“Stay in that cabin, sometimes, when it would rain.” Coriolanus pointed to the cabin, a little more worn than he remembered, a lot colder looking too. 

You turned, smiling at the sight. “That’s… This is very nice.” You grinned, head tilting back to meet his gaze. You looked pretty like this, Coryo decided, under the bright District Twelve summer sun. 

“Would you like to go swimming?” Coryo smiled, hand brushing over your hip, squeezing it gently. 

“Swimming?” You giggled. “In what, Coryo? I didn’t pack any swimwear.” 

“Do you think they have swimwear here?” Coriolanus scoffed lightly, shaking his head at you. “Just go in your undergarments.” 

“Coryo.” You blushed, looking around like there might be others to overhear. It was so improper, you were surprised he even suggested it. 

“Or just go without anything on.” Coryo rasped, his crotch grinding lightly into the fat of your ass. Your body jolted with electric heat, grabbing at his arms. “No one’s out here, darling. I won’t mind.” His breath was hot on the shell of your ear, leaving you shivering at the thought. 

Your hands trembled lightly with excitement, pushing down the straps of your dress, gaze on Coriolanus. He grinned proudly as you stripped, your eyes on him so obediently- just as he trained you to be. You were bare, arms covering your most private parts, standing in front of him on the small dock. 

Coriolanus followed, slinging off his slacks, his shirt, grinning at you with that familiar, wild look in his eyes. It made your heart flutter, his gaze animalistic, roaming all over your body. 

“I’m going to throw you in.” Coriolanus growled playfully, though his eyes were primal. 

“Don’t you dare, Coryo.” You pointed at him, walking back on the creaking dock. “Coriolanus Snow, I swear-” 

Coryo lunged at you, laughing at how you shrilled, your scream bouncing off the trees, the mockingjays echoing it through the breeze. Your bare feet padding against the wood, ass jiggling with your run, taunting him. You skidded to a stop at the edge, whipping around to look over your shoulder. Coriolanus pacing towards you, arms reaching out for you, eyes narrowed with a primal sense that had you reaching your arms out in instinct. 

“Coryo, no!” Your squealing pleas were cut short, his hands on your waist, slinging both your naked bodies into the lake water. 

Cool water plunged around you, hands clawing at Coriolanus even under the murky water. You surfaced, a large gasp of a breath, hands hitting the rippling waters with a panicked fury. You could swim, sure, but not very well, especially not when you were thrown in unexpectedly. 

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you.” Coriolanus hummed, hands pulling you into his wet chest, bobbling with you through the water. You crawled up his back, legs wrapping around his waist, hugging him tightly to you. 

He could feel your heart beating on the back of his chest, your pebbled nipples from the cold water pressing to his back, making his cock lurch with lust. 

“Don’t you dare let go of me.” You hissed, nails digging into his shoulder. “There’s no telling what’s in this water. I can’t even see the bottom.” 

“Oh,” Coryo taunted, chin hooking over his shoulder to grin at you. “Might be a monster, hm? Might come up and bite you.” His fingers pinched the fat of your ass, you squealed in his ear, feet pushing up on his hips, dunking him slightly. 

He sputtered, water, feet kicking steadily under the water to keep you both afloat, wiping the droplets out of his eyes. Your pouting face greeted him once his vision cleared, brows creased in a deep furrow. “That wasn’t funny.” You grumbled. 

“Oh, don’t be pouty with me, darling. I was only teasing.” Coriolanus’ hands found your waist, pulling you around his body so you rested on his hips, legs still tight around him in a vice. “You know I wouldn’t let anything hurt you, petal.” He muttered, cupping your jaw gently. 

It was a rare pet name, but by far your most beloved, which is why Coriolanus used it so sparingly. Only when he was especially in love, when he wanted you to know. 

You ducked into his kiss, your own hands on the back of his head, pulling you closer and closer to him. His lips moving on yours, noses brushing, teeth gnashing in a positively sloppy makeout. It felt exhilarating to be doing this in public, showing such crude affection outdoors, even if no one else was around. 

Coriolanus’ hand on your hip, squeezing gently, sliding under the water up your back to cup your breasts under the water. You giggled breathy into his kiss, legs tightening under the water. Coriolanus tipped you into the kiss, dunking you under the water accidentally. 

You sputtered, coughed at the water invading your nose, glaring back at him. He grinned cheekily, squeezing the fat of your left ass cheek firmly under the water. “Maybe this isn’t the best idea.” He hummed. “Far easier in the bathtub, I’m finding out.” 

You blushed, shoving his shoulder playfully. “So what then? On the banks? Like animals?” 

Coriolanus’ eyes left your gaze, darkening at what he saw past you. You could see the change in them, that crossed over to something sinister and dark, it made your stomach flip with thrill, anticipation. 

“No,” Coryo’s eyes met yours, lips curling in a sinister smile. “I have a better idea.” 

“That’s it, that’s perfect, my love.” Coriolanus grunted, head tipping back into the hardwood of the floors. 

The floorboards squeaked beneath you, with every rise and fall of your hips. Your hair was still damp, as was his, bodies still soft from the water that hadn’t been wiped away. His hands pawed at your breasts, squeezing them with every roll and rise, riding him in the small cabin. 

His mind flooded with memories, memories of before, everytime he looked around. The dark day he didn’t want to remember, a dark time before you. Coriolanus felt guilty, thinking of her while you were on top of him- his wife. So he did what he could to keep his mind from wandering, pawing at your breasts, grabbing at the fat of your ass, but he swore- swore he could hear the mockingjays singing that same song over and over. 

“Wait, just a- hold on, darling girl.” Coriolanus grunted, pressing on your hip to stop you. 

“What?” You panted, chest rising and falling sharply. “What’s wrong?” You muttered, purely lust drunk, your eyes told him so. 

Coryo smiled, cradling your jaw gently, pulling you to him. Your body folded over his, lips on his, kissing him passionately. Coriolanus flipped the two of you, rolling you lightly onto the wooden floor, the floorboards groaning at the shift. His hands cupped under your knees, pressing your thighs forward, letting you hook them over his shoulders while he bottomed out in you, smug at how your eyes rolled back. 

“C-Coryo,” You whimpered at the sudden change of pace, his hips snapping and rolling into you sharply, cock spearing that spongy spot that had your eyes rolling back, mouth falling open dumbly. 

Coriolanus’ pace didn’t stop, fucking you nearly barbarically, at a punishing pace. You hadn’t expected it, truthfully, he normally saved this type of sex for when you’d been bad, when you needed to get fucked like this. Maybe he needed it. Something about District Twelve had him off, but you didn’t pry. 

“Look at me.” Coriolanus growled, hands pushing into your hips, fingertips curling so sharply you knew there would be bruises. 

Your eyes fluttered open, glazed with ecstasy from every punctuating jab of his cock into you. “Who do you belong to?” 

You were confused, mind dwindling away, thoughts following them. Coriolanus tapped your cheek lightly, hard enough to get your attention, eyes snapping obediently back to him. “Answer me.” Coryo repeated through gritted teeth, his pace not letting up, not once. “Who do you belong to?” 

“Y-You.” You shuddered, body rolling with another wave of pleasure, thighs trembling around him. 

“Say it again.” Coriolanus spat, reaching forwards, hand cupping your cheeks, squeezing them between his fingers so your lips puckered. “Who do you belong to?” 

“You, Coryo, you. You- oh!- it’s only you. Only you.” You babbled, tears leaking out of the corners of your eyes as your orgasm consumed you. He didn’t stop, squeezing tighter around your cheeks. 

“You’re all mine. Mine. You belong to me, you got that? Not anyone else.” Coriolanus growled, his thrusts faster now, leaving you no time to recover. You whimpered at the sensation, the sensitivity. 

“You’re never leaving me, either. You got that?” Coryo snarled. Your eyes had glazed, looking at the wood ceiling above him, half heartedly pushing at his arm. 

Coriolanus’ hand pulled your chin back to him, stilling suddenly, still deep inside of you. “Look at me.” He sneered. Your eyes fluttered to him. “You’re not leaving me, ever.” He held your gaze, his wild eyed one peering back at you. 

“Say it.” Coryo demanded. You whimpered, his hips pressing further into you, filling you more- you didn’t even know he still could, you felt so full already. “Say it!’ 

The sheer possessiveness, his tone, a chilling edge that had you shuddering. “I-I’m not going anywhere.” You whispered, voice caught around the lump in your throat. “I’m not going anywhere, Coryo, staying with you.” 

“Forever?” Coryo hated how needy he sounded, but he doubted you noticed, not with the way your lip was trembling, eyes glazed. 

“Forever.” You repeated, squeezing his wrist lightly. “Forever with you. Only you.” 

Coriolanus dropped himself over you, face buried in the crook of his neck to breathe in your sweat soaked scent, rutting into you like a mutt in heat until he was spilling, presseed deep inside of you, milking his load into you. 

The walk back to the train was much slower this time. You clung to Coryo, legs wobbly and unsure, his arms wrapped around your back. It was silent, the chirping of the birds, the breeze floating between the leaves, your only sound. 

Coryo left you later that night, tucked into the bed, pressing a kiss to your head. You didn’t pry as to where he was going, and he was grateful for that. You didn’t ask why he smelled of smoke when he came back, why he was just as ravenous as before, which he was even more thankful for. 

As Coriolanus left you, meeting with the General over the Peacekeepers, leading them back through the thicket, he thought of her. Her smug grin, her in his mother’s shawl, how she’d just left it- left him. He thought he’d never recover after Lucy Gray. Then he met you. How you treasured every gift, only looked at him, craved him the way he did you. 

You wore his mother’s ring with pride, and he knew she’d be pleased with you. 

Which is why he had to kill all of his past before you. 

Kill the woman who wrecked him, the girl who took his heart and shredded it, made it jagged for your hold. 

And as the cabin burned, scorched under the starry night sky, Coriolanus was pleased knowing his last memories of the cabin were with you instead of her. 

Knowing that part of him was ash like the wooden cabin was now, soot mixed with the soil of District Twelve. 

Coriolanus returned back to you, holding you as close as he could in his arms, skin to skin, heartbeat to heartbeat. You were his, and he was yours. Now until forever.

[rlimagi]

Can you do bridget with a villain GF. Like major Sunshine x Storm or whatever

Perfect Revenge

Pairings: Bridget x Villian! Reader

Genre: Fluff with a splash of reader being a menace <3

Warnings: evil activities?

Note: Hi!! Thank you for your request, this is a bit short but this is the first time I’m writing for Descendants so hopefully you’ll enjoy this! Also thank you everyone else for the requests, I’ll start writing as soon as I get more ideas<3

“Sweetheart, you need to stop being so nice to people who don’t deserve it!” You frowned, voice raising higher and higher the longer you thought of Uliana who recently dropped a bucket of green paint over Bridget’s head.

It was humiliating for Bridget but she still forgave her, the thought made you more angry by the seconds.

