#who leaves a one year old on a doorstep

[badoccultadvice]

So like, I have been having this weird experience analyzing the Harry Potter books lately, and please indulge me while I talk about J.K. Rowling's weird writing.

My goal was simple: read the Harry Potter books to find which parts were influenced/inspired by actual magic that people do in real life. My theory was that there was a lot more magic in the earlier drafts of the books, and that she took a lot out due to fear of backlash from America's ongoing reenactment of the Satanic Panic. For instance it's quite obvious some of their magic lessons got dumbed down so that very little of what's in the books could actually be tried in real life, and I think she took out a lot of astrology.

I also wanted to do a couple errands along the way, one of which was to check and see if it's explicitly written in the books that Harry is a cis man. I'm a trans man, SO I'D KNOW. (I'm a slow reader so all I can say for now is: the FIRST book does not explicitly state Harry is cis, but if he's trans, there's some implied worldbuilding with items like the Sorting Hat that comes into play. Also I'm fairly sure the Dursleys would have gone along with him being trans because that meant Petunia could reuse Dudley's old clothes instead of having to get girl stuff. I'mma save any other explanations on the topic for a video on it.) The reason I'm doing this read-through is because I think J.K. doesn't know anything about trans people and didn't think to make sure her wizard world was trans exclusionary. AND IT TURNS OUT THAT WE TRANS MAGIC USERS HAVE A WAY OF WIGGLING INTO MOST PLACES UNDETECTED BY NORMAL MEANS.

While I was doing the re-read I encountered two sort of broad revelations:

There's a lot of old stuff in there like Latin and Greek and tradcraft stuff, but also modern magic of the more recent era... but the incorporation of modern magic cuts off somewhere before the 80s. These books read like they were written by a early 70s magician. Like they honestly read like J.K. is a magical practicioner who just didn't read any magic books written after 1972 and never discovered what Chaos Magic is, (and also, never heard of most of what happened in the Cold War). I have never found a writer, in fiction or non-fiction, more dedicated to referencing magical stuff that most magicians alive today just don't care about anymore.

J.K. Rowling's knowledge of child abuse laws and general social mores regarding treatment of children also ceased to update itself by about the 80s. I keep getting distracted by this and having to make more side-notes about corporal punishment and researching stuff like when caning was banned in England. (HInt: it was banned before Harry went to school, so in Book 1 it's fuckin weird that he assumes that Wood is the name of a cane he's about to be whipped with.) Like, this woman raised children in the modern era, she should know when canes stopped being used.

So like, when I mention that I'm doing some research in this area, this is the sort of stuff I'm reading for and the sort of stuff I'm encountering. I haven't been talking much about this journey because it seems like any time anyone brings up anything Harry Potter up whatsoever, we've got to talk about how J.K. is a terf in every other sentence. But like, y'all: I hope you slow down and re-read the books, because J.K. Rowling is a terf who is also a child abuse apologist and normalizer. She is a terf who is also a horrible fat-shamer. She is a terf who is also an ableist with a huge problem writing about mental illness. And she's a terf who's also a sexist who undermines feminism with her actual writing of female characters.

And I honestly think she double and triples down on the terf stuff so that people will only talk about that. I think it's worth talking about the fact that not only is she an awful person in the terf way, but like, every other way imaginable too. I think it's worth talking about the fact that with all the obvious biases she has, the group she CHOOSES to publicly marginaiize is trans women, and I think she makes that choice because she thinks that she'll get more allies that way. That if she wore all of her issues on her sleeve like she wears the terfness, that she'd lose a lot of allies, that a lot of prestigious charities would stop having anything to do with her. That she uses the identity of "terf" as a shield because she knows that certain people will protect a terf, and she does this specifically so people won't notice how much of a sexist, abuse apologist, ableist, fatphobe etc she ALSO is. Opinions that could lose her a lot of money and clout if people remember them enough.

She's trying to pick on who she thinks is the most unpopular kid in the class out of the hopes that the bullies in class will be her friends instead of pile up on her, but if the bullies knew what she really thought of them, THEY wouldn't even be her friends.

Also like... I just want someone else to read the actual words in these books and see what fucked-up choices she made as a writer. I think a LOT of people remembering these books are actually remembering the movies, which are way more different from the books than you might expect.

[phagodyke]

didn't realise I was angry abt my mum trying to seek emotional reassurance from me until I brought it up in conversation w my roommate and ended up bitching for an hour abt it like. yeah okay I guess I am a bit pissed off !!

[cherrybr4t]

DILF!SEUNGCHEOL (+18, mdni)

A/N: to the anon that requested for some dilf cheol, i love u i am u. i think about dilf cheol probably 20 times a day. wanted to write a hc but got carried away…as u can see… 2k words 💨💨💋

WARNINGS: smut, DILF CHEOLL, unprotected sex, oral (f rec), dom!cheol, sub!reader, f reader, it’s pretty mild…i think…

dilf!cheol whom you met while bringing your niece to her weekly soccer practice. you often helped to babysit her, and you loved seeing her in action — playing passionately every sundays, calling out to her aunt on the field with her adorable pigtails

dilf!cheol first noticed you on one fateful saturday practice at the stands, shades at the top of your head, pretty face with your ponytail dangling behind you

dilf!cheol comes up to you; telling you that you look younger than all the other parents here. you explain that you’re here for your niece, while he mentions his own daughter on the soccer field

dilf!cheol wastes no time, and asks you out on a date the second time yall meet during practice, as if you could say no to the most handsome man you’ve ever met in your 22 years of living…

dilf!cheol decided that a gem like you deserved the finest things in life — bringing you to his favourite restaurant, a private room he booked out specially for you, the best wine on the menu, with the most spectacular view (especially the man in front of you clad in a sleek button up, hair flawless as he combs it back every few minutes)

dilf!cheol who has his own successful company running, always mentions how his daughter is the light of his life, the one thing that kept him going after his ex-girlfriend up-ed and left after leaving pretty little sua on his doorstep. all he wants is to provide the best for his lil munchkin

dilf!cheol being a gentleman, drives you home and you invite him up for some tea, not wanting to end the night there. he agrees, though it probably wasn’t the best decision; considering how he told himself not to fuck you yet — not after a few more dates (he strongly believes he does not have the sex drive of a 20 year old) aaand he really did not trust himself to be in a room alone with you

dilf!cheol was right — feeling all his self-restraining effort go down the drain as he looks at you, sitting so damn near him on the couch, you might as well be on his lap.

you weren’t playing though. you wanted him, and you needed him immediately. your hands dancing dangerously on his thighs, leaning in closer to him whenever he made a witty comment.

fuck the water that was done boiling. you weren’t going to leave this couch to go make some tea, all you could think about was how cheol looked like he was about to lose it too.

he leans in. you lean in. “cheol…” the way you uttered his name in such a soft and slightly raspy manner made his breath hitch. he definitely caught on to the slight cry and need for him to make the move

that was all he needed, before he crashed his lips onto yours, kissing you so fucking deep, you could feel every crevice of his pretty cherry lips, drenched with the need to meet yours. his tongue — oh god his tongue, dancing with yours half way through the kiss, as if teasing you, showing you what that pink muscle of his was capable of.

dilf!cheol loved making demands. first, you were to strip out of your red dress slowly, standing in front of the couch where he sat, manspreading with his elbows propped up on the sofa. he stares, hungrily, eyes watching every movement you made to remove that article of clothing that was driving him crazy all night.

after which he demanded you to sit on his lap like a good girl — making sure you knew that he loves rewarding good girls. the dark spot on your lace panties made him chuckle. “you wanted this that bad princess? had to ask me if i wanted a cup of tea, when this was your true intention all along…” he traces his finger along your thigh as you settle down on his lap.

you let out a whine — embarrassed, but it was true. “why princess? admit it, you wanted me so bad you were willing to do anything to get us in this situation,” his fingers continued tracing to the back of your bra, unhooking it with one hand, letting the lace material fall to the ground.

“yes cheol, i wanted you so fucking bad i- , you looked so good, during dinner a-all i could think about was you fucking me right,” you moaned out, gripping on his hard shoulders, nails clutching on the fabric of his button up.

he let out a groan, “you thought about that during dinner? my dirty girl, so filthy — all for me, i made you like this didn’t I,” his hands travel to your tits, thumbs brushing on your hard nipples, before pinching both buds and pulling on them, eliciting a load shriek and moan from you.

“yes cheol, you did.. n-need you..” he latched his hot lips on your nipple, showing you once again the power of his pink muscle, licking and sucking like it was his favourite candy. it felt so fucking good you couldn’t help but cry out, grinding down on his crotch. feeling like any more attention towards your sensitive tits could make you cum sooner than expected.

“fuck princess you’re fucking soaking, i can already imagine how good that warm cunt will feel around my fingers, around my tongue..”

“and your cock cheol, need you to be inside me,”

“patience, i told you good girls get rewarded,” as if he himself could wait any longer.

he carries you to your room, laying you on your soft sheets. with no buffer time, you feel a pair of lips at your center, licking through the soaked material.

“o-oh my god, cheol,” he rips the material off you, leaving you exposed right in front of him, and he swears he’s never felt this hungry for pussy before. he licks, he inserts that tongue of his down your warm cunt, pushing the walls open, slurping every single drop of you he can. wrapping his thick lips around that sensitive nub of yours, sucking it hard enough that you cry out, arching your back as you laced your fingers through those locks of his, pushing him closer.

“so good.. so good cheol…more more..,” you were a broken record, all you could think about was chasing your high, and the man in front of you was more than happy to make that happen.

“yeah, princess? so good for me, so fucking delicious you deserve to be eaten out every day every fucking hour, goddd,” wanting to look at your pretty face as he makes you come, he rubs your sensitive engorged clit roughly in tight fast circles, while inserting two fingers without warning.

you screamed out, unable to control the unhinged moans slipping out of your lips. you felt otherwordly, as if you were ascending into a new realm with immense pleasure. “fuck, cheol oh my god oh my god,” your moans going higher in pitch when he curled his fingers, touching that textured gummy pad deep inside you, hitting it non stop.

“wanna cum princess? i know you want to, feels so fucking good doesn’t it? i know princess i know,” he spoke in an overly sweet tone, and it just made you clench around him even more. your knuckles turning white at how hard you were gripping those poor sheets.

“i wanna cum cheol, can i cum now? please please please,” your sweat blends with a drop of tear sliding down the side of your face, feeling your high literal seconds away.

cheol’s cock hurts, straining so bad against those dress pants of his. he needs to be inside you now, but he wants you to — no, needs you to come before that. “fuck, you can cum princess, let go for me,”

and you let go, spasming around his fingers, with the loudest cry of the night yet, body jerking up from the immense sensation of flood gates opening.

“yeah that’s right, princess, so good for me, so pretty when you cum, feels so good doesn’t it,” cheol swears he could cum in his pants at the sight of you coming undone, wrecked on his fingers. and he thinks to himself — it’s a sight he wants the privilege to have, every night, for the rest of his life possibly.

you came down from your high panting, looking up to see cheol in his boxers already, pulling them down, only to reveal the prettiest, girthiest cock you’ve ever seen, and all you want is for him to be in you, for him to make you his.

“i-i’m on the pill, you can go for it cheol,” you muttered out with whatever strength you had left in that moment, all you can think about was being pumped full of cheol’s cum. his heart thumps at your words. he lets out a groan, stroking his member as he gets back on top of you, and you admire how his muscle — his biceps and shoulders goes taut, god, he looked so fucking strong, you were about to cum the second time looking at him.

“ready princess? swear m’gonna fuck you til you’re full of my cum,” and he slowly inserts his full length inside of you, and you moan at the stretch his thick cock gives you.

“hnnng, so thick cheol, so big,” you moaned, nails gripping on his shoulders and he grabs both of your wrists, slamming it right above you on the pillow, holding you right there. you whined, while he spotted a smirk at the corner of his lips.

“look at you princess, so fucked out when i’ve just barely started, is my cock that good baby? hmm? you like it that much?” one hand pinning your wrists down, the other adjusting your leg above his shoulder. the angle making you feel him in places you didn’t know you could.

“this is what you wanted, right princess? fuuuck look at you, so fucking pretty all under me,” he falters; wanting to degrade and embarrass you to utter filth, but looking at you being so good under him, he can’t help but praise you, telling you how good you’re being for him.

your heart swells, pussy gripping onto him even tighter if that was even possible, “cheol…i wanna cum again, wanna cum around you,” you whine out, eliciting a deep growl from the man above you.

“i swear princess, you drive me fucking crazy,” he snaps his hips into you in an insane pace, feeling so lost in the feeling of you and your warm slippery cunt hugging his cock so good he thinks he went to heaven and back for a moment.

as he feels his release approaching, he’s in disbelief at how fast it comes, but he can’t hold it in any longer. “cum with me princess, fuck, can’t take it anymore, need to fill you up nice and full with my cum.” his moans get louder and you love how needy he sounds; not holding back, moaning your name with a crack in his voice.

with no warning, your orgasm crashes over you, arching your back, crying out cheol’s name as you spasm around him. “fuuuck baby i’m coming,” with slower thrusts, cheol leans down to give you a passionate kiss as he releases his hot load into you, it spills and shoots, so much fucking cum that it leaks out immediately and you moan at the feeling, at complete bliss being so full of his cum.

dilf!cheol giving you the best aftercare ever, you’re his and only his now, his princess and now he self declares that he’s going to take care of you like no other man could, or will!

dilf!cheol has a stamina of a teenager, going for multiple rounds throughout the night, leaving marks all over you, needing so bad to claim you as his.

yup…trust that i’m not done w dilf cheol and i’ll be back with MOREEE ✍️💋 anws i hope yall like it <33 if you did, like/comment/rb to lmk what u think abt it 😍 thanks for reading lovelies,, xoxo 😘💨💋

[talaok]

Giving up

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: Coaxing your neighbor into having sex with you although he's unsure since he's much, much older than you

Warnings: big ass unspecified age-gap, Jackson!Joel is a softie Smut| unprotected piv, crempie, insicure!joel, sub!joel, also my man has trouble lasting cause he's not done this in a very long time.

a/n:i needed to write some cheesy romantic stuff, and maybe it doesn't really make all that sense in this story and maybe i cried while writing this cause no one is ever gonna love me like this but so what bitch leave me alone (i also am i lil tipsy as i proofread this, so ignore any mistakes pls)

Part 1

"did you do something to your hair?"

Tommy was standing on Joel's doorstep, looking at him as if he were an alien.

"I washed 'em" he grumbled, "what do you want?"

His brother couldn't help but huff out a laugh

"someone's in a good mood today"

"I've gotta be somewhere, just tell me what you want"

Tommy's interest was only piqued more.

there stood his brother, his clothes perfectly clean- maybe even ironed- his hair... styled, his beard trimmed...

something was definitely going on.

"Where are you going?"

Joel rolled his eyes now, shooting his little brother a death glare

"none of your business"

Oh he knew what was going on...

"Who is she?"

"Tommy-"

"Is it Jessica? I bet 's Jessica, she's always flirting with you you ol' dog-"

Joel swore he was gonna punch him- he was already running late because of how long he took to pick his clothes- finding a flannel that wasn't completely worn out turned out to be real fucking hard.

He felt stupid for how much effort he'd put into getting ready, he felt stupid for how anxious he was, but most of all... he wanted his brother to go away.

"There ain't no one, Tommy- now, if there ain't anything you need, please go-"

But just then- just when he was finally going to get rid of him, your sweet, soft voice made its way to his ears.

"Hi Joel! Hi Tommy!" You smiled from your porch, waving your hand at him and his brother "You didn't forget about today, did you Joel?"

What in the actual fuck?

Tommy did a double-check, looking between you and his brother, and when he finally confirmed that it was actually him you were talking to, you whom he'd gotten all dolled up for, he couldn't do anything but let out a slow, long breath.

"No I didn't- I'll be there in a minute, darlin'!" Joel was answering you as his brother regained his ability to speak

"well... Fuck. Me" he was in awe, his voice barely a murmur

"it ain't like that" Joel was quick to intervene "'m just fix-"

"'m sure it ain't" Tommy let out a chuckle, his hand going to pat his brother's back "You fucking lucky bastard"

"Tommy I know she's young bu-"

"shut up man" he laughed "Just go have fun, you asshole"

__ __

"Sorry 'm late, Tommy was just-"

You smiled at his words, shaking your head

"It's ok, Joel" you cooed as you let him in,

He gave you a soft little smile, and you felt like the luckiest girl in the world.

Joel Miller didn't smile just at anyone.

"water?" you asked, leading him to the kitchen.

"Uhm- sure"

His heart was damn near beating out of his chest already- for no fucking reason at all.

Well except the obvious one... you'd sucked his dick and he'd eaten you out three days ago- and you'd made it clear you wanted more.

Jesus Christ, he felt like a fourteen-year-old with his first crush.

You watched him as he sipped on the glass.

"So?" a soft smirk was caged between your teeth "Did you think about it?"

He damn near choked.

Which didn't make any sense, he was expecting this, he already knew you'd ask.

He cleared his throat, diverting his eyes from you "I-I have"

"And?"

You'd gotten closer, your expectant eyes studying every inch of his face

pleasepleasepleaseplease say yes

"Did- didn't you have something that needed fixing?"

Oh for fuck's sake

"joel" you called for him in what almost sounded like a plead.

"darlin' just... lemme fix your cabinet first"

This man was gonna be the goddamn death of you.

"ok"

__ __ __

As it turns out, in many different ways.

Who knew watching him fix something would turn out to be so fucking hot?

He'd rolled his shirt up so that his strong forearms and a glimpse of his beautiful bite-worthy biceps were showing, his hands moved so very expertly that they couldn't help but bring back memories of what those same fingers had done to you just a few days ago, and his face... he looked so hot when he was all in his head, concentrated only on the task before him-

or so you thought.

"You're gonna stare at me the whole time?"

A soft laugh escaped your lips

"don't mind me- just enjoying the view"

He huffed out a laugh as he went back to work, but you couldn't help but notice the fact he pushed his sleeves ever further up his arms, giving you more of a view of his delectable skin.

What a tease

__ __ __

"there we go" he said after some time, opening and closing the cabinet one final time to make sure "all done"

For the record, this time you hadn't even done it on purpose, the cabinet had actually broken. It was like fate was sending you a message.

You awakened from your daydreams as he stood up to his full height, and hopped off the stool you were sitting on to walk closer to him, noticing some dampness in your panties while doing so...

It wasn't your fault... he was the one looking way too hot doing such a simple task.

"thank you" You smiled up at him, your hands going to his chest,

He held his breath for a moment

"'s nothing babygirl"

"yeah? then... you think you could check my bedroom too?" you were biting your lip in a way that made your question take on a whole different meaning "to make sure nothing needs fixing y'know?"

"In your... bedroom?"

"yes, Joel- please" you added, with your best innocent doe eyes.

Which of course made him fold in a matter of seconds.

You'd taken on a different tactic. It was obvious at this point that the man was too shy and too unsure to give you an answer (or the one you wanted to hear anyway), which is why you needed to present him with the actual possibility right in front of him.

And yeah maybe it was manipulative, but fuck it if you didn't wanna feel the man inside of you.

The flashbacks of what he did to you on that bed filled his mind the moment he stepped into the room.

He needed to get a grip or he wouldn't be able to hide his growing bulge in a minute.

"Everything seems right"

"yeah? 'm not sure about the bed" you hummed, desperately hoping he would just go along with it "it makes a weird sound when I get on it"

He turned to you then, his eyes locking with yours for an infinite second.

"try" you said finally, nodding to the bed.

He watched you for a moment longer before, surprising you, he did it- he sat on the bed.

The mattress creaked underneath his weight, and you made quick work of strolling closer to him as he pressed his palms on the bed, checking for the inexistent "weird sound"

"it don't look like there's anythin' wron-" he looked up the moment your hands found his shoulders "Whatcha doin'? sweethear-"

You were sat on his lap before he could even finish the sentence.

"Joel" you spoke his name softly, as if it were a caress, your hands slowly moving up and down from his shoulders to his pecs, as you finally scooted closer to him so your core was right against the hardness in his jeans-

He inhaled sharply, his fingers curling on the bed.

"would you like to have sex with me or not?"

You accentuated your words with a slow roll of your hips, grinding onto him and making a soft groan build inside his throat

"this- this ain't really fair sugar"

A smirk pulled at your lips as you lowered your head to whisper in his ear "I never said I didn't play dirty, Mr. Miller"

Your right hand trailed lower, moving down his belly so slowly that Joel thought he might just lose his mind.

"You're y-young baby-"

Your hand had found his crotch, the outline of his dick fitting in your hand oh so perfectly.

"we've gone over this already Joel, I'm old enough" you purred, your lips leaving a peck just below his ear "old enough to do many many things"

He cursed under his breath

"I just... I don't understand"

A breathy laugh escaped you

"there's not much to understand really" you murmured "You're hot, and I like you, and I wanna get in your pants"

That earned you a chuckle

"and you're sure you won't regret this?" he asked, "you sure this is what you really want- that- that you don't want to give a boy your age a chance instead of me?"

You smiled as you looked up at him,

you'd never met a man so sweet

"Joel, I promise you I'm sure" you whispered "I promise you this is what I want, you are what I want"

Fucking damn it

How could he ever say no after that?

With those gentle eyes of yours looking at him, with your hand right over his cock...

"So?"

He was gonna think about the consequences tomorrow. Now- now there was only you.

"yes"

That single word sounded better than any song you'd ever heard.

yes

Your lips were on his before he could even think of changing his mind- and god did they feel like a dream.

His soft stubble grazed against your cheeks and upper lip, as you deepened the kiss, as he opened up to you, closing his eyes only after he'd taken you in, only after he could admire all that was happening to him for some godforsaken reason.

A growl rumbled from his chest when your core found his dick again, grinding onto it in a way, that combined with the way your tongue was tasting every inch of him, was making him see stars.

He didn't think he'd kissed like this in 30 years,

making out seemed like such a distant thing from him, he was much too old to do something like this, and yet... everything about you made him feel like a teenager all over again, so perhaps it was fitting-

and god he had forgotten how amazing it felt.

You started undoing his flannen, not even dreaming of breaking the kiss, and once you opened his shirt up, once his big strong chest was right there before you, you just had to look at it.

You leaned away, his lips chasing yours making you smile as your gaze lowered.

Jesus, he was the hottest man you'd ever seen.

Some hair and freckles adorned his pecs, his little belly was ever so cutely fighting against his jeans- his skin was soft beneath your palms as they explored every inch they could reach.

He was looking at you, watching your blow-out eyes, wondering what potion you'd drank to be this mesmerized by what he had to offer.

You smiled once you caught him, leaning closer to leave a quick kiss on his lips.

"take off your clothes"

You got off of him, and once he saw you get rid of your shirt, your boobs pushed together by a simple black bra that somehow, at the moment, seemed like the sexiest thing in the world, he rushed to follow suit, nearly tripping getting off his pants.

The moment he looked at you again, the world- the universe, it all went quiet.

You stood naked before him, a soft, perfect little thing, looking like a damn dream.

"babygirl" he could only breathe as you reached him again.

"What?" you laughed

"I-I don't even know"

You shook your head, grinning from ear to ear as he pressed his mouth on yours again.

He was already addicted.

In a haze, you found yourself on the bed, your body caged beneath his, his tongue fighting with yours, his hands all over- You almost had the urge to laugh at how desperate he seemed, how frantically he was touching every inch of you, exploring every piece of skin-

His hands were on your tits, fingers gently playing with your nipples, then on your belly, your waist, your ass, your thighs, until finally, he found your core, but before he had the time to fully reach it you'd switched up with him, straddling his lap as he laid flat on his back... only he couldn't keep away for even a second and he immediately sat up, grabbing your waist.

He couldn't even begin to complain that you'd already grabbed his cock, positioning it at your entrance.

You couldn't wait anymore- you needed him now.

"Wait-" he murmured, his breathing labored already "you sure you're... y'know ready?"

Oh my god, you swore you were gonna fall for him if he kept this shit up.

"Joel" you smiled, looking into his big brown eyes "I've been wet since you fixed the cabinet"

"I-" he blushed "You-you sure?"

You didn't answer him, you simply took one of his hands in yours and guided him to feel just how much you were telling the truth.

"Fuck"

"yeah" you smirked "that's just what you do to me, Mr. Miller"

Jesus fuck

Joel didn't think his cock had ever been so hard.

You didn't give him time to do or say anything- he'd gathered that's how you did things by now- as you slowly, oh so very slowly, started sinking onto him.

He was big, the kind of big you'd be feeling tomorrow morning. The stretch hurt just right, so overwhelmed by the unadulterated pleasure that it was barely there.

Soft little moaned gasps spilled from your lips with every inch added, your eyes were closed, only focusing on the extraordinary feeling as your nails clawed at Joel's chest.

Until, finally- you'd done it. You were fully sat on his cock, and while your eyelids fluttered open, you regained your ability to hear- to hear the curses leaving Joel's mouth between ragged breaths

"Jesus Christ- Jesus fucking Christ- Goddamnit"

His grip on your waist was so tight you were sure it was gonna leave a bruise... not that you were complaining.

"you ok?"

His eyes were shut close and creases of effort filled his forehead, while his chest went up and down as he desperately tried to breathe.

"Joel?"

He swallowed tightly, now breathing in through his nose before exhaling from his mouth.

"d-don't move"

You smiled as you promised "I won't"

God this was fucking embarrassing.

He'd spent three days training.

And yes he wasn't sure he would have said yes, but still, better safe than sorry- except for the fact it clearly hadn't worked.

He had spent three days fucking his own fist and trying to last as much as possible and he did do progress... but this... this was fucking nothing like what he'd felt in the last twenty years.

He was so fucked

"I-I'm sorry" he gritted out, sounding almost defeated "I- I haven't done this in a long time darlin'"

"And you... you feel so fuckin' good- fuck"

Your walls had inadvertently squeezed around him at his words, making a groan rumble in his chest.

"You have nothing to apologize for Joel"

he would have told you that your voice was making everything worse if he weren't so preoccupied with trying to calm his dick down.

"take all the time you need"

And so he did, his eyes remained closed as he breathed through the initial shock, until finally, after what felt like an eternity, he was back.

He had to stifle a moan once he opened his eyes back up.

There you were, your beautiful eyes trained on his with such gentleness and care that it made where his gaze fell to feel even more sinful.

Your boobs were barely touching his chest, and yet they could have been in his face for the effect they had on him- his hands were on your waist, holding onto your soft flesh, your thighs were straddling his lap, giving him no choice but to finally look between your bodies, where you two connected.

"Darlin'" he murmured, hypnotized

You smiled, watching him admiring you in silence

"You look..."

Every word that came to mind wasn't enough, you were otherwordly, you were perfection... so he just settled on the simplest, and perhaps truest of them all.

"you're beautiful"

Your cheeks burned with heat as his gaze came back to yours.

"so are you, Joel"

And that was that.

His lips found yours again, and you couldn't stop your hips as they started moving, rocking back and forth and bringing little waves of ecstasy to your core.

A desperate moan spilled from yours to Joel's mouth as he grabbed the back of your head, forcing you into an even deeper kiss as he started following your movements.

Your hands went to the back of his neck, grabbing at the hair at the nape of it as you finally started bouncing on his dick, and god- god it was even better than you could have ever imagined

The loudest growl sounded from his throat as you worked yourself up and down on his shaft.

He was in another universe, his actions were only reflexes as the hand not tangled in your hair found your tits and then your ass, grabbing at it with tenderness and need.

"Oh Joel" you cried, his dick filling you up better than anything ever before.

You could quite literally feel him in your stomach, every little vein and ridge of skin creating a permanent dent inside of you that only he was ever gonna be able to fill.

"sweetheart- fuck" he groaned on his own, your breaths mixing as you ghosted each other's mouths, his eyes raking over your body and face, while yours couldn't help but roll to the back of your head as his manhood hit a particularly good spot.

"You feel so- good Joel" you whimpered mindlessly, now quickening your pace, desperation taking over you completely.

the sound of him entering your drenched core mixed with the bed creaking underneath you as you drove yourself closer and closer to heaven.

The sound of his name falling from your lips was something that filled Joel's chest with an indescribable feeling, he felt on top of the word, and at the same time... at the same time he wished it had never left your mouth because it was now forever imprinted in his brain, and he knew nothing was ever gonna compare to it.

Oh and also- also it was making his little lasting problem real fucking hard to control.

But he was nothing if not a gentleman,

You were gonna come, he wasn't gonna have it any other way.

His hand lowered down your belly as you kept chasing your release, looking like a damn glimpse of paradise, until his thumb found your clit.

"Oh fuck" you moaned, your eyes snapping open to look at him- a dark glaze of lust shading your iris.

Joel realized too late that he hadn't taken into account how fucking tight you'd get, and was now really paying the consequences.

Plus when you looked at him like that... maybe just this one time he could not be a gentleman- I mean it's not like he had much choice, he was trying his hardest but- shit

"darlin'" he mumbled, his thumb circling your bud "w-where do ya- where do ya want it?"

You moaned louder just at the thought of him coming

"Inside"

It wasn't even a question

"N-no sweetheart I-I shouldn-"

"Joel" you interrupted him, your lips grazing his as you talked, your grip on his hair tightening "I want you to fill me up until I can feel you leaking out of me for days"

Good Christ and heaven

"Fuck me" he cursed, all his strength going on not coming right there and then "Darlin' please- tell me you're close"

You were already seeing stars as he spoke

"I'm close, baby- oh fuck" you cried "Joel!"

A tsunami of lust-filled pleasure coursed through your veins as your orgasm hit like a damn truck.

You couldn't even remember your name as you screamed his own into the thick air, as you moaned and cried and spasmed around him, feeling him do exactly what you'd asked- filling you up to the very brim.

He'd started coming the moment you did- he couldn't do anything about it, it was just unadulterated perfection-

His head fell between your neck and shoulders as groaned like a man possessed,

until finally, after a good three minutes, you were both back to the land of the living.

He looked twenty years younger when he looked at you again, and you- you looked like the most beautiful woman on earth.

A soft smile pulled at your lips, and you couldn't help but ask "How long before we can do it again?"

And fuck him, but his age didn't matter, with those eyes of yours, it might very well be minutes.

@kluvspedro @bluebiyou @casssiopeia @bean-is-reading @millerispunk @i-cant-stfu

[fayes-fics]

To Know You…

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Benedict knows you better than anyone. But does he know himself well enough to know what he truly wants?

Warnings: none really… fluffy fluff. Childhood friends, class differences, marriage mart shenanigans, dancing, marriage proposals, Benedict being adorable while also a complete dumbass, unrequited to requited love, love confessions.

Word Count: 10.4k (yeah, it's a long one, folks)

Authors Note: this is a request fill for @curlsincriminology (ask HERE) about Benedict showing you all the wonderful things he sees in you, but will he figure out his own feelings before it's too late? Thanks to the complete trooper @colettebronte for beta reading this monster one-shot. Enjoy <3

I: To Know You….

“I would rather not, Miss y/l/n,” the young man clips, walking away from you at a brusque pace. 

You sigh and look down at your feet. Mrs Parsons will be so very disappointed, is all you can think.

—

Benedict may not have heard the words spoken, but even from his vantage point at the other end of the ballroom, he could see the disdainful way the young man uttered his parting words to you. It makes anger flare hot in his chest, his fist forming reflexively at his side.

He watches as you look down, shoulders hunching, folding in on yourself physically, as if the rejection for a dance has manifested in a body blow. He feels a pang in his gut—of sympathy, indignance on your behalf and mainly at the injustice of it all. To him, you are a wonderful, intelligent, caring person worthy of a good match. Still, the circumstances of your upbringing seem to stymie your attempts to join so-called ‘polite’ society at every turn…

—

You look up with a defeated mien until your eyes land on one person who has always been able to ameliorate any of your more morose moods—Benedict Bridgerton. Instantly, you feel lighter. You give him a polite nod across the crowded room, and, to your delight, he returns it, a hint of a sympathetic smile tugging at his lips. It is just so very characteristic of him to offer silent support, to understand, from witnessing a moment of interaction, precisely what you are feeling. A large part of you feels so wistful that there is no other man quite as nice as him. Suddenly, your overwhelming need is to leave this stuffy ballroom and catch some air.

You grew up under the tutelage of the kindly doctor’s widow, Mrs Parsons, whose house is not far from the vast Bridgerton estate in Kent. The naturally born daughter of nobody quite knows whom, you were taken in as her ward when you were abandoned upon her doorstep at a mere two years old. Her reputation for kindness towards young waifs and strays is likely why you were left there. It is an event you were too young to recall, so all you have known your whole life is her generosity and kindness, raising you as if her own. 