“Calm down, baby. The school’s going to flood soon if you don’t, just…it’s fine just stop thinking about this.” Bridget being the angel she was, intertwined your hands with hers to calm you down even when she was the victim of a petty prank.

You sighed, your emotions got the best of you to the point that you didn’t realize that you summoned heavy rain upon the school grounds.

You lifted your eyes off the ground to see other students running inside the school, trying their best not to get too wet.

“Okay, fine…sorry but really, if she touches even an inch of your body again, Ursala might need to come on land to find her precious baby sister’s remains.” You said, smirking as you eyed Uliana and her gangs who were strutting to god knows where but you know it’s not to etiquette class.

“That’s well…good enough! Thank you baby, now stop sulking and go back to class!” Bridget smiled gleefully, giving you a kiss on the cheek before running off to her class before giving you a chance to respond.

Your face reddened at the sudden kiss even if it was only on the cheek. Bridget had always had this effect on you, even in the darkest of days she’ll somehow make it all brighter.

But just to your dismay, Uliana appeared in your sight again but this time she was alone. A smirk rose up your lips. “Sorry, Bridget. You’ve let Uliana off way too many times. She wants to play with fire, but I’ll give her all the elements.”

You silently followed her into the forest, waiting until she was too far from another living being aside from yourself to strike.

You stood on one of the branches of a tree, luckily the trees in the magic forest was big or else you wouldn’t have been able to hide so easily. “Uliana~” you sang out, your voice echoed into the darkness, scaring the living soul out of the villian.

“Who’s there!” Uliana shouted, trying to seem threatening but you could read her like an open book. She was trying her hardest not to tremble

“Is that how you speak to a friend?” You pouted, faking an innocent look as you jumped right in front of her.

“You!” Uliana screamed, her body fuming in anger but before she could utter another word you snapped your fingers. Then her lips was moving but no words came out.

“I?” You asked, pointing to yourself as you tilted your head to the side. “I what, Uliana?” your smile grew wider as the speed of her lips moved faster and faster, yet no words seemed to be coming out.

But clearly, Uliana wasn’t about to let you off so easily. She glared at you and was about to sprint to your way when you ordered the vines on the ground to pull her onto the ground, tying her whole body to the sharp grass.

Let’s say what happened next wasn’t very pretty.

“Yn! Guess what! Uliana hasn’t been bothering me at all lately, I think she liked the cookies I gave her!” Bridget smiled joyfully, placing the plate of cookies aside before running up to you to give the warmest hug ever.

You melted into her touch, nodding to everything she said. “Of course, who wouldn’t like my princess’s famous choco chip cookies.”

Bridget blushed at what you called her, “Your princess?” she pulled away from the hug for a bit to look right into your eyes, it was filled with love and adoration.

“Only mine, got it?” You claimed in a joking manner, grinning when she playfully pinched your cheek.

“Of course, silly.” Bridget cupped your face before pulling you in for a sweet kiss, a kiss sweeter than all the sweets in the world combined.

After pulling away from the sweetest you wished to never be apart from, you saw Uliana from the corner of your eyes. She looked like a deer caught in headlights after noticing your eyes on her, immediately she ran out of your sight.

It was you who made Uliana stop her bullying towards your girlfriend but no one needs to know about that. Especially Bridget, your girlfriend should never know that you tortured someone for hours just for her.

[leftoverpages]

Beneath Weirwood's Shade

Pairing 𓅪 Benjicot "Davos" Blackwood × Bracken!reader

Tags 𓅪 forbidden love, romance, angst

Notes: inspired by romeo and juliet

Wordcount 𓅪 1.2k

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

The ancient trees of the Riverlands whispered secrets to those who cared to listen. Their leaves, drenched in the gold of a setting sun, sighed with the weight of countless generations. In this land of ancient enmities and whispered feuds, House Blackwood and House Bracken stood opposed, their enmity as deep-rooted as the forests that surrounded them.

Beneath the sprawling branches of a towering weirwood, where the heart tree's face wept red sap, Benjicot Blackwood waited. His dark eyes, pools of sorrow and longing, flickered towards the distance. His heart, though hardened by the years of familial hatred, beat with an unyielding fervor for you, the light amidst his shadows.

You, a Bracken, the sworn enemy, the forbidden fruit. A love like yours was bound to secrecy, hidden beneath the shroud of night and the veil of danger. The thought of you filled his every waking moment, and his dreams were haunted by your touch, your smile, the gentle cadence of your voice.

From the shadows, you emerged, cloaked in the twilight, a figure of ethereal beauty and tragic grace. The world seemed to hold its breath as you approached, each step a defiance against the legacy of hate that threatened to tear you both apart.

"Ben," you whispered, your voice a soft symphony that danced through the air. He turned, and in his eyes, you saw a reflection of your own soul—tortured, yet unwavering in its love.

"My love," he murmured, closing the distance between you. His hand found yours, and in that touch, a silent promise was exchanged. "Every moment away from you is an eternity of pain."

Tears brimmed in your eyes as you pressed your forehead against his, the world around you dissolving into the backdrop of your shared sorrow and joy. "We cannot keep meeting like this, Benjicot. The risk grows with each passing day."

His grip tightened, desperation seeping into his voice. "I would rather die a thousand deaths than live a single day without you. We are bound by more than blood and duty; our souls are entwined, and no force on earth can sever that bond."

"Then let us run away," you pleaded, your voice breaking. "To a place where Blackwood and Bracken are just names, where we can be free to love without fear."

Benjicot's heart ached with the weight of your words, the tantalizing dream of a life together pulling at his every resolve. But reality was a cruel mistress. "I fear there is no such place, my love. Our names, our histories, they follow us like shadows."

A shuddering breath escaped you, and you clung to him, seeking solace in his warmth. "Then let us cherish the moments we have, however fleeting. Let us defy the stars that conspire against us and carve our own fate, even if only for a night."

The weirwood watched over you, a silent sentinel to your stolen time. Beneath its ancient boughs, you and Benjicot found a sanctuary, a fragile haven in a world determined to tear you apart. You spoke in hushed tones, of dreams unfulfilled and love everlasting, your words a tapestry of hope and despair.

In the heart of the forest, time seemed to stand still. You and Benjicot lay on a blanket of fallen leaves, your hands intertwined, your hearts beating as one. The night sky above was a canopy of stars, each one a silent witness to your forbidden love.

"You remember the first time we met?" Benjicot's voice was a mere whisper, his fingers tracing the delicate lines of your hand.

You nodded, a soft smile playing on your lips. "How could I forget? It was at the harvest festival. I saw you across the field, and for a moment, it felt like the world stopped."

He chuckled softly, the sound like a balm to your soul. "I remember thinking that you were the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. But when I found out you were a Bracken, my heart sank."

"And yet, here we are," you said, your voice tinged with wonder and sadness. "Despite everything, we found each other."

Benjicot turned to face you, his eyes filled with a fierce, unspoken promise. "No matter what happens, I will always find you. In this life and the next, we are meant to be together."

The hours slipped away, and dawn's light began to creep over the horizon. With a heavy heart, you knew your time together was drawing to a close. You stood, reluctant to break the fragile spell that had bound you both.

"Until we meet again," Benjicot whispered, pulling you into a final, lingering embrace. "Remember, my love, that you are my heart, my soul, my everything."

You held him close, memorizing the feel of his arms around you, the scent of his hair, the warmth of his breath against your skin. "And you, Ben, are my hope, my dream, my forever."

With one last, lingering kiss, you parted, each step away from each other a dagger to the heart. But even in the face of inevitable sorrow, you carried a piece of each other, a love that transcended the bounds of feuding houses and cruel fate.

In the days that followed, you returned to your separate lives, each day a painful reminder of the love you could not openly share. You exchanged secret letters, hidden within the folds of cloaks and beneath the roots of ancient trees, your words a lifeline that sustained you through the darkest of times.

But as the tensions between your houses escalated, the danger grew ever closer. Whispers of war and betrayal filled the air, and you knew that the time would come when you would have to make a choice—between duty and love, between loyalty to your family and the call of your heart.

One fateful night, the shadows deepened and the air grew heavy with foreboding. A message reached you, written in Benjicot's hand, its words a stark warning: "Meet me at the weirwood. Our time is running out."

Fear and desperation clutched at your heart as you made your way to the ancient tree, your every step a prayer for his safety. When you arrived, you found him waiting, his face pale and drawn, his eyes filled with a sorrow that mirrored your own.

"My love," he said, his voice a broken whisper. "There is no time. Our families are on the brink of war. We must leave, now, before it is too late."

You nodded, your resolve hardening even as your heart ached. "Together, then. We will face whatever comes, as long as we are together."

With a final, desperate embrace, you turned and fled into the night, leaving behind the only world you had ever known. The forest closed in around you, its shadows a refuge and a promise.

As dawn broke over the Riverlands, the ancient weirwood stood silent, its branches swaying gently in the breeze. In its heartwood, the echoes of your love remained, a testament to the power of a love that dared to bloom amidst the thorns of hatred and the shadows of despair.

You and Benjicot, bound by love and fate, ventured into the unknown, your hearts beating as one. The road ahead was uncertain, fraught with danger and peril, but as long as you were together, you knew you could face anything.

In the annals of history, the names Blackwood and Bracken would be forever linked by strife. Yet, in the hidden corners of the Riverlands, beneath the ancient weirwood tree, the whispers of your love would linger, a testament to the power of a love that defied the stars and dared to reach for eternity.

[catsushizz]

Love me until I love myself - S.R

Spencer Reid x Fem!reader

Summary: Spencer got used to his life consisting of books and the BAU he had never truly viewed the prospect of love but when you came it all just clicked.

Warning: no use of y/n

Fluff

WC: 1.1k

----

Spencer got used to waking up with an empty bed beside him and it never crossed his mind that it made him feel lonely or sad it just felt natural. His apartment is quiet and he never noticed that his eyes grow somber as the day passes, it's unnoticeable, subtle but there.

He was in a state where no one knew what was going on with his life but he'd like to think that his life was a mere touch of tranquility whenever there was no phone going off every second of the day.

But a single touch of color changed how he perceived life and gradually he found himself falling in love. It's like the cosmic collided when you first talked to him and from there on public libraries became his solace everything you like became his safe space, benches in the park, the car that you take road trips in, the Lumineers, and your favorite cafe. You were the color that was missing from his blank canvas, no matter how rough he was, you smoothened the edges of his life.

You were the subject of his poems, the muse of his dreams, and the bearer of his heart. Tangled in a sea of messy sheets, your hands draped over his torso, his head buried in the crook of your neck, and for the first time, he was terrified of waking up alone.

His eyes flutter open and search for you and when they land on your sleeping figure he can feel his heart palpitate in adoration. The ever-growing branches of his life continued to grow but were now accompanied by the leaves that were growing between the crevice of his broken branches.