And now that you are of age, she takes you to events around Kent in the hopes of securing you a respectable husband, the most prestigious being tonight’s Hearts and Flowers Ball at Aubrey Hall. The Bridgertons have always been gracious enough to invite local families, those without the means to partake in the London season, to events at their country estate—a kindness that allows for your attendance tonight. It’s just such a pity that the one bachelor Mrs Parsons was so very keen for you to meet, one Mr Reeves, just rebuffed you so thoroughly. 

You glance down at the remaining empty slots on the dance card tied to your wrist and sigh again. Now that you are out on the terrace in the fresh evening air, the light breeze is at least a partial balm, allowing you to recover from the sting of rejection away from the hubbub of the ballroom.

“I will never understand how the men of this county can consider themselves anything approaching mannered.” 

You would know that refined voice anywhere. It haunts your dreams. Just the sound of it making your ribs tighten. You turn to see Benedict sauntering towards you, two drinks in hand, that sympathetic smile still in place.

“You are far better off without such rudeness,” he adds dryly as he pulls up beside you, arching an eyebrow for your entertainment.

“You are far too kind, Mr Bridgerton,” you answer, taking the glass he offers with a meek smile, trying not to let your ardent admiration for him be too evident. 

“Mr Bridgerton?!?” he scoffs, “What happened to BenBen?” he teases gently, recalling your childhood name for him when you were a mere four and he was nine.

“We are at a formal event; I should address you as such, should I not?” you reply playfully, a warmth spreading inside as it always does when you get the chance to have a witty, convivial exchange with him.

By gosh, if there is one man to whom you would pledge yourself without hesitation, it is him. But, of course, he is the second son of an illustrious family. To think you would have any chance to win his heart would be as likely as a future king to marry a commoner. Still, you can dream…

“At least call me Benedict, Skylark,” he winks over his wine glass as he takes a sip, butterflies erupting in your tummy at the affectionate nickname he has used since you were small; you have to avert your eyes to avoid blushing deeply.

Just as he goes to speak again, his brother, the Viscount, materialises at his side. Looking to all intents and purposes as if he is trying to escape the ball as much as you are.

“Mother is best avoided tonight, brother,” Anthony warns sagely, taking a large gulp of his champagne. “She is under the erroneous impression I am suddenly in want of a wife.”

You can't stop the giggle that bubbles up from within at his wry observation of his predicament.

“Hello, y/n,” he greets warmly, just noticing you are also there, his face morphing into a youthful, playful grin. If Benedict is the husband you have always dreamed of, Anthony is the elder brother you have always yearned for. In fact, that is always how he has treated you, akin to Eloise and Daphne, who you grew up playing with, being of similar age.

“Hello, Anthony,” you chime back. “How was the hunt earlier? Did the infamous Bridgerton brothers kill another prized stag?” you inquire, keen to engage both of them for as long as they will entertain you. Just being around them always lifts your spirits to no end.

—

Benedict observes you as you listen intently to Anthony’s recounting of the hunt earlier that day, impressed by your resilience. He has no doubts any other woman would feign an attack of the vapours had a man rejected her so harshly. But here you are, politely listening to his brother’s boasting, even though he can tell you are hurting inside.

Perhaps it helps that your snub went primarily unnoticed. You are unknown to the Ton; any witnesses likely dismissing it as the business of ‘country folk’ unworthy of note. Which, frankly, he could scoff at, seeing as he holds you in higher regard than all of the other attendees combined.

“How about you?” Anthony ends his story with a question to you, interrupting Benedict’s train of thought. “How has your experience been at our fine event this evening?”

“Oh, the house is splendidly decorated and the music wonderful,” you obfuscate behind flattery. Anthony appears to buy it, but Benedict sees behind your facade, the flame behind your usually bright gaze dimming a little, making something ache in his gut to see it. 

Damn that idiot for ruining your evening! This just won’t do…

—

You can feel Benedict’s eyes upon you as you respond abstractly to Anthony.

“Y/n here is too polite to say it, but she was treated harshly by that young Reeves chap from Tenterden,” Benedict edifies as you bow your head, embarrassed. “Let’s be sure to rescind his invitation to future events, brother,” he appends with a surly tone.

“Duly noted,” Anthony nods sincerely, a brush of confusion flitting over his face regarding his brother's vehemence.

“No, there is no need…” you begin to protest weakly but halt mid-sentence under the intensity of Benedict’s gaze.

“I bore witness. Believe me, He shall not darken our door again,” he states firmly.

It appears the matter is very much decided, and you don’t want to put up much of a fight, seeing as it ultimately benefits you. You do, however, want to bathe in the warm glow inside whenever Benedict defends you. It's wonderful to have someone looking out for you, especially one so handsome and kind.

—

Two days later, you are taking afternoon tea with Mrs Parsons at the local tea shop when Benedict breezes in, looking so majestic dressed in Bridgerton blues that you grind to a halt. Luckily, he has not seen you as he makes a beeline for the counter.

“‘Tis rude to stare, my dear,” Mrs Parsons lectures sotto voce, nodding to your teacup, frozen in mid-air.

You shake your head a touch and place said item back in your saucer as she turns briefly to look at what or who caught your attention. Then she reaches out, her lace-gloved hand gently patting yours. 

“It would be prudent to set your sights a little more realistic…” she advises with a sympathetic air.  “Not that I fault your choice,” she adds, so quietly at first you're not sure you heard her correctly, but there is a tiny playful smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. Your mouth falls open fractionally, and you stare as she shrugs. “I may be old, my dear, but I am not blind.”

Well, I never, Mrs Parsons!

As you take a bite of food, Benedict twists around from speaking to the proprietor, and he sees you. There’s a jolt down your spine as he breaks into a huge smile that claims his whole face. And you almost choke on scone crumbs as he makes a beeline over to you rather than the exit.

“Good afternoon, Miss y/l/n, Mrs Parsons!” he greets effusively. “Would it be terribly impolite to ask to join you briefly?”

Mrs Parsons' face is a picture of surprise. “Not at all; the pleasure is ours, Mr Bridgerton,” she responds affably, gesturing to the spare chair at your small round table.

As Benedict sits, Mrs Parsons shoots you an incredulous look. It's your turn to shrug fractionally.

“Mrs Parsons, I feel it necessary to tell you Mr Reeves was excessively rude to Miss y/l/n here at the ball, and I wanted to assure you that he will not be welcome at Aubrey Hall again,” he divulges sincerely.

Mrs Parsons looks taken aback and turns to you. “Why did you not tell me, my dear?”

“I-I did not think it necessary…” you twist your mouth into a bashful pout, biting your lip.

“Mr Bridgerton, thank you for bringing this to my attention, and I thank you for your generous offer, but that sort of action does not seem warranted,” she replies accommodatingly.

“That is what I said…” “That is what she said…”

You and Benedict speak in unison at the exact same moment, and your eyes ping to each other, both laughing then bowing your heads immediately. You know your cheeks are flushed.

—

Benedict loves the look in your eye sometimes. That spirited sparkle with glowing cheeks. In his opinion, that is the only look you should ever wear; no one, especially one as unworthy as Mr Reeves, should be allowed to rob you of it. He feels a strong compulsion to do everything in his power to keep you looking like that—carefree, happy, stunning. It’s what motivates his subsequent words.

“If it is not considered too impudent for me to do so, I have a suggestion for Miss y/l/n’s introduction into society,” Benedict offers sincerely. “I believe you should be able to find her an excellent, worthy match by casting a wider net.”

“What are you proposing, Mr Bridgerton?” Mrs Parsons inquiries, almost warily.

“That Miss y/l/n come to London and partake in the remainder of the season as a guest of my family. My mother seems to think it an excellent idea, and I know my younger sister Eloise is already a good friend. I do not see why they could not attend events together,” he shrugs genially.

Mrs Parsons's face is a picture again. “You have already spoken to the Dowager Viscountess of this matter?” she checks, unable to modulate the astonishment in her tone.

“Of course,” he confirms with a nod. “I made such a suggestion this morning when your names came up. She heartily concurs. Miss y/l/n here is too bright and good of a person to have her marital choice limited by geography or circumstance.”

His eyes fall on you, and his heart gallops at the searing look you are giving him.

—

You don’t even try to temper your doe-eyed expression as you look upon Benedict, him extolling your virtues to the audience of the tea room. 

Even distracted by all the wondrous things he has to say, you can detect the noise level on the surrounding tables has reduced; everyone in town always keen to eavesdrop on a Bridgerton conversation. Especially one that contains such noteworthy gossip as a local young lady being invited to the London season at the family’s behest.

“My dear, I trust that Lady Bridgerton will look after you well,” Mrs Parsons professes. “I have no objections should you desire to seize this opportunity.” Her tone pointed, very much encouraging you to do so.

“That would be just wonderful, Mr Bridgerton,” you exhale with a grateful smile. “I cannot thank you enough for even thinking to raise such a petition.”

“Think nothing of it, Miss y/l/n,” he smiles, standing up and giving you both a brief, shallow bow. “I shall see you anon, no doubt.” 

And with that, he sweeps out of the tearoom, your eye line tracking his concave outline through the curved glass as he rounds the corner out of sight.

“Well, well,” Mrs Parsons puffs out her cheeks. “I am not sure what you did to inspire such actions in a gentleman. But bravo, my dear, bravo,” she holds her teacup aloft in a toast. 

You are a jumble of emotions and could not even begin to answer Mrs Parsons about what you could possibly have done. Mostly, you are just elated by the prospect of the chance to attend the whirl of the London season, even if there is also a small pang of regret that Benedict is so keen to see you matched.

II: …Is To Love You

The following Tuesday, as your carriage pulls up outside the grandeur of Bridgerton House, you have nothing but butterflies. And as Lady Bridgerton - Violet as she insists you now call her - and her lady’s maid show you to your charming guest room, you cannot temper your excitement.

“Get yourself freshened up, my dear. There is a soiree this evening at the Queen’s new residence no less, and there is no time like the present to begin your introductions,” the dowager viscountess warmly counsels.

You nod your thank yous, and after they take their leave, you twirl excitedly around the room, taking in the elegant furnishings and airy sunlight flooding in. You pull up in front of a large sash window and are delighted to see bounteous gardens beneath. The rear of the property is very much an oasis of calm in the heart of the city. But one sight in particular draws your eye: a majestic oak with two swings attached to a stately arm. It looks like a place of refuge, and you feel oddly compelled to take a seat there.

Three hours later, walking into the palatial Buckingham House, you are in a different world from the one you know in Kent. Candlelit crystal chandeliers glint like towering clusters of jewels, spraying thousands of shards of light around the room. Every railing is bedecked in hundreds of drooping flower garlands, and the walls groan with enormous portraits of royalty. The mellifluous strains of a chamber orchestra fill the air. Your grip on Eloise’s arm is tight as you try not to look agog at all the opulence surrounding you.

“And I thought Aubrey Hall was grand,” you murmur quietly, and she just guffaws.

—

Benedict arrives late to the soiree from his bachelor lodgings, bustling in as stealthily as possible, knowing he will likely catch his mother’s ire for his tardiness.

But then he sees a sight that makes him temporarily stop dead in his tracks. There, hanging on to his little sister, surveying the room utterly lost in reverie at its grandeur—is you. He has not seen you dressed up as you are now, made over with the full attention of the Bridgerton staff. And he isn't afraid to admit to himself, at least, that it catches his breath. How they have applied cosmetics and styled your hair, emphasising your already evident beauty. And the dress they have chosen… well, he is almost ashamed of the heat pooling low in his gut; he has never seen you in such tailored, refined silks. 

Whosoever marries you shall be quite the luckiest man indeed.

He doesn't miss the way you inhale sharply when your eyes finally land on him, his chest swelling slightly with pride as your lips part in surprise before breaking into that winning smile which always seems to brighten every room, tonight being no exception.

As he pulls up to the family, he hears his mother opining to you about the men attending the ball.

“Y/n, I would like to introduce you to Lord Shelton; he is a fine young man with many interests, and he has a lovely estate near Hove,” his mother recounts as you listen intently.

“Oh god, no,” Benedict immediately intervenes, “Shelton has amassed significant debt at the Pudding Lane gaming hell…” 

Violet looks up surprised, then raises an eyebrow. “Pray tell dear son, how do you have knowledge of such? Benedict Bridgerton, you had better not be frequenting the hells of the East End,” she threatens quietly, in that stern maternal manner that has any grown man quaking in their polished shoes.

“No, of course not, mother,” he bristles, his eyes cutting briefly to you, not wanting you to think such things of him. “It is an open secret at Whites’, and why he is currently banned from the card room there.”

—

You cannot tear your eyes off Benedict as his mother side-eyes him.

Violet hums sceptically before declaring. “Well, not to worry, there are plenty of other options available for Miss y/l/n…” She steers your attention towards another crowd of young men, all talking and sipping champagne. “Baron Corning, Lord Jennings, Viscount Tewkesbury,” she recounts, nodding subtly to each one. “Any would make a fine addition to your dance card, my dear.” 

“We can do much better than any of them,” Benedict chides.

You are slightly taken aback at how very much he sounds like Anthony tonight; apparently very invested in curating who you should dance with. The problem is, with each additional suggestion his mother makes to you, he roundly dismisses them out of hand. 

Is no one in attendance up to his standard?

“Benedict, dear, a word?” Violet states pointedly after a third round of his withering opinions. “Get yourself another lemonade,” she smiles at you, patting your hand before looping her arm in her son’s and dragging him away.

—

His mother’s arm is surprisingly strong when she needs it to be.

“Darling, may I remind you, while Miss Y/l/n is indeed a wonderful person, I do not think we can afford to be too picky for her prospects. Her background is rather… unestablished,” Violet points out diplomatically as soon as you are out of earshot.

“We can do better than braggards, bores and philanderers,” Benedict shoots back, raising a pointed eyebrow.

She looks up at him and sighs. “Well, that is true.”

“As I thought, mother,” he winks as she affectionately swats his forearm. “Why not benefit from my knowledge? In fact, perhaps it is prudent I assist in your search for a suitor.” 

“Oh, is it now?” Her tone suddenly filled with intrigue, her face entirely too scrutinising for his liking. “And does not my second son wish to join their ranks?” She adds entirely unsubtly.

“I have no time for romance; I have my art. I am most preoccupied.” He waves a dismissive hand, but even he knows his answer is tellingly brusque.

“And yet, you do not seem too busy to assist with the search, dear…” she points out archly. 

Benedict has no response to that. 

—

The day after the grand ball, you are sat in the dappled shade in the gardens of Bridgerton House, attempting needlework. It's never been your strength, frankly. You would much rather be allowed to partake in more physical pursuits, like archery or fencing, a want to burn off nervous energy as you await the arrival of any suitors. You did end up dancing with a couple of gentlemen, both of whom were…. fine… in your estimation.  

After messing up yet another stitch, you throw down the embroidery hoop and emit a deep sigh when a familiar chuckle rings out behind you.

“Not your favourite pastime?” Benedict correctly guesses.

“You can say that again,” you grumble, twisting to smile at him, a little frisson in your belly at his mere presence, alone as you are.

He rounds to take a seat opposite you, across the table.

“So let me guess,” his face charmingly skewed into a thoughtful mien. “You would prefer to be doing something, hmmmm, more athletic?”

You giggle and cast your eyes downwards briefly, abashed he seems to know you so well. “Correct again.”

“I remember you being a crack shot in archery,” he smiles nostalgically before continuing with genuine curiosity. “Why did you not continue it?”

“I was informed ‘tis unbecoming for a lady,” you rue, the mental image of Mrs Parsons deeming such things ‘unladylike’ flitting through your mind.

He scoffs. “Since when did fearsome little Skylark care one jot for societal expectations?” he teases gently, with a wink, as again he invokes the nickname he bestowed upon you a long time hence. 

You smile briefly before you become more sanguine. “Since I have been informed I must find a husband…” you sigh.

He frowns a touch. “Any man would be lucky to have a wife who can keep him company on the archery field. I know I, for one, would greatly appreciate a spouse with whom I could share such a pastime.” 

A bittersweet twinge in your gut that one day he will indeed be married to some deserving, no doubt elegant, lady.

“I would venture that you are not like most gentlemen in that regard…”

“Perhaps not,” he agrees, looking thoughtful, “but then you are not like most ladies, Skylark.”

“I am not a lady…” your counterpoint softly-spoken, almost ashamed.

“You are more lady than any other member of the Ton,” he asserts, his gaze suddenly intense, as if he is willing you to believe his point. “And you should be free to pursue any pastime you wish.”

You say nothing, just smile wanly, wishing you could believe it was true.

—

How you constantly doubt yourself causes a little stab behind Benedict’s ribs. A sudden burning need to prove that you should do as you please. He slaps his thighs and stands up swiftly. 

“In fact, I am going to go set up the archery targets right now,” he nods decisively, making a beeline for the far corner of the garden where he knows the targets are kept, hoping you will follow.

“Coming?” he calls, twisting to look back at you. “I won't tell anyone…” he adds with a conspiratorial wink, seeing from the involuntary bounce of your leg how much you wish to join in. 

He cannot help the smile that engulfs his face as you jump to your feet with a mischievous giggle. Nor can he help deliberately aiming badly, letting you roundly defeat him at target practice, basking in the victorious glint in your eye as you tease him gently for losing. 

He also pretends not to notice his mother watching from a high window, her expression riveted and so very telling.

—

Later that day, you are reading quietly with Eloise when Violet sweeps into the drawing room with her lady's maid. 

“Y/n, Sir Denton is here to see you,” she smiles brightly. 

“Oh, I…” you stutter, sitting upright, surprised.

“I can send him away, Miss?”  The maid offers, intuiting your disquiet.

“No, no, it is fine… I am just surprised, that is all. ‘Tis almost 4pm. I was not expecting that anyone would be calling, given the late hour.”

Benedict suddenly materialises in the doorway. As ever, there’s that trademark flutter in your chest.

“Any reason Denton is lingering in the hallway?” he inquires airily, grabbing a teacup and pouring himself some.

“He is here for y/n,” Violet breezes as his eyes cut to you, a wave of irritation seeming to cloud his face.

“Well, we should dismiss him,” Benedict sniffs, pausing in his action, his face souring.

“Why?” Violet frowns.

“I had a chance to look into his past since I acquiesced to his dance with y/n last night…”

“Acquiesced?!” Violet scoffs, but Benedict ignores her interjection, save for a curt eyebrow raise.

“I have subsequently discovered he has vastly overstated his assets,” Benedict bristles imperiously.

“Who woke up and made you Anthony?” Eloise pipes up witheringly.

Benedict shoots her a look of irritation. “Anthony has deputised me to run family matters while he is away on business this week, sister,” he reminds pointedly.

“Yes, but you did not have to adopt his personality as well,” Eloise shoots back, disgust evident on her face.

“I take finding y/n here, a suitable match, seriously,” he volleys. “Do you wish to see your good friend married to someone unworthy of her?”

“Well, no…”

“Then kindly permit me to handle matters,” Benedict orders with finality, uncharacteristically forthright in his opinions.

“I do not wish to see her married at all…” Eloise mutters under her breath as he stalks away to dispatch Denton before anyone can argue.

You just sit there mildly dumbfounded, unsure what to make of it all. 

—

The following evening, you are attending a music recital with the Bridgertons; Benedict is notably absent, which makes you a touch melancholic in a way you don’t want to dwell on. 

However, the evening turns for the better while you are taking refreshments at the interval. A friendly-faced young man strikes up a conversation with you after an introduction from Violet.

“Are you enjoying the music tonight, Miss y/l/n?” he asks genially.

“It is very nice, Lord Glassborough,” you offer politely, trying to stifle your slight boredom. You enjoy music, but a two-hour concert is a little too much for you. You much prefer a short set of songs as they play at balls.

“I find it rather dull myself,” he opines quietly, leaning in. “I much prefer a lively song one may dance to.”

You know your face is a picture of surprise that his opinion is an exact mirror of your own.

“Have I offended you so?” he checks, looking mildly contrite.

“Not at all, my lord. I was actually just thinking the same myself,” you chuckle quietly.

He looks inordinately pleased and breaks into a friendly, toothy grin. He seems like a nice, agreeable sort. A pleasant, if not particularly handsome, face. Over his shoulder, you see Violet looking inordinately pleased you appear to be getting on so well.

—

“I am not sure I can do this...” you sigh as Ms West genially taps the metronome.

“You can, dear; just remember your finger placement,” she encourages as your fingers fall to the cool ivory keys.

And so you begin again. Attempting to master this tricky piece, your eyes tracing the lines of music as you play the pianoforte. Violet is so keen for you to brush up on your skills, given Lord Glassborough’s interest in you yesterday. You could not find an adequate excuse fast enough, and so here you are, in a slightly reluctant music lesson, trying your best to recall how Mrs Parsons taught you to play a few years ago.

“Men do so appreciate a lady who can entertain them with exquisite music,” Ms West nods approvingly as you play.

Mostly, you are relieved when you make it to the end with no mistakes, at least none glaringly obvious.

“I much prefer to sing…” you admit tacitly as Ms West shuffles the sheet music.

She looks at you surprised, then shoos you from the piano stool. “Sing for me then, my dear…” taking a seat and beginning the opening bars to a song that, fortunately, you know well.

You begin to sing along, growing more confident with every note, allowing yourself to get lost in the words, the story of a lady awaiting her true love.

“Exceptional!” she peals delightedly over the sound, and you feel bolstered to continue, her playing the perfect accompaniment.

—

Benedict stops short as soon as he enters the house. The most lilting, beautiful sound echoing gently down the marble hall.

“Who is that Jenkins?” he asks of the butler who takes his coat.

“I believe it is Miss y/l/n, sir.”

He draws inexorably closer, finding himself watching you through the crack in the doorway, listening to you sing a touching tale of love that sounds so hauntingly hypnotic in your mellifluous tones. Your eyes are closed, and you sway to the melody, lost in reverie, in the narrative you weave.

The piano stops abruptly.

“Can we help you, sir?” an elder lady calls crisply.

Benedict realises the door has crept open slightly before him, enough for him to be seen by your music teacher. He watches as you swing around and look horrified that you may have an audience. It makes him take a resolute step forward into the room.

“Do you need us to desist? Is it perhaps too loud?” the lady checks deferentially, likely assuming him to be the head of the household.

“No!” His reply is a touch too forceful. “Please continue,” he modifies. “I was merely drawn by the splendid sound I heard. I am not sure I have ever heard such a wondrous voice,” he adds, keeping his gaze steadfastly upon the lady, not able to look you in the eye as he confesses as such. 

—

You are mortified when you realise Benedict heard you singing; you have always managed to keep it private, until now at least. But now your heart is suddenly pounding at his extolling words.

“She does indeed have a most excellent voice,” Ms West concurs with his sentiment, looking at you expectantly as Benedict walks further into the room, his face with the same hopeful expression.

“I am not sure I can…” you stumble, nervous for an audience, most especially him;  his is the opinion that would matter to you the most—you would be crestfallen should he not like it.

“Sing more for me, please, Skylark?” His ask is gentle, beseeching as if it were just the two of you alone.

“Skylark?” Ms West sounds enchanted.

“My childhood nickname for Miss y/l/n,” Benedict explains as he takes a seat. 

“Skylarks have a wonderful song,” she sighs wistfully.

“Indeed,” Benedict chimes, his eyes still upon you. “I never knew how appropriate it was until this very moment.”

Something warm cracks in your chest at his sweet words, making you courageous. At least enough to nod when Ms West looks to you again from the piano. And so you restart the song for your special audience, heart in your mouth. The words coming easily to you, an extra layer of meaning he will never know as you sing words of unrequited devotion, looking to him in your braver moments. His face is enrapt, leaning forward, his eyes soft and expressive. 

As you reach a high note at the end of the song, holding it, Benedict bursts into applause, jumping up from his seat and taking you by surprise, grabbing your gloved hands in his.

“You should always be singing Skylark…” he pronounces. “Truly beautiful. Please promise me, no matter what happens, that you will always, always sing…” 

You duck your head briefly, unsure how to deal with his effusive praise. Ms West’s face is a picture as you stand there, your hands still trapped in his, feeling a tingle where the warmth of his skin seeps through the layers to yours.

“I-I-I promise,” you reply meekly, a touch dazed as you raise your eyes again to meet his, the intensity making your lungs restrict.

“Thank you.” 

Two words have never sounded so sincere or loaded with significance. 

III: … And I Do.

A few days later, it is the Trowbridge Ball, a decadent affair that is usually the most talked about of the season, apparently. You share a carriage ride there with Benedict and Eloise, trying your best not to stare at him—so handsomely dressed in a white cravat and black velvet cropped jacket that clings to his tapered shape. But mostly, you fail. Your skin flushes hot the more you look at him. You could swear that his gaze strays to you, too, subtly sweeping the fine teal silk Madam Delacroix has expertly tailored for you.

“You look beautiful this evening, ladies,” he offers politely to both you and Eloise.

“What do you want?” Eloise cuts across your reply, narrowing her eyes at her older brother, instantly suspicious of his flattery.

“Can I not compliment without an ulterior motive?” he frowns, their usual sibling dynamic emerging.

“Not usually,” Eloise sniffs, with another suspicious glance, before looking out the carriage window.

You take the opportunity to mumble your thanks to him. His responding smile warms your entire being, his hazy eyes lingering in a way that makes your skin prickle. And when he offers a chivalrous hand to assist you down from the carriage, you could swear his hand lingers upon yours a few seconds longer than is necessary. 

Around an hour later, as you go to partake in a refreshment, a sneering Lady Cowper utters something cruel under her breath as you pass, her sour-looking daughter smirking beside her. You do not hear all of the words, but you do not need to. One sideways glance tells you all that you need to know. It seems so unnecessarily cruel, never having even exchanged so much as a word with you, but even as you feel a lump in your throat, their attention is already elsewhere.

“Ah! Mr Briddgerton,” her entire demeanour changing to oleaginous charm, “my daughter looks particularly stunning tonight, does she not? I do believe you should secure a place upon her dance card before there are none left!” 

You watch Benedict blanch at the very words.

“I do not dance, Lady Cowper, but I bid you ladies a good evening,” he responds, polite but firm.

You try your hardest not to giggle at the disdained look on their faces as he sweeps past them, and you feel light as air as, instead, he draws up to you and winks.

“That woman does not realise she is doing her daughter’s prospects more harm than good with her brashness,” he comments dryly as he grabs a glass of champagne from the stand next to you.

“I am not so sure the daughter would do much better without her; she seems perpetually furious about her own hairstyle,” you opine sardonically, making Benedict snort loudly into his champagne glass. A lightness fizzles in your being as he shoots you a look of unmistakable admiration for that remark.

“I daresay you are a much better dancer than her,” he contends, not breaking eye contact, placing aside his drink before leaning in and continuing in a hushed voice. “Perhaps you would do me the honour of a dance, Skylark, to confirm my suspicion?”

There is a vault in your chest as he employs your private nickname in public and, not only that, is offering you a dance when, just a moment ago, he declared publicly that he would not. 

You can only nod, heart hammering, as he breaks out into the most handsome smile, offering you his arm and leading you to the centre of the room as you hear a ripple go through the nearby crowd. Apparently the sight of one Benedict Bridgerton taking to the dancefloor is a rare occasion indeed.

—

As he takes your gloved hand in his and curls an arm around your shoulder, he realises this was perhaps a mistake. An impromptu offer, the hollow thrill of petty revenge for the insult he observed the Cowpers sling at you. But now he realises it has rather backfired upon him.

He cares not a jot for the gossiping, people nodding and pointing to you both as you begin to dance. No, the problem is much more concerning than that. 

It is how discombobulated he feels having you in his arms.

How your body seems to fit and move perfectly with his. How, when you dare to look up at him, his mouth goes a little dry. He has never truly noticed how striking your eyes are until seeing them this close. Indeed, the evident beauty of your face, the way you seem to glow from within, more tonight than ever. It makes his chest - and somewhere else on his body - feel entirely too tight.

—

Nothing could have prepared you for this.

The feeling of literally being swept off your feet. With Benedict's handsome face smiling down upon you as you seem to float around the dancefloor. 

Surely, this is what dreams are made of?

You know it is a flight of fancy, but it seems as though the floor beneath your feet is a shower of diamonds rather than candlelight refracted through chandeliers. The warmth and strength of Benedict’s embrace caged around you, respectful but so close it makes your lungs feel too small to gasp the air you need to keep moving. But you never want to stop. A whirlwind of sensation as you twirl, carried away by the music, the man, the moment.

“Thank you, Benedict,” you breathe, knowing you are likely looking up at him far too adoringly but unable to mask it, a burning need for him to know how grateful you are for this dance, not even noting your over-familial use of his first name at a society event. 

His eyes flash and you could swear they dilate a fraction before you must turn your back to him, following the steps.

“I was right,” he rumbles cryptically from behind you now, his large hands wrapped around yours as you hold them aloft together, following the moves of the dance. “It is indeed an honour to dance with you.” 

Your belly flares as you turn in unison and realise that you are now dancing right in front of Cressida, her expression murderous. It makes you bolder than you have ever been, tilting your head sideways a fraction so your cheek almost brushes Benedict’s, fuelled by the envy you feel seething from within her.

You could swear he sighs ‘Skylark’ as his hot breath tickles your ear, your chest pounding, a flavour in the air you can taste, a powerful stirring low in your belly.

—

Benedict knows this is a dangerous path and yet is powerless to do anything but walk it. Breathing your nickname into your hair as he inhales your scent, heightened by the movement of your dancing. A light, sweet floral perfume but underneath the smell of you, familiar from many years of friendship but altered now, more decadent, an undercurrent of tart berries that thrills and stirs deep within him. Even while knowing his ever-vigilant mother is watching, an inscrutable expression upon her face. 

He is almost grateful when the music ends before he does something foolish. But then you are staring up into his face, all doe-eyed expectant beauty and his tongue feels unexpectedly tied. He is almost grateful when an interrupting hand wraps around his shoulder.  

—

You watch Will Mondrich whisper in Benedict’s ear, and before you know it, he is offering apologies to you with a shallow, polite bow before hurrying away. Coming back to reality with a bump, you drift awkwardly from the dance floor, feeling judgy eyes upon you, suddenly flooded with concern your behaviour was entirely too wanton. 

Before your thoughts can spiral too far, however, someone materialises at your side.

“I do so hope your dance card is not full tonight, Miss y/l/n,” a newly-familiar, chipper voice cut in.

“Lord Glassborough,” you breathe; your relief at seeing his cordial face is palpable. “I am available to dance right now,” you smile politely, taking his proffered arm and letting him lead you back out to the spot you and Benedict had just vacated.

As the music begins and you move together, the difference is… noticeable. Gone is the frisson over your limbs, that excitement as if your skin could vibrate off your bones. Instead you feel comforted, almost a brotherly presence as he leads you in the dance. He is technically proficient, but it feels lacking—that tension, that heat burning in the space between you. It makes you yearn for Benedict even though he was just with you. It makes your stomach settle with a leaden weight you realise you will have to settle for less than what you truly desire.

Still distracted by your mental comparison, you absently acquiesce to his suggestion to take some air upon the terrace as the dance ends. You sense Violet, ever the vigilant chaperone, follow as he leads you into the cooler air outside. 

“Miss y/l/n…,” Lord Glassborough begins cautiously. You sense a nervousness in his being, pulling your full focus to him. “I think us most compatible, would you not agree?”

“We make most excellent friends, indeed, Lord Glassborough,” you hedge, not wanting to appear overzealous.

“And friendship is the most appropriate foundation to build something more… tender,” he argues with a smile. “I do believe I could offer you a most agreeable life.” 

There is a strange twinge in your chest as suddenly, you realise what this is. The moment everyone, except perhaps yourself, has been awaiting all season.

“I would be honoured if you would consent to be my wife, Miss y/l/n,” he humbly offers a sincere kindness shining in his eyes.

And there it is. An offer of marriage from a perfectly nice, respectable gentleman done in an appropriate manner. 

To one side, you see Violet clutch a hand over her chest, face delighted, even as you form fists within your delicate gloves, wishing this moment were not happening so soon after a truly breathtaking dance with the man of your dreams. Who is not the same man as the one before you, nervously shuffling from foot to foot, awaiting your reply. 

“I am honoured, Lord Glassborough,” you answer cautiously, bowing your head demurely. “This is a big decision to make. Please allow me time to give you my proper, considered answer?”

“Of course,” he bows chivalrously, his accommodating nature making this moment all the more bittersweet. He is indeed a lovely man. 

He is just not the one you want with every fibre of your being.

—

That night, you cannot sleep. Knowing you have the most significant decision of your life to make. So, in the small hours, you find yourself drifting to the deserted kitchen of Bridgerton House to do what you do best when you need to think calmly—baking. 

An activity you have grown up doing with Mrs Parsons. Many hours spent happily with flour dusting your hands, sun streaming into her grand but homely kitchen. A perhaps slightly maverick pastime for a lady of her social standing, with staff to do such things for her should she wish it, but so very enjoyable nonetheless. 

Throwing a large, heavy baking apron over your nightdress and robe, you potter around, the flagstone of the basement floor cold underfoot, a grounding feeling that stops your mind from racing too much.

You have no idea how to respond to Glassborough’s proposal. On one hand, he is a seemingly nice man, certainly of a good family. You are sure he would be a perfectly acceptable husband, unlikely to be mean or untoward. It is just… a nagging voice is telling you to turn him down despite him being an imminently sensible choice, your heart wanting, well, the impossible. A man that excites you, not just a safe, practical option.

You are onto your second batch of lemon and rosemary biscuits when a voice makes you jump out of your skin.

“What on earth…?”

There in the doorway is Benedict, looking confounded to find you here. The very man who makes your heart skip, always. He is dressed the most casually you have ever seen him— also barefoot, in a white frilled shirt and dark trousers, brocade braces slung around his hips. You swear you may have to grab the bench before you to stay upright.

“Y/n! We have cooks you can call upon at any time should you need food!” he fusses, instantly concerned, moving to ring a bell on the wall.

“No! Please do not!” You exclaim, rushing to stop him, grabbing his sleeve in your haste. “I-I enjoy baking. It is relaxing; it helps me to think.”

His brow knits and his eyes flick down to your hold on his sleeve, a warm vein pulsing under your fingertips. You snatch your hand away quickly, a blush staining your cheeks, mumbling an apology as you scurry back to your biscuit-making.

“Alright,” he concedes slowly, still appearing confused. “When I saw the sconces lit from the rear stairwell, I assumed one of the staff was still down here.”

You find it bemusing that he seems at pains to justify why he might also be in the kitchen, especially to you, a guest. This is Bridgerton House, and he is a Bridgerton. He may go wherever he pleases, surely? And yet here he is, doing so.

“I was rather hoping for some hot cocoa,” he explains with that soft, crooked smile that always makes your heart flutter.

“Oh! Well, umm, I could make you some cocoa?” you look down, wiping your hands upon your apron and moving to do so.

—

That you would make such an offer, as if seeing yourself as unpaid help, spurs him into action.

“No, you certainly will not!”  He decries, moving swiftly towards the larder before you can. “I am perfectly fine with some cold milk,” he assures, re-emerges with a bottle and pouring himself a glass, leaning back against the sink to take a sip.

Despite the lateness of the hour, he finds your heretofore secret pastime strangely fascinating. A lady who bakes. By choice. So he watches as you return to making your biscuit dough, entertained as you begin to beat the mixture quite furiously with a wooden spatula.

“Have those ingredients caused you some sort of personal offence….?” he jests lightly, nodding to the bowl.

He observes a flit of contrition across your face before you answer.

“I, umm, have a decision that I must make; baking helps me think,” you explain vaguely, then appear to rapidly change the subject. “I am, however, sure of one fact - some biscuits are a must to accompany milk. There is a completed batch over there.”

“Genius,” he opines with a wink, enthusiastically moving to grab one from the cooling rack you signalled to, delighting in the blush that darkens your cheeks. But he decides to push the topic you abruptly avoided. Concerned there could be a topic you are genuinely wrestling with. If his opinion on the matter can ameliorate your burdens, he would be most honoured to assist.

“What sort of decision must you make?” he inquires before temporarily losing the power of speech. There is an explosion of tart lemon and earthy herb on his tongue that melts into a buttery sweetness, utterly divine. “Lord alive, these are delicious!!!” he exclaims around the mouthful.

“Thank you,” you answer softly. 

You are always so modest about your talents; it sometimes makes him want to grab your shoulders and shake you gently. To make you see what he does. 

“To answer your question, it is a perplexing matter that needs serious consideration,” you explain, stopping short of detail. It appears you are not yet ready to share the news with him. Something about that makes him a touch sad, but he also does not want to pry if you are reluctant to divulge. 

—

Benedict swallows the bite he has taken, and you find yourself staring at the movement of his throat as he does. Knowing one thing to be true—if it were his proposal, you would not even hesitate for a split second. That wistful thought makes you suddenly melancholic, and you sigh, pushing aside your mixing bowl, realising this may be an issue baking will not fix.

“I do so hate to see you doubt yourself, Skylark,” he offers quietly after a beat, mien so earnest. “Trust yourself. You will find the right answer for your dilemma; I am certain of it.”

He is so remarkably supportive that, ironically, you almost want to scream at him.

“I should leave you to your thoughts,” his tone is gentle, reluctant.

“Please, there is no need, Benedict,” you try to assure. “To be honest, in all of this world, yours is the company I enjoy the very most…”

That truth is out of your mouth before you can censor it. 

You sheepishly glance over to be met by a surprised look on his face. He takes a few steps towards you, probably without realising it, and suddenly, he is very close, faint wisps of his woodsy, citrus cologne tickling your nose.

“And I, yours, Skylark…” he rumbles, his gaze falling to your lips. 

Time seems to stop, and you feel pinned under glass, staring up into his handsome face as he breathes slightly ragged, your body rioting as he engulfs your senses, definitely too close to be considered gentlemanly, polite…

…But then, he takes a sharp inhale and steps back as if coming to his senses. He turns heel with a hastily muttered goodbye, and before you know it, he is gone. Leaving you bewildered, your thoughts scattered.

—

The following day, Benedict is idly reading the paper, partaking in a leisurely lunch of tea and cake, when his mother swans in, reeling off a set of instructions for her lady's maid.

“Oh, and lastly, do not forget, we should secure an appointment with the modiste, in case Miss y/l/n should know her answer today…” Violet concludes breezily as she takes a seat.

“Yet another ball we must suffer, mother?” Benedict drawls drily, folding down his paper and taking a hearty bite of zesty lemon drizzle.

She shoots her son an exasperated look before neatly smoothing a serviette into her lap as she is served her usual afternoon Earl Grey by the butler. “Miss y/l/n will be in need of a wedding dress, Benedict, dear.”

He spits an array of crumbs onto his newspaper, coughing in shock. “She will need what?!?” he wheezes, barely recovering.

“Lord Glassborough proposed to Miss y/l/n last night, my dear, at the ball. She has yet to give her answer, but I am certain she will. They are a fine match,” Violet declares, taking a sip of tea.

“Why did she not mention it to me?” he mutters, more to himself than anyone, his forehead creasing heavily in a frown as he swallows the rest of his mouthful.

“Why would she have?”  

“We talked last night…” letting slip perhaps too much in his perplexed state, lost in his own tumbling thoughts.

“When last night? We returned from the ball very late,” a suspicious tone in his mother’s voice, belatedly releasing he should know better than to think aloud; she is sharp as a tack.

“I-I found Miss y/l/n baking last night… in the kitchen when I went for cocoa… she told me she had a dilemma she was wrestling with…” he admits, looking down at the paper, the words now a jumble before his eyes. “Mother do you think it is possible she will say yes??” Benedict's head snaps up, his heart suddenly pounding in his ears.

“She would be a fool not to,” Violet points out, raising a perfectly arched eyebrow at him. “Unless there was another, perhaps more wanted, proposal she could consider. Do you possibly know of one? Son?” 

Even he can read between those lines. 

“I-I am late,” he abruptly changes tack. “I promised to meet Anthony today to discuss the soil at Aubrey,” he bustles rapidly, standing and fleeing the room before he can allow his mother to see how much of a complete lie that is.

—

Benedict spends the afternoon at White’s, downing perhaps one too many whiskeys as he grills his fellow patrons upon the Glassborough family. Looking for any reason he can find to object to the betrothal while steadfastly refusing to examine why he feels so passionately about the subject. He also spends time checking the hefty tomes of Debrett’s the club holds.

He returns to Bridgerton House just as dusk settles in, the sky streaking red and pink as he enters.

“Where have you been, dear?” Violet asks as he rounds into the parlour.

“Researching,” he gruffs economically.

“What? Or rather whom?” Violet inquires, revealing she already has a firm idea of what she asks.

“I can find nothing wrong with him!”

Benedict paces, an energy emanating from his being as if he is rattled by that very fact.

“That is a good thing, is it not, son?” Violet reminds pointedly. “We want y/n married to a good gentleman…”

Benedict shoots her an exasperated look but relents. “I suppose…”

“Is not your reluctance perhaps for another reason, my dear?” Her question is gentle, if not particularly subtle.

He slumps into a wingback chair with a defeated sigh. “Go ahead. Say your piece, mother.”

“I have watched you, darling,” she begins gently, watching him tip his head back and screw his eyes shut. “I do not know exactly when, but your regard of Miss y/l/n has altered, and I am not the only one to observe it.”

Benedict's eyes fly open, and he tips his head down with a frown as his mother continues.

“Even Colin has marked a change in you. If you feel anything, my dear, then Miss y/l/n has the right to know. Before it is too late. The right to make an informed choice if you are bold enough to give her one. Son, I have only ever wanted my children’s happiness. And if your happiness lies somewhere that perhaps even you have not realised until now…. well then I encourage you to follow it. Follow your heart.”

Her impassioned speech suddenly makes the pieces of a jumbled jigsaw before his eyes arrange into a pattern, a way forward that is suddenly clear and sharply in focus.

It makes him leap to his feet, an urgency thronging in his being.

“Where is Miss y/l/n?” he almost barks. 

“I do not know,” Violet confesses, “but I do know she has not yet seen or written to Lord Glassborough,” she adds.

“Good…” he rasps, headed determined out of the room to find you.

—

The verdant lush grass is cool between your toes as you curl them over, sighing heavily, the night now dark, a twinkle of silver among the navy sky, soon to be black. The swing under the big oak, a refuge you have sought many times since staying at Bridgerton House, feels a particularly poignant place to be tonight as an internal war rages within you, your decision swaying back and forth as much as the wooden seat you are perched upon, the rope digging into your cheekbone as you slump against it, flummoxed.

You know what your answer to Glassborough should be. Indeed, what it should have been from the moment he asked. 

A resounding yes.

In every practical measure, this is the best possible outcome of your London season. A proposal from a thoroughly decent, acceptable gentleman, way above the station you were expecting, given your less than prestigious certainty of lineage.

And yet.

And yet.

There is a large part of you, your heart, that wants to turn down the proposal, foolhardy as that may be. Wanting to feel akin to what you felt as you danced with Benedict last night. You are not so foolish as to believe he would ever propose, but perhaps there is someone else out there for you that may evoke something similar for you? Even if only half, it would be enough. Enough for you to build a future around and feel contentment in your heart, to not just settle for what your head knows to be a sensible choice. 

—

Having searched the house, he rounds into the garden and stops short, heart leaping into his throat as he spies you, swaying gently upon the swing, looking thoroughly lost in thought. It makes his chest ache that you are so melancholic about a decision that should indeed be joyous. The selfish part of him celebrating, hoping that perhaps you are not. His memory recalls with perfect clarity how you have looked as lost as he now feels every time you have been close. The unbearable lightness of hope seizes his legs and draws him inexorably closer.

—

You whip around as you sense company and have to take a deep breath as your eyes fall upon Benedict. His face pinched with a restless intensity.

“I was hoping I would find you,” he exhales.

“You have,” you shrug, still confused by his crackling energy, him seeming in a rush to say something.

“Skylark, you deserve the very best of everything. Sincerely. And part of that includes that you should know the truth in the hearts of those lucky enough to know you…” a slight quake in his voice as he takes a step closer.

“Alright…” you respond cautiously, your brow creasing as you sense the nerves emanating from him.

You gasp as he rapidly drops to one knee before you, a hand clutched to his chest. 

“I have been a fool to not see it before now. My own ardent admiration for you, for your talents, for your beauty. I realise now, perhaps too late, that you are truly the most wondrous, precious being in this world. You may not always see it, but it would be my greatest honour to show you, every day, if you will permit me, what I see when I look upon you. What I have always seen if I am honest with myself. A light that shines brighter than any other, a bird that soars higher and sings more sweetly than any other. A soul that it would be a privilege to be bound to. I know it is perhaps the worst possible timing, seeing as you already have a proposal from a perfectly acceptable gentleman. Still, I could not let you get married without letting you know the contents of my heart.”

You are stunned. Speechless. 

Your heart pounds in your ribcage as you sit there stupified for what must be an age, Benedict looking upon you expectantly, breath slightly ragged from his long speech. Somehow, convincing yourself this could only be a dream. That the man you have adored since before you can remember has just made the most beautiful poetic confession of love you have ever heard. And it’s to you.

So, you do the only logical thing that comes to mind. Pinch your own leg. Hard.

—

Benedict is momentarily confounded at your actions.

“Owwww!” you yelp. “Not dreaming then…” is your muttered follow-up, rubbing your own knee as his face morphs into the most enormous grin, a lightning bolt of joy tearing through him as he realises what you are doing, that you can scarcely believe this is happening any more than he can.

“It is really me, Skylark,” he chuckles softly, seeing the way your eyes dilate rapidly as he can't help the lopsided grin that claims his face, a warmth behind his ribs that is just for you.

“I realise that now,” you sass back, and there is a stirring in his trousers at the tone you employ.

“I love you.” 

It's a reflex; he doesn't even realise he says it. But as soon as it's out of his mouth, it's like an invisible burden has been lifted from his entire being. The truth. Plain. Simple. Honest.

—

You know your face is aflame as you snap back at him, entirely without meaning to, but then he says three little words that tilt your whole world even more. 

“I-I-I love you too.”

You are bewildered when you say it aloud. 

 The truth. Plain. Simple. Honest.

“Marry me? Please. My darling, wonderful friend,” he implores, his bare hands grabbing yours, tingles shooting over you as your skin touches his.

“Yes!! I will!!!” you answer breathlessly, not even a second of hesitation. 

He leans in and captures your lips with his. They are warm and soft as they move gently with yours. And when he opens your mouth with his and his tongue rolls delicately over yours, it feels as if all the fireworks you have seen in the sky live now inside you, popping and exploding in a riot of colour. A whole new world of sensual pleasure is promised in that one move.

“Are you certain?” you murmur as you break apart for air, a flash of insecurity that this is happening so fast, even as there is a strong pull inside, a want to keep kissing him over and over.

He smiles, tilting his forehead to yours, a wistful look in his blue eyes.

“To know you, truly know you, is to love you, Skylark,” he sighs, his words a blanket settling over your quaking heart.  “And I do. I truly do.”

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @notanotheruniverse @iboopedyournose @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @sya-skies

[whytheylosttheirminds]

I Remember Everything - Rafe Cameron

(Prologue and Chapter 1)

Summary: You left the island two years ago, leaving the love of your life a shattered man in your wake. Now, when you return, you find the sweet boy you once loved has transformed into a monster of a man. How can you detangle the real Rafe from the terrible things he's done?

Timeline: begins toward the end of obx season 3 and is mostly canon.

Content: this story contains sexual content, alcohol and drug abuse, and brief mentions of violence. All chapters are 18+, minors do not interact!

⯎series masterlist⯎

Prologue

Before gold, before grams, before the gun, there was you. Back when there weren’t crosses to steal, lines to snort, cops to run from, there was you. Long summer nights on the Druthers, your mom blowing up your phone ‘cause you missed curfew again. Skipping class and riding to the beach on the back of his bike. All the way back to grade school, playing tag and pretending you were pirates. Then middle school, that kiss under the lifeguard tower, a first for both of you. In high school, the night you got back from the “character-building summer camp” you had been shipped off to and you shared your other first. When you were first together, it didn’t even hurt, but just felt like fucking finally. 

He remembers it all, taking all of his strength to keep it stuffed under the surface. The coke, the violence, the drama he creates in his wake cover you up nicely, until those nights when he’s dead asleep and there you are again, leaving. When he wakes, it all comes back to him. How he sat on the curb and watched you go, bloody and hurt from the night that was your final straw. How he showed up on your doorstep the next day, like he was five-years-old again asking if you could come outside and play. How your mother told him you were gone and wouldn’t tell him where you went.

“Honey,” she said with something like pity in her voice, “Promise me, you’ll let her go, let her be happy.”

A promise he kept, until the day you rolled back into town with no warning. Your timing could not have been worse. After the summer from hell, the summer that made him a killer, he finally felt like he was in control. It wasn’t until he saw you, the only person in the world that ever really knew him, that he realized he had no idea who he was. 

Chapter One

You clutched your phone tight, reading and rereading the message. One you used to get nearly every night but hadn’t seen in two long years.

party at cameron’s tonite !!

It was a group text, sent by the girl from your high school you bumped into in the grocery store earlier that day. You had been back on the island for all of an hour before inevitably seeing someone you knew. You tried to duck quickly into the cereal aisle, but she caught your eye before you could disappear, an action you were infamous for.

“Omg, we need to hang out soon!” She had said, before handing you her phone to put your new number in.

You smiled your fakest smile and said, “it’s a must!” You didn’t think either of you really meant it, but apparently she had.

There were eleven or twelve other numbers in the group text, none you had saved, but you assumed they were likely other people from your high school. She probably just added anyone in her contacts she could think of, not even stopping to realize she was inviting the Kook prince’s former princess to his party. Your relationship had been the stuff of legend on this island. Everyone had an opinion, you were practically a celebrity couple, and it was the biggest news on the island for months when you left, suddenly disappearing overnight. Some real shit must’ve gone down around here since then to make it such old news that this girl didn’t even think about it when adding you to this text.

Your heart pounding in your ears, you couldn’t believe it when you felt yourself typing out i’ll be there :) 

You wore your hair down, the way you always used to have it in high school. After you left, you had cut it short, wanting to shed away as much of your old life as you could, but in the last few months you’d started to let it grow back. Now it flowed down to the middle of your back, tickling the skin of your shoulders where the thin spaghetti straps of the little dress you had on left them exposed. You let the front pieces fall around your face, a sort of curtain to keep an extra layer between you and the other partygoers.

You could not believe you were here. For real this time, not in a dream as you had been every night for two years, but really here. 

As you walked down the gravel path, it all came rushing back. The smell of Rose’s garden, the distant sound of the ocean lapping against the shore, the low thud of the music echoing through the crisp evening air. How many times have you walked down this path? How many nights had you spent here, your senses filled with the glory of Tannyhill, the glory of him? And yet now it felt so heavy, the sights, sounds, smells of it all were nearly choking you. Tears welled in your eyes, but something kept your feet walking towards those grand front doors, towards him.

Four years earlier…

The glass panes of the front door are slightly blurred, only revealing the soft lighting of the grand entryway on the other side. You had crossed this threshold at least a thousand times in the ten years since your family moved to this island. Knocking felt strange, you felt so small standing here in the porch light, surrounded by moths and the thick coastal August air. An envelope, wrinkled from being opened and rifled through so many times, was clutched between your clammy hands.

A figure you couldn’t quite make out approached the door, and your heart pounded in your ears as you hoped desperately it would be him who opened the door. But it wasn’t.

“Oh, hey - I- hi, Mr. Cameron,” you stammered, ever intimidated by the island’s most powerful man.

“Y/N,” Ward nodded cordially. “It’s after 10pm.”

You smiled weakly, if you felt small before, you feel positively infantile now.

“I was just hoping I could see Rafe for like, just a second,” you pleaded, putting on your sweetest smile.

“He’s studying,” Ward said. “You can come back tomorrow. Goodnight.”

Before you could protest, the door was closed and the blurred figure retreated into the house.

Never one to give up, you stuffed the letter into the back pocket of your jeans, and stepped back from the porch, sizing up the massive house to see which rooms still had lights on. You knew the blueprint of this place by heart, checking off each family member mentally as you scanned their window for signs of life. Wheezie’s room? Dark. Sarah’s room? Dark. Rose and Ward’s room? Still lit. This would have to be a stealth mission. 

You snuck around the side of the house and looked up at the last window on your list. To your excitement, the room was still lit. You saw a long shadow pass by the curtains, and you actually jumped a little from the thrill. After spending the longest summer of your life apart from the one person you wanted to spend it with, he was actually right there, just two stories off the ground.

You traveled 800 miles today, what was a few more feet? Blocking out the better judgment ringing in the back of your mind, you picked up a few pebbles from the rocky path that leads to the backyard, and started climbing the big tree that grew right up past Rafe’s balcony. How you were gonna get from the tree to the balcony? That was five-minutes-from-now-you’s problem. You chuckled to yourself as your body naturally found each branch and knot on the tree. You used to have competitions when you were kids to see who could climb this tree the fastest, and you beat Rafe everytime. You remembered the shocked look on his face the first time he saw you scurry up the tree, you were hoping for a similar level of approving surprise once you got where you were going.

Once you reached the branch directly across from Rafe’s balcony, you pulled one of the pebbles from your pocket and chucked it at his window as hard as you could. 

“Shit,” you whisper-yelled as the throw fell short and the pebble dropped, loudly knocking into the first floor window below. You couldn’t afford another noise-causing miss, so you recalculated the throw and bit your lip as you lobbed the next pebble hard. It smacked into Rafe’s window with a loud TINK and you smiled in satisfaction. You waited a moment, then two, and still nothing. The shadowy figure did not return to the curtain. You only had one pebble left, and you had never been good at climbing back down this tree. Remembering the time you fell out of it onto the waiting Rafe below, and you both ended up needing stitches, your stomach twisted in fear. You took in a deep breath and held it, letting the last pebble fly. Another sharp TINK, and a moment of baited breath later, the tall shadow finally returned to the window.

Rafe opened the curtains harshly and you immediately broke into a wild smile. He looked so cute in his fitted gray t-shirt and plaid pajama pants, his normally gelled back her falling in messy pieces around his face. You held back a giggle, delighted by the completely confused look on his face as he searched out the window for the cause of the sound. He lifted the window open and examined the two pebbles that had fallen on the windowsill. 

You took the opportunity to whisper a loud “psssst.” His face shot up in surprise and his eyes finally found you in the tree, just a few feet off of the balcony. Where you expected to see surprised delight on his face, you instead caught something cold and irritated.

“Y/N,” he whisper-called to you. “What are you doing?”

“I just got back, I wanted to see you!” You called to him, hoping his apparent anger was just in response to his own shock.

“I’m busy.” Rafe went to close the window and you felt your moment of opportunity slip away.

“Wait!” you stopped him. “Please don’t make me climb down. We both know it won’t end well.” You smiled a sweetly shy smile you hoped would melt his icy demeanor a bit.  

He sighed and looked at you annoyed for a moment before climbing out the window, his height requiring him to duck low in order to make it through. He had grown even taller over the summer, he must have hit 6 foot by now, maybe more. Your stomach flipped as you watched his athletic frame emerge from his bedroom, now able to see how defined his arms looked in the moonlight. You’d always thought he was a cute boy, but the way he looked right now lit a fire in your belly. Then you realized what it was - while you were gone, the cute boy-next-door had become a man.

“Just reach over,” he directed you.

“I don’t think I can without falling,” you explained. “I think I’m gonna have to jump.”

“Are you stupid?” He scoffed humorlessly.

Your heart sank, the boy you left behind three months ago never would have called you stupid.

“It’ll be fine, you just have to catch me,” you explained.

He rolled his eyes and opened his arms, reaching them over the bannister of the balcony, “fine.”

The brief moment of joy you got from his submission faded fast as you made the mistake of looking down at the gap between the tree and the balcony.

“Actually…” you said, bravery fading.

“What, are you scared?” Rafe taunted.

“No!” you insisted. You smiled at him, suddenly feeling like the two of you were ten again and he was daring you to jump off the trampoline into the pool in your backyard.

Now or never. With a deep breath and a sharp yelp, you threw yourself out of the tree and towards his waiting arms on the balcony. As promised, he caught you, and pulled you quickly over the bannister. His arms wrapped around your waist, yours around his shoulders, he held you there just a few inches off the ground.

You flattened your hands against the taut muscles of his shoulders, delighting in the strong warmth of them. But before you could fully revel in the feeling of being in his arms, he released his grip on your waist and you dropped the final few inches to the ground. Rafe quickly stepped back, breaking the lock your arms had around his neck. Despite the southern summer heat, the air between you suddenly felt ice cold.

“Rafe,” you whispered, stepping towards him, but he only pulled further away.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said without even looking at you.

Rafe started back towards his window, and something gave you the feeling he was not going to invite you to follow him through it.

“I need to talk to you,” you started to explain.

Rafe whipped around to face you, the way he towered over you at his new height sending goosebumps down your spine.

“Why don’t you go talk to your new boyfriend instead?” He snapped.

You were so stunned that you let out a little laugh, which only made his furrowed brow scrunch even more in anger.

“What are you talking about?” You asked.

“I saw the pictures your camp was posting on their website all summer. I saw you wrapped around that douchebag.”

It took a moment of confused silence for you to realize what he was talking about, when it finally dawned on you, you laughed again. He turned from you and started heading towards the window again, but you caught his arm, your hand not able to fit even halfway around it.

“No, Rafe,” you explained, “That was just Andy, one of the other campers. We were doing a trust fall exercise. He dropped me like two seconds after that!”

Despite himself, Rafe turned to look at you, eyes examining you nervously. 

“Are you ok?” He asked in a small voice, wishing desperately that he didn’t care.

You smiled softly, there he was - your boy. 

“I’m fine,” you assured him, showing him the small scar on your wrist. “Just a little scrape.”

A moment passed, he avoided your eyes but allowed you to step closer, your hand sliding down his arm and slipping into his, his fingers reluctantly intertwining with yours. You knew exactly what words he was struggling to find, but decided to let him get there on his own.

Finally, “Why didn’t you answer my letters?”

Your other hand reached into your back pocket and pulled out the envelope you had tucked away. You held it out to him wordlessly. He took the letter and held it to the light coming from his room, examining it with a confused look. The envelope was addressed to him at Tannyhill, from you at camp. When he finally noticed the “return to sender” label, it all clicked.

“They kept getting returned to me, I don’t know why,” you said as you squeezed his hand. “I asked to use my phone to let you know but they wouldn’t let me. I almost just snuck out of camp and came home so I could explain it to you.”

“Your mom would’ve been so mad,” he said, finally, finally smiling at you.

“Then she would’ve just taken away my phone and we’d be back where we started,” You said. “There’s like twenty more letters like that. I don’t know why they never made it to you, it’s like someone was sabotaging me.”

Rafe seemed satisfied with your explanation and the remaining bit of anger on his face melted away completely. He stuffed the letter in his pocket and suddenly threw his arms around you, lifting you in the air as you yelped in surprise, giggling as he started planting sloppy kisses all over your face and neck.

“Shhh, baby, my parents will hear you,” he whispered. “They’ve got me locked in my tower because I failed my last quiz in this fucking summer school pre-calc class.”

“Rafe!” you said in mock-scandal. “Naughty language!”

“Oh, baby, I can say way naughtier things than that,” he growled in your ear, your cheeks now burning from real-scandal.

“C’mon,” he said, setting you down and grabbing your hand, to lead you to his still-open window. 

He placed his large hand on the small of your back as he helped you through the window, climbing in after you and closing it slowly so as to not make a sound.

You and Rafe had done some more-than-kissing things before, but that was the night you gave yourselves to each other completely. He held you after, softly kissing the scar on your arm from when Andy had dropped you.

“Never gonna let that Andy asshole touch you again,” he said between kisses. “He can find his own girl, you’re mine.”

You giggled and he looked up at you in confusion.

“Rafe,” you were laughing hard now. “Andy’s gay.”

He broke into a bashful grin, a quick blush of embarrassment swept across his cheeks before he grew serious again and started kissing up your arm.

“I don’t care,” he said. “They should all know - all the Andys and Jakes and Chads and whoeverthefucks,” his kisses had reached your neck, “no guy is ever gonna get to touch you like me.” He pulled back and looked into your eyes with a sincerity that squeezed your heart. “Gonna love you forever. Gonna marry you, make you a mom. Never gonna spend three months, or even three fucking days away from you again. That what you want?”

“Yes,” you breathed, meaning it with your whole being.

“Good.”

Now…

The memories flooded your brain as you opened the door and stepped into the home you used to think would be yours someday. The party was swelling, the vibe feeling so familiar and so uncomfortable at the same time.

You made your way straight to the kitchen, desperately needing a drink. Every step you took sent a memory flashing through your thoughts like a shock to your brain. You passed the living room and saw movie-nights-turned-make-out-sessions on the couch, playing mario kart with Sarah and Wheezie while Rafe laughed at your hyper-competitiveness, prom pictures in front of the fireplace. You passed the dining room and saw the first family dinner you were invited to, how you made Ward laugh with a story about fishing your own dad used to tell, how Rafe squeezed your thigh under the table in pride. You entered the kitchen and saw the time you and Rafe set off the smoke alarm trying to make pancakes, the time he lifted you onto the counter and went down on you when his family was out of town. And then, standing by the keg, you saw the girl who invited you, clearly plastered already.

“Omg!” She yelled when she saw you.

Everyone else in the large kitchen turned and looked at you. It felt dramatic, but you could swear the whole room fell silent when they saw you, a comical record scratch playing in your head.

The girl who invited you ran over to you, beer sloshing over the side of her solo cup and onto her shirt. 

“I can not believe you came,” she said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “I completely forgot when I invited you, about, you know, you and-”

“Can I get one of those?” you cut her off quickly, gesturing towards her drink.

Before she could answer, a loud crash came from outside the kitchen’s open french doors. The heads that had all been watching you suddenly snapped toward the sound towards the crowded back yard. When the loud bellow of a man’s voice rang out, the people in the kitchen all ran towards the unfolding scene. You pushed through the crowd and out the doors, drawn inexplicably to the voice. Your heart dropped to your stomach when you realized why - it was Rafe.

There in the backyard, packed with drunk people and lit by string lights, Rafe stood with his fist clenched in the collar of some guy’s white button up, forcefully pulling the scared looking dude toward him while he yelled.

“I said none of that fucking cheap shit,” Rafe yelled at the guy you now realized was a cater-waiter. 

“I’m sorry sir, I-” Rafe threw the man down and he fell back in the dirt.

“This isn’t some ghetto block party out in The Cut,” Rafe yelled. “Do you know who’s fucking house you’re at right now?”

The crowd around you watched, most smiling in support of the man they looked at like he was a rockstar. You cringed at the looks of admiration in their eyes and took Rafe in with your own.

He looked different, harder. His floppy blond locks had been shaved off, and he had traded old t-shirts and jeans for slacks and a polo. He was as tall and built as you remembered, but instead of it being endearing, it was just scary as he looked down at the poor server like he was gonna kill him.

Then he spat on him. He actually spat on another human being. It disgusted you in more ways than one, and you felt your heart breaking in your chest as you realized you had no idea who this man was. The boy who held you on that night four years ago and promised to be yours forever clearly didn’t live here anymore. You turned quickly and pushed back through the crowd, unable to watch another second of this sickening display of toxic masculinity.

Rafe glared down at the pogue-scum in the dirt below him, an eerily familiar feeling washed over him as something moved quickly in the corner of his eye. He turned at just the right moment to see a whip of long hair disappear through the crowd.  But it wasn’t. It couldn’t possibly be. Surely, it was not you.

(chapter 2)

a/n: Hiiii this is the first fic I've posted in about 10 years!! Hope you enjoyed, forgive me if I'm rusty! More chapters to come :)

[vividxpages]

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅ home is wherever you are ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚

pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x fem!Reader

words: 13k

summary: As the Christmas holidays approach, your parents summon you home to attend a business dinner with the Hightowers and secure a possible match with one of Alicent’s sons. With no intention to go, you spend the weeks of December with your boyfriend Jacaerys and your friends at Hogwarts, but as the holidays draw closer, you find yourself crumbling underneath your worries and it’s only a matter of time until Jace finds out…

A festive Hogwarts x HotD story.

warnings: Gryffindor head boy!Jace x pureblood!reader (they’re in seventh year), established relationship, fluff, festive and cozy vibes, kissing and making out, , bastardphobia, discrimination, the Targaryens are a legendary family of dragon tamers & riders, anxiety and bad coping mechanisms, Quidditch, vaginal fingering, handjobs, angst, burn injuries, mental breakdown, hurt/comfort, Christmas, happy ending, hopeful ending

a/n: this fic poured out of me within five days, so I am so excited to finally post it. if you don't like reading long fics on tumblr, you can also read it here on my ao3 account! Please consider leaving kudos or a comment on there if you like it.

Happy festive season to all of you ❤️

December at Hogwarts was a breath of cold sharp air and a warm blanket by the fire, both at once.

The cozy and freezing season showed itself at best in its contrasts at the castle by the lake, the bright snow all around it with the earthy colors on the inside, every fire and candle lit within the corridors and rooms of the school. There were only a few weeks left until Christmas and the atmosphere at the school was welcoming and cozy as ever, the air smelling of cinnamon and peppermint, pine and gingerbread.