Your touch was addicting, your fingertips would explore every inch of his body. He notices when your finger brushes against his scars you massage patterns with precision and he feels like his heart could burst, he loves you so much it hurts.

He can't even imagine the storm taking you away from him, he would suffer an endless flood if that were to happen.

He loves how you glow so effortlessly under the scrutiny of the sun or the way you hold his hands whenever you feel like he needs it but he especially loves the fact that you love him despite his flaws. There are nights when you fought so loudly and exchanged some hurtful words, and he remembered how much he wanted to take it back but you weren't perfect either and that molded you both together so perfectly that not even the afterglow can rival it.

Spencer never really quite grasped the concept of life solely because he didn't know if he was choosing the right path and it keeps him up at night, what if he chose a different path and completely risked not meeting you? he would rather die, you were cuddled up with him on the couch watching documentaries when he blurted out his concerns, but your sentiments deemed his thoughts.

"I think no matter what path you choose, it will always lead to us, our souls are intertwined, and it's carved in our hearts. There's a possibility that there's a chance for us to meet again in another lifetime I think I will recognize you, purely because I'm sure our souls left remnants of our past lives to help us remember how much we truly loved each other," you whispered, as you ran your fingers through his unruly hair.

His heart skipped a beat, you still make him feel that way despite his youth withering each day, you make him feel young.

"I love you, you're the best thing life has given me" he tried his best to keep his voice stable but it wobbled and you chuckled lightly.

"You know I love you more" You wiggle your brows at him with a grin. He laughed and pulled you impossibly close.

"But I love you most" he replied and you groaned burying yourself in the crook of his neck.

"we're not gonna bicker about this again, let's just say we love each other so much that time can't measure it" you murmured as you kissed the crook of his neck, he giggled at the contact of your kiss making you subconsciously smile.

"But I love you more than everything though" he teased.

"Don't you dare quote Beautiful Boy to me right now" you sternly said and he laughed. Oh, his life was different now but different in a way where you crave for it to last forever.

His broken parts where he learns to hate, you learned to love, and the things you hate about yourself he came to adore. Spencer always felt like an extra piece in a puzzle but turns out you were too, both of you stand out in the best way possible, and to the ends of the earth, he will follow you, his life in the BAU be damned.

If ever old age has its way of finding him then all the light in the world may cease to exist. Time can consume so much in a person, that Spencer wasn't sure if he liked it but growing old with you was a different story.

He'll live and tell a story of how much he loved a single girl who completely changed his life, even if his hand trembles in every movement he makes, and even if his memory fades he'll hold on to you so deep in his heart until his next life where he gets to hold you again.

The theory of everything started when you met and ended when his skin gradually changed and how his wrinkles deepened until he was one with nature.

Buried next to each other as both of you wished, your children visit the sacred place with their kids and then they'll tell the story of how both of you fell in love and they'll add how much the both of you loved your children.

----

You were running late, coffee in hand and it happened so fast that you didn't even notice that he was there. You collided with someone your coffee spilling on the man's shirt and your eyes widened in horror.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry!" You exclaimed as you rushed to get the tissues out of your bag to help him.

"Hey, it's fine" came his calm yet familiar voice. Sensing that he was looking at you, you averted your gaze to meet his eyes and you felt the world suddenly stop.

He has the most beautiful hazel eyes you've ever seen and his brown curly hair added charm to his chiseled face. He looked familiar you're sure of it, and without you knowing, he felt the same way too.

"Hi," he softly whispered stuck in a daze as he looked at you.

You let out an airy chuckle "I'm sorry, do I know you?" You asked.

So the cycle starts again.

[arayapendragon]

the beauty of quantum immortality 🦋

“what happens after i die?”, is a question that has been asked by many throughout the course of history. yet, us humans were never able to find the one true answer to what awaits us once our life in this reality comes to an end. unless...? ;)

this brings forth the concept of quantum immortality, which is a theory stating that our consciousness will continue to experience lifetimes where we are alive, after we “die” in this timeline or reality. Hugh Everett was an american physicist, who proposed the very fundamentals of quantum mechanics in his PhD in the 1950’s. he introduced the idea of quantum events leading to the universe branching into several different timelines, where each timeline represents a different outcome. therefore, if we choose to, we can continue to keep experiencing timelines, or realities, where we survive, thus leading us to believe we are “immortal”. this is known as the Many-Worlds Interpretation (MWI).

circa 1980’s, the physicist and cosmologist Max Tegmark delved again into the concept of quantum immortality, suggesting that we actually die many times in our lifetime, however, our consciousness continues to experience timelines where we are alive.

here’s an analogy of quantum immortality to better help you understand: imagine a person playing a game of russian roulette; hence, the gun leads to different quantum outcomes. - basis the MWI, the gun fires (due to an “upward spin” in a subatomic particle) in some timelines/realities, killing the person. - while in other timelines/realities, it doesn’t fire (due to a “downward spin” in a subatomic particle), so the person survives. from the point of view of the person in the experiment, they would only experience the timelines where they survive.

the very fundaments of quantum immortality and reality shifting intertwine with each other when inspected at a closer level. both focus on the existence of an infinite amount of realities, and seeing as we shift realities for every decision taken, even the smallest ones, it can be deduced that we permashift to either an alternate version of our CR, or any other DR after we experience death in this reality. meaning, we can experience whatever it is we desire after death, there are no limitations or set rules.

to answer the question at the beginning, there is no definite answer to where we go after death. given that the magic systems for this reality are the law of assumption and the law of attraction, it can be said that we will shift wherever we believe or assume we go after death, thus, in a way, demonstrating quantum immortality.

a few resources you can explore that discuss quantum immortality are:

Our Mathematical Universe by Max Tegmark

Parallel Worlds by Michio Kaku

The Fabric of the Cosmos by Brian Greene

Quantum: A Guide for the Perplexed by Jim Al-Khalili

The r/quantumimmortality community on reddit, though note that the users will have differing opinions of the concept, so it is best to conduct your own research.

[soulofapatrick]

I Like Your Mind - Edward Cullen x female reader

Summary: As soon as you meet Edward, you're both drawn to each other with an intensity you never expected

Words: 2.2k

Warnings: None

Y/N’s POV

I step into the Cullen house, my heart racing in my chest, and my mind filled with a mixture of fear and fascination. Bella has brought me here, introducing me to the family of her new boyfriend - Jasper Hale - and I can hardly believe where I find myself. I know their secret, the one they’ve been hiding from the world, the fact they’re vampires. And I know Edward can read minds which makes the whole situation even more daunting. But, as Bella races off to find Jasper, I’m left alone I the living room, taking in the stunning surroundings. 

The Cullens’ house is unlike any place I’ve ever seen. The air is heavy with an unspoken history, and everything within is both timeless and modern. A grand piano rests against one wall, a dark mahogany masterpiece, and the soft notes of a melody linger in the air, a testament to the musical talents of the family. On the opposite wall, a massive bookshelf houses an impressive collection of novels and ancient texts. Their spines form a spectrum of human knowledge, artfully arranged. 

My gaze drifts to the floor-to-ceiling windows that frame the room, offering a breathtaking view of the dense, ancient forest that surrounds the house. The trees stand tall and proud, their branches intertwined like guardians, protecting the Cullens from prying eyes. The afternoon sun filters through the leaves, casting dappled shadows that dance across the polished wooden floors. 

As my eyes linger on the tranquil forest, my imagination takes flight. I envision myself running through the woods, feeling the cool, damp earth beneath my feet. The leaves would crunch softly with each step, and the intoxicating scent of pine and damp earth would fill my senses. My heart would race, and a rush of adrenaline would surge through me as I lose myself in the untamed beauty of the wilderness. But, what captivates me the most is the idea of running through the forest in the rain. The thought of raindrops falling like liquid diamonds from the heavens, pelting the leaves and creating a gentle, rhythmic melody, sends a shiver of delight down my spine. In my daydream, I am drenched, my clothes clinging to my skin as I twirl and leap through the woods, liberated and carefree.

The rain washes away all my worries and fears, leaving only the exhilaration of the moment. It's as if the world, with all its complexities and complications, has melted away, leaving only the simplicity and purity of the rain-soaked forest. It's a feeling of utter peace, a sense of being one with nature and the world, a sensation I've longed to experience again. 

Lost in the serenity of my daydream, I sense a subtle presence to my right. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, and a strange but not unwelcome shiver runs down my spine. Slowly, I turn my head to see one of the Cullen brothers standing there, a striking figure with sharp, chiseled features. He exudes an air of quiet strength and confidence, and I can't help but admire his physical appearance.

As I take in his feature, I quickly realise that this isn’t Jasper, as Bella would undoubtedly be with him if he were here. Besides, Jasper is known for his blond hair, which contrasts with the dark brunette locks of the Cullen brother beside me. His eyes, however, remain a shimmering gold, and their intensity is captivating. 

Going over Bella’s description, I recall that she mentioned Emmett to be big and buff. Emmett is tall and muscular. He has dark curly hair and dimpled cheeks. Despite his intimidating appearance, he is light-hearted and carefree. This man in front of me is almost quite the opposite with perfect and angular high cheekbones, strong jawline, a straight nose, and full lips causing my heart to quicken with a sudden realisation. In a hushed voice, I tentatively ask, “Edward?” 

The name hangs in the air between us, my uncertainty evident in the way I speak his name. The Cullen brother gives a small nod, his eyes holding a hint of amusement and there’s a small smile on his pretty lips as he says, “Hello.” His voice is a velvet whisper that sends a shiver down my spine. My cheeks heat up in response, and I can’t help but feel flustered by his presence. Turning my face away from him, I gaze out at the enchanting forest, using the breathtaking view to regain my composure. 

But just as I start to calm my racing heart, I sense his movement. Edward is moving closer, somewhat hesitantly as if he’s scared to do so but he moves so close I can feel the coolness of his chest against my back. The physical proximity is both thrilling and nerve-wracking, and I can’t help but wonder what his intention are as I continue to look out at the tranquil forest. 

The peaceful silence in the room is broken by Edward’s soft voice, barely above a whisper, “I like your mind,” he admits, his words sending a rush of warmth through me, “It’s quiet.” 

His words wash over me like a gentle caress, and I can’t deny the intrigue of his interest in my mind. It’s a compliment I could never have anticipated, coming from a vampire who can hear the thoughts of others. The intimacy of this moment is palpable, and I can sense the internal struggle within him, as if he’s torn between his desire to touch me and the realisation that we’ve only just met. 

Despite my rational thoughts screaming at me to maintain my distance, I surrender to the magnetic pull of Edward Cullen. My back leans into his cool, sculpted chest, and the sensation of his icy hands on my hips sends a shiver of anticipation coursing through me. It's as if the enchantment of the Cullen house, the breathtaking view of the forest, and Edward's irresistible presence have combined to create a spell that I am unable, and unwilling, to break. 