In every corner, the preparations for the festivities could be spotted, whether students were having snowball fights near the forest or muttering spells into the Christmas cookies so they remained warm and soft throughout the week. In the cold landscape, groups of friends went on a snowy walk and board games were played in the evenings while others knitted Christmas sweaters or wrapped their presents until it’d be too late to give them out to their friends at Hogwarts.

In the middle of it all, there was you.

You were the only daughter of an old and proud pureblood family, a cruel fate of the stars which never had been easy for you.

As a child, you had often wondered if you were a changeling, misplaced on the wrong doorstep, a flower doomed to try her best to blossom between a thousand thorns. Going to Hogwarts and finding a home in those warm halls had been a blessing, but the relationship with your strict parents had only complicated itself more, until it eventually became a twisted and ugly thing. The situation at home only worsened for you since they somehow had found out you were dating Jacaerys Velaryon.

Their already disobedient and free-minded daughter with the dark-haired wanna-be Targaryen, son of Rhaenya Targaryen who they had sided against ever since the deep rift in the biggest and richest dynasty of wizards and witches had opened. It was a scandal, to know this illegitimate half-blood sullied your good name and virtue.

Of course, they had tried to talk some sense into you on many occasions, their words like poison clouding your mind until you knew one thing for sure; you hated them. And you were never going to end things with Jacaerys simply because they despised the match between you two.

With the Christmas holidays soon approaching, letters from your parents’ estate in the countryside had started to arrive and so far, each of them had been burned by a quick whisper from your lips. Instead, you were ignoring all your worries and pushed them far away into the back of your mind and simply by spending time with your boyfriend, it had worked out well for you, so far.

Falling in love with Jacaerys Velaryon had been as easy as choosing your wand all this time ago, as feeling the first magic of your life prickle beneath your fingertips.

Since you had been assigned to the same House, your paths had crossed often but briefly and something inside of you had always been mesmerized by him. As head boy and bright heir of Rhaenyra Targaryen, he was a wanted man, making it difficult at first to get to know him even as you lived and studied close to one another.

The way his addictive laugh echoed across the corridors when he walked with his younger brother Luke or his quidditch team, how he could lose himself in deep concentration during his studies and he achieved greatness to follow his mother’s grand reputation. It all only added to the quiet fascination you nurtured for him, his good looks and charming personality a dangerous fuel to the fire. While hard-working and ambitious, he was kind and courageous and when you finally became acquaintances through your friendship with Baela, you knew this could either end well or in complete heartbreak for you.

With your friend groups mixing, the two of you had danced around each other for the longest time. And while you really had tried to see him as a friend, your thoughts kept returning to wondering how it might be to kiss him, to hold his hand while you walked around Hogwarts, to know all of him and to be known by him.

It finally had hit you one day in Potions, when the amortentia you’d been asked to brew had started to smell like Jace’s quidditch jumper, his cologne and a unique scent of salt and fire. You had looked over at him in shock and to your surprise, he had already been staring at you, his own kettle a soft pink, similar to the bow you often wore in your hair…

It had been summer and with the privileges of the 6th year, you had been allowed to go stargazing on top of the Astronomy Tower. You had sat beside Jace, his jacket draped over your shoulders as your feet had dangled over the edge. When the first shooting star had passed by and everyone gasped in delight around you, Jace and you had only eyes for each other until he finally bridged the last little bit of distance between you and kissed you softly.

That night, you had fallen asleep together, sharing one sleeping bag as you giggled together in the darkness and shared kisses, every new one more daring than the last…

Ever since then, Jacaerys and you had been a dream team, the golden Head Boy and Quidditch star and the smartest girl of Gryffindor House.

Today, it was a quiet evening at the common room, only a few students still mingling around after dinner at the Great Hall. Jace and you had finished up early, taking a small plate of creamy tiramisu with you on the way to secure your favorite spot on the old and comfortably sofa by the fireplace.

The shadows of the flames warmed your legs as you read in a book, your hand absently brushing through Jace’s hair. Your boyfriend’s head rested in your lap, tiny and pleasant shivers going through him at your affections while he wrote a letter to his mother, his fingertips stained by the dark ink.

While Rhaenyra was a famous and feared auror, one of the best out there and honored multiple times for her dangerous missions against evil, she was one of the most loving people you knew, although you had not met her personally yet. But you heard how fondly Baela and Rhaena spoke of her, how often little care packages from home arrived for Jace and Luke, the brothers living separately at Hogwarts through Luke’s division into Ravenclaw where he was friends with Rhaena, but never being found too far apart from each other.

There was a comfortable silence between the two of you and from time to time, you fed Jace some Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans and made him guess the flavors while you ate some of the sherbet lemons you couldn’t get enough of.

“And?” You asked, smiling at the way Jace’s brows furrowed in concentration.

“Hmm.” Jace traced little patterns on your knee, the closest part of you he could reach as he was stretched out on the couch. “It’s minty, but there’s something else in it. Maybe- ugh, fir resin?!”

You laughed as he grimaced, handing him the next one as you laid your book aside for the night. Jace chewed on the candy for a little more than a second before he looked up at you, grinning. “Oh, easy. Your lip gloss.”

“Huh?”

“It’s cherry.”

You snorted and rolled your eyes at him affectionately before leaning down and capturing his lips with a slow kiss. Your hair framed his face and he arched up to meet you, a delicate hand on your cheek as you kissed, blind and uncaring for everything else in the world around you. Maybe you could sneak out tonight, to your little secluded spot in the greenhouse?

“Ay, keep it together, there’s kids around here.” A deep, amused voice greeted you and Jace and you separated to see Cregan sitting down in front of the sofa, a knowing grin on the Quidditch keeper’s face as he looked at the pair of you.

“Good evening, Cregan.” You said overly polite and he barked out a laugh, grabbing one of your red gummy vines for himself as Jace sat up with a slight groan, placing the letter to his mother on the little table beside you. Instinctively, you leaned into his side, snuggling beneath his arm as the softness of his red and gold sweater caressed your cheek.

“I didn’t want to interrupt the two of you-“

Jace gave him a look. “But you did.”

“-but I wanted to ask if you’re coming to the 7th year student’s farewell party for the old year?” Cregan smiled at you, a nice sight since the wolf of the north was often serious around others, all duty and honor, but a secret softie at heart. “It’s happening next weekend. There’s gonna be lots of booze and music. There’s just one tiny thing that might piss you off, Jace.”

You looked at your boyfriend who furrowed his brows. “What is it?”

“Your uncles will be there too.” Cregan confessed darkly. “I would have objected but one of the other guys thought it’d be hilarious to have their asses there. Invites are already out. Sorry, man.”

You felt Jace tense beside you, his nostrils flaring at the thought of Aegon and Aemond walking into his common room. They were a delicate subject to him and you knew about the complicated tryst within his big family divided by the Targaryen and the Hightower side. They were powerful and influential with their great dynasty of dragon riders and tamers, yet they chose to shred each other to pieces. The mistrust ran deeply and the fact that they all were part of the most influential and powerful wizard family of the country didn’t help.

Aegon and Aemond, similar to Jace and Luke, were known around the halls of Hogwarts, but unlike the dark-haired brothers, they used it to their advantage, looking down on others and bathing in their admiration and fear to equal parts. Their younger sister Helaena had become yours and the twin’s friend, but she was the only sweet soul on her side of the Targaryen family.

Earlier this year, the tensions between the boys had escalated when Aemond had provoked Luke to the point where Jace had to drag his brother away from their uncle as he threw insults at him, the fight the top gossip subject in the next weeks. You knew what they whispered about Jace and Luke. Dirty bastards. Half-bloods. To people like your parents or the Hightowers, it was an insult, a curse. It was all a bunch of bullshit.

“Hey.” You said softly and rested your hand on Jace’s arm, drawing him out of his spiraling thoughts. You knew him all too well after all and at your touch, Jace softened a little, leaning back into the deep cushions of the couch. “We want to go, right? It’s probably the last big gathering before the season’s break. Surely you won’t let them ruin your night, Jace. Let them come, their words mean nothing.”

Cregan remained silent in front of you, patiently waiting through the silent exchange between the two of you. Jace squeezed your hand in his and then nodded, turning back to Cregan. “We’ll be there. Now hit the showers, man, you still reek of training.”

Your shared friend left with a triumphant grin and as the crackling of the wooden logs took over the quietness of the room again, you sighed and sneaked your hand underneath Jace’s sweater to warm yourself, your head resting on his shoulder.

“It’ll be okay.” You murmured, knowing the matter most likely had not left Jace’s mind yet. “There will be so many other students, we likely won’t even see them all night. Our group doesn’t want to hang out with them anyway, Jace.”

“I know.” Jace replied quietly, staring into the flames, the brown of his eyes shining like embers. “It’s not just Luke or me I’m worried about. I also don’t want you to get hurt by them. They are such pieces of shit, always causing trouble, if they’ll come near you…”

“I’ll hex them.” You suggested brightly and successfully lured a smile out of your Jace. “If they’re acting up, I’ll teach them a lesson. I can be very protective of the ones I love, too, you know?”

“Yeah…” Jace smiled at you, smitten and adoring of your courage and carefreeness. He tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear and gently cupped your cheek, getting lost in your eyes. “One of the endless reasons I love you.”

“I love you too.” You whispered back, leaning into his touch. “Screw them, we are going to have our fun, okay? Deal?”

“Deal.”

You smiled back, biting your lip in consideration. “I believe we have been doing something of most importance before Stark interrupted us, wouldn’t you agree?”

Jace laughed, back to his smiley self around you and pulled you closer by the waist. “Oh, I agree wholeheartedly.”

You sighed as Jacaerys kissed you again, his lips slowly moving against yours as shivers ran down your spine despite the warm fireplace. You tilted your head to the side, gladly letting him take over the lead and granting his tongue entrance. At your side, your bag of candy rustled, but neither of you cared as you got lost in each other, Jace making sure to show you exactly how much he loved and appreciated you before it was time to separate and go to bed…

⋆｡˚❆˚ ｡⋆

When the weekend came, Jace and you met down in the common room early to have breakfast at the Great Hall together. After pancakes and oatmeal, you had met with Luke and a few of his Ravenclaw friends to take a trip to the snowy Hogsmeade.

There were no time restrictions for you anymore with the both of you being in 7th year now and you were giddy and excited during the long walk, laughing as Jace started a snowball fight with Luke when about half of the way was done.

With your destination reached, you two separated from Luke and went straight to Honeydukes while Luke went off to go to Zonko's Joke Shop. You laced your fingers together with Jace’s and pulled him into the sweets store, sighing at the delicious smell of caramel popcorn and cotton candy.

Together, you browsed through the shelves and tried the little samples of your favorites, occasionally sharing a tooth-rooting sweet kiss. You brought a bag of chocolate frogs for Baela later, who was on prefect duty today and accompanied the 3rd year students to their first Hogsmeade trip, and a small treat for Jace and you to share. At the cash register, Jace stood close beside you and sneaked one hand into the back pocket of your jeans, making you blush and smile as you paid up.

Out in the snow again, Jace stopped by at the post office to send off his letter to Rhaenyra, quickly slipping a tiny hearty bone into it, which he had shrunken with magic and would later become a very monstrous snack for his dragon Vermax. For obvious reasons, no Targaryen kid could take their dragon to Hogwarts with them and so, Jace often missed his companion, although Helaena had crocheted him a mini-version when they were in year four.

Stepping outside, Jacaerys smiled at you as you bit off a gummy red vine and kissed your red nose. “Should we go to the Three Broomsticks Inn? It’s barely afternoon, we still have time.”

You sighed leaning into his side as you began to walk. “Yes, please.” At the thought of hot chocolate and the cozy atmosphere at the inn, your heart screamed for warmth.

“Come on then.” Jace kissed your temple and laid his arm around you. “Drinks are on me.” As always when you were out with him.

Usually, at least three of Jace’s mates were hanging around the inn, but today everyone seemed to prepare for the party back at the castle, so Jace and you were on your own, slipping into your favorite booth way back in the taproom where it was quiet and always a good hideout to make out with each other.

Laughing as Jace shook out his snowy hair, you skipped the bench opposite of his right away and made yourself comfortable on his knee. After ordering two butterbeers, you dove into your bag of candy and chatted about the classes you’d have together next week and what homework still needed to be finished until then. You were entirely uninterrupted here, in your own little world as Jace lazily caressed your body and peppered your neck with little kisses, the busy noises from the main room not reaching you at all.

 All too soon, it was time to make your way back. The snow had fallen thickly overnight and there was no doubt now that Christmas was approaching fast. At your side, Jace laughed at you as you stuck out your tongue and tried to catch a snowflake with it, his feet nearly slipping on a frozen puddle which made you giggle in return.

You always had liked the path leading back from Hogsmeade to Hogwarts, mostly because Jace and you could be alone and chat without anyone listening, especially the lower year’s little reporters who often wanted his opinions for their magazines. Now, you were walking hand in hand as Jace carried your purchases from the village for you when suddenly, your beloved owl came into view below the clouds and fir trees near the road.

“What’s Darling doing here?” Jace looked at you with curiosity as the owl briefly sat down on your shoulder and let an envelope sink into your hand. With a quick feathery nuzzle against your cheek, she launched herself into the air again and took off to the tower where she lived with her companions.

You stared down at the letter in your hands.

The paper was a tasteful black and dark blue and when you saw your own initials on the unbroken seal up front, you knew exactly who had sent you mail on the weekend.

“I’ll open it later.” You smiled blandly at Jace, stuffing the letter into the pocket of your coat and taking his hand again to walk back to the castle with him. “Let’s go, we’ll miss dinner if we loiter.”

Hours later, you were staring into space, zoned out although the large room around you was crowded and very much in the best party mood possible. The common room was full to the brim, chatter and music from the old stereo in the corner buzzing in your room. Everyone had wanted to join the last unofficial party of the year before going home to their families and students kept pouring in through the open door.

In the crowd, you could spot Baela and Rhaena, laughing with Luke and handing out little glasses with a suspiciously green content that smelled sharply of mint and liquor. Cregan had found a comfy spot in one of the big armchairs, passionately kissing a girl from Hufflepuff while some of your other friends were dancing carefreely.

Just yesterday, you would’ve been one of them.

But the words of your mother from the letter were replaying themselves in your mind over and over again.

The message towards you had been short and clear, yet full of hidden meaning; Your father and I expect you to join us for the holidays this year. We are to be guests at the Hightower’s estate. They are a respectable family and good allies of us and you will do your best to impress Alicent’s sons. A match with a powerful heir like they are is only suited and overdue for a young woman like you. We expect you home on the afternoon of the 21th.

In need to quieten the noise in your mind, you chugged your shot of firewhisky back, grimacing at the strong taste exploding on your tongue and squeezing your eyes shut for a moment. There was a familiar touch to your side and you were snapped out of your thoughts as Jace came up behind you, sneaking both his arms around your waist and drawing you closer.

“Hey, beautiful.” He murmured in your ear, pecking your cheek affectionately. “Is everything alright?”

You took a deep breath and turned around in his arms. Becoming a little weak in the knees at the sight of your handsome boyfriend, you nodded and leaned close as his hands stroked up your spine and played with your hair. In his dark red sweater and freshly washed hair, he looked particularly good tonight, a slight flush of warmth painting his cheeks.

“I’m just a little sleepy.” It wasn’t a lie, not really. “I think the trip to Hogsmeade today tired me out a little.”

Jace looked at you with soft eyes, lowering his voice and offering: “We could go upstairs and cuddle, if you want? It’s just a stupid party.”

Your heart melted at his offer, the knowledge he’d drop everything to make sure you were comfortable doing something to your already tender being today. Jacaerys made you so happy…why couldn’t your parents simply see that and accept it? You silently scolded yourself for returning to your parents again. You were eager to forget about all of it for the night, not sulk in your misery and let them deny you the fun you deserved to have.

You shook your head, a real smile on your face this time as you nudged him into the direction of the improvised dance floor. “I’m fine. Let’s have some fun, come on.”

Jace let himself be pulled into the crowd, his eyes traveling over your tights and the short, checkered skirt you wore tonight, your top a classy roll collar so no one could make fun of the hickeys he had left on you earlier today at the inn. Just as if it was the first time, he looked at you with so much love in his dark eyes, you forgot all your worries as he snaked his arm around your waist and you placed your head on his shoulder.

You swayed to the beat in his arms, allowing yourself to just be as Jace played with the soft edges of your hair, breathing your sweet perfume in and stroking his thumb over your side. Over his shoulder, you smiled back at the twins as Baela fumbled with her polaroid camera and quietly took a snap of you.

As you danced with Jacaerys, you were happy.

If only it could stay like this forever.

Further into the night, when the spontaneous bar in front of the fireplace had switched over to harder liquor one of Cregan’s guys had managed to somehow sneak past McGonagall, you stood together with your girls. Clinking your bubbly glass flutes, the pocket of your skirt kept the polaroid of Jace and you safe for the rest of the party and you caught Jace’s eye from across the room, gesturing that you were going to go to the bathroom real quick. He nodded and you excused yourself, walking down the corridor outside of the common room. Earlier, you had seen one of your roommates sneak off into the girl’s bathroom with a guy from Slytherin and you were not eager to walk in on them.

You walked down the hall, rubbing your arms against the cold of the walls when suddenly, a dark silhouette stepped out from one of the niches.

“Needed a breather as well?” Aegon smiled cooly at you, stubbing out his cig against the stone wall next to him. He watched you closely as you stopped, not sure how to assess the situation. His face was flushed, but otherwise he seemed to be not as drunk as normally during parties, which surprised you.

You gave him a curt nod. “Aegon.” As you tried to walk past him, he stepped into your way, holding up a hand.

“Truly, I’m delighted to see you, I must say.” A foul grin took over his features and you stepped back once more, the faint whiff of alcohol from him now hitting you. “My mother just sent me a letter about you today, you know? Got mail from home, too?”

You glared darkly at him, a look of despise Jace would’ve been proud of. “None of your business.”

“Oh, come on.” Aegon snorted, winking. “If the relations between our families are blossoming, we should get acquainted sooner rather than later, don’t you agree? Or perhaps, I can introduce you to my brother Aemond, if you prefer? My mother mentioned your parents aren’t particularly picky when it comes to a match for you. And Christmas is just around the corner…”

You froze.

He knew.

You stared at him, your clenched fists trembling with anger at his nonchalant and disrespectful manners, his eyes looking you over as if you were a prize he already had won.

“Come on, it’s about time you surround yourself with people of your status.” Aegon tried again, not letting you off so easily.

“I would rather die.” You spat out, glaring daggers at him and just as Aegon opened his mouth and took an abrupt step towards you, quick steps echoed down the hall. You whipped your head around and saw Jacaerys, stalking towards you and his uncle with fire in his eyes and a tense jaw.

“Ah, nephew!” Aegon greeted him cheerily, although a disgusted snarl now tugged at the edge of his mouth. “Me and your girl were just talking-“

“Shut up.” You hissed in warning, your hand itching to grab your wand which you wore tugged into the warm leather of your knee-high boot. A second later, Jace was at your side and rested his hand on your waist, protectively drawing you close.

“Are you okay?” He looked at you searchingly, his eyes flickering across your face with worry. “Leave her the fuck alone, Aegon.”

“We were just conversing. Is that forbidden now?”

Jace took a threatening step towards him and you knew your quick-tempered boyfriend wouldn’t hesitate to throw a spell against his uncle if he said another wrong word, although the consequences would likely be gravely. You remembered the day both Rhaenyra and Alicent had been summoned to the castle because of the fistfight between their sons…there was no need for a repeat performance.

“Jace.” You pleaded quickly, holding him back from doing something honorable and very, very stupid. Aegon grinned brightly at the two of you, clearly thrilled by the way you tugged Jace back by his arm, stepping between the two men. Under your breath, you mumbled: “Don’t. It’s exactly what he wants. It was nothing, I’m okay. Come on, let’s go, come.”

Jacaerys tore his murderous gaze away from Aegon and let himself be led away, his hand holding yours tightly as you brought more and more distance between them. Only when you reached the entrance door to Gryffindor House, you felt him exhale, yet the tension did not leave his body entirely.

You threw one last look over your shoulder and shuddered at Aegon’s vicious smile.

You were in desperate need of another drink.

⋆｡˚❆˚ ｡⋆

You rubbed your gloved hands together as a fierce breeze brushed against you, caused by the formation of Quidditch players on their brooms flying past you, Rhaena and Helaena. The girls and you sat huddled together on the bleachers by the Quidditch field, your wand steadily held up to produce a small magical fire in front of you.

Today’s quidditch training was in full swing and occasionally, you cheered Baela and Jace on as they chased across the field, spurred on by Cregan’s massive form flying from goal to goal to defend their score. In a few days, there was a match against Slytherin and none of them intended to lose against Aegon and Aemond before the year would end.

“I can’t believe we didn’t think of marshmallows.” Rhaena said regretfully and Heleana huffed out a laugh, her quick fingers skillfully knitting a new scarf. You for yourself had concentrated yourself on the black cat in your lap, which belonged to Rhaena since she had no luck yet in securing a dragon for herself back at home. Your friend bumped you into the side. “We could’ve made smores!”

Over your heads, Jacaerys halted on his broom, shouting encouraging commands before he flew on. Your eyes followed him across the field, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Next year, I promise I’ll bring chocolate.”

Silently, Helaena suddenly reached into her fluffy jacket and produced two chocolates bars from her pockets, making both you and Rhaena gasp in delight.

“Hel, you’re the best!”

You waved at Jace from the distance, wiggling triumphantly with the chocolate in your hand as your flames danced, and you swore you could’ve heard his laugh echo through the air.

“Are you fit for the Astronomy exam next Tuesday?” Rhaena asked, nervously biting her lip. “I feel like I got no clue about anything.”

“It’s not that complicated.” Helaena chimed in softly.

“Helaena, I love you, but you are close to being a medium, your opinion doesn’t count.” Suddenly, an idea crossed Rhaena’s mind and you laughed at her stunned expression. “Teach me, please, and I’ll help you with Transfiguration next week.”

“That’s cheating.” You sing-songed, earning a glare. “What? The only reason I passed the last History of Magic test is simply because my boyfriend is a massive nerd.” Your tutoring lessons with Jace had taken a while to become efficient though, since you two were easily distracted by each other’s closeness and often, your books had fallen off your bed during a heated make out session with him.

Rhaena groaned, leaning her head on your shoulder. “I’m glad when all of this is over, I can’t wait until Christmas break. Our grandparents will visit and we’ll all be together. What about you, guys?”

“I wish we’d spend Christmas together again…” Helaena mumbled, lost in her knitting. It was true, Jace and the twins only really saw Helaena at Hogwarts. Rhaenyra and Alicent only saw each other during brief encounters at the Ministry and it was better for everyone if Daemon didn’t see any of the Hightowers at all, really.

Rhaena looked guiltily at you before clearing her throat. “How about you? Any fun Christmas plans?”

It took all your strength to not meet Helaena’s worried gaze beside you. If Aegon knew about your parents’ plans, then so did she and you were not going to deal with this whole matter in front of your friends, especially since you kept all of this from Jace and intended to keep it that way.

You thoughtfully petted Rhaena’s cat, willing the dryness in your throat away. “You know, so far there’s been-“

“Oh, look who it is!”

A lightning bolt of black and red shot towards you, making the three of you squeal as Jacaerys slowed down on his broom and stopped right in front of the grandstand railing. His dark hair was disheveled by the wind and he looked like a prince in his Quidditch uniform, proud and sturdy with one of the quaffles tucked beneath his arm.

“Hi.” He grinned brightly at you as you wordlessly stuck out a hand to give him a piece of chocolate, one he took gladly but not without kissing your gloved knuckles first. From the distance, he had admired you longingly, the sight of you dressed in your bright coat and warm beanie close to the one of a princess. Jace could never stay away from you for long.

“Shouldn’t you play the game?” You challenged him and he looked over to Cregan, who already gestured him to rejoin practice.

“A kiss first.”

Rhaena and Helaena groaned in unison.

You gracefully stood, black cat still in your arms as you leaned over the railing and softly kissed Jace’s lips. He held perfectly still, the press of his lips on yours featherlight as you tucked a curl of his behind his ear.

For only a moment, the suppressed tension in you left your body and you only felt Jace, a high worth chasing for, even if it meant to lose yourself. But just as quickly as it rushed into you, it left with Jace whispering goodbye against you before he had to fly on.

It seemed like the weight sank back onto your shoulders the smaller he became in the sky…

As if the universe had somehow read your mind and decided to do you a great favor, Jacaerys took you to the Prefect’s bathroom in the late afternoon after training. While Jace as a head boy was mostly almost annoyingly responsible and accurate, he and you had often abused his privileges to sneak off into the luxurious hidden bathroom on the fifth floor.

When he had to calm down after a big game or you both needed a break during exam season, you retreated into the big swimming pool, where you sometimes washed his hair for him or he kneaded your legs for you while you told him stories sitting on the edge of the pool.

On other occasions, Jace and you simply were ridiculously horny, such as now.

Currently, you were in his lap, rhythmically rolling your hips as your tongues danced with each other. The hot water of the bath gently splashed against the edges and your hand curled into his wet hair, making him groan in pleasure. Jace’s sounds, his taste in your mouth was addictive, his passionate kisses making you drunk in a way no firewhisky ever could.

You needed to feel him until you completely forgot yourself.

And you were on a pretty good way to get there.

A breathy moan escaped your lips, your half-lidded eyes fixed on his angelic face as you rode his fingers deep inside of you. Jace was holding out a hand beneath your thighs, two of his digits fingering you sensually as his thumb played with your aching clit, luring the sweetest sounds from you.

“Such a good girl…” Jace purred, biting his plump lip as he watched you bounce in his lap. He leaned close, wrapping his lips around your rosy bud, softly biting into your flesh as you moaned loudly from the hot sensation. “Riding my fingers so well, such a sweet angel for me...”

Ever since Jacaerys and you had become a couple, you knew him as a slow and very thorough lover, always attentive and selfless when it came to sleeping together. With the slow roll of his hips and the endless praise, he could make you cry with bliss, dragging out the experience until you’d shatter into pieces in his arms.

But today, you needed him hard.

A part of you wanted him to spin you around and pull you down on his hard length, passionately fucking up into you until you had nothing left in you except for your love for him. But you knew Jace all too well for that.

So, you doubled down your efforts and tried to fuck yourself harder on his fingers.

Jace chuckled, love-drunk on you as he noticed your change of pace. “Eager, are we?” He crooked his fingers inside of you and you mewled, burying your face in his neck as you ground forwards, your tender walls convulsing around him.

“J-Jace…” You sighed, feeling your peak approach as he sucked at the sensitive sweet spot on your neck, his arm coming around you to press you closer against him as he kept on fingering you.

“God, you’re beautiful.” Jace mumbled in awe, tilting your chin up so he could look into your hazy eyes, his own cheeks flushed by the heat and your sight in his lap. “I know you’re close, sweetheart, come on, just a little more, let go for me, angel…”

That was all you needed to hear.

You came, stifling the desperate sounds in your throat by biting down on his shoulder, your thighs quivering as Jace softly talked you through your high, his fingers slowly stilling their movements inside of you. You squeezed your eyes shut, collapsing against him and breathing heavily into his neck.

In the afterglow of your orgasm, Jace pulled you close to his chest and held you tightly, his nose brushing against your cheek as he hummed in satisfaction. As your breath slowly began to calm down again, he let his hand wander up and down your back, especially giving a few tender spots attention as he massaged you until you nearly drooled on his shoulder with relish.

Never in your life had you felt as safe and wanted as you did in Jacaerys’ arms.

“So good…” Jace praised you, completely neglecting his own need that was still very apparent between his legs. “I love you so much, you did wonderfully, baby.”

You shivered, too aware of the sudden knot in your throat to say anything yet. For a while, the two of you simply relaxed like this, Jace’s hand cupping the water ever so often to pour over your naked back so you wouldn’t get cold. You were wound around him like a koala, unwilling to separate yet.

“I was wondering…” You hummed, signaling him you were listening, although you were still floaty. You could feel him smile near your neck, nuzzling the wet skin briefly before he quietly spoke: “…if there’s anything you’d like for Christmas?”

Your breath faltered, but you recovered quickly, swallowing down the lump in your throat. What did you want for Christmas? You wanted to burn your family’s manor to the ground.

To buy yourself more time, you absently kissed Jace’s jaw and licked the sensitive spot under his ear, which made him hiss and stifle a groan under his breath. You carefully paid attention to his reactions, how his hands on your waist tightened briefly and he exhaled shakily, his cock between your thighs stiffening even more until you could almost feel it throbbing against you.

“I want you.” You huskily whispered in his ear. Your fingertips brushed over his tip.

Jace let out a low moan, but shook his head. “You can have me all the time. Something special, think about it.”

“You are special…” You contradicted, kissing him briefly before leaning back in his lap and slowly beginning to stroke him from root to tip, his whole body tensing and relaxing at your much desired touch. “You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” He had no idea how true it was…

“Baby, f-fuck…” Jace breathed, his head falling back and mouth opening to a blissful little o. The wetness between your thighs returned quickly as you jerked him off beneath the surface, the water making the slide of your hand over his curved dick so much better, more intense than you could ever achieve it with spit.

His breath hitched deliciously as you twisted your wrist and pressed little bites and kisses to his chest, Jace’s body and soul exposed and willing just for you. You needed to get him off, needed to convince you that this was forever, that he wasn’t just going to disappear if you closed your eyes for a second too long. You needed to hear your name on his lips, a plea or praise, you didn’t care. You needed to lose yourself in him until everything was alright again.

And so, you continued to take good care of him, until the roaring inside your chest quietened and Jace’s hips bucked into your touch, only his sweet and whiny moans filling the steamy air of the baths around you…

⋆｡˚❆˚ ｡⋆

A freezing cold winter wind blew over the field as the last Quidditch game of the year was in full swing. Gryffindor against Slytherin always drew the most attention and today, every last seat on the grandstands was filled, the crowd of students and teachers from the castle divided into red and green.

You pulled your scarf tighter around yourself as you squinted your eyes against the brightness of the sky, trying to see what your boy was up to up there. Beside you, Rhaena and Luke cheered, spurring Jace and Baela on as they raced towards Slytherin’s goal, passing the quaffle between them before Jace got it and swung it forcefully towards the golden ring.

The crowd erupted with applause and shouts as Jace raised his fist, shouting as Baela and the other players flew past him with cheers. You smiled up at your boyfriend, his joy and pride, before they moved on to defend their goal keeper Cregan now.

“And that’s another goal for Jace Velaryon, ten points for Gryffindor in this very much exciting last game of the season!”

After all, the game was not only so popular because of your rivaling houses. It was also because Jace was playing against both of his uncles, two of the most dreaded beaters of their year.

Today, they had seemed to make themselves the goal to give Jacaerys absolute hell on the field. The brothers were terrors on their brooms, completely ignoring Gryffindor’s seeker and racing after Jacaerys who was trying his best to avoid them in order to score more points for his team.

“What the hell are they doing?” Luke muttered beside you, looking unsure.

Your eyes stayed on Jace who once again looked over his shoulder to see Aegon and Aemond at his heels. “They’re trying to confuse Jace. This isn’t good, something is wrong.”

Dark letter envelopes swirled through your mind, words of your father who demanded for you to end things with Jace before Christmas so you’d be agreeable for the Hightowers. So far, you had not replied to them once and as the realization hit you, you wanted to vomit on the stands. This was the Hightowers’ revenge, to hurt Jace to show you what was at stake.

You saw Aegon lift his wooden club, a determined serpent-like grin on his face as Aemond threw something up in the air for him. You sprang up from your seat, shrieking: “Watch out!”

A shocked gasp went through the crowd as Jace was nearly hit by a bludger, only avoiding it at the last second by dodging it quickly and stirring his broom downwards, losing the quaffle in the process.

“These stupid idiots.” Luke cursed, gritting his teeth. “Why isn’t this called out? They have no business attacking a chaser like this!”

“It seems like there is a personal family feud happening in the sky today, remember to play fair and respect each other.” The commentator called out nervously, the game continuing although Cregan was fiercely discussing and gesturing with the referee on the side of the round field. But today, one of the profs Aegon and Aemond had called the game; everything was possible.

You were on edge, the cold breeze messing with your hair as you followed the game, always keeping an eye out for what Aegon and Aemond were up to. Luckily, they seemed to only mean to scare Jace, keeping the rest of their game pretty tame except for a few harsh bumps into his shoulder when they flew past their nephew.

You could tell Jacaerys kept himself in the background for a while, weary of the brutal energy from the opposite team, letting Baela take the lead and score a row of perfect goals for Gryffindor. When the final whistle echoed across the field, your fellow house members erupted into joyous shouts and a sigh of relief left you as Jacaerys celebrated with his team members.