Closing my eyes, I allow myself to become completely enveloped in everything Edward. I’m hyperaware of how he feels behind me, the firmness of his chest pressed against my back, the subtle rise and fall of his breath against my neck as if it’s a force of habit for him despite vampires lack of need to breathe. His scent, a delicate blend of lilac, honey and sunshine, fills my senses and intoxicates me, wrapping me in a warm, inviting embrace. 

The moment feels intensely romantic, the air electric with the unspoken connection between us. I know that Edward can read my thoughts and perceive my view of him, and in this vulnerable instant, I choose not to resist. I grant him access tot he unfiltered depths of my desire, allowing him to see and feel the passion that simmers beneath the surface. 

The tension in the room crackles, the rain outside intensifying as if mirroring the fervour building within us. It's a clandestine dance of two souls drawn together by an unexplainable force. In this silent, electrifying embrace, I become an open book for Edward, my thoughts and desires laid bare, and I can only wonder what he'll make of the desires that race through my mind like wildfire

With a slow and deliberate movement, Edward turns me to face him, his eyes open and unguarded. They flicker with a hint of vulnerability, as if he, too, is uncertain of the depth of this connection. His gaze drops to my lips, and I can feel the warmth of his breath on my skin as he hovers close. His fingers twirl my hair around them, an intimate gesture that feels like an attempt to memorise every part of me that he can reach. The air crackles with anticipation as I hold my breath, my heart pounding in my chest, The world outside seems to fade away, leaving only the two of us in this electrifying moment. 

Edward’s gaze remains locked on mine, a silent promise of the depths of emotions and desire that lie beneath the surface. In the hushed room, our shared anticipation and vulnerability create an electric tension that’s impossible to ignore. His lips are tantalisingly close, and I can feel the coolness of his breath as he hovers near. It’s as if he’s about to kiss me, his intentions clear in the smouldering depths of his golden eyes. But he hesitates, his voice barely a whisper as he mumbles something about not being able to stop once he starts, a confession laden with both longing and restraint. 

Unable to resist any longer, I tangle my fingers in his tousled hair, an intimate gesture that communicates my desire and intent. With a gentle, yet urgent push, I guide his face the rest of the way down until his lips finally meet mine. 

As our lips meet in a hesitant and guarded kiss, a complex swirl of emotions and desires floods the space between us. Edward, despite his initial restraint, can’t help but respond to the fiery connection we share. His lips, cool and soft, brush against mine with a caution born of a lifetime of self-control. The kiss begins with a tentative exploration, as if he’s testing the boundaries of this newfound intimacy. 

The initial hesitancy slowly gives way to a growing intensity, and I can sense his need for more. His grip on me tightens ever so slightly, fingers digging into my hips, a delicate balance between desire and restraint. His response is careful, as if he’s constantly aware of his vampire strength, wary of causing any harm to me. The kiss deepens, his passion building, and the chemistry between us becomes an irresistible force that pushes us further into uncharted territory. 

With a slow and deliberate movement, he begins to walk me backwards, his lips never leaving mine, until my back makes contact with the cool glass of the windows, drawing a gasp from me. It has Edward smiling softly, golden eyes a little glazed as if in a trance of disbelief this is happening before his cold nose bumps my neck, making my pulse jump. I should be scared by how close he is to my jugular but I don’t feel any fear or anything, especially when Edward places a soft kiss on my jugular, a silent acknowledgement of the temptation that throbs beneath my skin. His lips are cold, but their touch is gentle, sending shivers of desire coursing through me. 

My hands tangle back in his soft locks, guiding his lips back to mine, their coldness a stark contrast to the burning passion that courses between us. In that moment, I am both vulnerable and empowered, willingly allowing myself to be drawn further into this intoxicating dance of desire. 

Each kiss makes me feel more alive, more connected to a world I never knew existed. The world outside may be drenched in rain, but in this electrifying embrace, a different kind of storm rages, a tempest of emotions and desires that we can’t control. His lips, cool and velvety soft, meet mine over and over again in a symphony of fire and ice, a fusion of elements that ignite a burning desire deep within me. 

His body presses against mine, a solid and unyielding presence that leaves me feeling both vulnerable and empowered. The contrast between his cool skin and the heat of my own sets my senses ablaze. As we deepen our connection, the room seems to spin around us, and I lose myself in the feeling of everything Edward. 

The room is charged with our passion, and I can feel it deep in my core. Every kiss is like a secret, a stolen moment in a world that is entirely our own. We lose track of time and space, our lips locked in an intimate dance that only intensifies the fever that has drawn us together in the first place. 

But then, like a bolt of lightning in our own private storm, I hear Bella’s joyful squeal. Edward pulling away from me, and I let my face fall into the warmth of his chest, overwhelmed by embarrassment. As I hide from the world, I can feel the soft rumble of amused laughter in Edward’s chest, a sound that both soothes and electrifies me in equal measure. 

“Fuck yeah!” Bells shrieks with joy and I flip her off over Edward’s shoulder as he wraps his arms around me, stifling a laugh as he can probably hear all of my silent insults and embarrassed thoughts thrown Bella’s way. 

“It’s okay.” He murmurs, fingers carding through my hair and I just hum, letting my eyes flutter closed in contentment. I don’t care how quick this is happening, all I know is I need Edward and no-one else so I’ll live with the embarrassment if it means I can have Edward. 

“You have me.” 

                           ┈ ✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✃✁ ┈

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Twilight Masterlist

[elikajinnie]

Hiii I love your fanfics!!😭🩷

Can u write something on sunoo like horror au or thriller au?

Fallen Angel - K.S

THANK YOUUUU!!<333 Omg i have so many horror au drafts right now. It`s really giving me motivation.

P: Devil!Sunoo X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Blood/Injury, Rituals & Cult-like Activity, Obsessive Love, Body Worship, Murder, Corruption, Falling In Love, Stalking?

Synopsis: A seemingly innocent walk through the forest turns into a chilling nightmare, and your soul becomes the ultimate prize for the devil himself. With a captivating presence and an insatiable desire for you, he reveals that your fate is now intertwined with his. And he will keep you by his side.

a/n: I am a sucker for paranormal movies :p the start is inspired by Jennifer`s body :) HAPPY HELL WEEK!! (iykyk)

"The Devil is real and he's not some little red man with horns and a tail. He can be beautiful because he's a fallen angel and he used to be God's favourite."

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You come downstairs after slipping into more comfortable clothes, ready for a walk. The house is quiet, your steps light on the wooden floor as you head toward the door. Living on the outskirts of town has its perks, and your favorite one is the forest. It's a place of solace, a space where you can let your thoughts wander freely as you walk beneath the trees.

You pull on your shoes, grab your jacket from the hook by the door, and fish your phone out of your pocket. A playlist hums to life in your ears, setting the mood. With your keys in hand, you lock the door behind you, the soft click signaling the start of your escape into the wild.

The gravel crunches beneath your feet, the small stones and twigs snapping with every step. There’s something rhythmic in the way the sound mixes with the music, creating its own sort of tune. You follow the familiar path, the forest looming ahead, inviting you in. As the trees grow taller around you, the ground changes, becoming softer, more forgiving underfoot. The scent of pine and earth fills the air, fresh and damp. Sunlight filters through in thin beams, casting long, golden shadows on the forest floor.

Your breathing syncs with the rhythm of your steps, steady and calm. The music playing in your ears becomes a backdrop to the symphony of nature—birds chirping somewhere above, the distant rustle of small animals moving through the underbrush. You can feel the world quieting around you, like the forest itself is protecting you from the noise and chaos of everyday life.

The deeper you go, the more peaceful it becomes. The path you walk is familiar, worn by countless footsteps over the years, but every time it feels new, like the forest shifts and breathes with the seasons. You pause for a moment, standing still, letting the quiet wash over you. There’s a comfort in this silence, a stillness that fills you.

But as you take a breath, something in the air changes. It’s subtle at first—like the shift in a breeze before a storm. The trees, once inviting, now seem to lean in closer. The shadows deepen, stretching out in unfamiliar shapes. The music in your ears feels distant now, as if it’s being drowned out by the weight of the silence.

Your steps slow, and the crackle of a twig behind you makes you stop altogether. You turn, scanning the trees, expecting to see nothing but the familiar outline of trunks and branches. But for a moment, just a brief flicker, you think you see movement—something or someone slipping between the trees, too fast to catch.

The forest, once a place of peace, now feels different.

Your heart quickens, instinctively telling you something is wrong. The peaceful stillness of the forest now feels like a trap. Slowly, you turn around, careful not to make any sudden movements, your instincts screaming at you to leave. The music in your ears lowers into the background, drowned out by the rushing pulse of your own heartbeat. You try to stay calm, taking slow steps back in the direction of home, eyes scanning the forest around you.

But the feeling doesn’t go away. Every shadow seems to shift, every tree leaning just a little too close. The forest, once familiar, now feels foreign, hostile even. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, and your steps quicken. You need to get out of here.

Just as you pick up the pace, something moves at the corner of your vision. You freeze. Slowly, you glance around, and that’s when you see them—figures, barely visible at first, blending into the dark shadows of the trees. Cloaked in black, their faces hidden, they move with eerie silence. One, then two, then more of them, appearing from the forest as if they’ve always been there, watching.

Panic surges through you. You turn fully now, ready to run, but it’s too late. The forest around you is no longer empty. They’ve surrounded you, their dark forms closing in like a tightening net. Your breath catches in your throat as you search for a way out, but there’s none.

Before you can even react, something hard strikes the side of your head. Pain explodes in your skull, and the world around you spins wildly. The ground seems to rush up to meet you as your vision blurs, darkening around the edges. The last thing you feel is the cold, unforgiving earth beneath you as consciousness slips away, pulling you into a deep, heavy darkness.

When you finally come to, your head throbs with pain. Your eyelids flutter open, and the first thing you notice is that you’re propped up against a large, moss-covered stone, the dampness of it seeping through your clothes.

Panic sets in as you realize you’re bound—your wrists and ankles tied tightly with coarse rope, the roughness biting into your skin. There’s a gag in your mouth, muffling your shallow breaths. Your heart races as you struggle to move, but the ropes hold firm.

Looking around, your eyes adjust to the flickering light of candles surrounding you, casting eerie shadows on the trees. There are seven figures, cloaked in black, standing silently around you. They are still, their faces hidden under the hoods.

You hear it then—the low, rhythmic sound of chanting. The voice is monotone, steady, like it’s reciting something ancient and powerful. You don’t understand the words, but you guess it’s Latin. You begin to struggle, trying to loosen the ropes, heart pounding as your fingers strain against the bindings. But the more you move, the tighter they seem to become. Panic rises in your chest.

Suddenly, one of the figures steps forward, and in their hand, you see a dagger glint in the candlelight. Your stomach twists in fear. You freeze, eyes wide, unable to tear your gaze away as they approach you. The chanting continues, unwavering.