As everyone on both teams descended down onto the field’s ground again, Jacaerys quickly flew over to where you stood, grinning triumphantly and leaning over the railing to kiss you fiercely. When you rested your hand on his shoulder for balance, you felt him wince.

“Your shoulder?” You whispered as Luke patted his other one and the others around you congratulated him.

Jace shrugged, crooking a smile at you. “Barely a scrape.”

Your eyes widened. “They hit you?”

“It’s alright.” He pecked your cold cheek before Cregan yelled from somewhere under you to get his ass over here and he had to leave. “Don't worry, okay?”

Easier said than done.

When the Quidditch team returned to the castle, you were already waiting for Jace, a small jar with a cooling herb cream resting in your lap. While your friends shared speculoos and hot chocolate by the fire, Jace was sitting in front of you on the soft carpet, leaning into your touch as you applied the salve to his bruised shoulder. You tried to keep up with the conversations around you, but your mind kept trailing off.

Was your life going to look like this from now on, constantly threatened and your love in danger and a target until you’d stop revolting against your parents’ orders?        

That night, you found yourself unable to sleep, staring off at the ceiling of the bedroom’s tower and listening to the wind outside. Everyone had gone to bed early and you had tried to read a little, but found no joy in it. Everything had turned out fine in the end today, why couldn’t you simply let it go?

You sighed, shifting to lay on your side, and stared at the picture frame on your nightstand. There were a few photos of Jace and you in there, but the one you liked most had been taken by the Great Lake earlier this year. You had fallen asleep with your head on Jace’s thigh, your hands still laced together, and he lovingly looked down at you, keeping watch as you found rest.

You stared at the photograph for a long time, but your eyes wouldn’t droop. With a frustrated sigh, you slipped out of bed and out onto the stairwell. But instead of going to the common room, you walked upstairs.

You held your breath as you opened the door to the boys’ bedroom, sneaking in on your tiptoes and squinting your eyes so you wouldn’t stumble over anything on your way to Jace’s bed. You stopped, taking a moment to look at his peaceful, sleeping form. He always had his mouth open a little bit, adorably curled into himself on his side as his chest rose and fell slowly.

A part of you regretted having come here, not wanting to disturb his well-deserved sleep, but another selfish part of you needed him close, to assure yourself everything would be okay in the end.

On his bed, Jacaerys shifted and let out a tiny groan, blinking his eyes open at you. Standing there in your sleeping clothes, you looked like a little ghost and his heart skipped an excited beat at you being here.

“Can I sleep here tonight?” You whispered into the darkness, fearing your voice would break if you raised it any higher. The sounds of ruffling sheets filled the room as Jace shuffled over and made space for you, opening his arms without any hesitation.

“Of course, love. C’mere, ‘s cold…”

You slipped underneath the covers, sighing as you were enveloped by Jace’s warmth, your boyfriend immediately pulling you against him and snuggling his face into your neck.  You slung your arm around his waist and breathed him in, trying to keep the dark thoughts swirling through your mind at bay.

He smelled like home.

He was your home and who could promise that you wouldn’t lose him eventually?

“Did you dream badly?” Jace whispered into your hair and you shook your head, clinging only tighter to him. You wanted to crawl underneath his sleeping shirt, to melt into him until you’d never been seen again.

“…just needed you.” You mumbled tiredly, your nerves calming down a little as Jace caressed you lightly in the dark. He hummed against your temple and kissed your cheek, not interpreting too much into your small words. “Go to sleep again, it’s okay…”

You closed your eyes too, swallowing against the vulnerable tightness in your throat as you slowly felt Jace drift off into sleep again. You internally scolded yourself to get it together, not wanting to risk any hot tears falling upon Jace’s skin. If you tried hard enough, you could pretend just a little longer that you weren’t breaking apart right in his protecting arms…

⋆｡˚❆˚ ｡⋆

In the final two weeks before Christmas, you were sure you were slowly losing it.

As you prepared for the final exams of the year – no professor really having mercy on their oldest students at the castle – a final letter from your parents reached you, with instructions on which fireplace to use in Knockturn Alley to floo-powder travel home. Before that, you were to go to Madame Malkin to pick up a gown, which you were supposed to wear during the dinner to impress Alicent’s sons. The humiliating orders of your parents paired with the stress of all the exams you still had to ace quickly left you spiraling, causing you to retreat into yourself and neglect your friends.

More and more, they all began to talk about going home for Christmas and involuntarily, you had started to snap easily, wanting to be left alone to focus on your work to avoid their questions.

You watched the rain pour down outside of the windows, the busy chattering of the rest of your class like white noise in your ear. You had woken up tired already this morning and now you were stuck in potions class, the one you shared with Jace.

The thoughts about the upcoming holidays and an inevitable confrontation with your parents were eating you alive and you couldn’t concentrate, reading over the recipe of the potion you were supposed to make over and over again without understanding the words.

Beside you, Jacaerys worked away on his own kettle, but he had been keeping watch of you for a while now, gnawing at his bottom lip with concern. 

Since the Quidditch game, he could feel you slowly slipping from his grasp, distancing yourself when you spent time with your friends and going to bed early and getting up late. You fell asleep in the common room often, in his arms where he could see the dark circles underneath your eyes or alone on the couch by the fire until he had to wake you up for dinner. You ate less than usual and were only seen around in his hoodies, staring into space and daydreaming.

Jace worried about you, but you seemed not very eager to share your worries with him. In retrospect, he could now see that you had been retreating into yourself for a while now and he hated himself for not seeing it earlier. Now it seemed, all he could do was to be there for you and show he was listening if you wanted to open up to him.

“Remember, students, the mixture we are making today is intended to be only brewed by seventh year students for a reason!” Your professor walked between the aisles, peeking into a few kettles here and there. “You are to handle it with utmost carefulness.”

Jace noticed you staring at the parchment in front of you, your eyes not moving to read. He leaned over, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Baby? Could you hand me the goat hair you got over there?”

You perked up and his heart clenched at your glassy eyes, your pale skin. You rummaged around in the boxes you had been given, attempting a smile as you gave the vial to him. “There you go.”

He let his fingers brush over yours for a moment before you retreated, going back to your own potion. Jace suppressed a sigh, catching Baela’s eyes from across the room who had been watching the small exchange. They were all worried about you and you knew.   

If you didn’t find a way to prevent the forging of the poisonous band your family planned for you, you were not only going to lose yourself. You were going to lose every single one of your friends. Your hands started shaking at the thought of them despising you, avoiding you in Hogwarts and having to pick up the broken pieces you would leave between Jace and you when you eventually would have to end things before you hurt him even further…

You shuddered, grabbing one of the smoking glasses in the middle of the table for your kettle. What would Jace think if he saw one of his uncles and you, on the first page of the Daily Prophet, announcing the union between the Hightowers and your family-

The glass slipped from your grasp, the contents briefly sloshing against your hand before it all shattered on the ground.

The students around you gasped, taking a step back in fright while Jace took one closer to you, reaching out a hand. You heard him speaking to you, hushed and fast, but you couldn’t comprehend what he said as you looked at your hand in shock.

Burning streaks painted the palm of your hand red as if you had attempted and failed badly to catch a whip mid-air. You stared at the wound in disbelief for a moment.

Then, the pain came.

“Oh my goodness, hold on everyone, reparo!” The professor hurried over to your side and you silently watched as the broken glass to your feet levitated up on the table until all the liquor was back inside and sat perfectly in front of you. “What have I told you about handling this ingredient carefully?”

“Professor, she’s hurt.” Jace said, his voice dripping with worry for you. You could not look into his eyes, afraid of what you’d find in them. “She needs to go to the infirmary.”

You tried to take a steady breath and to your own shock, a little sob escaped your lips instead, just barely audible. The burn on your hand felt like wildfire spreading, but there was something else aching in you too, the stress and worries of the last week making it all worse. You knew if you’d stayed, you’d break down in front of everyone in the class.

You were not going to let them see.

Brushing off Jace’s hand on your shoulder, you made your way straight towards the door, not looking back despite the protests of your professor and Jace calling out your name. You tried to blink away the hot tears burning in your eyes, clutching your shaking hand close to your chest, but by the time you nearly ran down the corridor, they were already overflowing.

It was all too much.

Behind you, you heard Jace sprinting down the hallway after you and your chest only tightened, panicked at the thought of him seeing you like this. Just as you wanted to take a corner and disappear out of his sight, he reached out, gently touching your arm and holding you back.

“Baby, you need to go to the infirmary, Madame Pomfrey has to take a look at that.” Jace insisted emphatically, turning you around to face him. “Let me walk you-…”

You stared at your feet, not meeting his eyes as he took in your miserable state. Your nose already felt stuffy and your head hurt from keeping down your tears, heart pounding achingly in your chest. Jace opened his mouth to say something, shocked and worried to see you so sorrowfully.

“What’s going on, love?” He asked softly, stepping in front of you and shielding you from a group of passing students. You pressed your lips together, unable to answer and shaking your head instead. Jacaerys gently laid his arm around you, careful not to brush against your hurt hand, quickly thinking about what this all meant.

“Let’s go to Madame Pomfrey together, okay?” He said gently. “She needs to look at this, I bet it hurts, huh?”

At his soft tone with you, you let out a tiny whimper, hiding your face in his shoulder as he shushed you comfortingly, starting to walk with you. “Sh sh, it’s going to be alright, I promise. We need to cool this, c’mon, we’re halfway there, okay?”

You let yourself be led by him, exhausted and not strong enough anymore to keep up the act that everything was fine. On your way through the hallways, you disassociated a little, Jace’s arm around you and his whispered comforts the only thing keeping you halfway in the present moment. At least there was no one else at Madam Pomfrey’s desk, saving you from further humiliation.

“Hello dear, what can I- oh goodness, what has happened?” The elderly woman came around the table and inspected your hand.

“We were in Potions and one of the ingredients spilled.” Jace explained calmly, although his voice trembled. He led you towards one of the chairs by the entrance of the hall, staying by your side as the nurse took your hand and cooed compassionately. “I think it was a burn potion?”

“Yes, it looks like it.” Madame Pomfrey looked at you. “You must be in great pain, my dear.”

You had been for a long time.

“It’s nothing that’ll leave a permanent mark, we’ll cool this and then there’s a potion that should help as well overnight, hold on.” You watched silently as she returned with a slick cloth and hissed as she slowly placed it down on your palm. Jace’s hand on your shoulder caressed you soothingly and you bit your lip through the pain, not wanting to make a sound.

After she had wrapped your hand, Madame Pomfrey left for her potion cabinet, leaving Jace and you alone. Your hand throbbed dully, but the pain was slowly fading away and Jace sat down beside you, gently taking your other hand in his.

“Will you talk to me?” He asked quietly and without pressure. “I can tell something is wrong, dear. There has been for a while now, hasn’t it?”

You sighed, leaning back in your chair and playing with your hand in his. Closing your red eyes in defeat, you told him. “My parents have written to me to come home over Christmas. They want me to meet the Hightowers with them to-…They think a match with either Aegon or Aemond will be beneficial for the family.”

Jace exhaled, the expression on his face unreadable as he clenched his jaw.

“I-“ You searched for the words you had kept down for so long. “They don’t care for my opinion at all. I’m just a valuable chess piece and they move me however they want for their own wealth and station. It doesn’t matter what I want or what I think and-  I’m going to lose you and everyone will hate me, this is only the beginning of their schemes, I know it-“

Jace stopped you in your rambling and wordlessly took you into his arms, his hands itching to take his wand and simply hex your sorrow away. Something in you broke at his gentle embrace and you slumped against him, letting the tears flow as he brushed over your hair and kissed the top of your head.

“You’re not ever going to lose me, love.” He murmured, his need to comfort you clashing against the rage he nurtured for the other side of his family. “I’m not going to let this happen.”

“Me neither.” You sniffled hopelessly, looking up at him through glassy eyes. “I would rather die than engage with them. But I’m scared of what they’ll do if I don’t comply. If you’re getting hurt because of me, I will lose it.”

You felt yourself hyperventilating, but Jace took your tear-streaked face between his hands and deeply looked at you, making you focus entirely on him. “Hey, hey. No one will get hurt, okay? I promise you this, you will not lose me, my love. No matter what happens, me and my family will have your back. We’re adults now, we’re graduating next year, no one can tell you anything or force you to an arrangement like this. You only belong to yourself and I will not let them take you from me, alright?”

You nodded miserably, remembering your bandaged hand just before you wanted to wipe your cheek. Jacaerys smiled softly at you, brushing the tears away from you and kissing your forehead.

“Is this why you have been so distant recently?” Jace asked gently and you nodded in defiance.

“I didn’t mean to.” You said guiltily. “I was just so stressed and…I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Jace said, drawing you close again and resting your head on his shoulder. “I just wished I could’ve helped you earlier, you don’t have to go through this alone. I love you so much.”

“I love you too.” You sniffled one last time before the last of your tears tried and you felt a little lighter on the inside. Squeezing his hand, you took a deep breath while the two of you sat huddled together in the silence of the hospital wing.

After a while, the pain in your hand had retreated almost all the way and you longed for your bed. You let out a small yawn and Jace chuckled, nuzzling his cheek against your head.

“You know, if I would’ve known, I would’ve asked you this so much earlier.” Jace shook his head, softly cupping your cheek and stroking your heated skin. “Will you spend Christmas with me? You can stay over at my family’s home for the entire holidays, we have enough space. I’ve been thinking about it for some time now and I want you there with all of us, more than ever now. My mother would be delighted to have you, we all would. And I can’t have you going to your parents now, I just can’t. Hey, please don’t cry again.”

You laughed watery, not able to stop the emotional tears from coming. You were overwhelmed by Jace’s question, how much love laid in his proposal and you couldn’t stop your heart from screaming out yes, yes, yes.

You pressed your forehead against Jace’s, playing with his hair as you smiled. “Yes. It would be an honor to be with your family for the holidays. I want to spend Christmas with you, if you’ll have me.”

“I always will. My home is yours.” Jace mumbled softly, wanting to press a kiss to your nose. 

“And you are mine.” You whispered back and were quicker, pulling him down into a slow kiss and putting all of what you felt in that moment into it as your lips slowly moved against each other, Jace’s hand resting on your waist while the other disappeared in your hair, tilting your head to the side.

You’d protect him just as he was going to protect you.

And as you two kissed and Madame Pomfrey eventually walked in on you, the way Jacaerys jumped even made you giggle, you knew you were going to be alright.

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On Christmas morning, you woke up in the arms of the love of your life.

Above you, there was a beautiful hanging mobile, its little dragons dancing in the warm morning sun. You smiled, enjoying the way the sunbeams fell onto the checkered thick blankets of the bed, how the old heater by the window crackled and the quiet sounds of the house made it feel like a real home.

Stifling a little yawn, you nestled back into Jace’s embrace, your boyfriend still in dreamland as you slowly took in your surroundings. Jacaerys was plastered against your back, one of his arms slung over you and resting protectively on your stomach underneath his shirt you had stolen. The other rested under your head as a pillow for you and you noticed with amusement how his hand twitched from time to time while he was dreaming.

Jace’s childhood bedroom was exactly how you had imagined it to be.

On a big shelf in front of his bed were countless books on magical history and dragons, whether they were biographies or travel reports, the great novels of famous wizards and witches and tales he had read when he was younger. On the walls were photos of his family and friends at Hogwarts and you, again and again and again, smiling back at yourself from every corner of the room. His closet was a neat mix of hoodies – which you wanted to take with you, preferably all of them – casual clothes and more elegant things to wear for official gatherings of his well-known family.

Underneath the covers of his twin-size bed, you felt safe, sheltered from the rest of the world and you sighed happily, snuggling your cheek against his bicep just as Jace stirred behind you.

You turned in his arms and you felt as if your heart was golden when the morning sun reflected in Jace’s brown eyes blinking sleepily at you.

“Good morning.” You whispered, a besotted smile on your face as Jace’s face scrunched up and he quickly turned his head so he wouldn’t yawn in your face.

You laughed quietly, snuggling closer to him underneath the thick blanket you shared and tangling your legs together. Jace sighed blissfully and pecked your cheek as he brushed your hair back behind your ear. Your hand had been healed for several days now. “’morning, beautiful. Merry Christmas.”

You smiled, although a little sadness remained inside of you. Maybe it was not ever going to leave again. “Merry Christmas, Jace.”

Ever since you had arrived at the town house of Jacaerys’ family in London, the Targaryens had done everything to give you a warm welcome after you had never showed up at Knockturn Alley to throw a hand of floo-powder to the fire. Jace’s brothers had been particularly excited to meet you, the girl on Jace’s photos and his mind when he was home during summer, and his mother and step-father had been pleased to finally meet you as well.

Two days ago, far in the evening when you had sat close to Jace in the living room and listened to one of Rhaenys’ stories as glasses of cherry wine were shared and candles lit, a final letter from your parents had reached you.

Seven simple words on paper for all eternity.

You are no daughter of ours anymore.

While you had stared wordlessly at the message in your lap, Rhaenyra and Daemon quickly had sent everyone else to bed until only the adults, Jace and you remained. A whirlwind of emotions had rushed through you then and before you knew what came over you, it was like a dam had broken and you were crying. With Jace’s arm securely around you as he softly whispered into your ear and Rhaenyra reaching over to hold your hand, you had mourned the relationship you never had with your parents, the tears both suffocating and freeing you at once.

You were released from their clutches, after all.

And you had been lucky enough to find your real family along the way.

After that, when Jace and you had gone to bed and you had slept through the entire night, the holidays had been going splendidly. And when Rhaenyra had assured you during breakfast that you stood under her family’s protection now, you knew you were going to be okay.

For the first time, you truly felt at home.

You went for walks around the neighborhood, building snowmen with Jace’s little twin brothers and making hot chocolates for everyone in the afternoons. You made gingerbread houses with Baela and Rhaena and asked Rhaenyra all about her career as an auror. Daemon you had beat at Wizard’s chess, leaving him speechless while Jacaerys cackled in the background.

One afternoon, Jace’s family had left the house for some last errand running before Christmas and he had loved you in front of the fireplace, slowly eating you out and letting his hands wander over your naked body on the furs...You had rode him until the two of you were breathless and you had almost drooled on Jace’s shoulder in bliss as he had rocked into you at a toe-curling slow pace.

You smiled at the memory, happily closing your eyes and leaning into his touch when Jace started to softly kiss your neck, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your waist as he pulled you half-atop of him. Like this, your leg was hooked over his side and his hand cupped your cheek, keeping you close while he ravished you with little kisses.

“Jace, we should go downstairs…” You breathed, your eyes fluttering closed and mouth dropping open as Jacaerys paid special attention to the sweet spot on your neck now, nibbling at the sensitive skin before licking over it soothingly.

Jace let out a hoarse little sound, something between a groan and a whine. “Five more minutes…” He nuzzled his face into your shoulder and you chuckled, combing softly through his hair while he cuddled with you.

“Don’t you want to get your gifts?” You teased him playfully and squealed when he squeezed your bum, which ultimately ended in a small pillow war until you threatened to hex every of his books to fly an attack on him.

He smirked at you as he helped you out of bed, a small flushing adorning his pretty face. “I already got the best gift right here.”

And how were you supposed to not kiss him right then?

It only took a little more convincing and willpower to not stay in bed with Jace until you two descended down the staircase together, the excited sounds and conversations from the big salon guiding your way. Jace had changed into a dress shirt and some nice tailored pants while you wore a dark velvet dress with a turtleneck, the ballerina shoes on your feet a festive red. In your hair, you wore a bow and Jace squeezed your hand in his before you walked into the room to join his family, stopping briefly one more time to kiss underneath the mistletoe that hung in the hallway.

“Good morning, everyone!” Jace beamed as the little twins ran up to him, excitingly talking over each other about what they got for Christmas. “Did you get some nice things this year, guys?”

Rhaenyra smiled warmly at you and you looked into the round, a little shy out of the sudden to be present at such a family-centric moment. “Merry Christmas…”

Rhaenys invitingly patted the empty space between her on the couch and you joined her, Baela and Rhaena as the twins pulled Jace over to the large Christmas tree. There was a little locomotive flying around it as it chu-chued and the ornaments had a certain spark to them that could only be explained by a charm.

“Jace look, we got a magic kit to make fireworks!” Aegon and Viserys basically vibrated with happiness. “We are going to blow up the ministry!”

Daemon barked out an amused laugh, looking at their sons proudly while Rhaenyra just shook her head. “No, we are not blowing anything up, you can at least wait until New Year, boys.”

Meanwhile, Corlys and Luke were busy with a big photograph book the latter got, the pictures of the sea and its many creatures and legends coming to life and nearly making a wet mess on the ground between them.

“We’re so glad you’re here.” Baela nudged you in the side, lacing your fingers together while Rhaena did the same on your other side. “You’re part of our family. That's all that matters, alright?”

You nodded, not trusting your voice as you hugged them both. You watched together as Jace unpacked a large present, revealing a brand-new Quidditch gear and looking at his parents speechlessly before he went to hug them both tightly. In the room, presents left hands and found new ones and soon, the ground was littered with gift wrapping paper and Jace had gravitated towards you again, sitting down in an armchair as well and bidding you over silently.

His family, sensing the coming moment of quiet between you, went on with unpacking and gifting each other as you sat down on Jace’s knee and smiled at him.

“You haven’t opened yours yet.” Jace mumbled mysteriously and you gasped as he pulled out a little box.

“Jace, you didn’t have to-“

“I wanted to.” Jace insisted, his thumb caressing your thigh as he looked at you seriously. “I love you. It’s Christmas. And…I hope you’ll like it, if not, I could bring it back and you can choose something else-“

You opened the bow around the box and opened the lid, your hands shaking despite yourself. Inside, bedded on a little velvet pillow, waited the most beautiful necklace you had ever seen. It was a delicate thing, a shiny pearl hugged and protected by a swirl of silver. Your finger brushed over the piece before you looked at Jace in disbelief.

“Jace…it’s beautiful.” You couldn’t help the tears welling up in your eyes. “It feels magical, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Jace said shyly, carefully brushing your hair over your shoulder so he could help you put it on. The cool silver rested perfectly around your neck as Jace’s hand splayed out on your lower back. “It’s…us. Here, take a look.” He lifted the pearl to your face and it took you a moment to see what he meant.

It was hard to explain. For a second, you only saw the smooth surface of the irregular pearl, but then it changed, making room for…memories. You stared into it in awe, as moments of Jace and you flashed before your vision.

You and him on the train to Hogwarts, sharing sweets and napping. The two of you studying together outside by the lake, a blanket thrown over your legs while you made little fireflies dance over your heads. Sharing breakfast at the Great Hall and kissing in the rain. His laughter and yours. A whisper of I love you in your ear. Jace smiling at you and lacing your fingers together…All these tiny moments that made life and love with him so good.

You slowly put down the pearl, lost for hours as you looked at your boyfriend. “I…I have never possessed something as wonderful as this, in my entire life, Jace.”

Jacaerys flushed a bright red, cooing at you when you quickly brushed a tear away. “I’m glad you like it, angel, but please, I can’t see you crying on a day like this.”

You laughed quietly, lifting his chin and kissing him slowly before leaning your forehead against his and whispering: “Thank you. It’s so beautiful, I love it. I love you.”

“Love you too…” He smiled at you. “I’m so glad I could pull this charm off, it wasn’t as easy as the books said.”

You poked his shoulder playfully. “Speaking of charms.” You reached into the pocket of your dress, producing a little package of your own. “Uh-uh, don’t look at me like that, if you get to surprise me, I can return the favor. Give me your hand. And close your eyes.”

Jace complied, waiting curiously as you fumbled with something in his lap. Then, he felt something cool on his wrist and opened his eyes again, meeting your bright smile as his heart melted.

“It’s an enchanted bracelet.” You explained to him as he looked at it, fascinated by the way the little dragon scales seemed to move, its subtle green shimmer perfectly matching Vermax’. “There’s a spell on it meaning to protect you from harm and bring you good luck.”

You didn’t have to tell him part of the reason why you’d chosen it for him. A part of you would continue to worry, but as long as Jace was with you, you were strong. You both made each other strong.

Jace looked at you softly and with understanding in his eyes and turned the bracelet on his wrist, in awe of your pure talent.

“I also made sure it can’t slip off during a Quidditch game-“

He swallowed the rest of your sentence with a kiss.

You smiled against his lips, letting yourself be kissed by him and nearly forgetting that you were in fact not alone. For just one more moment, you let yourself be surrounded by him, his hand still securely on your waist as the other played with your new necklace before-

“Hey lovebirds! Come on, breakfast is ready!” Luke called over from the doorframe and you and Jace laughed together as you helped him up. The rest of your family already was in the dining room, busy with finding seats and talking over each other.

“Thank you.” Jace whispered at you, laying an arm around your shoulder. “For everything. These are the best Christmas holidays ever.”

“We haven’t even had our New Years party.” You hummed, excited for the future for the first time in a long time.

“I can’t wait.” Jace grinned, holding out the chair for you at your family’s table.

Yes, you couldn’t wait to see what the future brought.

You smiled at him. “Me neither.”

my taglist (open): @princesschimchim1325 @cecestea @jacesvelaryons @princessvelaryon @diannnnsss @mattnott @hattiewritesalot @chocotorta2027 @mckennah123 @still-jon-snow

[achrams]

𝐌𝐲 𝐋𝐨𝐫𝐝.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: An antique collector gets an unusal package containing a knight ('A Knight' from Reverse 1999) right at his doorstep, with lots of old english.

𝐂𝐰: Blow job, unprotected mirror sex and a creampie.

Being into ancient relics came with its pros and cons, for example your house looked like a literal portal to a Victorian house…at the expense of you living off of 2 dollars until your next paycheck. Which in hindsight wasn’t as bad as it sounded given the high ranking job you managed to somehow bag. No need to worry about going to the office either, remote work -  you really were blessed weren’t you. Nice modest house, from the outside that is, a beautiful interior filled with all sorts of mystical shiny relics you had managed to collect like a crow and a good job- Ding dong.

You weren’t expecting any guests, especially at this hour. With a grumbled murmur of, ’Who in the hell comes over at 7am sharp.’ you made your way to the front door of your flat. Taking a deep breath in to mentally prepare yourself for any sort of human interaction before plastering on a smile and opening the door. To your surprise the hallway was empty, not a single soul in sight at all. It’s as if a ghost had decided to pull a prank on you and ding dong ditched you leaving nothing more but a few boxes in its wake.

Another, more annoyed sigh left you before your gaze lowered to the ground where two boxes were left to be welcomed into your comfortable Victorian looking house. It was an easy deduction that these must be some of the items you had bought a few days? Weeks? Maybe even months or years ago..you’ve lost count of the times you’ve ‘accidentally’ wandered onto a website that sells all sorts of trinkets for your hoarder mind. The older the better, that’s how it usually went.

A swift few trips back and forth from your door to the livingroom and the lonely boxes were finally adopted into the family of silver shine that covered the place. The first box opened up to two beautiful antique vases - intricate designs of wreaths covered shimmering the area perfectly. One simple look around and you knew exactly where to place the vases. The small nooks, that the plethora of items you owned had created, on each side of the hallway leading to your bedroom like you were some royalty.

The second box was a little more concerning, to say the least, it was heavy. Like really heavy for some shiny antiques. Aside from that, you didn’t quite recall buying anything other than a couple of vases. Sure, your mind could have fooled you but surely you would have remembered a purchase that seemed to weigh tons. Anticipation filled your gut as you hovered over the box, hunched like a dragon obsessing over every speck of gold in the mountains of shinies your mind was hooked on.

With careful precision you removed the tape from the box and let out a breath you didn’t know you had been holding. Opening a freebie of sorts shouldn’t be as nerve wracking as it is right now. ’Did someone send this to the wrong address? No- what if this is something illegal. I really should just leave it..’ Seems like that inner debate lasted for approximately 3 seconds before eyeing the suspicious box became too daunting and you quickly opened it up. Having pressed your eyes shut in case something were to jump out of it and scare you.

One, two, three, four- okay nothing jumped out to surprise you. Recovering from the tense jumbled position your hands managed to form, as a protective gesture, gave you a better chance to properly look at what the box had to offer. Inside laid an absolutely stunning silver armour. It was beautiful, more so than any other old knightly armour you had seen before. It was in pristine condition, shiny with no smell of rust, covered from head to toe in extremely small carvings that were clearly embedded into it with love.

The only..concerning part of this all was that the box seemed packed. Well, it looked like it was filled to the brim, ready to bust - which gave the initial fear of the box containing something illegal- but to your eyes it was a mere cape with some metal gloves. Clearly part of an armour..maybe the rest of the armour was buried beneath the cape - which was beaming with rich blue fabric and golden stitches to show its high class. Though as soon as you tried to reach into the box it didn’t even take a millisecond before sheer surprise made your body recoil backwards.

’What the hell was that.’ You thought as your gaze lingered on the suspicious cardboard before you, then lowered to your shaking hands. You swear you felt something - shocker the box had items in it- but you didn’t touch anything. Your hands hovered over the metal gloves but you weren’t touching them. So, why in the hell did it feel like a hard surface was beneath your skin. ’Am I going insane? Is this the end for my brain?’ The thoughts spilled from your lips via an awkward chuckle.

Some small glances between your right and left hand eased your spiralling mind before they were ultimately dragged across your face with a groan. Maybe it was the early morning that was fucking with your head because no other suggestion would provide a suitable answer for your weird hallucination, if that moment could even be called that. It was around 7 am in the morning after all, perhaps you were still half asleep and not thinking correctly..or worst case scenario you’ve unleashed a phantom into your house, forced to get an unwelcome roommate.

Moving slightly closer to the box, for probably the third time in the span of half an hour, you pulled all your courage to try and see what truly was inside the box. ’There’s no way what just happened was real. Some passing…air..maybe..hopefully’ Not even you yourself managed to reassure the marathon running heart beating out of your chest.

“Ah..That wast quite a trip…Greetings.” A voice reached your ears and instead of the usual screech, yelp or a freak out, you had properly convinced yourself that you had lost it. Falling back onto your heels you sat before the mystical box that seemed to house a…ghost? 

“...WHAT THE SHIT!?” It finally seemed to click that what had just happened was not, in fact, a dream but real life. Even though you could see nothing but some metallic gloves and a curtain of a blue cape it took way too long for you to react to the presence before you. Scrambling up to your feet, heart ready to meet its grave as you quite literally sprinted down the hallway to shield yourself in your bedroom. ’What is happening..this is not real..but it was. The damn armour spoke.’ You heaved out as your back was neatly pressing against the wooden door, providing a comforting feeling of knowing nothing, even the weird knight ghost, could sneak up on you.

- - -

’Okay..breathe in..and out..you can do it..’ That had been a soothing mantra leaving your lips for the past..let's say another half an hour. Each time you had come close to opening your door, which was just your hand lingering ominously over the doorknob, your mind managed to convince you to retract your hand. Leaving it awkwardly stiff beside you as the next wave of hyping up followed. It probably took you about ten more minutes before you actually got the courage to exit the comfort of your bedroom.

The walk into your living room area seemed a lot longer than you remembered, it might have been the fear that played the most important role right now but at least it gave you the time to think of an ‘escape' plan. Spoiler: it would have been you sprinting right back into your bedroom, which one might argue, is not the most clever of plans.

One look to the left and one look to the right managed to dim the light of your concerns, Pheww..there's no one here. See, I told you there was nothing to worry about.’ You whispered out to yourself. The worries that had clouded your mind for way too long were eased, as much as one could ease them in this situation to be fair, so for your own sanity you wanted to quickly discard the cursed cardboard and go back to your humble life.

The chucked out box looked innocently back at your grimacing face. Almost making it seem like you were having a stare off with it before pulling your door closed. A deep breath in and you were finally ready to actually start your day, despite the chaos you had endured for the better part of an hour now. Turning around you were faced with none other than the mystery armour itself. “So, I'm not crazy. I've just lost it all..” your mouth hung open at the sight, the fleeing plan from before having morphed into a freezing one.

“Someone believeth we did get off on the wrong foot. ‘Tis a delight to meeteth thee, sir.” As much as you would have wanted to answer with something, anything, there was a clear and strong barrier between your head and your mouth, refusing to let anything pass. Instead of communicating you stared at the knight in utter shock with your jaw probably growing roots against the wooden floor by this point. “I am, Knight. Nay necessity to worry for Someone is not vengeful.” he bowed before you in a well-mannered way.

It took you a few blinks and stutters before you mustered out a simple, “What..are you?” That seemed to be the question that broke the dam because the following flood of questions seemed to confuse the poor knight as much as you had been confused and continued to be. “How did you get here? Why are you here and what the fuck is up with the invisibility?!”

“Right, such a colourful vocabulary thee has't.” The knight murmured out as he swayed in his spot - as visible from the swishing from his cape. He held out his hands in a surrender and tried to explain as calmly as he could in hopes that the words would actually reach your overburdened head.

“I'm afraid Someone doth not have't an answer for yond, or aught of those questions. Someone recalls getting defeated in combat and now..waking up here.” The smooth voice from the invisible body before you says, and you can somewhat tell, from the moving cape, that he's looking around the place. Inspecting the interior as if he hadn't had the time for that when you’d locked yourself into your bedroom for half an hour.

“So..you just are like..that?” You asked, hands motioning to the body or lack thereof with a confused expression. Brows having contorted into a jumbled mess as you desperately tried to wrap your head around all of this crazy magical nonsense that had been suddenly pushed into your casual life.

The knight nodded, or that's what it seemed like at least, “Correct, this is merely how Someone is.” The knight turned around with a swish, and happily questioned you about your interior choices. “Someone might not but sayeth, thy interior selections art quite embracing. Art thee fond of history?” 

The nod was already halfway finished when you realised that you were genuinely speaking to some invisible knight. ’There's nothing to do about it anymore anyways..might as well have a chat.’ Walking a bit closer, to quickly slip past him you walked to the living room and gestured to the different antiques you've been collecting for years now. “I am, yes. Any object with historical value or an eye-pleasing design has a place in my home.”

Throwing a quick smile towards the invisible knight seemed like a welcoming enough gesture as the knight moved closer to better chat on the topic. Being an old knight from fuck knows which time period gauranteed some first hand experience, in the historical view point. Two historical nerds being pulled together by fate had ensured long chats on anything antique related. Luckily for you the ‘phantom’ you thought to have let loose in your flat just happened to be a devoted and gentle knight. You weren’t sure how or why this happened but as of right now, this surprise roommate was good enough.

- - -

It has been a few months since this mysterious knight entered your life. There might have been a bit of a rocky start to this new living plan but as it turns out it wasn’t that different to how things would have been with a regular roommate, yours was just..a little obscure. In that time you’ve been together with him the amount of knowledge you’ve gained is astronomical. You knew your stuff before but now, having a real person to confirm or deny these ‘facts’ was real handy. As well as getting to know the real meaning behind some antiques. It was thrilling to say the least.

In addition to all of that, you got to know the knight better. All of his past battles, memories, friends..everything. He had been surprisingly willing to share such personal parts of himself so fast. Which likely worked to create a stronger bond, because what lunatic would immediately trust ‘flying’ gloves without knowing anything about said gloves. He came out to be a lot more interesting than you had previously thought.

Though there is one little knack to it all. He seems to be very insistent on calling you ‘his Lord’. It wasn’t immediate, no not at all, it was gradual. Revealing stories of his past Lord and then ever so slowly starting to refer to you as a Lord. Maybe it was the interior design that made him fit right in or maybe he just missed his Lord at home - wherever that may be - but he didn’t even stop when you brought it up. In fact, it seemed to enable him.

“My Lord, Someone might not but sayeth I'm thankful for thy hospitality. You've been more than kind.” He said earnestly as he sat across from you at the dining table, conveniently fit for two in this small warm flat. It was almost audible how he beamed when he said it, having forced it out from the deepest parts of his heart.

“I said it already, you don’t need to call me ‘Lord’. I’m just some guy you live with now.” You half assedly laughed out while swishing the cooling tea around in your mug with a spoon. A comforting habit you’ve picked up on, and it seems he had too given how the armoured hand hesitantly moved to cover yours. 

“I insist. Thee helped me and Someone wisheth to showeth his own gratitude” the knight murmured out honestly and drew his hand back once your mindless tea mixing motion had come to a still. There was a moment of silence before he spoke up once again, this time more sheepishly. As if he was actively debating whether to truly speak his mind or not while he was already speaking, “Doth such a title bother thee?”

He doesn’t even let you answer that it doesn’t as much as bother you but it just feels out of place given they didn’t live in the 17th century or well, you didn’t. “Someone just wisheth to refer to his own loveth accordingly.” Yes, you heard that correctly. He did just say that and by the looks of it was mostly intentional, maybe revealed a bit earlier than he was ready for given the fidgeting hands on his cape but it certainly wasn’t a mistake. The knight didn’t even attempt to take it back, just waiting for a response to the small confession.

“You..I heard that correctly..right?” You practically choked out, surprised - though let's be honest the signs were very much clear. The use of a title, the small affectionate gestures, the deep talks about his past. The knight trusted you a lot more, a lot faster than one would in such a short amount of time.

“Ay. Yond is correct. Someone wisheth to pursueth thee, if thee don't mind yond, my Lord.” He said out with a heartfelt tone, shifting in his seat to lean more onto the table, likely not wanting to miss any small reaction you might let out. Every small detail was valuable to him, especially when it came to love. 

“I..I’m not sure, it’s just.” You didn’t want to break the poor knight’s heart. He was kind and charming - from what you’ve managed to deduct - but he was an invisible knight. No amount of delusion changed that. “I’m sure you’re a really kind guy-” “Please. Someone beggeth thee. This comes from the bottom of his own core. Alloweth Someone showeth thee the extent of this loveth, my Lord.”

’Gosh, was he always so adorable? Begging to prove his love..that amount of devotion wasn’t easy to come by nowadays.’ You sighed and let out a gentle chuckle. Head tilting up from the mug between your hands to now look at the desperate knight. “Alright. I accept your confession.”

This made the knight ecstatic, getting him to jump from his chair before his armoured hands came up to cover his mouth. “Apologies, Someone is  over the lunar sphere from thy acceptance. Someone is so joyous he couldst kisseth thee.” It didn’t take a genius to figure out from his body language that he was begging, aching to show his devotion, his love for you.

With a sheepish sigh you nodded at him, giving him the permission he was hoping to receive. No time was wasted for him to quickly make it before you. His armoured cold hands coming to hesitantly and so gently rest at your cheeks, the metal caressing your warm skin before he leans forward. “Someone loveth thee.” The whispered words brushed your lips before the two worlds met.

His lips were very much real and warm, obviously he was real but it was your first time kissing an invisible knight, you didn’t know what to expect so to feel it was relatively normal eased your mind. Hands sliding up his armoured hands to explore their way onto the knight’s shoulders and then around his neck to pull him closer. Growing more confident with the way things were going, you wasted no time in tilting your head feeling him lose his base adrenaline from the beginning. 

A smile made its way onto your lips as you felt his breath hitch into your mouth, eating that delicious reaction right up. Following your instincts and sliding your tongue along his shaky lower lip before intruding his mouth. Huffs and slurps filled the air around you two as you dedicated the moment to show him the modern, intense, kisses his knightly mind couldn’t even fathom. “My Lord..” the breathed sound was like music to your ears as you pulled away from his lips, seeing the clear signs of shared spit between you two breakrather lewdly.

“Can Someone please thee?” He huffed out, armoured hands still cupping your face as you could feel his intense gaze on you. Begging. You didn’t even need to see it to know that his face was begging for you. For him to be able to show his love. “Of course, Love.” The shaky breath that left him at the response did not go unnoticed by you, feeling how the cold metal travelled down your neck to your chest, gliding it down the front until your hips.

Kneeling before you his hands pried open your thighs, thumbs massaging the skin beneath the fabric. Even though you couldn’t see his face, you could feel how his head leaned in to press gentle pecks all along your thighs. Ranging from your knees to the thighs to the inner thighs before his nose was flush with your groin, pressing intimate kisses the the area. Pulling you a little closer as his armoured hands grabbed your ass so he could properly hide his face between the soft warm thighs that belonged to you, his Lord.

“May Someone?” he breathed out and buried his head into your warmth. Nuzzling his nose against your growing hardness with need that was unexpected from a calm and collected knight such as himself. Smiling against you when he felt your hands travel down to rid yourself of the annoying fabric that seemed like a brick barrier between you two right about now.

As soon as the pants had been cast aside and let pool at your ankles after some quick manoeuvring, the knight wasted no time in pleasing his Lord. One, two and three kisses up your length before his armoured hands dug it out from your boxers, dragging his tongue along the slit. Tasting the pre that had started to bead from the tip at the continuous affection you were receiving from the knight worshipping you on his knees.

“You can..do what you wish-” before you were given the chance to even finish your sentence, the knight had already kissed the needy and messy head before taking it into his mouth. Humming against it as he suckles it with a slurp, making you lean your head back with a groan. Hands going to quickly grasp the seat of the backless chair you were sitting on while the knight selfishly pushed his head down to take you in his mouth whole.

The feeling of a warm, welcoming mouth with a soft tongue gliding against the underside of your dick was heavenly. Making you press your eyes shut while you face the ceiling, to deal with the loving affection you've been deprived of for a while. Who knew that such devotion and worshipping felt so damn good that you felt your chest heave and thighs shudder under the armoured hands that kept them perfectly open and in place for the knight.

Hollowing his cheeks around your dick, the knight pulled his head up to run his tongue over your head again before lowering it to take you to the base. Feeling how you grew harder in his warm mouth, how you twitched in his throat like some starved man. Gosh if he wasn’t smitten before then he certainly was now. Wanting to please his Lord until he was satisfied and on cloud nine.

The knight hummed in delight from the way you heaved from his ministrations, that in turn making him pick up his bobbing to deepthroat you with every single move. “Ahh..wai- mmh!” The words were cut off by the knight's armoured hand reaching to cup your balls, fondling them with care while he gagged on your dick like some hoe who'd just seen an ankle for the first time in his life. 

The warmth of his wet mouth and squeeze of his adjusting throat were damn near perfect that when he ignored your plea from before he certainly acknowledged the way your body shook violently not, staggering on release. The shivered breaths and hitched bucks into his mouth made the knight as pleased as he could be. “..hahh Love..please..” you managed to force out from the onslaught of pleasure.

A moment to catch your breath as his mouth popped off your erection, the pre mixed with saliva keeping you connected. “I don't..shitt..I don't want to cum from this..can I fuck you?” The words came out breathy and hopeful as you finally leaned your head down to look at the sight of  the knight, your knight treating your dick as if it's a sucker.

While he decided if he wanted to let you or not, your gaze zoned in on the fact you could see through him. You could see how he took you into his mouth, how your dick fit his throat and how it squeezed you deliciously. You really could see the hazed pre-covered channels his body ‘hid’, the same ones you had claimed. Damn was it a turn on.

With an eager nod the knight rose from his feet to take your hand and pull you up. Hoping to guide you to your bedroom, through the royal looking hall, where you could continue to explore and share the devotion of love as a knight should to his Lord. However, that plan was spoiled, not in a bad way though. Instead of the bedroom, you dragged your knight next to a mirror. Standing behind the eager knight and ridding him of the cape that obstructed your perfect view.

Your hands finding his shoulders and travelling down his body, worshipping the hidden gem of a man just as he had done to you minutes before. Sliding them down his chest to stomach and then his thighs which you grabbed and pushed down on, making his ass slot flush against your hard on.

“Have you always been naked, hmm?” You whispered slyly as your hands roamed, claimed and ravaged his body like some carnivore. To which he simply let out a shaky breath, leaning his body more against you as a silent invitation to take and enjoy your meal. To show just how much you loved him.

A sneaky hand had made its way into the crease of his ass, exploring until it found a snug rim of muscles. ’Perfect.’ You thought as you massaged it in a circle before teasingly putting pressure on it til the tip of your pointer finger slipped past the force. 

It wasn’t even much and you had already dragged out a moan from your knight, it was small and similar to a hitched breath but it was there. Slowly easing your finger in, you took pride in the sounds already leaving the knight. All shaky and broken as if you were already fucking him dumb. Your gaze focused on the sight of your digit going in and out consistently in the mirror, seeing everything through his clear body.

Not deeming it worth seeing just yet, you waited until he was prepped before showing him the sight you found magical and took pride in. Once the single finger had turned to two, letting you scissor him to your heart's content it felt like a good time to grind your neglected throbbing erection against his ass. Making sure you didn’t soften while getting your knight nice and loose for you.

The knight had had his head leaned back on your shoulder, warm breaths escaping his parted lips like a prayer while your hands worked their magic. When he felt three digits work him open, curling and thrusting in him with nasty squelches he bit his lip to limit the lewd whimpers his well used throat was collecting like a magnet. The broken bucks down against your fingers said more than words ever could.

“You're so perfect, Love.” You murmured slowly as you withdrew your fingers with a slick sound, earning a broken gasp from your knight. The coated fingers gave a few pumps to your dick before guiding it right against your knight’s quivering hole. Applying pressure to it but not breaching it just yet. Instead your free hand moved to look for his head, forcing him to look down into the mirror to see the spot you were about to ruin and claim.

“Look at that, love. Focus on it, yeah?” You whispered as you finally pushed in and breached his tight hole. Feeling how his body tensed from the intrusion but despite the overwhelming feeling of you filling him up til breaking, he followed orders like a good knight. Focusing exactly where you had wanted, seeing how you had entered him. How his needy hole was trying to eat you up, to pull you further into the body he owned yet now shared with you.

“Moveth…please moveth, my Lord.” he croaked out with a simple buck against your dick. Feeling how it buried itself deeper, digging itself a snug home within the welcoming cavern inside your knight. Having seen perfectly how each drag of your dick against his walls was carving a road to heaven. Every small move drawing out a perverted sound from the already overstimulated knight.

Pushing your knight flush against the mirror before you, the grip on his neck never faltered, keeping his gaze exactly where you wanted it. Loving the idea that he’s seeing you ravage his body, claim it for your own with each wet slap of skin against skin. Feeling how his body shook and shuddered beneath your determined bucks against his soft yet clear skin. Pushing in an up to reach as deep within him as possible, showing your devotion to him loud and clear, leaving no room for interpretation.

“Oh-! fuckk..” the knight spilled his moans as he saw the brutality of your thrusts. Knowing - feeling how your dick pistoned in and out of his quivering depths like there was no tomorrow but also being ordered to see. God damn was it hot to be forced to view how your flushed and needy head toyed with his gushy walls, how your dick throbbed within him and most of all how your pre beaded out of your slit to fog up the clear view in his body.

Your hands suddenly grasped at his hips and pressed against him, hard. Pushing yourself into him so much that he felt his sweaty chest come into contact with the cool mirror. Lewd, loud and broken moans being pulled out from your knight while you pick up your pace. The once slow and calculated thrust transforming into raw needy ones. Chasing the high you'd been teetering on once before.

The knight’s metal gloves were clanking against the mirror while you fuck into him like a rabid dog. The sweet like honey mewls only tightening the eventually bursting knot in your abdomen. The tight perfectly delicious squeeze around your shaft, the filthy sounds of pleasure and creaking from your surroundings and the stimulation of fucking your knight dumb provided were enough.

“Pleaseplease- fuuckk..Love!” You groaned out as the burning tightness in you was becoming overwhelming. Your hips burying themselves neatly against your knights plush ass in a frenzy as you shake against one another. The force of it all making your knight cry out in bliss, drowning out the cracking of glass.

With no warning or a heads-up, you drew your dick out til the head and harshly pressed back in, one final time before coming. A loud moan erupts from your knight as the final blow pushed so perfectly into him, though the bliss was short lived with the sudden break of the mirror before you. Luckily neither got hurt, because your knight had his armoured gloves on and you had already slowed your hips to a near halt.

Leaning against your knight's back, catching your breath as you felt his walls milk you dry. He hummed in pleasure, catching his own breath from the intensity of it all as his dick pumped ropes of cum onto the mirror and the broken shards across the floor. His eyes shutting for a moment but opening just as fast, yet tiredly, when he felt your hands wrap around his middle, sliding down to hover over his abdomen. “Would you look at that?” You breathed out with gratitude.

“That's all mine now. My perfect knight.” To which your knight seemed to shiver at when he saw how well you had used the canvas of his body, painting his clear inner walls white with devotion. A perfect art exhibit in his body of who this knight was devoted to. It fit perfectly with your already enormous collection of antiques. What's the harm in having your personal knight as well?

Though that thought will be stored for later, seeing as you knight was becoming sleepy. Exhausted from the physical labour, not in a fighting way he had been used to in his old world,but in a more primal way that had completely drained him, slowly growing limp in your arms. Luckily the hands around his middle held him up, for now. Gently pulling yourself out of him with a pop, you guide your sleepy knight to a nearby couch to avoid you collapsing too.

Making sure he's nice and comfortable before storming to the bathroom for a warm moist cloth to wipe your knight clean. Ensuring he felt loved for, just as much as he loved you. “Rest well, my Knight.” You whispered as you pampered him in his light sleep, cleaning his sheen covered skin and leaking body before peppering him with gentle kisses. 

Damn, you were going to have a lot of cleaning up to do after this heartwarming aftercare. Like properly cleaning the cum leaking from your knight, a shower to rid the sweat covering your bodies, the glass shards on the floor from the broken mirror and the dribbles of your knight’s release coating the mirror like an art piece. Might as well snuggle close to your knight while you can as the exhaustion hits you like a brick too.

“Someone loveth thee, my Lord. So much.” That was the last thing you heard after cuddling close and welcoming sleep which was well earned after such a thorough display of devotion.

[cressidagrey]

Stars all aligned - Chapter 2

Summary:

If there was one thing that both Azriel and Zahra Archeron had in common, it was that they were both very good at blending into the background.

They just never thought that their family were going to be the ones who never saw them at all.

Warning:

Bashing of like...every IC member? I think Rhys gets the worst though, kinda depression?, isolation, Cassian is an idiot, slut-shaming?, discussion of SA

(Lovely dividers thanks to @sweetmelodygraphics)

Azriel kept showing up. 

And Zahra kept letting him in. 

She had no fucking clue what possessed her. 

And yet every time Azriel showed up at her doorstep…she let him in without protest. 

He always brought food or he cooked. Always something to eat. And he always stayed until she had consumed an entire serving in front of her. 

She should tell him to stop. She should tell him to leave her alone.

But Zahra never said a word. 

Zahra couldn’t manage that. 

It wasn’t like she had had many private conversations with Azriel before. And she did get t to see a side of him that…she never seen before. The kind, gentle side with a biting sense of humour. She could be as bitter and cutting with him as she wanted to be and he gave back just as sharply…but it never got personal. They never hurt each other.

And she got to know him. Not the spymaster, not Rhysand’s most trusted spy….but Azriel. The male. Not the Illyrian warrior, not the fae…but just him. as a person. Azriel who loved good food and good books. Azriel who smiled and who was gentle and kind…and coaxed mice back outside with never-ending patience. 

It was strange, how easy it was to talk to him. How easy and relaxed it felt to spend time with him. How natural it was that he was there. 

As if it had always been the two of them cooking together. 

She shouldn’t get too used to it. It wasn’t going to last. Zahra knew it wouldn’t. But she allowed herself to bask in it. Just for a little bit longer. 

Bask in the feeling of…having at least one person in this new life that…dare she say it? Was like a friend to her.

A friend. When was the last time she had had one of those? 

She didn’t want to think about that.

Just like she didn’t want to think about it, when Azriel started showing up earlier, reports in hand and joined her in working at the rickety old kitchen table.

Zahra worked on the ledgers, sorting through the numbers. And he sat right across from her, reading through his reports, quietly sipping his tea. 

(He had brought better tea with him.)

Zahra had thought that he would annoy her… but they were utterly content with ignoring each other for hours at a time. No need for words or unnecessary conversation. Just the comfortable silence of each other’s presence. It was oddly…pleasant. 

And somehow his presence…it lit something inside her. When she dropped off the account ledgers the next time, she made a quick detour to a cheap antique store just a few doors down.

Zahra browsed through the shelves on the inside. 

It was a tiny shop, filled up to the brim with old stuff and odd trinkets from the past. And then she found something that made her pause. 

An absolutely ugly, oversized armchair with the most horrible plaid pattern…but it looked like it was made for wings. The one chair in her kitchen worked for Azriel because the back was narrow enough to slot through the middle of his wings, while the one she preferred wouldn’t have worked in a million years…but the couch she had…that was another story. No way that couch was comfortable for him. 

But this armchair….

It was perfect, if you were willing to overlook the absolutely hideous pattern. But Zahra kind of grew to like it with each second that passed. So she pulled on her best haggling skills and bought that monstrosity. 

And then Zahra had the seething hot realisation that she needed to get it home somehow. She felt a tug at the hem of her skirt and stared down to find a tendril of shadows tugging at her.

One of Azriel’s. She just knew it.

The same shadows that liked prowling through her rooms and pruning the sad basil plant on her windowsill… She was also quite sure that they had started to oil the hinges on her door, but she hadn’t yet caught them in the act.

“You don’t to be able to bring that home for me, do you?” She asked them drily. The shadows coiled in a way that made her assume that they were laughing at her. Or at least having fun. It was honestly hard to tell. But another tendril popped into existence as if to say ‚Yes, I can do that!‘ 

A moment later, the chair had disappeared.

Zahra just hoped it actually had been Azriel’s shadows and not another bunch that liked stealing stuff. The thought that she had just given a chair away to some random shadows for free was a slightly concerning one. Oh well. Hopefully, it would arrive at her house soon enough and not at some random place. She had just paid for a pretty decent sum of money for that monstrosity after all. 

She bought other stuff too. Like actual spices, so Azriel wouldn't need to keep bringing all of that with him every time...another couple of plates...A blanket for the living room...

She didn’t even know what possessed her to do that. It was like something inside of her just…woke back up again. She had been dead in more ways than one. But Azriel was slowly coaxing her back to life. 

She felt more alive than she’d done in a long time. She could actually feel her heart beating. Her blood rushing in her veins. She could…feel again. And it was such an odd sensation. 

To her surprise, the armchair stood in the middle of her living room when Zahra arrived home.

A little shadow wrapped itself around her wrist as she gaped at the monstrosity sitting in her living room. The shadow seemed proud of itself.

"Thank you," Zara said politely and the shadow ruffled up as it preened. It was honestly kind of cute. And it was odd to see it like this. A small little bit of…personality. So different from what she’d always thought the shadows would be like. 

Then the shadow disappeared again and she was left with…the armchair. Which was now placed right in the middle of her living room.

Damn it. She forgot about how absolutely ugly it was. 

But oh well. It fit right in with some of the flaking of paint in the rest of her house...and the rotting floorboards in one corner.

At least that armchair was comfortable. She had to admit it. There was something oddly charming about that ugly old chair. 

She sighed, ignoring the chair for the moment as she organised her spices in the kitchen and then went back to work.

Azriel showed up in the evening that day, blinking twice at the chair.

“Where’d you get that eyesore?” he simply asked in greeting. 

"Antique shop," Zahra gave back drily. "And I bought it for your wings, thank you very much."

That made him blink in surprise. "For my wings?" he echoed and his eyebrows shot up.  "You bought an armchair for me?" 

There was something about the absolute surprise in his voice that made her want to laugh. "Yes, I did, Shadowsinger," she confirmed. "And just for you, I will ignore that horrendous plaid pattern that is covering every inch of that hideous thing." 

His lips curved into a smile, something like fond amusement playing in his eyes. "What a kind thing of you," he returned with equal amounts of dryness. "To give me such a wonderful eyesore to keep my wings company." 

He dropped down into the chair and she had to admit that it was perfect for his wings. They slotted through the gap in the back and seat without problem and he looked like he melted into the cushions. 

"It may be the ugliest thing I have ever seen, but it is the most comfortable too," he admitted with a sigh.

A small smirk edged up her lips. "I know," she simply said. "So you are stuck with it now. Consider it as a present for all the food that you give me." 

He snorted in amusement.

His head dropped back and he looked up at her, his hazel eyes glinting in the dim light. His wings were flared all over the back of that chair and she couldn’t help but notice how damn huge they were. 

He was big. She knew he was, of course, but it was easy to forget when she saw him next to Cassian. But Azriel was broad and muscular all on his own…and his wings flared all over her living room really emphasised it. 

And for some damn reason, she had the sudden mental image of his wings wrapped around her. The thought was absolutely ludicrous and completely inappropriate. 

She firmly squashed the mental image and instead just focused on the fact that Azriel was still looking at her through half-lidded eyes. There was an amused, almost fond smirk on his lips. 

"Where do I get paint from?" she blurted out.

That made his eyebrows raise. "Paint? Why do you need paint?" he inquired as he sat forward and his wings folded back against his body. 

"I should probably do something against the flaking-off paint around here," she admitted with a shrug.

He pursed his lips in thought. “And I assume you’ll try to do this all by yourself.” That wasn’t a question. He sounded pretty damn certain what her answer would be. 

"Have you talked to your landlord?" he asked her. "Are you allowed to do that? I mean, whoever it is is probably going to be happy that you do something...to stop this whole house from falling apart, but still.” 

She rolled her eyes at him. "You know, this house is mine," she gave back drily. "I can do whatever I want with it."

Azriel’s brows shot up at that, an amused surprise in his eyes. “You own this place?” he echoed, clearly not having expected that. 

"I won it in a game of cards," she admitted drily. "The guy I won it from inherited it and wanted to get rid of it. Nobody wants it because it's out of the way, but I like it."

Her one and only time in a tavern had left her with the house. She should probably consider that beginner’s luck. 

“You won it in a game of cards…?” he repeated again, a note of genuine surprise in his voice. “Are you joking?” 

Her lips curled into a smirk. “Nope,” she said with great amusement. “Nine men's morris to be exact. The idiot lost it fair and square.” 

He was looking at her in a sort of disbelief, yet there was something like respect in his eyes. “Remind me never to play cards with you,” he said drily. 

She just shrugged. "It was just once," Zahra said with a sigh. "I went to one of the taverns...decided to get utterly wasted," she snorted. "I don't think becoming an alcoholic is for me, because I spent 3 days afterwards throwing up."

“The hangover must’ve been brutal,” Azriel commented dryly. "So you won a house in a game of cards."

She just gave a nod. “Pretty much, as ridiculous as it sounds. I do think it needs some paint though."

Azriel just snorted. "I think it needs more than paint," he said drily. "It probably needs to be demolished and built up again."

“It’s not that bad,” she protested, but even to her, that sounded weak. The place was a dump. It was a literal dump. "It has character," Zahra said, her resolve growing. "Just because it's a little broken, doesn't make it garbage," she whispered.

There was something sad in her voice and Azriel just looked at her, a certain quiet understanding in his eyes. And she cursed him inwardly, because he saw too much. 

He always saw too much. Saw through her defences and the walls that she’d built up. 

"You are right," he agreed. "It's a little bit broken. But I am sure can be fixed."

A sharp pang flared up in her chest at his words, as if that gentle acceptance and quiet understanding from him hurt. She pushed it down, refusing to examine the feeling too closely. 

"And there a few different shops in Velaris that sell...paint...and other...things to...improve a house."

"You mean to stop it from falling down onto my head?" she asked him wryly

“Exactly,” he responded with an amused smile as he folded his wings again. “And stop the drafty windows from letting in a constant, cold breeze.” 

Damn it…she had been hoping he hadn’t noticed that. But of course, he had, because he was observant. Far too observant. 

“And you know, maybe put in a proper lock at the door,” he continued drily. “And fix the leaking tap in the bathroom…”

Zahra rolled her eyes at that. “I like that dripping sound, it’s very melodic,” she said with sarcasm drizzling from her voice. 

It made him chuckle lowly. The shadows around him rippled and coiled in response to their master’s amusement.  “You have a strange concept of melodious sound, if you find dripping water to be in any way pleasing,” he told her drily. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, should I be swooning over the sound of a harp or the violin?” she rebutted with a sharp little snort. 

“Not necessarily,” Azriel replied with an amused smirk. “Any other sound would be better than that constant drip…Though I have been known to enjoy the symphony on occasion," he admitted to her. "Or even some of the taverns."

A snort of laughter left her lips at that, despite herself. “I can’t imagine you in a tavern,” she told him honestly. 

He shot her a dry look at that. “Why not?” he asked, raising a single eyebrow at her. 

“It just doesn’t fit,” she gave back bluntly. “You in your leathers, standing in the middle of rowdy drunks. Just seems so odd.” 

He rolled his eyes at that. “I know how to dress down,” he rebuked her drily. “And I also know how to blend in.” 

“You’d stick out like a sore thumb, even if you wore absolutely normal clothes,” she retorted. “Your muscles betray you, Shadowsinger.” 

He huffed at that and then leaned back into the armchair, arms folded. “Now you’re just being insulting,” he groused and she snorted. 

“Oh, did your ego get bruised, Shadowsinger? How terrible,” Zahra dead-panned, making him roll his eyes again. 

"Let's just see if I bother making dessert, for you if you continue that," he groused at her. "I got all the makings of caramel pudding."

“What?! No, wait.” She leaned forward, something like panic on her face. “You cannot dangle that in front of me and then not give in! I even bought you an armchair!" she told him, making him snort.

“It’s a hideous armchair,” he pointed out with a smirk on his lips. “You really think it’s a gift?” 

“Hey! You agreed that it was comfortable,” she protested. “And you can’t deny that your wings like it too.” 

He snorted as he stood up and walked into her kitchen.

She did get caramel pudding in the end. Of course, she did. Even Azriel wasn’t immune to some good old puppy eyes. 

***

Zahra bought him a chair. He wasn't quite sure what to do with that knowledge. 

The fact that she had thought of him enough to buy one for him…it was something he was still trying to process in his mind. 

With the idea that she had spent her own money not on something to make herself uncomfortable...with the fact that her own bed was a mattress on the floor...but she had made sure that the next major piece of furniture she bought hadn't been a proper bed...but instead an armchair for him.

The fact that she had deliberately put his comfort above her own…yeah, he still didn’t know what to do with that information. 

He also didn't know what to do with the information that he actually...he actually really liked her.

Maybe it had been there since the beginning and he just hadn’t noticed it. But the more time he spent with her, more she made him laugh or argue or just…talk. The more he started to like her and appreciate her company. 

She was quick-witted and smart...and so quick to bloom if anybody paid her any attention. And when it was just the two of them at her house...well, then it was...it was so easy. So comfortable.

He forgot to remember to make sure to not give her any reason to be scared of him because she never was. She didn't even blink twice if he came home with the carcass of a deer slung over his shoulder, only cleaned off the table so that she could help strip it.

She asked questions about what he was doing and genuinely seemed interested. Never judged or looked at him weirdly, because she just seemed to get it. Just took him being the spymaster in stride, because that was who he was. Accepted it almost like she accepted his shadows.

He didn't think he would even need to hide the blood that coated his hands, because Zahra didn't seem to care one way or another.

She didn’t even ask him where he had been during the day or what he did. She just accepted the blood and dirt that came with it. 

And quite frankly…if he did his work at her dining table or locked into his room at the House of Wind…who cared?

That dilapidated cottage at least had better company than his own brooding one.

And it never felt felt he was intruding on Zahra when she used him as free labour for whatever redecorating she was doing that day.

They replaced the floorboards…he helped paint the door…

In fact, he was willingly going to her house every night, like it was the most normal thing in the world to do. It probably wasn’t, but he didn’t care. Every evening, when Azriel was done with his duties, he simply dropped into her house. 

They cooked together. Illyrian recipes that he knew…then some that he didn’t know that he had asked his mother for, who had answered into a sprawling letter…recipes that Zahra knew from her human years…and then he brought a cookbook from the library in the House Of Wind and they did that too.

The one thing the two of them did agree on though, was that no dinner was complete without dessert.

They both had a horrible sweet tooth.

Unspokenly, Zahra was the one who lit the fire of the fireplace and the oven…who put food in the oven and pulled it out again.

Zahra didn’t say a word about it. She just did it.

He didn’t even think about who was doing what if he was being honest. He just enjoyed having a shared dinner and the easy conversations that were taking place. It became as routine as breathing, just being in her house and spending the evening with her. 

He tended to linger too. Kept staying with her. So that he doesn’t need to return to the House of Wind, try and fail to sleep and listen to Cassian’s and Nesta's enthusiastic lovemaking.

That was why he stayed. He really needed to avoid the lovebirds at all costs, because they were…just too damn loud. It would have been funny if it wasn’t so damn annoying. 

“If you want and ruin your back on my couch, be my guest,” Zahra said one evening and he froze, staring at her.

She had gained some weight. It looked good on her. No longer a back of skin and bones as she had been, but her cheeks were fuller, Her clothing filled out more.

His gaze briefly flicked up to the couch and the frown on his face grew. “Honestly, that thing is probably the worst place to sleep,” he muttered. “But…I think I prefer it over listening to my brother and his mate going at it.” 

“Nice,” Zahra said with a snort, seemingly unbothered by the comment. “Seems like they know what it means to respect your need for sleep.”

Azriel snorted at that too. “Not quite,” he retorted with dry amusement. “They just don’t care.” It was the damn truth. Cassian and Nesta didn’t even bother putting up any kind of noise-mutting spell to spare his already poor sleep. 

Still…if he stayed there…” Aren’t you worried that I…” he trailed off.