Without warning, the figure kneels beside you. The dagger’s cold blade presses against your cheek, and then—pain. You flinch as the sharp steel slices into your skin, a thin line of blood trickling down your face. A muffled whimper escapes your throat. The figure collects the blood, careful and deliberate, smearing it onto an ancient, crumbling scroll that looks like it’s been carried through time itself.

Terror takes over as you watch, helpless, as the figure lights the scroll with a simple flick of a lighter. The flames catch quickly, consuming the scroll in moments. As the last of it turns to ash, the chanting stops.

A deafening silence follows.

No birds. No wind. The entire forest seems to be holding its breath, as if the world itself is waiting for something terrible to happen.

Then, all at once, the candles surrounding you flicker out, plunging you into darkness. But just as quickly, they flare back to life—only this time, the flames are blood red, casting an ominous, fiery glow over the ritual circle. The figures stand unmoving, their faces still hidden, but you can feel the shift in the air. Something has changed.

Something is coming.

The air around you feels thick, oppressive, as if the very forest is suffocating under some unseen weight. Then, suddenly, a voice cuts through the silence. It’s sultry yet booming, rich with mockery and power. It doesn’t come from any one direction—it comes from everywhere at once, as though the trees themselves are speaking.

“Well, well, well,” the voice purrs, dripping with amusement. “How desperate you all must be, fumbling with your little rituals and chants. Meddling with powers far beyond your reach.” It chuckles darkly, the sound reverberating through the forest, making the ground beneath you tremble. “Did you really think you could summon me so easily? That I would come at the beck and call of your pathetic incantations?”

The cloaked figures stiffen at the voice’s words, shifting nervously in their places. They remain silent, but you can feel their fear in the way they hesitate, as if they didn’t anticipate this response. The voice continues, teasing and condescending. “You should’ve known better. But here you are, scrambling in the darkness, begging for something you cannot possibly understand.”

Just then, one of the figures dares to speak. Their voice is trembling, but steady enough to say, “But we brought you a sacrifice.”

The forest falls deathly still. The voice, which had been mocking moments before, quiets suddenly. The shift in its tone is palpable, as though whoever or whatever it is has just taken a keen interest in something—or rather, in someone. You feel a chill creep up your spine.

There’s a long pause, and then the voice speaks again, but this time it’s softer, quieter, as though it's enthralled. “A sacrifice…?” The amusement fades, replaced by something else—curiosity. Desire. “And what a beautiful offering you’ve brought me…”

Your blood runs cold as the voice seems to focus entirely on you now, its words lingering in the air. You can feel its attention like a weight pressing down on you, though there is no form, no figure to see—just the voice, enveloping you in the darkness.

“I must say, you’ve outdone yourselves,” it murmurs, almost appreciatively. “Such beauty… such fragility. A rare find indeed.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, and you can’t tell if this attention is a blessing or a curse. Every muscle in your body screams to run, but the ropes still hold you tight, and the darkness closes in.

The figures, emboldened by the voice’s attention, begin to speak. One by one, they make their demands, their voices eager and trembling with greed.

“We ask for money,” one says, stepping forward.

“Power,” another adds, almost hungrily.

“We offer our loyalty in return for wealth, for control. We will serve you without question,” one of them declares, their voice dripping with desperation.

For a moment, there is silence. Then, the voice returns, and this time it’s filled with cold, biting laughter. “Money? Power?” it repeats, the words laced with disdain. “How pitiful. Is that what you’ve gathered here for? How small your desires are. You dare summon me, meddle in forces far beyond your comprehension, and for what? Gold? Influence?”

The voice’s laughter grows, mocking them all, cutting through the air like a knife. “You offer loyalty as if it means something to me, as if you’re anything more than fleeting, mortal specks. You want power? You want riches? You have no idea what true power is, nor the price it demands.”

The figures hesitate, doubt creeping into their postures as the voice continues to belittle their wishes. And then, just as your heart beats faster with terror, you feel a breath against your ear—soft, like a gentle wind. A whisper, barely audible, brushes against your skin.

“Close your eyes.”

You freeze. Slowly, you turn your head, expecting to see someone beside you, but there’s no one. Just the oppressive darkness and the flickering red flames of the candles. Your pulse quickens, but something deep inside you urges you to trust the voice. Against the rising panic in your chest, you clench your eyes shut tightly, your body trembling as the atmosphere around you shifts.

Suddenly, the stillness of the forest is shattered by the sound of screams. Blood-curdling, desperate cries fill the air, piercing through the night as the figures around you shout and wail in terror. You hear the snap of branches, the thud of bodies hitting the ground, and the crackling of something far more sinister. But you don’t dare open your eyes. You’re frozen in place, paralyzed with fear, every muscle locked in place as chaos erupts around you.

The screams continue, a cacophony of horror, but you keep your eyes shut, holding onto the whisper’s command. Your breath is ragged, your chest heaving as you try to control the overwhelming panic that’s rising inside you. Time stretches, seconds feeling like hours.

And then, just as suddenly as it began, the forest goes quiet. The screams fade into nothing, leaving only an eerie silence. Your heart races in the deafening stillness, and though you can no longer hear the carnage, you can feel its lingering presence.

You breathe in and out, fast and shallow, terrified to open your eyes, terrified of what you might see. The forest is so quiet now, as if it’s holding its breath once more. You start to wonder if it’s truly over, if the nightmare has passed.

Then, the whisper returns, soft and chilling, right by your ear. “Sleep…”

Before you can even react, your mind becomes heavy, your body limp. It feels like a spell, something irresistible pulling you into darkness. Your eyes, still shut, flutter briefly before you fall into an all-consuming sleep, leaving the horrors of the forest behind.

You drift through the most peaceful sleep you’ve ever had, your body weightless, like it’s floating down a calm, serene river. The usual tension in your muscles is gone, replaced by a deep, soothing calm. It’s as if you’re cradled by warmth, gently rocked by invisible hands. There’s no sense of time, only pure restfulness, the kind that reaches into your soul and makes you feel whole.

In the distance, you hear a voice—soft, affectionate, and full of admiration. It whispers sweetly, its tone rich and tender, complimenting everything about you. It praises the softness of your hair, the elegance of your face, the beauty of your body, and even your very presence, as though every part of you is perfect. The words wash over you like a lullaby, pulling you deeper into that blissful rest.

When you finally wake up, you’re in your bed. The familiar comfort of your own room surrounds you, but something doesn’t feel right. You blink groggily, sitting up, trying to shake off the lingering haze of sleep. Confused, you glance around, and your heart races as you remember the events —the forest, the figures, the voice. Instinctively, your hand goes to your cheek, expecting to feel the sting of the cut, but there’s nothing. Your skin is smooth, untouched. There’s no sign of what happened.

You throw off the covers and hurry to the mirror, your pulse quickening. You search your reflection, half-expecting to see some trace of the terror from the forest, but there’s nothing out of the ordinary. Your hair is the same, your face unmarked. It’s like nothing happened at all, and yet… you know it wasn’t a dream. It couldn’t have been. The memory is too vivid, too real. The voice, the blood, the chanting—all of it remains sharp in your mind.

You turn away from the mirror, trying to make sense of it, when something catches your eye. Your breath hitches in your throat. On your bedside table, there’s a candle—lit and burning softly. Next to it, a single rose, its petals dark and velvety, resting elegantly beside the flame.

You freeze, your heart pounding as you approach it. Slowly, you pick up the rose, your fingers brushing against its delicate petals. The candle flickers slightly, casting a warm glow across the room. You stare at it, the confusion settling deep in your chest.

“Oh…” you whisper, your voice barely audible in the stillness of the room. The soft voice from your dream, the one that praised you, seems to echo in your ear again, gentle and intimate. Startled, you whip around, expecting to see someone behind you, but there’s no one. Just the empty room.

“Weird…” you mutter under your breath, glancing around once more. Still, there’s no explanation, no figure emerging from the shadows. You place the rose back down on the table and blow out the candle, watching the smoke spiral up into the air before it disappears. The room feels normal again, but the unease remains.

You climb back into bed, pulling the covers up to your chin. Despite everything, the warmth of sleep begins to pull at you again, as if beckoning you back into its embrace. And though the forest may be far behind, you can’t shake the feeling that something—or someone—is still watching.

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In the days that follow, you can’t shake the unsettling feeling of being watched. It’s always there, just out of sight—a presence hovering behind you, lingering at the edge of your senses. Every time you glance over your shoulder, expecting to see someone or something, there’s nothing. Just empty air. But the feeling never fades. It clings to you like a shadow, haunting your every move.

You become more cautious, always looking around, watching for signs of movement, but there’s no panic, no alarm. It’s almost as if your body has accepted the presence, even as your mind refuses to make sense of it. You should feel fear, but instead, there’s a strange calm, an eerie quiet that lingers no matter how close the feeling gets.

The day after the incident, you return to the forest, hoping for some kind of clue, some proof that it wasn’t a dream. But the forest is peaceful, untouched. There’s no sign of the ritual, no remnants of the candles, no trace of the figures. It’s as though the whole thing never happened, swallowed up by the woods themselves. The silence feels wrong, and as you walk the same path, the memory of that night burns vividly in your mind, but there’s nothing here to confirm it.

You try to move on, but even your friends start noticing the change in you. Rei, Jeongin, and Yujin glance at you with worried eyes, asking if everything’s okay. You brush them off, telling them it’s just stress, maybe some restless nights. But deep down, you know it’s more than that. There’s no rest anymore, only the constant feeling that you’re being watched, even when no one is around.

And then there’s the candle and rose. Every night, without fail, when you go to bed, they’re there. The candle always lit, casting a soft glow across your room. The rose—perfect, fresh, never wilting—sits beside it. It weirds you out, gnawing at your sanity, especially when you know you lock the windows and draw the curtains every night. There’s no way someone could be getting in. After the third night, you even called the police, desperate for answers. But they found nothing—no signs of forced entry, no signs of any entry at all. The officer told you everything seemed normal, but nothing about this felt normal to you.

The hopelessness sinks in. There’s no explanation, no rational way to understand what’s happening. And it doesn’t help that at night, when the world is quiet, you can hear it again—that soft voice. It’s always there, whispering just at the edge of your consciousness. Close, yet distant. Its words are impossible to grasp, like a lullaby just out of reach, tugging at your mind as you drift into sleep, feeling the weight of something you can’t explain pressing down on you.

You want to scream, to fight it, but there’s no fear. Only that strange, unsettling calm, like a storm waiting to break. And you can’t tell if you’re more terrified of what’s happening—or of how much you’ve come to expect it.

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One day, in the midst of your growing paranoia and frustration, you find yourself mindlessly scrolling on your computer when a strange ad catches your attention: a website for a fortune teller. The colorful banner flickers, promising answers to those who seek them, and normally you’d scoff at something like this. But with everything going on, you find yourself clicking the link. Desperation tugs at your thoughts. Maybe she could explain what’s happening, or at least help make sense of the strange calm that now follows you like a shadow.