“What? Ravish me?” Zahra drawled. “You had every chance at it for weeks and you haven’t touched me. So no, not really, Azriel.”

“I simply don't want to overstep my boundaries,” he found himself saying quietly. "I wouldn’t force myself on you," he continued with a quiet severity in his voice. "Not ever." I am not a brute," he added firmly. 

“Oh trust me, I don’t think you're a brute,” Zahra told him dryly. “If you wanted to force yourself on me, then you would have done it weeks ago.” 

He nearly flinched at the matter-of-fact way she said that. 

“I would never do that,” he choked out. 

“You are a good man,” Zara said quietly.

Something in his chest flared at that. A mix of shame and guilt, because he was so far away from being a good man. “I don’t want to give you any reason to fear me,” he said quietly, the words tumbling out of him before he could even stop them. 

Her expression softened at that and he held his breath. His shadows coiled, as if they were holding their inhale as well, waiting for her response. 

“It’s funny…” she began quietly and he had to forcibly keep himself from leaning in. “You have never given me a reason. Never.” He blinked at that, a small sense of surprise flaring up in his chest. 

“I…have never once been scared of you,” she told him bluntly and he stared at her incredulously. Because how could she ever say that? How could anyone not be scared of the spymaster of the Night Court? The male who was rumoured to be the spawn of nightmares and death? 

“Don’t look so surprised,” she deadpanned at the sight of his undoubtedly shocked face. “Honestly, you’re the biggest softie I’ve ever met.” 

“I am not a softie,” he protested with a sharp frown on his face. “I am a literal Shadowsinger. I am anything but soft.” He told her firmly. 

“Sure…” she said with a sarcastic roll of her eyes, clearly not believing a word he said. “You are a terrifying man for sure, Shadowsinger.” He bristled at her cheeky tone. “That’s why you come over here every night and feed me.”

“I-” he paused, not knowing what to rebut with that statement. It was true. He came over every, single night to share dinner with her, to…just spend time with her. 

Zahra just laughed, patting his cheek and then disappeared into her bedroom. “Good Night!”

Azriel let out a long breath and just shook his head at her retreating back. Sometimes he had no idea what to do with her.

But he also couldn’t resist the smile that tugged on his lips and he moved over to the couch, curling up on it and trying to make himself comfortable as much as possible. 

Even when it was a far cry from a massive bed in the House of Wind…it was the best night of sleep he had in ages.

As much as he didn’t want to admit it, he fell asleep fairly quickly. And even his shadows seemed to rest easy, coiling around his body and the couch like a cocoon. 

And for the first time in a long time, his dreams weren’t plagued by nightmares. 

He was awake before dawn, stocking up the fireplace and moving silently across the cottage so that Zahra could still sleep a few hours.

And then he winnowed to the House of Wind for a quick breakfast. He was out there preparing the training rings before anybody else.

It also meant that the shadows were happily trembling around him.

Which was good, because he still had a question to ask them.

“How high are the chances that you cheated at cards so that Zahra would get that house?” He asked the shadows drily.

There was a tendril of shadows assigned to each family member. Only so that Azriel would know where they were at every given moment. He never asked the shadows for more, he respected everybody’s privacy as well as he could…but…But this hadn’t let him go for weeks.

No answer.

He hadn’t expected one.

“Of course,” he said with a sigh. “You like her.” It wasn’t a question.

We do! The shadows answered brightly. She treats Master well!

His lips curled up into a slight smirk at that. They were right. She did treat him well. She never treated him like an intimidating male…she just treated him like any other person. With respect. With kindness. 

Teasing him.

He chuckled to himself at the memories of her teasing him, the way they bickered as if that was the most usual thing in the world. 

She isn’t scared of us like the other ones, the shadows whispered softly.

It was clear who they meant with that comment. Elain and Mor both. Zahra seemed to find the shadows more fascinating than anything. Talking to them even sometimes. In response, the shadows doted on her. Happy for once not to be ignored and outright feared.

He hummed his agreement at that. She wasn't scared of them…and they were growing quite fond of her. Which…he wasn't quite sure how he felt about that. 

She’s pretty too, Master, the shadows commented quietly.

Azriel paused in his work at those words. Yes, she was pretty. With her tawny skin and dark brown hair…and green eyes….Her skin seemed to bloom with health. The way her body had filled out, her hips gaining more curves, her face getting softer. 

Though it did surprise him that the shadows made that comment. They had never done something similar about any other female…even females he had bedded.

That was certainly a surprise. He had to pause and think about it for a few moments. The shadows had never made any sort of comment like that on another female. On any female in fact. Yet they thought her pretty. That…was a thought he filed away for later. 

She doesn’t have a mate either…she’s free of…romantic entanglements, the shadows continued quietly. If you wanted her….

He froze at that. “Are you trying to convince me to pursue her?” He spoke out loud to the shadows. 

You like her. She would make you happy, the shadows responded. What’s the harm? 

“There is no harm,” he mumbled to them quietly, his fingers curling tighter around the handle of the spear that he was holding. “Nothing except that she would likely not be interested.” 

And he was done with that. Done with being turned down. Done with never being a choice.

If he just stayed her friend…he got to spend time with her…he got to listen to her laughs and giggles. He got to be treated by her with kindness and respect. Why destroy that?

It would be cruel and selfish to ruin the friendship he had gained by trying to turn that into anything else. She trusted him. She treated him like a person. And he wanted to keep it like that. 

And Zahra deserved better than him still being half hung up over Elain. Her sister.

Though to be quite honest…he had let that go. Elain had chosen Lucien and that was that. Azriel was more pissed off about how Rhysand was treating him than anything.

Though he never showed it, he was quietly furious at how Rhysand was treating him. After he had agreed to back off…he had hoped Rhysand would stop acting like an overprotective mother hen. 

He didn't.

And then Mor's Mating Bond with Emerie had snapped and apparently that meant that Rhys was now waiting for Azriel to have a meltdown.

Which he wasn't going to have, thank you very much.

He could think that how Mor had treated him had been utterly unfair...and he could still wish her nothing but the best.

The only thing that he had wished for had been a single conversation with his friend. But she didn't seem to want to have that and so Azriel hadn't pushed. Maybe it was better that way.

It was better that way, he was sure of that. The…closeness they had once shared was gone. Maybe forever. But he was more or less alright with that.

They could all leave him in peace and he would do the same for them.

He made that calculation without Cassian, who came bounding into the training ring with all the energy that Azriel was never quite sure where his brother got it from.

He had barely even put down his spear that Cassian bounded into the training rings, his face split into a broad grin. It was clear that his…morning activities with Nesta had been enjoyable as usual. 

“There you are,” Cassian said with a boisterous grin, clearly not noticing the rather sour mood that Azriel was in. “You look....surprisingly well rested," Cassian said, cocking his head to the side.

“I slept well,” Azriel answered simply, pointedly avoiding eye contact with his brother. He knew damn well what Cassian was going to be asking. 

“You slept well,” Cassian repeated, drawing out every word and making it clear that he was not going to let that go. “Care to specify where?” He asked point blank and Azriel’s jaw tensed. 

Azriel could not suppress the low growl that came from him at that. He was not in the mood to be teased by his brother. And he was also not in the mood to listen to another innuendo-filled conversation about Cassian and Nesta’s sex life. 

“Not one word about that,” he told his brother firmly and Cassian just laughed. 

“Oh come one.” He drawled. “I have to get my fun somewhere. Everyone else is mated already. I have to bother someone!” 

It wasn't supposed to hurt him. He didn't think so. But it still did. It cut. Sharp and deep.

The words cut deep, much deeper than Azriel would have wanted to admit. His jaw tensed and his hand clenched around the spear so hard that it might have creaked. He knew it was a joke…but it didn’t change the fact that it had stung. 

And Cassian didn't seem to notice that at all. "Come on, give me details!"

“There are no details to be given,” Azriel said simply, his voice carefully neutral. “Just because I am not spending the night and listening to the two of you going at it like rabbits, does not mean I have someone in my bedroom.” The words were harsher than he had intended. 

“Don’t tell me you do it in some grimy back alley with a random wench?” His brother teased him and Azriel’s temper flared. The Shadows curled and snarled around him, his temper snapping. 

“I would thank you for not speaking about females that way, and no I am not ‘doing it in a back alley’”, he retorted with a low growl in his voice.  “You should stop talking before you piss me off,” he warned his brother through gritted teeth.  It took all his willpower to make sure that no shadows lashed out. This was Cassian. His brother. 

“Whoa whoa whoa,” Cassian raised his hands, clearly seeing how his words had affected his brother. “I was only teasing. You can be so damn tense about some things. You need to relax,” he said and Azriel had to resist the very real urge to throttle him. 

[luvsupa]

tags: neighbour!nanami x fem!reader, fluff-ish, crack, reader is in mid 20s and nanami is mid 30s, readers obsessed with nanami w.c: 800

you peek through the blinds in your living room, squinting for a better view of your neighbour. a frown crosses your face as you notice a gathering of children and mothers around his front door, which is beautifully decorated for halloween. you watch as the mothers twirl their hair and giggle in unison, but you still can’t see what your neighbour is wearing. you feel like a creep, lurking behind the blinds just to catch a glimpse of the new guy.

your heart races when you finally spot nanami. damn, he looks incredible in his costume—a vampire. you’ve heard whispers about the mysterious man who just moved in, and even the married women have been known to stand outside early in the morning just to greet him.

“do i seriously have to dress up?” you retreat from the window as you hear your nephew whine while entering the living room. you burst into laughter at the sight of him squeezing into the ghostbusters costume he wore a few years ago- the sleeves barely reach his wrists.

“well, yes!” you reply, snapping photos of him as he glares with frustration. in one picture, he slightly raises his middle finger, and you gasp, realizing he’s picking up on your habits. oops.

“i’m too old for trick ‘r treating! i don’t even wanna stay here,” he grumbles, his temper flaring as you giggle at the photos and send them to your sister, his mom, just as he threatens to rip off the costume.

“can you just behave? i’m trying to meet the love of my life,” you say, putting your phone away to prevent him from ruining your plans.

“he doesn’t even know you exist, dummy.” your jaw drops at his bluntness, and he starts pointing at you, laughing like a little brat.

“tch, you’re laughing a bit too much for someone who lost his girlfriend to a stuffed animal,” you retort, laughter spilling from your lips as he shoots you a ‘really’ look.

“at least i was in a relationship! dunno about you, hag,” he fires back, leaving you choking on a laugh. seriously, who’s teaching this kid all this at twelve years old?

you don’t say anything as you pull him toward the front door, making him put on his shoes and grab his trick or treat bag before stepping outside. your gaze is fixed on nanami’s house, now swarming with kids and mothers.

i know why you mothers are here…

“ow, let go!” your nephew winces, pushing your hand away from his shoulder as you realize you’ve been gripping him too tightly. you both end up in a long line in front of his house because these mothers won’t leave! impatience gnaws at you- you just want a chance to see him.

finally, you reach the front of the line, and you scold your nephew to behave before giving him a gentle push toward the door.

“trick or treat.” he says in an unenthusiastic tone, while you stand behind him, practically buzzing with excitement. nanami steps outside with a fresh batch of candy, smiling at your nephew’s costume. when his hazel eyes shift to yours, your breath hitches.

he definitely wants me.

“your son is so adorable,” he says.

what?

oh hell no.

“son? n-no, he’s my nephew! he was dying to come to your house,” you stammer, and he chuckles, revealing his fake fangs.

“what? you forced me—” your nephew starts, but you quickly cover his mouth to prevent him from ruining everything, sharing a warm chuckle with nanami as you stand awkwardly on his doorstep.

“d-do you have any kids?” you ask, hoping he says no. your heart would shatter if he did.

“ahh, no, i don’t—though i do wish to have a family of my own someday,” he admits, and you nod, intrigued by his almost wistful tone.

“yeaaa, i want a family with you—of my own too!” you blurt out, instantly regretting your words as his smirk widens, and your eyes practically sparkle with embarrassment.

“she stalks you everyday,” your annoying nephew pipes up, and you feel your face heat up as you wish you could disappear. nanami quirks his brows in surprise, bursting into laughter, while you stand frozen, your eyes twitching. seriously, someone needs to watch for this kid.

“heh, she’s not the only one,” he replies, and you swear you must be dreaming. nanami quickly grabs something from inside his house, scribbles on a notepad, and attaches it to your nephew’s bag of candy before handing the candy directly to you.

you’re so starstruck you can’t move as your nephew tugs on your arm, dragging you away while the interaction feels surreal. you walk past the mothers, who scoff at you, and hear him wish the two of you a happy halloween.

you glance down at the notepad he gave you:

I’ll be waiting for your call, stalker

nanami kento

you gasp, noticing his phone number written beneath it. you just bagged the hottest man alive and these mothers didn’t.

“you two are a buncha freaks,” your nephew comments as he pulls you back toward your house. honestly, you don’t care—you’re just so thrilled that you’re the one he chose.

[bluerosefox]

Test Tube Babies, Spleens, and Fruitloop Father?! NOPE. No thanks.

Danny and Ellie take a small, reincarnation, vacation from their duties in the Infinite Realms (King Danny and his most trusted Knight/Princess Ellie). Don't worry, they leave the Realms in good hands (Jazz, Pandora, Frostbite, CW, etc, basically Danny's main council takes over for a few years)

They both weren't expecting to wake up in an assassin cult though.... Nor to find out they're five year old twins now... Twin, somewhat clones of the leader and this guy Red Robin their 'father' is kinda obsessed with....

Great their 'father' is an insane assassin leader fruitloop and their 'dad' is named after a fast food joint... whose barely out of his teens btw.

Danny al Ghul Danyal, cast a glance as his full blooded and twin sister this time around Helen Ellie al Ghul who rolled her eyes as they listened to their 'father' ramble on and on about their 'dad' and how they were created to be his heir (Danny mostly, though he had plans on Ellie going to be trained to be his body guard by someone named Lady Shiva soon)

Yeah, no. Ellie dealt with one evil fruitloop father who cloned her once before, she's not dealing that again or falling for the 'I created thus I love you but not really' bs. They need to leave, like yesterday.

Hopefully their 'dad' is... okay he doesn't need to be okay with it at first but hopefully comes around to it, okay with the two of them showing up on his doorstep soon.

And you know what, they're gonna bring him a gift.

His spleen. Yeah it'll be good to give that back to him.

Since you know that was how they got clones to begin with... Maybe don't leave your DNA with people that can make clones next time.

[lunaritex]

𓏲࣪ ִֶָ ︎ִֶָ THE ETERNAL OFFERING 𖤐. — nishimura riki

(๑>◡<๑) ৎ୭ nishimura riki + fem! reader immortal x immortal trope explicit suggestive content implied mature content 𐙚 warning mentions of reader being a sacrifice in the start religious themes god themes implied romantic relationship fighting . . !? & 10991 — m.list

note. i wanted to write something for riki and then the thought of him being a god came to my mind and that was how this was born... i might have gotten carried away though, whoops! i would like to say that im kinda proud of this so uh yeah. this is for you! @riekiss

The village had been bustling for days with preparations, each corner alive with whispered prayers and hushed conversations. The townsfolk moved with purpose, weaving wreaths of wildflowers, crafting intricate charms, and marking the paths leading out of the village with symbols meant to call for protection. For as long as you could remember, this ritual had been woven into the very fabric of your lives—a grim promise to the gods in exchange for your survival. 

The choice of the next offering was as natural as the changing of the seasons. From the moment you were old enough to understand, it had been gently yet unmistakably instilled in you that you were the one. The elders and your family had called it a blessing, stating how you are their savior and how you would be remembered for many years down the road. You, on the other hand, did not think much about it. 

Your village has gone through one natural disaster after another. At first, it was raining cats and dogs to the point that your rooftop collapsed, nearly crushing you and your parents who were taking shelter. Followed by the blight, stealing your precious food and water sources, leaving the villagers on the verge of starving to death. Anyone with eyes could tell everyone was reaching their limit and they had to do something, fast. And that was how you came in. 

As the sky turned a bruised shade of twilight, the leader of your village, accompanied by a few elders, arrived at your doorstep. Their expressions were somber but resolved. The leader, a man with deep-set wrinkles, nodded in acknowledgment as you opened the door. 

“We’re here to remind you, child,” he began, his voice soft but unwavering, “that tomorrow will mark the day-” 

“Don’t worry, I won’t run,” you interrupted, knowing the implications behind his words. Your response had an immediate effect on him, judging from how his shoulders sagged with relief and he nodded before leaving, allowing you to close the door. 

The night before the offering, your family gathered for what you knew would be your final meal together. None of your parents uttered a single word to you, both were frighteningly calm despite how their one and only daughter would be sent away and never returning. But you have grown used to their silent treatment. In your eyes, they were not your parents but instead, just a couple who had taken it upon themselves to ensure you grow up well enough to fit the role of a sacrifice. Nothing more and nothing less.

The next day, you were dressed in simple, white robes—an offering garb provided by the village elders. It felt surreal, as if you were watching someone else preparing for this cruel fate that was bestowed upon you; an unfortunate victim. You stepped out of your house, turning to see your parents standing by the entrance with unreadable expressions on their faces. As much as you wished to just turn and walk away, you could not. 

“...Thank you for everything,” you bowed and left without waiting for their response. Although, your ears picked up the faint sounds of muffled sobbing but you did not bother to turn around. 

You continued walking to the main entrance of the village, where the priest and a small group of elders waited. They said little as they guided you along a path toward the mountainside, where legend held that the gods sometimes descended to receive their offerings. Finally, you reached a quiet clearing surrounded by ancient trees, their trunks thick and twisted, casting shadows that seemed to deepen as the sun began to rise. 

The air felt thick, almost alive, as if the shadows themselves were watching, waiting. The priest performed a brief ritual, murmuring words that faded into the air. There was only silence when he finished, broken by the faint rustling of leaves and the distant call of a bird. 

The shadows in the trees seemed to grow darker, the light around us dimming until the forest was bathed in an unnatural twilight. The air stilled, a deep, suffocating silence settling over everyone. Then, a gust of icy wind swept through, sending chills down your spine. You felt a presence—a weight that pressed down on the space around you, as if the shadows themselves had taken form. Whispers seemed to drift through the darkness, soft and unsettling. Your heart hammered as you scanned the treeline, searching for any sign of movement.

And then, he appeared. 

Riki, the God of Shadows, emerged from the dark like a living specter. His figure seemed to dissolve into the surrounding shadows and then coalesce again, each step a silent ripple across the ground. He wore black robes that seemed to move on their own accord, the fabric shifting and swirling around him as though woven from darkness itself. His face was otherworldly—beautiful, yet cold, with eyes like polished obsidian. Those eyes settled on you, sharp and unyielding, his gaze as penetrating as a blade. 

Gasps and stifled cries echoed behind you as the villagers took in the sight of him. No one had ever seen the God of Shadows before. Legends spoke of him as a faceless presence, a mysterious deity who commands fear everywhere he goes. But here he was, standing in your midst, as real as the earth beneath your feet. His piercing gaze swept over the trembling villagers for a fleeting moment before settling on you, his eyes holding a strange, unreadable expression. 

Your body felt frozen, caught between terror and awe. As he approached, the shadows seemed to bow to him, the darkness shifting and folding around his every step. He stopped just a few centimeters away, studying you with an unreadable expression. His silence stretched, heavy and oppressive, as if he was measuring your every soul. 

“You must the offering,” he said, eyes fixated on you and for a brief moment, you wondered if he had the ability to look into your soul. 

You struggled to find your voice, but somehow, you managed to nod. "Yes… I am."

His expression softened ever so slightly, though his expression remained unreadable. “Do you understand what this means?”

His question hung in the air, but before you could speak, someone amongst the crowd of villagers had spoken up, interrupting the tense silence. 

The elder who had paid you a visit yesterday, stepped forward. “No,” he said, his voice trembling yet determined. “This is not right. You should not be here, Riki.” 

His words wavered, but he pressed on, his gaze fierce as he continued. “You are not a god. You are nothing but a shadow, a curse cast upon this world. You are not worthy to be a god.”

Murmurs of uncertainty rippled through the gathered villagers. Some looked on in silent awe at Riki, while others shrank back, afraid but unwilling to show it. Riki’s eyes shifted, his gaze cold and unwavering as he turned his attention to the elder, a sharp, disdainful sneer pulling at the corners of his mouth. 

"And what would you know of gods, old man?" Riki’s voice was like the quietest whisper, yet somehow it seemed to resonate over the crowd, filling the air with a foreboding chill. "I have existed longer than your ancestors have drawn breath. You speak of what you do not understand."

The elder, visibly shaking now, stubbornly held his ground, puffing himself up with a courage born of desperation. "You are not welcome here," he insisted, raising a hand as if he could ward off the god of shadows with a single gesture. "I command you to leave."

Before anyone could react, another elder, perhaps emboldened by his comrade’s words, lunged forward, a crude charm in hand. He thrust it toward Riki, chanting something incoherent, his voice trembling with conviction. But before he could close the distance, Riki merely lifted a hand, his expression unfazed and almost bored.

A dark shadow surged from Riki’s fingers, swift and effortless. The elder was caught mid-step, swept off his feet by an invisible force. The charm slipped from his fingers, falling uselessly to the ground as he was thrown back, landing in the dirt with a gasp of pain. The villagers gasped, horror dawning on their faces as they watched the elder struggle to sit up, visibly shaken.

"Any other brave souls?" Riki’s voice dripped with mocking amusement as he scanned the crowd, his sneer deepening. Shadows coiled around him, dark tendrils that seemed to pulse with his heartbeat, amplifying the unsettling power radiating from him. No one dared to move. Whispers rippled through the villagers as they shrank back, clutching each other in fright, eyes wide as they took in the extent of his power.

You stood frozen, caught between terror and awe as you observed the scene unfold itself from head to toe. Riki turned back to you, his expression softening just a fraction, his gaze still intense but tempered with something unreadable. 

“Now,” he murmured, his voice only for your ears. “Do you understand the gravity of the situation you are in? The moment you agree, you have to leave your old life behind and you will not return anymore.” 

You opened your mouth to speak, but the words would not come. How could you even explain your choice? The pressure of so many watching eyes, the weight of your village’s expectations… In truth, you had not understood what it truly meant to be an offering until this very moment, standing before a god. 

Riki’s eyes flickered, as though picking up on your hesitation. His voice softened, though it held a strange kind of power. “You are not here by accident. You were chosen—whether by fate or by their desperation." He glanced at the huddled villagers, his gaze unreadable. "But what you offer is not mere obedience. To stay by my side is a choice that you, and only you, can make. Are you ready to accept that?"

As you looked at the villagers, you saw no sign of your parents. You remembered how the villagers had treated you and that was when you made up your mind: you will leave this life behind and start a new life, this time with Riki by your side. 

“I will accept that,” you said, your voice a whisper meant for him only, “but on one condition.” 

Riki arched an eyebrow. “And what would that condition be? Tell me, and I will make it come true.” 

“Let them die,” you said, voice unwavering. “Let the village fall. I am no longer tied to them. If I am to be your offering, then they deserve nothing from you. Not your protection, nor your mercy.” 

Riki’s expression shifted, a glimmer of surprise in his gaze, followed by an intrigue that darkened the depths of his eyes. He regarded you in silence, his lips curving into a faint smile that carried both admiration and something darker—a recognition of your resolve.

“You would see them perish?” he murmured, studying you with a newfound intensity. “The very same people who raised you, who sheltered you? You wish to abandon them to their fate?” 

You nodded, your voice growing steadier with every word. “They have abandoned me first. If they are so willing to sacrifice me to save themselves, then let them face the consequences of their choice. They should no longer be your concern… nor mine.” 

A flicker of satisfaction flashed in Riki's eyes, as if he found something in your words that pleased him. His shadows pulsed, swirling like a storm gathering in the depths of his power. He steps closer and closer, only stopping until you are within distance. You fought the urge to flinch when he reached out a hand to caress your cheek with such gentleness that you would have assumed you were lovers. To your surprise, his palm was not cold but instead, it was warm. Warm like a regular mortal’s palm. 

“Very well,” he said, his voice a low, velvety whisper that sent a chill down your spine. “Consider your condition accepted.” He paused, leaning close enough that you could feel the faint, icy touch of his power radiating from him. "You are bound to me now, and I will have no ties to this village. They will be left to face whatever comes without my hand to save them."

A strange sense of relief settled within you, a liberation that was both terrifying and exhilarating. You had severed the final thread that connected you to your past, embracing a future that lay in shadows you had yet to understand. The villagers watched in stunned silence, as if sensing the shift between you, but unable to grasp its meaning. Some tried to call out, murmuring half-hearted words of comfort or farewell, but you did not look back.

With a single gesture, Riki enveloped you in his shadows, his power sweeping over you in a cold, dark embrace. The village, with all its fears and demands, disappeared behind a curtain of darkness. You felt nothing as it vanished from sight—no regret, no sorrow.

~

The shadows dispersed, revealing a spacious bedroom unlike any place you have ever seen. A wall of ceiling-to-floor windows stretched along one side of the room, offering a breathtaking view of the ocean below, where waves rolled in dark blue and silver under a twilight sky. The horizon stretched endlessly, blending sea and sky in a seamless, misty line. 

The room had a refined yet faintly modern touch. The floor was a smooth, polished stone with a subtle shimmer, and a plush, oversized bed was positioned in the center, draped in soft black and charcoal fabrics. Subtle touches of luxury were scattered throughout—a glass vase on the nightstand with a single dark rose, polished wooden panels along the walls, and a sleek, minimal chandelier that hung above, casting a warm, muted glow over the space. The ceiling was high, while rich, heavy curtains hung beside the window panels, ready to enclose the room in complete privacy when drawn.

Through a set of glass doors, a balcony beckoned, offering an unobstructed view of the vast ocean below. The air was crisp, carrying a hint of salt and mystery, as if this place existed on the very edge of the world. You took a step forward, unable to hide your awe at the majestic space. Turning, you found Riki standing beside you, watching you intently. His gaze held an expectant glimmer, and you noticed him fidgeting slightly, shifting from foot to foot. 

He seemed almost…nervous, an unusual expression for someone who commanded such fear and awe from others. It was almost as if he was waiting for you to say something—anything—that would affirm your approval. For a moment, he looked less like a god and more like a young boy eager for praise, his shoulders tensing, fingers brushing against each other absently. He glanced at the room, then back at you, a flicker of insecurity passing over his face. 

“What do you think?” he asked, his voice soft but carrying a faint, hopeful note. It was a huge contrast to his intimidating demeanor earlier, but it puts you at ease—knowing that he trusts you enough to show another side of him. 

You took a slow breath, allowing a small smile to creep onto your face as you met his gaze. “I think you did a wonderful job.” 

Your praise seemed to have an immediate effect on him. His expression softened, relief and a hint of satisfaction crossing his face. The shadows around him settled down, as though your approval had brought him a sense of calm. But curiosity still tugged at you, and you could not hold back the question forming in your mind. 

“But why would you do all of this for someone like me?” You asked, voice almost a whisper. “I’m just…a mortal.” 

For a moment, the god seemed almost taken aback. Then, a faint smile touched his lips, and his gaze softened, a shadow of something like nostalgia flickered in his eyes. He approached you, closing the distance with every step he took. The shadows around him grew smaller and smaller, until it was only his silhouette being reflected on the floor, making him more humane. He stopped in front of you, maintaining a small distance but he was close enough to make your heart stop beating for a moment. 

“You think you’re just a mortal,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with an emotion you could not quite place. His eyes caught the dim light, almost glowing as he continued. “But I have watched you long before you ever knew of my existence. From the moment you were born, I’ve been there… drawn to you in ways I couldn’t explain.” 

You looked at him, startled, and he gave a small, almost bashful smile, as if he, the God of Shadows, was admitting a secret. 

“Every year, I would watch you grow, seeing glimpses of your life,” he continued. “Your kindness, your loyalty… even your pain. I’ve seen it all.” His voice softened as he looked down for a brief moment, as if remembering the countless moments he had witnessed.

“And as you grew,” he went on, “I couldn’t help but feel… connected to you. Bound by something more powerful than time or distance.” He lifted his gaze, and in that moment, his eyes held a warmth that seemed to pierce through the very shadows surrounding him.

"Perhaps that’s why I’ve prepared all this for you,” he finished, his tone barely above a whisper. "You may think you’re merely human, but to me… you have always been someone significant. Someone worth waiting for."

You were speechless as you listened to him. If he was not a god, you would have assumed he was a regular human being, just a simple boy who had finally plucked up his courage to confess. But the mere fact that he was a god, someone who deserves respect and someone who can destroy anything and everything standing in his path, is spilling his heart out to you: a mortal, does wonders to your heart. 

“I… I don’t know what to say,” you stuttered over your word and Riki chuckled, finding great amusement in your embarrassment. 

“You don’t have to say anything. The last thing I want is to pressure you to make the wrong choice,” the smile he gave you does not meet his eyes and for a moment, you felt remorseful for your response but he continued. “How about I give you a tour of the apartment? I’m sure you'll find it to be a lovely and comfortable place to stay in.” 

The entire apartment was enveloped in a faintly modern elegance that mirrored the bedroom’s luxurious yet mysterious design, with muted tones, shadowy corners, and fine details that hinted at his taste. It was grand yet inviting, a place built to impress without overwhelming.

You walked beside him as he led you out of the bedroom. Both of you had to walk a short distance to the flight of curved stairs. You almost slipped and would have ungracefully tumbled down the stairs if Riki did not steadied you in the nick of time. You felt your ears flushed red when you felt his large hands rested on the sides of your waist, his fingers nearly touching. Your back rested against his chest, upper body slightly tilted backward. 

“You should be more careful, unless you want me to carry you around to prevent you from slipping,” he teased, his hot breath grazing against the back of your neck with every word he spoke. The angle was awkward, considering how he was standing a few steps behind you, making him tower over your figure. 

“No thank you, I don’t want to be a bother,” you apologized, straightening yourself as you moved away and continued your descent down the stairs until you reached the first floor. 

The living room was stunning. Expansive floor-to-ceiling windows stretched along the far wall, allowing the view of the dark ocean to blend with the room itself. The ocean shimmered faintly under the evening sky, casting a soft, silver glow over the space. A set of deep charcoal couches framed the room, their plush cushions adorned with silken pillows in shades of obsidian and slate. The furniture was both elegant and comfortable, almost inviting you to sink into its embrace.

In the center of the room was a sleek, low glass coffee table, artfully arranged with a few ornate candles and a bowl filled with obsidian stones. Nearby, a minimalist fireplace embedded within the wall flickered with a cold, bluish flame, casting an ethereal glow that filled the room with a soft warmth.

Bookshelves lined one side of the living room, filled with volumes bound in leather and delicate metalwork. A series of framed, abstract paintings in muted grays and blues adorned the walls, blending seamlessly with the room’s monochromatic theme. Elegant, unobtrusive lighting was scattered strategically across the ceiling, casting a soft, almost magical glow that danced along the floor and highlighted the darker elements of the decoration. 

Riki glanced over his shoulder as you took it all in, his eyes glimmering with a quiet, almost bashful pride. He waited for you to take in the details, his posture relaxed yet attentive, as though he was searching your face for any sign of approval or delight.

He gestured subtly to the window, where the balcony beyond opened to the endless expanse of ocean and sky. “This is your view,” he said, his voice barely above a murmur, “as long as you’re here.”

You stepped forward, getting closer to the opened row of windows as you rested your hands on the railings. You took in the jaw-dropping view with awe and amazement written all over your face. Riki stood by your left but you were too entranced by the view to even notice that he was admiring your expression, with a soft smile on his face. 

“Why do you make it sound like I have a choice in the first place? I came here on my free will,” you replied in a light-hearted manner, although that was not the implication Riki got. Instead, he looked rather guilty for a moment before he composed himself. 

“Do you regret coming here?” He murmured, sounding almost afraid the moment the words left his lips. 

You turned to him. “No, I don’t,” you paused, forming your jumbled thoughts into proper sentences. The god was surprised at how easily you answered his question as you continued, “I don’t feel any connection to the people there. To them, I was nothing but merely a disposable pawn, nothing more and nothing less. That’s why I chose to leave my old life behind and start a new life from scratch.” 

Riki hums in acknowledgement. “You might not believe me, but I think that’s very brave of you to forgo your past.” 

“What’s this? I didn’t expect to hear a god praising a human being,” you teased. Your remark was enough to make him exasperatedly roll his eyes, “but thank you, Riki. That means a lot coming from someone like you,” you continued, your voice filled with sincerity as you thanked him. 

He smiled and with the way a gentle gust of wind blew past, causing his hair to fly about combined with the setting sunlight hitting his face in just the right angle, made your breath hitch in your throat. You were momentarily caught off-guard with how attractive he looked, especially with how he had bangs partially shielding his left eye. Realizing you were staring at him in prolonged silence, you awkwardly cleared your throat and tore your eyes away from him. 