The next day, you go. The fortune teller’s shop is tucked away in a quiet part of town, the kind of place you wouldn’t notice unless you were looking for it. Inside, the scent of incense hangs thick in the air, and the room is dimly lit by candles that flicker with every movement. She sits across from you, an older woman with knowing eyes that seem to see right through you.

As you settle into the chair, she doesn’t need much prompting. After a brief introduction, she tells you that she feels something around you, something that clings to you. “There’s a presence,” she says, her voice low and thoughtful. “Usually, a presence like this would be malevolent, something dark and dangerous… but right now, it’s calm. It feels content, almost protective.”

Her words send a chill down your spine. You’ve never bought into this kind of thing before, but something inside you tells you to listen. You can’t deny the truth in her words. That presence, the one you’ve felt trailing you day and night—it’s always there, but never threatening.

She pulls out her tarot deck, shuffling the cards with practiced ease, her fingers nimble as she lays them out on the table. One card catches your eye immediately—the Devil. When she spots it, her breath catches. “The Devil,” she whispers, her voice trembling slightly. “It represents temptation, control, and obsession. But it’s also a card of power, of something… primal. Something that binds itself to you, and once it has, it rarely lets go.”

You sit there, frozen, as she explains the meaning of the card. It’s about being tethered to something you can’t escape from, something that might seduce you with its calm but still holds an underlying danger. You barely hear her as she continues, your thoughts racing.

When you finally leave the fortune teller’s shop, you step out into the street, dazed and conflicted. The cold air bites at your skin, but your mind feels numb. You stand there for a long time, thinking over everything she said, the Devil card burned into your thoughts. The idea that this presence, this voice, is somehow tied to you—content now, but still something to be wary of—it sends your head spinning.

Eventually, you walk to the bus stop, lost in your thoughts. When the bus arrives, you get on, finding an empty seat by the window. As you sit, staring out into the city, you can’t shake the strange feeling again—that presence lingering close, too close. You glance out the window, and for a moment, you swear you see something sitting beside you in the reflection. A shadow, just out of the corner of your eye.

Your heart skips a beat, and you turn to look—but there’s nothing. No one. Just the empty seat beside you, like always. You squint, trying to shake the feeling, and look back at the window. The reflection shows nothing.

You huff in frustration, shaking off the moment, and pull out your phone, trying to distract yourself. But as the bus rolls forward, you can’t help but feel that presence still, hovering just beyond your senses, patient and ever-present.

You step off the bus at the stop you wanted, your mind still racing from the strange encounter on the ride. The air is cool as you walk, your footsteps almost mindless, leading you down familiar streets until you reach the church. Its tall steeple rises against the sky, and you pause for a moment, staring at it. A sigh escapes your lips as you shrug, figuring there’s no harm in trying. Maybe this place, of all places, could offer you some sort of clarity—or peace.

Pushing open the heavy doors, you step into the threshold. The moment you cross over, something shifts. The constant feeling of being watched, that heavy, unshakeable presence, vanishes. It should bring you relief, but instead, a hollow emptiness fills the space where that presence once lingered. You stop in your tracks, feeling strangely vulnerable, exposed in a way you hadn’t expected.

Every cell in your body screams at you to turn back, to leave the church and return to where you felt… safer. But you swallow the feeling, pushing it down as you make your way past the countless rows of benches, your eyes fixed on the altar.

“Hello,” you call out, your voice echoing through the empty space, bouncing off the high ceilings.

“Hello, my child,” a voice responds. You turn to see a priest walking towards you, his face kind, his eyes full of concern. “How may I help you?”

You hesitate for a moment, wondering how to even begin explaining what you’ve been feeling, but something about the priest’s calm demeanor makes it easier. You tell him everything—about the ritual and the feeling of being watched that never left you. He listens carefully, nodding as you speak, never interrupting. When you finish, he places a hand on your shoulder, his expression grave but understanding.

“I think you may benefit from a cleansing,” he suggests gently. “It could help you find peace.”

You’re not sure what peace would even feel like anymore, but you nod anyway, agreeing to the cleansing. He leads you to a small side chapel, where he begins to recite verses, his voice steady and reassuring as he works through the ritual. You stand still, feeling the weight of his words settle around you, like a protective barrier forming between you and whatever it is that’s been haunting you.

When he finishes, you feel lighter—but not in the way you expected. You thank him quietly, offering a small smile before heading back toward the exit. But as you reach the door, you stop, standing just before the threshold. There’s an odd feeling gnawing at you, something that makes you hesitate before stepping outside. You take a deep breath, as if bracing yourself for whatever might come next.

Finally, you step out. You wait for the familiar sensation to return—the feeling of being watched, the strange calm that’s followed you for days. But nothing happens. The air is still. The presence is gone.

You exhale slowly, the tension in your chest loosening, and for the first time in a while, you feel a flicker of relief. Maybe this is what peace feels like. Maybe you’ve finally managed to shake whatever it was that had been clinging to you. You walk down the church steps and start making your way home, your steps lighter, as if the weight of the last few days has lifted.

But as the quiet of the evening settles around you, you can’t help but glance over your shoulder, just to be sure.

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That night, when you finally make your way to bed, something feels off the moment you step into your room. It’s quiet, almost too quiet, and when you glance at your bedside table, the absence hits you immediately. There’s no candle softly flickering, no rose resting beside it. For days, those strange, inexplicable objects had become part of your nighttime routine, and now, without them, your room feels… empty.

You stand there for a moment, staring at the bare space, unsure how to feel. Part of you should be relieved, right? The presence is gone, the priest’s cleansing worked, and now, everything is back to normal. But as you sit on the edge of the bed, you can’t shake the odd sense of unease gnawing at you. That eerie calm you’d come to expect—no matter how unsettling—had become familiar. And now that it’s gone, it feels like something important has been ripped away.

You lie down, pulling the covers up, trying to convince yourself that this is what you wanted. Peace. Quiet. But as the night wears on, you toss and turn, the silence pressing in on you from all sides. Sleep doesn’t come easily. Every time you close your eyes, you expect to hear that soft, whispering voice, or to catch the faint scent of roses in the air. But there’s nothing. Just the cold, stark quiet.

Hours pass, and despite the exhaustion, you can’t seem to find any comfort. The night drags on, restless and heavy, and when you do manage to drift off, it’s into a light, uneasy slumber. The dreams that come are disjointed, dark, and full of shadows that shift and twist just beyond your reach.

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As the days turn into a blur of mundane routines, you find yourself increasingly aware of an emptiness that settles in your chest. It starts subtly, creeping in like the morning fog, but soon it becomes a heavy weight you can’t ignore. You catch yourself glancing around your room, searching for something, but you can’t quite put your finger on what’s missing.

You dismiss it at first. Tell yourself it’s just a phase, a product of the unsettling experience you had in the forest and the church. But deep down, you know what it is.

Each night, when you lay in bed, the absence gnaws at you, louder than your rational thoughts. You try to convince yourself that you don’t need any strange tokens, that their disappearance signifies freedom. But the truth is, you miss the ritual, the soothing presence they offered, even if it was unsettling. They were reminders that you weren’t entirely alone, even if the presence felt like a shadow lurking in the corners of your mind.

You begin to notice it more and more during the day. At work, when the sunlight streams through the window, illuminating everything around you, your thoughts drift to that flickering candlelight. You find yourself distracted, unable to concentrate, imagining the scent of roses filling your room, their petals vibrant and alive. In moments of quiet, when you should feel at peace, your mind wanders back to the eerie calm that came with those objects.

You even catch yourself thinking about the fortune teller’s words, the way she spoke of the Devil card and its implications. Was it truly gone? Or was it simply biding its time, waiting for you to acknowledge its presence again? The uncertainty hangs over you like a storm cloud, dark and oppressive.

Every night, as you prepare for bed, you look at that empty space on your bedside table, and a familiar ache settles in. You want to deny it, want to convince yourself that you’re better off without the strange gifts. But as you drift into an uneasy sleep, the truth lingers just beneath the surface—you miss what once was, even if it was chaotic and frightening.

And the more you deny it, the stronger that longing becomes, until it feels like a part of you is reaching out, desperate to reclaim the connection you once had.

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One night, as the hours dragged on, you found yourself tossing and turning, your mind racing with thoughts that wouldn’t settle. Eventually, you groaned in frustration and opened your eyes, confronting the reality that sleep was eluding you. With a resigned sigh, you sat up, pulling the covers off your body. You felt restless, as if your own skin was too tight.

Navigating through the dark, you made your way to the kitchen, each step a little more deliberate than the last. The house was silent, the only sound the soft padding of your feet on the cool floor. You reached the fridge and pulled out a water bottle, opening it with a quick twist before taking a few long gulps. The cool water felt refreshing, but as you set the bottle down, a familiar shiver raced up your spine.

You froze, instinctively turning slowly around, scanning the dimly lit kitchen. “Hello?” you called out, your voice a soft echo in the stillness. But there was no response, only the quiet hum of the refrigerator and the distant sound of the wind outside.

Turning back around, you tried to shake off the chill that lingered, but then something shifted in the air. It wasn’t stifling, but it felt heavy, pressing down on you like a weight. A sudden awareness prickled at the back of your neck, and you froze again, feeling a breath whisper past your ear.

It was warm and sweet, mixed with an intoxicating scent of roses and something burning, like incense.

“Hello, little angel,” a sultry voice whispered, sending chills through your body. “Miss me?”

You turned your head slowly, dread pooling in your stomach, and there it was—a black shadow, dark and formless, hovering just inches from your face. Two crimson eyes glinted in the darkness, locking onto yours with an intensity that paralyzed you. You wanted to scream, to run, but your tongue felt heavy and your limbs refused to move. All you could do was stare in terror, heart pounding in your chest as the shadow loomed closer.

In that moment, you understood with horrifying clarity: you weren’t alone anymore.

You could only watch as the shadow moved to stand directly in front of you, your gaze locked onto its form, mouth slightly open in disbelief. The presence was back, and you felt a strange mix of fear and longing bubbling within you. You hadn’t realized how much you missed that voice, that intimate whisper, until it echoed in the stillness of your kitchen once more.

“Excuse my sudden disappearance,” the shadow spoke, its tone smooth and rich, wrapping around you like silk. “The cleansing you underwent caused me to step back. I could only return to you when your soul desired me again.”

Your heart raced as his words registered, the surreal nature of the moment crashing down around you. You found your voice again after the shock wore off, forcing the question out of your throat. “What… are you?”

The shadow paused, then gave a graceful nod as if remembering something important. “Excuse my manners,” he said smoothly, his voice dripping with dark elegance. And then, right before your eyes, the inky figure began to shift. The darkness gave way to a striking form, his transformation almost too breathtaking to believe.

He stood there now, a tall, beautiful man, whose very presence stole the breath from your lungs. His skin with pale, flawless that seemed to glow in the dim light. His black attire was tailored perfectly, hugging his body and adding to the aura of power he exuded. But it was his eyes that drew you in —those deep, red orbs that gleamed with a playful yet dangerous light, and his blond hair fell effortlessly around his soft features. But it was more than just his face that left you spellbound—two long, black horns curved proudly from his head, and behind him, a sleek, horned tail swished lazily through the air. In his hand, he casually twirled a pitchfork, as if it were an extension of himself.

“I am the Devil,” he said with a charming smile, his gaze locked onto yours, “but you may call me Sunoo.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with implication. You stared at him, a whirlwind of emotions crashing through you—fear, intrigue, and an unsettling familiarity. The realization of what he was settled deep within you, mingling with the longing you had tried so hard to suppress. Despite the warnings that echoed in your mind, you couldn’t help but feel drawn to him, to the chaos and the darkness he represented.

The kitchen felt smaller now, the shadows thicker as he took a step closer. “And I have come back for you,” he said, his voice low and enticing, making your heart race faster. His red eyes locked onto yours, and with each word he spoke, the weight of his gaze felt as though it was peeling back your very soul.

“I watched you,” he began, his voice a low rumble, rich with emotion. “The moment I laid eyes on you, I craved you. You ignited a hunger within me that I had thought long extinguished. A mortal like you,” he said, his tone reverent, “looked like an angel in my eyes. Your innocence, your strength, your beauty—each facet drew me closer, wrapping around my heart like a vine.”

As he reached out, his fingers brushed against your cheek, a caress that sent a shiver of warmth through your body. His touch was electric, igniting a spark deep inside you that resonated with every heartbeat. “But then,” he continued, the softness of his voice darkening, “I saw you on that forest floor, hurt and scared for your life. It filled me with fury, a rage that pulsed through my veins. How dare they threaten you?”

He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your skin as he continued, “I sought you out. I stood by you, watching over you as you went about your days, waiting for the moment when you would long for me as I longed for you. I protected you from the darkness that surrounded you, even as I stood in the shadows. I knew this night would come—the time when you would feel my presence and accept me as your own.”

Your heart raced, his words weaving a web of desire and belonging that tightened around your chest. “Your soul now belongs to me,” he whispered, and as the words left his lips, you felt his hand press against your chest, right over your heart. The moment his palm made contact, your heartbeat quickened, a rapid rhythm drumming beneath his touch, as if responding to him alone.

You were so close to him now, his presence overwhelming, the warmth of his body radiating against your own. His gaze never wavered, locking onto you with a hunger that made your skin flush. Without warning, he moved swiftly, twisting you in a fluid motion until your back was pressed firmly against the counter. The cool surface was a stark contrast to the heat that coursed through your body.

Before you could react, his strong hands gripped your thighs, lifting you effortlessly as he hoisted you up and set you on the counter. The sensation of his touch lingered, your body humming with warmth as his gaze roamed over you, a possessive fire burning in his eyes.

He took a moment to admire you, his gaze roaming from your head to your toes, as if memorizing every detail. “You complete me,” he breathed, his voice thick with emotion. “I have waited countless millennia for my Queen. And here you are, the one I have searched for. When you were sacrificed to me, I knew your soul would be mine forever.”

As he spoke, you felt a rush of warmth flood through you, like molten gold coursing through your veins. His presence enveloped you, making you feel alive in a way you hadn’t thought possible.

“You are perfect,” he said, his voice low and intimate. “Every inch of you is a work of art, crafted for my eyes alone.” Then, without warning, he leaned in, capturing your lips with his in a kiss that ignited every nerve ending in your body. It was passionate, a collision of heat and longing that left you breathless.

Suddenly, you felt whole, as if the missing pieces of your soul had been returned to you. A wave of warmth washed over you, burning deliciously from the inside out. You melted into him, feeling safe and cherished as he held you close. His kiss deepened, a dance of desire that left you wanting more, while his hands roamed your body, caressing your curves with a tenderness that contrasted with the intensity of his longing.

You lost yourself in him, wrapped in the intoxicating blend of warmth and desire. Every kiss, every gentle caress, felt like a promise—an assurance that you were meant to be together, that you had finally found the place where you belonged. In his embrace, you felt invincible, as if nothing in the world could ever harm you again.

When you pulled back, breathless and dazed, he dove back in, capturing your lips with a fervor that left you reeling. “My angel,” he murmured between kisses, his voice thick with longing, “you don’t understand how much I need you. You are everything to me.” Each word tumbled from his lips like a sacred incantation, wrapping around you and pulling you deeper into his world.

You gasped as he kissed you again, his mouth moving against yours with a hungry urgency that sent shivers down your spine. The warmth of his body pressed against you, and you felt as though you were melting into him, losing all sense of time and space. He was insatiable, a force of nature, and you struggled to keep up with the intensity of his desire.

“I will keep you for myself,” he vowed, his voice so soft that it sent a thrill of excitement through you. “No one will take you from me. I will protect you for all eternity.”

With every kiss, he expressed a need that felt primal, as if he were staking his claim on your soul. You gasped again, trying to keep pace with the whirlwind of emotion that engulfed you both. He pressed against you, the world outside fading into a blur as his presence consumed you. You could feel his heart racing, a rhythm that matched your own, each thump a testament to the bond that was forming between you.

“Please,” he breathed, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes, his red gaze filled with a fierce intensity. “Let me show you what it means to be loved by the Devil. Let me drown you in my devotion.”

As he pulled back slightly, his red eyes shimmering with intensity, he asked, “Will you come with me? Will you rule beside me as my Queen?” The weight of his question hung in the air, and you felt your heart race at the thought of a life intertwined with his—a life where you would stand by his side, embracing the darkness and light together.

Looking into those mesmerizing, molten eyes, a wave of certainty washed over you. You found yourself nodding, breathless as the words tumbled from your lips. “Yes, I’ll come with you.”

A wide grin spread across his face, a radiant joy that illuminated his features. The sight sent a rush of warmth through you, igniting a fire that burned hotter than ever before. He leaned in, capturing your lips once more in a passionate kiss that left you dizzy. The heat between you surged, enveloping you in a cocoon of warmth that made you feel like you were burning from the inside out.

In the blink of an eye, the world around you shifted. When you opened your eyes, you found yourself in a magnificent room bathed in rich, lavish reds. The walls pulsed with a warm glow, and golden accents shimmered in the ambient light, highlighting the opulence that surrounded you. You were nestled on a grand bed, the silken sheets beneath you soft and cool, cradling you like clouds.

Turning your head, you saw him standing a few feet away, his red eyes locked onto you, radiating affection and adoration. His presence was comforting, that it made your chest swell with joy. You belonged here—with him.

As if reading your thoughts, he climbed into bed beside you, pulling you close. His arms wrapped around you, strong yet gentle, holding you with a protective warmth that made you feel safe. A wide grin spread across his face, and you noticed how his eyes almost disappeared when he smiled, his soft cheeks lifting in a way that made him look so much more human, so endearing.

It almost made you want to reach out and squish his cheeks—this unexpected softness he showed you. His red eyes glimmered with love, as if you were the center of his universe. “My Queen,” he said, his voice filled with pride and affection.

You smiled back at him, feeling the weight of the bond that now intertwined your souls. “My King,” you whispered in return.

His grin widened as he hugged you even closer, his hold warm and reassuring. The titles felt right, as if they’d always been meant for the two of you.

[xogiulianna]

DECORATED

hamzah gets distracted while you two are putting lights on the christmas tree.

your fingers fumble with the large ball of christmas lights you’re attempting to string along the branches of the first christmas tree you and your boyfriend bought as a couple, in your shared apartment.

attempting to hold your balance while untangling the cord of the lights - you get distracted, swaying slightly and causing your legs to instinctively tighten around hamzah’s head to avoid toppling off of his tall frame.

“you got it, sweetheart?” he asks from below you, his fingers squeezing your thighs a little bit tighter, trying to make sure you stay in place.

“not really,” you grumble. “they’re all knotted up.”

“here,” hamzah’s hands slide up to your hips, making you gasp as he suddenly, effortlessly picks you up off his shoulders.

being careful to not bump your head against the ceiling, he lowers you back onto the floor in front of him. “let me help.” he offers, holding out his hands for you to place the intertwined lights in.

you hand over the lights, and you both spend a while sat on the couch, attempting to get them all untangled. you two manage to at least get a few feet undone, and you plug the loose end into the wall, the tiny bulbs glowing as hamzah continues to intricately undo each knot.

several more minutes pass, and you’re now laid across the couch with your head in hamzah’s lap, the soft glow of the lights casting over your face while you stare up at his hands working away at the tangles.

“here, lemme see.” you murmur, sitting up and grabbing the hold of the cord that’s nearly all straightened out. your fingers pull apart the last few knots for him as he cracks his knuckles, his hands tired and achy from spending much more time on tedious task than you did.

“all done?” hamzah questions, his voice low in your ear as he watches you finish off the untangling.

“mhm,” you hum, leaning your head on hamzah's shoulder, his hand coming to rest on your thigh that's pressed up against his own as you sit beside him. you hold up the lights proudly, as if hamzah didn’t just do most of the job for you.

but he doesn’t care about having done the work - something's caught his eye.

his gaze is fixed on the way the decorations illuminate your skin in a gentle radiance.

and something else really sparks his imagination; the way the cord is slightly draped across your wrists as you grasp the string of lights between your fingers.

“can you help me put them on now?” you ask, tilting your head up towards his to cast an eager glance at him.

"uh-" he coughs, eyes widening. "what?" he quickly blurts.

"the tree..?" you clarify, your brows quirking in confusion as you vaguely gesture over to the corner where the tree stands.

“oh, right..” hamzah says absentmindedly, slightly shaking his head as his eyes flick between your face and the lights in your hands. "the tree, yeah."

you recognize that distracted tone of voice - there’s something on his mind.

"what's wrong?" you ask, your eyes searching his face, seeing if you can pick out a distinct emotion.

"there's just.." he mutters, sneakily sliding his arm behind your back and around your waist. “there’s somethin’ i wanna do first, mkay?”

before you can question him, he’s scooping you up, maneuvering your position with zero struggle as he lays you down across the couch.

“baby,” you say cautiously. your eyes meet his as he hovers above you, the expression he wears suddenly doing nothing to hide the dirty thoughts his mind is conjuring up. “what’re you thinking about, hm?”

he dips his head down, his lips skating across your neck as his hands wander across the fabric of your pajama top - a red plaid button up that’s part of a matching couple’s pajama set that you purchased for the two of you. you’d left nearly half of the buttons undone, showing off your bra that had the same pattern.

hamzah claims to think it’s corny, but you know he secretly loves all the holiday traditions you want to experience with him, hence the decorating of the christmas tree in the first place.

“i’m thinking about..” his voice is whispery against your skin. “how pretty these lights're gonna look.”

a breathless, confused laugh escapes your lips as he presses sloppy kisses against your collarbone, his fingers fumbling to undo your shirt fully, helping you shrug it off your body and discard it onto the floor.

“on the tree, you mean?” you question, glancing behind you at the fir tree that’s barren of any decoration so far. “i mean, yeah, but..” you trail off, still unsure of his motives as he partially undresses your body and leaves you in your plaid bra.

“no, angel.” he says, subtly taking the strand of lights out of your grasp, making you realize you forgot you were even holding them. “they’re gonna look pretty on you.” he says.

your lips part in silent shock as hamzah suddenly flips you over, your knees tucked into your stomach as his hands quickly grab your wrists and pull them behind your back.

“hamzah..” you whine as he begins to tie your hands together with the cord, your face now smushed against armrest of the couch.

you’re stunned by how fast he was able to get you in this position - compared to the slow pace he held while lazily untangling the ball of lights just moments ago.

you strain your neck, managing to catch a glimpse of his face as it darkens with lust at the mere sight of you tied up before him, struggling against the restraint as he elaborately secures a knot in the lights.

“mm,” he hums, admiring his handiwork as you squirm beneath him. “i was right.” he coos, hooking his finger into the waistband of your pajama pants. “you do look pretty like this, like you’re decorated just for me.”

the way he’s speaking, the fervor with which his eyes drink you in - it’s already making you soaked.

this was uncharted territory for you two. neither of you have ever been restrained like this during sex, you always had your hands all over each other, trying to feel as much as you could.

but you’d be deprived of that this time.

the idea excites you.

“tell me, sweetheart,” he leans down, lips brushing your shoulder. “tell me it’s a bad idea. tell me you don’t want me to fuck you, tied up like this.”

you only whimper in response, your mind doesn’t seem to have the capacity to form a sufficient sentence due to the fact that hamzah's already starting to slide your pants down.

“poor thing.” he murmurs, chuckling darkly. “maybe i should just check and see how wet you are right now, yeah?” he quips, pressing a kiss to your back as he tugs off your bottoms for you, leaving you in your panties.

he reaches down, his touch feather-light as he drags his fingers across the damp spot that’s formed on the thin fabric of your underwear, making you gasp.

“dirty girl..” he says, finding your clothed clit and circling it with the tip of his finger. “you like this, don’t you?”

you feverishly nod against the surface of the couch, your cheeks flushing a deep red as you arch your back, slightly parting your legs for him.

"so responsive." he mutters, softly caressing the smooth skin of your ass while continuing to slowly rub you through your panties. "but you gotta tell me what you want, baby. or else i'm gonna leave you here, all helpless." his voice is sultry and teasing as he threatens you.

obviously, you comply, your voice quivering as you voice your needs. "please," you choke out, your chest already heaving with shallow breaths due to the intense anticipation you feel.

"not enough." he growls. "look at you, so impatient. getting all worked up, and i've barely touched you."

"baby.." you cry out softly. "please fuck me, please, i really really wanna feel you," the words are so desperate, so unfamiliar.

you've never had to beg like this before, hamzah usually just knows exactly what you want, and doesn't hesitate to give it to you.

"mhmmm," he hums in satisfaction, only waiting a few seconds before he's practically ripping your panties off, tugging his own pajama pants and boxers down, his erection springing free.

immediately, you try and shove your hips back, needing some sort of friction to relieve the suffocating soreness in your core.

hamzah lands a harsh smack on your ass, forcing a moan out of you as a stinging sensation erupts across your skin. "you really want it bad, huh?" he says, teasing you by rubbing his tip up and down your soaking folds, making you gasp. "didn't know you'd like it this much.." he murmurs wickedly.

"need you," you whine. "please."

suddenly feeling his tip pause at your entrance, you get curious and try to look back at him.

the moment your eyes meet, he shoves his length inside your tight cunt, bottoming out in a single thrust and making you squeeze your eyes shut in pure ecstasy.

"oh, fuck!" you exclaim, jaw falling slack as hamzah starts pounding into you at a merciless pace.

one of his large hands holds onto your hip, bouncing you against him while the other takes hold of the christmas lights that still bind your wrists together. he tugs at them, pulling your arms backward and making you arch your back even further, allowing him to hit a deeper spot within you.

"shiiitt.." he groans, admiring your scrunched up face and relishing in the feeling of your walls hugging his cock, practically sucking him in. "squeezin' me so fuckin' tight, angel. feels so good."

your fingers are reaching out, silently begging for a chance to touch hamzah - the action hardly going unnoticed by his gaze.

"so needy." he states, leaning down to kiss your lower back as his hips continue slamming into you, his cockhead bumping against your g-spot over and over.

"lemme- mmph, lemme outta this, hamzah!" you whine weakly, your hands scrambling to find purchase but the only thing you can grab onto is the strand of lights itself.

he lets out another low chuckle, snaking his hand up to gather your hair into a makeshift ponytail, tugging your head back and making you spew out unintelligible jumbled sentences mixed with gasps and moans.

"already asking me to untie you?" he says harshly. "at least look at me while you beg, angel."

forcing your eyes open after they've been wired shut this whole time, you stare back at him - seeing the way his pupils are completely dilated, his forehead shining with a thin layer of sweat, a few stray curls sticking to his skin - it all drives you even crazier, the pressure that's been building in your tummy becoming even more intense.

"atta girl," he growls, gazing down at you. "listen, baby. i'll- god, i'll let you go when you cum for me, yeah? ruin yourself on my fucking cock, and you'll get what you want."

he continues doing most of the work for you, trying to pull an orgasm out of you as fast as he can. mindless whimpers and broken obscenities tumble from your lips, the knot in your stomach feeling tighter and tighter - you know you're gonna lose control soon, if he keeps up this unforgiving rhythm.

"c'mon," he exhales, licking his lips as his eyes fixate on the lewd sight of his length disappearing inside you. "make a mess on my dick, sweetheart."

driven by the brink of your climax, you start pushing your hips back to meet his, fucking yourself on your cock until your self control is completely gone.

"hamzah!" you cry out. "ngh, fuck- i'm gonna.. gonna cum.."

"thaaat's it," hamzah moans, feeling your walls close in on his dick. "let it out, babe."

complete euphoria crashes over your body like a tidal wave, your orgasm hitting you hard and fast. your voice, emitting moans - that are more like screams - is muffled by the surface of the couch as hamzah fucks you through your high. he lets up on the rough pace a little bit, not wanting to overwhelm your sensitive pussy.

your mind is clouded with pleasure as your legs tremble and you completely unravel underneath hamzah. you hear him uttering praises, telling you how pretty you are, how perfect you are for him.

and, as you come back down to earth, you feel the restraint lifted from your wrists as hamzah undoes the tight knot in the cord.

"jesus, baby.." he murmurs, rubbing your wrists soothingly, feeling the deep indents that the tight string made in your skin. "what a good girl, took me so fuckin' well."

hamzah pulls out of you as you try and regain composure. when you're catching your breath and using your arms to stabilize yourself against the couch - you're suddenly getting flipped over onto your back, your gaze snapping up to hamzah kneeling over you.

"wanna see my angel's pretty face when i cum," he groans, stroking himself a couple times before his dick twitches and he's suddenly throwing his head back, panting and groaning while his seed spills out onto your lower stomach.

you bite your lip, admiring him as he experiences his own high. "fuck.." you whisper, making his gaze fall upon you, his eyes half-lidded. he suddenly reaches down, dragging his thumb across the soft skin of your belly. he collects his own release on his fingerprint before placing his thumb on your lips, probing your mouth open.

you accept, eagerly taking his thumb between your lips. his jaw falls slack as he watches you taste his cum, swirling your tongue against his thumbprint to clean him off.

once you've both recovered, he tucks himself back into his pajama pants and collapses against the couch.

"so," he murmurs breathlessly, casting a glance over to your weak frame, sprawled out across the cushions. "how 'bout that tree, hm?"

you laugh, kicking him in the leg playfully. "it can fucking wait," you say, reaching down to the floor to grab a strand of garland that was lying out with the other miscellaneous christmas decor you bought. "it's my turn to decorate you."

____________________________________________

a/n : heard the hamzah tag was in need of something.. so i decided to write this for my first post !!! tis the season

xo giulia

[beensbaee]

hello :) idk if you’re taking requests atm but if not ignore this!!

i would like to request some hcs for neteyamm if that’s okay, maybe some general ones like about him like his lil quirks and stuff and then some relationship ones? thanks lovely! 🫶

AHH i got you babe!! here's some head-cannons of our favorite boy on Pandora ~

Neteyam ⋆｡°✩ who's love language was acts of service. He was the perfect definition of a gentleman - always putting your own needs before his. He'd pick out the freshest fruits for you to eat and let you use his body as a pillow whenever you were in need of a nap. He was perfectly content with braiding your hair while you slept, often intertwining his own beads into the strands so you always had a piece of him with you no matter where you went.

Neteyam ⋆｡°✩ who used Norm's camera to take pictures of you. The Sky People's odd device was something he would come to cherish. He had polaroids of you stashed in a simple woven basket under his hammock - with other trinkets and sorts that reminded him of you.

Neteyam ⋆｡°✩ who had a bad habit of staring at you. He didn't even notice himself looking at you so longingly all the time until Lo'ak was snapping his fingers in front of the lovesick boy's face with an agitated look in his eyes. How many times would Neteyam space out and watch you play with little Tuktirey? He imagines you with his own children one day, and how wonderful of a wife and mother you'd make.

Neteyam ⋆｡°✩ who cradled you to his chest when you cried. He hated the sight of your lash line wet with tears, the sight bringing him to near tears as he hushes and soothes you. He spoiled you with love, making sure not a moment went by where you felt unloved. He was brave, but the sight of you crying always managed to break a piece of his heart. Until you're happy, don't expect the kisses and hugs to slow down anytime soon.

bonus scene! ⋆｡°✩

"Teyam - I can feel you smiling." You whisper, the feeling of his lips grazing your cheek soft as he lets out a chuckle

"I'm sure you can. You haven't opened your eyes yet, right yawne?"

You nod your head silently, your eyes still closed as he finally squeezes your hand gently - giving you the go ahead to open your eyes

Your fluttering lashes are met with the warm shine of the bioluminescence of the forest around you - and a few feet away from you was a tree, one that had you and Neteyam's named carved onto it.

"Do you remember this tree?" He asks softly, his eyes warm with love as you lean forward in awe, tracing the engraved wood with a smile

"I don't but... I feel like I've been here before." You whisper

"This was the tree you and I had our first kiss under. Remember, that branch was leaning over our heads - its vines tickling your sides when you leaned over hmm?" He muses, an amused grin on his face as he gently tickled your side as you squeal

"Teyam! This is - this is so wonderful." You breathe our, smiling so brightly that Neteyam's heart almost bursts at the sight

"Our love will be here forever. It's engraved here - one day, when we're old and our time has come - you and I will be laid here. Together forever, you and I." He whispers, and your eyes shine with unshed tears

"I love you Neteyam."

"I love you more yawne."