“W-Well, I think it’ll be best for me to uh, take a shower,” you squeaked out, dashing back into the living room without waiting for his response, leaving the amused god behind. 

~

You spent the next few weeks familiarizing yourself with the apartment, exploring every inch to your heart’s content. Your relationship with Riki was unknown. It was neither romantic or platonic, at least that was what you think. He treats you well and you are living a comfortable and luxurious life, thanks to his status. Being a god has many advantages, and one of them means whatever you wish for, it will appear before your face. All the god had to do was to snap his fingers and be it clothes, food or accessories, it will appear out of thin air. 

You knew his title but yet, you could not help but be curious of his other abilities, other than the ones you have seen and heard of, bringing you to your current situation. You were laying on the sofa in the living room, your head resting on the armrest with your right leg propped up as you rested your left leg over your right knee. You were engrossed in reading a book to the point that you were oblivious that Riki had made his appearance. 

“What are you reading?” 

You visibly flinched, dropping the book and yelped when it landed squarely on your nose. Groaning, you removed the book to see the culprit responsible for scaring you appearing in your sight. He stood near the armrest of the sofa, looking down at you, amused with your reaction. You shot him a glare as you pushed yourself up, placing your bookmark between the two pages you last stopped at. 

“Don’t do that again or I might die due to a heart attack,” you scowled, lightly smacking his shoulder. 

“That won’t happen, and even if it did, I can merely make it start again,” he shrugged his shoulders. Riki sat on the armrest with one knee resting on the edge. He leans over slightly to get a glimpse of the book cover, only for him to quirk an eyebrow when he recognized the title. 

“I didn’t know you’re a romantic at heart,” he commented, silently patting his lap. 

You rolled your eyes, adjusting your position so you could rest your head on his lap, as per his request. He preens at your obedience, running his hand through your hair and your eyelids fluttered close at his touch. 

“Where were you?” You asked, eyes glancing up to him. You closed your eyes when he poked your forehead. 

“I was busy with something, nothing you have to worry about,” he casually replied but you were not pleased with his vague response. 

“Tell me, unless you’re hiding something from me,” you accused, narrowing your eyes as you pushed yourself up, turning to face him. He dropped his hand, resting it on his clothed knee and stared at you, the corners of his lips threatening to curl upwards. 

You frowned, “Did you went out there killing—” 

You were cut off mid-sentence when Riki cupped your face, tilting it up for him to slot your lips together. This was not the first time he had kissed you to silence you and it always works. His lips pressed against yours, firm yet tender and you felt your heart leap in response. The kiss was unhurried, as if he were savoring each moment, each breath. When he finally pulled away, his eyes held a mischievous glint, an unspoken answer lingering in his gaze. 

“Some questions,” he murmured, voice low, almost teasing as he drew circles on your cheek, “are better left for another time.” 

You blinked up at him, feeling a mix of frustration and curiosity swirling in your chest. You furrowed your eyebrows slightly, the beginnings of a protest forming on your lips as you opened your mouth to speak. But Riki’s expression softened, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. Before you could utter a word, he leaned in again, silencing your unspoken question with another kiss; more intense than the previous kiss. His arms traveled down to wrap around your waist, pulling you closer as his lips moved against yours, warm and coaxing, unraveling any resistance you might have. 

You could feel your body going pliant in his grip. You rested your hands on his shoulders; a habit you had gained as you parted your lips upon feeling him asking for permission. A breathy whine was ripped from the depths of your throat when his tongue explored your cavern with one, thorough lick. You grabbed a fistful of his abyssal-like hair, roughly tugging it when he teasingly bit down on your lip. Your action elicited a pleased sigh that you eagerly swallowed. 

His fingers threaded through your hair, anchoring you as his touch grew a shade more intense, deeper, making your heart race. Riki slid his hand underneath the shirt you wore—his shirt, to be exact, teasingly moving upwards on your spine. His touch leaves goosebumps in its wake and you shudder; the movement making him smile into the kiss. When he finally pulled away, his previously styled hair was now messed up, with some strands stretching out at different angles. His lips curved into a soft, satisfied smile, his gaze holding yours with a silent promise. 

“Trust me,” he murmured, his thumb tracing a gentle line along your swollen bottom lip. “The answers will come in time. But not today.” 

You huffed, moving your hands down to grab him by the front of his shirt and tugged him forward. Your sudden action caught him off-guard. Riki’s eyes widened momentarily, his hands tightening around your waist. You shot him a teasing grin, looking at him with half-lidded eyes as you leaned in until your lips were brushing against one another. 

“If that’s the case, then how about we picked up where we left off?” You cooed, taking note of how the god’s eyes darkened. 

“You’re playing a dangerous game here,” he chuckled, easily carrying you in his arms in one fluid movement. Squeaking, you clung onto him for dear life as he led you to where the bedroom was, “but fine by me, I guess it’s my responsibility to indulge in you once in a while.” 

~

You woke up, feeling much refreshed than usual. The thought of the reason made your cheeks flushed red as you squirmed about on the comfortable bed. Your ears picked up the rustling of sheets from behind, only for you to be pulled backward. Your back hit a firm chest and you made no point to turn, not when you knew who it was. Shivers ran down your spine when you felt butterfly kisses planted on the back of your neck. 

“Good morning, did you sleep well?” Riki asked, his voice raspy. You remained silent, eyes closed as you pretended you were still sleeping. Although, both of you knew that he could see through your facade. The only form of warning you got was the curl of his lips against your skin before he launched his attack.

“Riki—wait—no!” You managed to squeak out before laughter overtook you. 

His fingers moved with relentless intent, tickling you mercilessly. You twisted and turned, trying desperately to escape, but his grip on your waist only tightened, holding you in place. 

“Stop! I—can’t—breathe!” You choked out between fits of laughter, swatting at his hands in a futile attempt to fend him off.

His face lit up with a playful grin, a rare boyishness breaking through his usually composed demeanor. “Stop?” he teased, voice lit with mock innocence. “But you look like you’re having fun.” 

You glared at him through your laughter, breathless and utterly helpless. Your attempts to wiggle free only seemed to amuse him further, his hold steady as if he were effortlessly taming the chaos he had created. 

“Riki, I mean it!” You said through gasps, your voice shaking with laughter as tears pricked the corners of your eyes. “You’re going to—ah—pay for this!”

“Oh?” He smirked, pausing for just a second, his hands still resting on your waist. “And how exactly do you plan to make me pay?” His playful tone and raised brow made it clear he was not the least bit threatened by your empty threat.

You seized the brief moment of reprieve to catch your breath, your heart racing from both the tickling and the laughter. “I—I'll figure it out!” You shot back, squirming away the moment he paused, wanting to create as much distance as you could. 

“Good luck with that,” he quipped, deciding to show some mercy. 

Riki remained where he was, now sitting up on the bed with the crumpled sheets covering his lap as he observed you getting out of bed. He could not help but snicker when he saw how your legs trembled slightly and how you had to hold onto the nearest surface for support. You shot him a death glare but the god was unfazed. Instead, he sends you an infuriating smirk that makes you have the urge to wipe it off his face. 

“Need any help?” He asks, resting his chin on his left fist. 

“No thank you, I can handle this by myself,” you retorted, limping your way to the bathroom and pointedly closed the door, shutting out his laughter. 

~

When you finished getting dressed, you went to the living room and were greeted by a familiar face who was engaged in what seemed to be a serious conversation with Riki, judging from the solemn expressions on their faces. You moved to the kitchen, wanting to pour yourself a glass of water when your appearance caught their attention. 

“Good morning (Name), did you sleep well?” Jay greeted you, giving you a polite and friendly smile as he waved at you from where he sat. 

You returned the smile and wave, “Good morning Jay, and yes I did, thank you. What brings you here? It’s rare to see you dropping by,” you asked after greeting him, entering the living room after pouring two glasses of water; one for yourself and one for him. 

Jay accepted the glass with a grateful nod of his head while Riki scoffs. “You didn’t have to do that for him,” he said in a sulky tone, pulling you down so you could sit on his lap, his hand resting on your thigh. 

Jay blinks at the sight of the two of you before looking at Riki, who took it upon himself to rest his chin on your shoulder before answering you. “It’s nothing you have to worry about, just the regular stuff about our responsibilities.” He downs the water in one go, leaving the now empty glass on the coffee table and rises to his feet. 

“I should get going, I wouldn't want to disrupt your time together,” he said, making your ears turn red.

“You weren’t disrupting,” you protested, but the grip on your thigh tightened at your response. Jay merely smiled, biding the both of you farewell before he left without you seeing him out. 

“Now that he’s gone, how about we head out today? I think the weather’s perfect,” Riki asked, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he greedily inhaled your scent. 

“Where are we going?” You asked, leaning back against him. 

“We can descend to the mortal realm and visit a town if you’re keen. I heard there’s a festival happening today,” he proposed. 

Hearing this, you instantly turned and your face lit up with excitement at the mention of the festival. “Then what are we waiting for? We should get going.” 

You jumped off his lap, rushing up the stairs to the bedroom to get changed. Riki remained where he was, leaning back with his hands resting on the sofa behind him. He observed your retreating figure with a soft smile on his face, endeared with your behavior. It did not take you long to get dressed, choosing comfort over style and when you were done, you went back down to the living room. The god had changed out of his usual clothes, now cladded in black from head to toe. What piqued your interest however, was a pair of thinly-framed glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. 

It was unfair how Riki looks even better when all he did was to wear glasses. He smirks when he sees how you were staring at him, mesmerized by the sight. “As much as I’d like for you to keep looking at me, I think we should go before we’re too late.” 

His response brought heat to your cheeks, flustered that you were caught red-handed. You held his outstretched hand as he used his ability to bring you to the town where the festival is taking place. Despite having experienced it a few times, you were still not used to the feeling. It was strange, for it feels like all of your senses were ripped away from you, only for them to abruptly return to you when you arrived at your destination. 

The shadows dissipate, revealing a lively town with people everywhere. You took in your surroundings with awe, watching as some stopped to look at the store displays that were set up along a straight path. Overwhelmed with excitement, you wasted no time in dragging Riki along to visit one of the nearest stalls. You stopped by the front and were instantly hit with the fragrance of skewers being roasted by the side. Your mouth waters and you point at the row of sticks.

“Hi, I’d like to get two please,” you requested, and the owner nodded, turning two sticks back and forth before handing it to you. Thanking him, you paid the appropriate money and handed one stick to Riki. 

“Here, you should try it,” you said, pushing the stick closer to his face. The god scrunches his nose as he warily eyes the food. He ended up leaning forward to take a small nibble and you observed his reaction. You observed how he slowly chewed, eyebrows furrowed with a thoughtful look on his face that was eventually replaced with genuine surprise. The sight of his expressions changing made you laugh. You playfully elbowed him as he took the stick from your grip. 

“It’s good, right?” You asked and he nodded, now taking a huge bite out of it. 

“Yes, it’s better than I imagined. You seem awfully excited about coming here. Have you never been to a festival before?” He quirked an eyebrow, gently pulling you along so the both of you could venture down the streets to explore the other stalls. 

You shook your head with a sad smile, “No, this is my first time. Ever since I was born and the moment I was told I would be used as an offering, my parents forbid me from stepping out of the house. I was practically locked up and they had stolen my freedom.” 

Riki hums, running his thumb along your knuckles. “On the bright side, you have your well-deserved freedom now. That doesn’t sound too bad, does it?” 

You laughed, squeezing his hand and you felt him return the gesture in a heartbeat. “Yes, I’m as free as a bird now and it’s all thanks to you.” 

The next stall that caught your attention was a stall selling charms. Intrigued, you stopped to admire the displays and it seems like the owner was busy with another customer. Riki stood behind you, watching over your shoulder as you purse your lips, pondering on which design to choose. You leaned back to rest your back against his chest, turning your head slightly towards him. 

“Do you see any you like?” You asked. He was about to reply when a horrified gasp interrupted your conversation. You faced the front, surprised to see the owner; an elderly woman pointing a bony finger at Riki. 

Her lips parted in a gasp of pure horror. “It can’t be…” she whispered, her voice quaking with a mix of fear and disbelief. Her frail frame seemed to shrink further as she pointed a bony finger at Riki, her eyes wide and wild. “The God of Shadows,” she breathed.

Your confusion deepened as you turned to Riki, only to find his expression eerily calm, though a subtle smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. The tension in the air was palpable, as though the shadows around you had grown heavier, darker. The woman’s voice rose in a shaky accusation. “You… you cursed her!” she cried, her words dripping with terror and despair. “That poor girl—she has no idea what you’ve done, does she? How her soul is bound to your darkness!”

You blinked, startled and utterly lost. “What is she talking about?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper as you looked between her and Riki.

But Riki only sneered, the amused glint in his eyes contrasting starkly with the woman’s trembling outrage. “Old habits die hard,” he said lazily, his tone dripping with indifference. “You always were good at spinning tales to scare the gullible.”

The elder woman’s hand shook as she clutched the talisman tighter, her gaze never leaving Riki’s. “This is no tale,” she hissed. “You’ve marked her, haven’t you? She’s yours now, whether she knows it or not.”

Riki’s smirk only widened as he turned his full attention to the elder woman, his shadowy aura growing thicker, almost tangible. “Marked her?” he drawled, his tone dripping with mockery. “Why don’t I show you just how marked she is?”

Before you could react, Riki leaned in, his breath warm against your skin as he pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to your cheek. The gesture was light, fleeting, but it sent a jolt of shock through you—and absolute terror through the stall owner. A blood-curdling scream erupted from her lips, her eyes widening as though she had witnessed the world itself shattering. “No! Stay away from her, you vile creature!” she screeched, her voice cracking with panic.

Her trembling hands fumbled for something on her stall, and in a blur of desperation, she grabbed the nearest item—a ceremonial dagger. Its blade glinted in the dim light, etched with ancient symbols that seemed to hum with power. With surprising speed for someone her age, she lunged at Riki, her face twisted with both fear and determination. “You won’t take her, demon!” she cried as she swung the dagger.

Riki stepped back with effortless grace, but not fast enough. The blade grazed his cheek, leaving a shallow, crimson line in its wake. A single drop of blood trailed down his face, stark against his skin. The crowd around you gasped, a ripple of shock spreading as the tension escalated. But Riki did not flinch. If anything, the sight of the dagger and the sting of the cut only seemed to amuse him further. Your eyes widened at the sight of the crimson liquid. You quickly moved, hands reaching out to cup his face and your left thumb gingerly wiped the blood away, leaving a smudge behind. 

“Are you alright?” You murmured, only focused on the god standing before you, despite how you were in the center of everyone’s attention and how they were observing your every movement. Your sudden action caused whispers and murmurs amongst the growing audience but you turned a blind eye to them. None of them were worth your attention. Not when Riki is in front of you. 

He leaned into your touch, like a touch-starved cat and nodded, “I’m fine, don’t worry. It’ll heal within seconds.”

The elder woman’s expression twisted in disbelief and fury. “You… You’ve bewitched her!” she spat, pointing the dagger toward him again. “Get out of here, the both of you. I don’t want my business to be ruined.” 

Riki smirks, his hand snaking around your waist, pulling you gently yet possessively toward him. “If that’s what you wish. Good luck with your business,” he raised a hand as he directed you away from the stall, raising a hand to bid the fuming woman farewell. It was only when you were out of sight then you questioned him. 

“What was that about?” You inquired, curiosity getting the better of you. 

“I think she was a shaman and she must’ve seen through my disguise,” he sneers, eyes facing forward as he makes a turn to the left, leading you further away from the crowded street. The people around you were oblivious to the fact that a God was walking amongst them. All of them were too busy minding their respective lives. 

“Perhaps I should’ve killed her,” he continues, sounding almost as if he was deep in thought. 

You raised an eyebrow at his sentence. “And how would you do that?” 

“I have my ways and besides, I’m not the God of Shadows for nothing,” he shrugged his shoulders. “But never mind that, do you still want to continue or are you feeling tired already?” 

You sighed, “Let’s go home. My feet are starting to hurt from all the walking we did.” 

“Of course.” 

~ 

A few weeks passed but the encounter with the elderly woman has never left your mind. You could not focus on any of your tasks, be it as something simple as reading a book or making yourself a snack to eat. Riki was the same as always, showing no signs of indifference. A part of you wanted to ask him for answers but another part of you knew what his response would be. He will avoid your questions like the plague and provide vague answers, choosing to beat around the bush instead of getting to the point. 

The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the night outside, the soft glow of the moon filtering through the window. Riki stood close, his dark eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. His hand reached up, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering.

“Why do you always look at me like that?” he murmured, his voice low and teasing, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Like what?” you whispered, barely managing to find your voice as your heartbeat thundered in your ears.

“Like you’re trying to figure me out,” he said, stepping closer, his hand now tracing a feather-light path along your jawline. “Spoiler alert: you never will.”

“Riki…” You let out a pleased sigh when your lips brushed against one another, eyelids fluttering close. 

Your arms loosely wrapped themselves around his neck, using it as an anchor to ground yourself as your body grew limp in his hold. The god smiles into the kiss, taking his sweet time in tasting you. The pace heavily depends on his mood. It could be sloppy and messy and sometimes, it could be gentle and delicate, as if you were a piece of fragile glass that could shatter anytime. You whined when he nipped your bottom lip, making you tug his hair as a form of warning. He apologized by running his tongue along the seams of your lips before pulling away, chuckling at the sound of protest you made. 

This time, you were the one to close the distance and he allows it, allowing you to be greedy. Riki’s hand slid to the back of your neck, tilting your head slightly to deepen the kiss, while his other hand snaked its way underneath your shirt, running his hand up your spine, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. The kiss grew desperate and you sensed it before it actually happened. The temperature in the room changed and you were being pushed back onto the bed with Riki now hovering over you, who has not pulled away the entire time. 

You melted into him, arching your back off the bed to press yourself against him, wanting to feel his body. Your hands gripped the fabric of his shirt as he forcefully parted your lips with his tongue. Muffled sounds akin to whimpers and mewls dripped from your lips. The taste of him was downright intoxicating and ever since he touched you, you were beyond addicted to his touch. Perhaps it was due to how touch-starved you were that made you drunk on Riki, where all you could think about was him and only him. 

He kissed like he fought—with precision, passion, and the undeniable intent to leave you utterly breathless. His lips trailed to the corner of your mouth, then along your jaw, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. “You drive me insane, you know that?” he whispered against your skin, his tongue darting out to lick your neck. 

“Good,” you managed to tease, your own breath hitching as you tilted your head back, granting him more access to your unblemished skin. You felt him mouthing the area just below your jawline, not low enough for the collars of your shirts to conceal it but not high enough for you to easily hide it either. 

You bite down on your lips, suppressing the whine when you feel Riki sucks on your skin. The sensation was nearly enough to make your eyes roll up. Your grip on his shirt tightened when you felt him moving to another area to leave another hickey. 

“R-Riki, what are you—” You asked, only to let out a pathetic mewl when he teasingly bit down on your skin, not hard enough to draw blood but hard enough to elicit a reaction out of you. 

“Sorry darling,” he chuckles, his hot breath grazing against your skin. The god pulls away to admire his handiwork, taking note of the marks he left behind; a firm and visible reminder that you belong to him. 

“You’re impossible,” you grumbled, lips curling down in a pout. Riki’s eyes softened at the sight. He leans in to kiss you on the lips and you gasped when you felt him pushing your shirt upwards, revealing more of your skin to him. 

“Sounds like you don’t accept my apology. Perhaps I can show it in another way instead,” he grins and you could only gulp, mentally preparing yourself for the incoming torture from him. 

~

You took a deep breath, inhaling the salty scent of the ocean and the fresh air. You squint your eyes when a strong gust of breeze blows past, only to yelp when your hat is blown away. A hand shot out, appearing in your sight and managed to grab the hat before it was gone. The figure moved to stand before you and he placed the hat on your head. 

“You should be more careful. What if you get blown away next?” Riki teased. 

“If that happens, you better catch me,” you retorted, leaning in to press a chaste kiss on his lips. You laughed at how he chased after your lips when you pulled away. 

“You know, as cute as the two of you are, I’ve been standing here for a solid five minutes and I’m starting to think I’ve turned invisible.” 

You turned to your left and saw Heeseung standing a few feet away. He was dressed in casual clothes; a plain black undershirt with a denim jacket over it and a pair of pants. No one would be able to tell he was the God of War. Smiling, you waved at the approaching figure as you moved away from Riki. 

“Heeseung, what brings you here?” You greeted him once he was closer and gave him a hug, to which he returned the gesture before pulling away. 

“I’m here for Riki actually. I need to talk to him about something,” the other replied, eyes glancing in his direction. 

You looked between the two and nodded in understanding. “I see, well I guess I shouldn’t be listening then.” You were about to walk away but Riki stopped you by grabbing your wrist. Heeseung raised an eyebrow at that, bemused. 

“No, you can stay. I have a feeling what he wants to say concerns you,” he replied, narrowing his eyes at Heeseung who sighed, nodding in agreement. At this point, you were confused but you obliged, remaining where you were and waiting for him to speak. 

His expression turned grim. "I've been hearing whispers," he said, his gaze flickering between you and Riki. "There are minor gods—restless, envious ones—who’ve taken notice of her. They’ve been talking about her purity, how untouched her soul is. And the fact that you," Heeseung looked directly at Riki, "turned her immortal only makes her more desirable to them. To them, she’s an anomaly. Something extraordinary. They’re determined to get their hands on her, no matter what it takes."

Your breath caught, and you glanced at Riki, feeling the tension rising instantly. His jaw clenched, shadows pooling around him like living creatures as his anger began to take form. His eyes darkened with an unspoken fury. This was the first time you had seen him getting angry. But when he spoke, his voice carried a chilling confidence.

“Let them come,” Riki sneered, his lips curling into a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll show them what happens when they try to take what’s mine.”

The air seemed to darken around him, his shadows weaving and coiling as if responding to his anger. Though his expression was sharp and his tone dismissive, there was a feral edge to his presence that made you shiver. Heeseung raised an eyebrow, clearly unfazed by Riki's display, though there was a trace of amusement in his knowing gaze.

“Just don’t underestimate them,” Heeseung warned, leaning forward. “You might be strong, but so are they. And they won’t play fair.”

Riki’s smirk widened, his anger simmering just below the surface. “They’re welcome to try. I’ll make sure it’s the last mistake they ever make.”

Heeseung took his leave after that and the tension vanished once he was gone. You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “Well, I guess the mood’s ruined now. What are you planning to do?” You turned to him. 

“I could find them first and kill them but I don’t want to leave you here alone,” he replied, furrowing his eyebrows. 

“But I won’t be alone, I can stay over at either Jay’s or Heeseung’s—” 

“Do not say another man’s name, not after we’ve had sex,” he deadpanned, scrunching his nose as if it was too painful for him to say that. 

You rolled your eyes, amused with the way he starts sulking like a little kid, “Are you jealous?” 

“No,” he instantly replied, which sounded way too suspicious, “why would I be jealous of them? It’s not like they’re better than me. I’m better than them.”

You eyed him in silence until Riki sighed, “Well, I don’t think there’s anything you need to worry about in the first place. I’m perfectly capable of handling them myself.” 

“I didn’t say anything though?” You innocently blinked your eyes. The god was unamused with your facade. 

“You’re going to be the death of me.”

“Technically, you can’t die so.”

“...”

~

The next few days passed in tense silence. Riki was unusually quiet, only answering you with either a nod or a hum. He was on constant high alert, eyes doing a quick scan of his surroundings as he stood close to you, shoulders tensed. As much as you appreciate him looking out for you, it was starting to get to you. You no longer had the freedom to wander around on your own. He insisted on you informing him about your whereabouts and to always update him if you were moving to another location. 

Whether it was a stroll along the beach or simply sitting at the backyard, his shadow never left yours. His gaze followed every movement, his steps always just a fraction behind yours. At first, you tried to ignore it. You told yourself it was his way of ensuring your safety. But as the days passed, the constant presence began to gnaw at you. It reminded you of your life in the village—how your freedom had been stripped away the moment they decided to send you as an offering. You were tired of feeling like a fragile thing to be protected, like a prisoner wrapped in silken chains.

Today was your final straw. 

You whirled around abruptly, cutting Riki off mid-step as he trailed behind you. The frustration you had been bottling up finally spilled over. 

“Why do you keep following me?” you snapped, your voice sharper than intended. “Everywhere I go, you’re there, watching, hovering like I’m some hopeless child. I can’t even breathe without feeling like I’m being watched!” 

Riki blinked, clearly taken aback by the sudden outburst. His usual calm demeanor flickered, and for a moment, there was a flash of something deeper in his dark eyes—something like worry, or maybe guilt. But then, just as quickly, he composed himself, his expression hardening.

“I’m doing it to keep you safe,” he said evenly, though there was a quiet intensity in his tone. “The minor gods… they’re always watching. If I’m not around, they’ll try to get to you.”

You clenched your fists, frustration boiling over. “Do you really think I’m that weak? That I can’t take care of myself? I’m not some fragile thing, Riki. I don’t need you—or anyone—constantly looking over my shoulder!”

His jaw tightened, and for the first time, there was a hint of anger in his voice when he responded. “You don’t understand,” he said, stepping closer, his eyes darkening like the very shadows he commanded. “They want you. Not for who you are, but for what you represent. And I refuse to let them have you.”

You went silent, watching him and the god took this to continue by taking a step closer. “I’m not trying to take your freedom. I just don’t want to lose you. Please, trust me.” 

The vulnerability in his voice made something in you ache and you could not find it in yourself to be mad at him. Not when he had given you a new life from scratch. Not when he had treated you as an equal. You took a shaky breath, your anger softening but not entirely gone. “Fine,” you whispered. “Protect me if you must, but just don’t cage me.” 

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The wind whispered through the trees, and the shadows danced around you, swirling in the space between frustration and understanding. Finally, Riki let out a quiet sigh, his shoulders relaxing just slightly.

“I’ll try,” he said, and though his voice was quiet, it carried the weight of a promise. “But don’t expect me to stop caring.”

~ 

A few days had passed since your confrontation with Riki, and the uneasy truce you had reached left the air heavy with unspoken tension. He had kept his distance—mostly—but you still felt his presence lingering in the shadows, watching from afar. You told yourself you were relieved to have a bit of space, but deep down, the quiet was unsettling.

That morning, the world felt different.

You woke abruptly, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. The apartment was eerily silent, the usual creaks and hums replaced by a stillness that felt unnatural. You sat up, the blanket slipping from your shoulders as a chill ran through you. Something was not right. And then, you heard it. A soft, almost inaudible whisper, like the sound of wind through dead leaves. It was not coming from outside. It was inside. 

Your pulse quickened as you climbed out of bed, your bare feet touching the cold floor. The air felt heavy, suffused with a strange, oppressive energy. Shadows pooled unnaturally in the corners of the room, shifting like they were alive. You took a cautious step toward the doorway, and that was when you saw them. 

Figures, barely human in form, their bodies twisted and dark, like shadows given flesh. Their eyes glowed faintly—dull, malevolent orbs that locked onto you with predatory intent. The minor gods. Your breath hitched, and panic surged through your veins. They should not be here. You were supposed to be safe. Riki’s presence had always kept them at bay. But now, without him near, they had come.

“Stay back,” you warned, though your voice trembled. You grabbed the nearest thing—a lamp—clutching it like a lifeline.

One of the figures stepped forward, its voice a hollow echo. “You thought you could escape us?” it hissed, its tone dripping with malice. “The God of Shadows is not here to protect you now.”

Your heart pounded. You backed away slowly, trying to think, trying to find a way out. “I don’t belong to any of you,” you spat, though fear laced your words.

They laughed, the sound a chorus of hollow, empty echoes. “You don’t understand,” another one sneered. “You are more valuable than you know. And now… you’re ours.”

Before you could react, a shadow darted toward you, too fast to dodge. But just as the figure reached out, the room plunged into deeper darkness—a suffocating, cold void that swallowed the light whole. A familiar voice, low and deadly, echoed through the darkness. 

“No, she’s not.” 

Riki. 

The shadows writhed and recoiled as he stepped forward, his form emerging from the darkness like a force of nature. His eyes glowed with an eerie gray light, his expression cold and furious. 

“You’ve made a mistake coming here,” he said, his voice dripping with quiet menace. “And you won’t leave this place alive.” 

With a wave of his hand, the shadows around him surged forward, crashing into the minor gods like a tidal wave. They shrieked in fury and pain, their forms twisting and disintegrating as Riki’s power overwhelmed them. The air grew heavier, darker, as if the shadow themselves were suffocating the light. You stood behind Riki, your heart racing, thinking it was over. The silence that followed their destruction was short-lived. More gods appeared out of nowhere, spawning one after another.

They seeped from the walls, the floor, anywhere that creates a shadow. Minor gods, their twisted forms multiplying, each one more grotesque and menacing than the last. Their eyes glowed with hunger, and their whispers filled the room like a sinister chant. 

“You thought you could protect her?” One sneered, its voice dripping with malice. “You’re just one god, Riki. You can’t fight us all.” 

Riki did not flinch. The glow in his eyes intensified as he stepped forward. The air around him shimmered with power, the darkness bending to his will. “I’ve defeated worse,” he said, voice cold and unyielding. “And I’ll destroy all of you, no matter what.” 

With a sharp gesture, he unleashed a torrent of shadows that moved like a tidal wave, slamming into the advancing gods. They howled as the darkness consumed them, but for every one that fell, another took its place. The battle raged on. The apartment became a battleground, walls cracking under the strain of divine power. Riki moved like a dancer in the dark, graceful yet brutal, every strike precise and devastating. He was relentless, his power unfurling like an endless abyss, swallowing the minor gods whole. But they kept coming, wave after wave, their determination growing more desperate.

“Riki,” you called, panic seeping into your voice as you saw the strain beginning to show. His breath was ragged, sweat glistening on his brow, though his eyes never lost their fire. 

“I’m fine,” he gritted out, though his voice wavered slightly. “Stay close to me.” 

But you could see it—he was reaching his limits and at this rate, he was pushing himself over it. Anyone with eyes could tell it was taking its toll. The room trembled as more shadows collided and then, light pierced through the darkness. Not from outside, but from the god himself. The temperature dropped, frost curling along the edges of the walls. A faint, otherworldly glow began to pulse from his body—a cold, radiant light like the silvery hue of moonlight. 

“No…” one of them hissed, its voice trembling. “Impossible, you’re not just the God of Shadows. You’re something more.” 

Riki smirked, though his voice was hoarse. “Took you long enough but it’s too late.”

The room exploded with light and darkness entwined. Silvery beams of moonlight cut through the shadows like blades, illuminating the dark corners and banishing the minor gods' forms. Where once his power had been cold and suffocating, it was now an ethereal mix of grace and fury. The light clashed with the darkness, bending both to his will.

With a single, fluid motion, Riki raised his hand, and tendrils of shimmering shadow-laced light spiral outward, crashing into the minor gods. They shrieked, their forms unraveling like fabric torn apart by an unseen wind. One by one, they disintegrated, obliterated by the overwhelming force. You remained rooted to the ground, awestruck by the display of power you had just witnessed. Compared to the few times he showed you his ability, this was on another level. 

Riki turned to you, his eyes still glowing with that silvery light, but it was softer now and less dangerous. He looked almost ethereal, both equally terrifying and beautiful in the aftermath of the battle. You caught the way he staggered, his body swaying with exhaustion, but before he could face-planted to the ground, you caught him, pulling him into your arms. 

“You did it, you saved us,” you whispered, running your hand through his hair. 

He leans against you, his breath ragged but a smile stretched across his face. “Told you I would.”

Tears stung your eyes and you laughed, “You’re unbelievable.”

He chuckled weakly, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you close despite his exhaustion. “I’m just glad you’re safe.”

You held him tightly, the fear and chaos of the night finally melting away into a profound sense of peace. “Thank you,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “For everything.”

Riki pressed his forehead against yours, his eyes softening as he looked at you. “I’ll always protect you,” he promised, his voice tender. “And that’s a promise from me to you.” 

[dutiful-wildcraft]

Restoration Worship

Nikolai x Fat F! Reader Tags: monsterfucking, gargoyles, dubcon, overstimulation, tail sex, anal play, double penetration, squirting, cunnilingus, p in v, dirty talk.  I think thats about it, I think yall should know by now that every reader I write is fat, blacked out and wrote 3K words of gargoyle smut sooo… enjoy!

It had begun as a research effort, a little trip to the cemetery to hopefully procure some interesting insight into a little project she’d been working on for the museum. Eyes scanning over lichen covered graves and cracked mausoleums, words long faded in time. 

She’d seen the videos before. Kind strangers brushing away years of decay with a brush and patience. Who would we be without the knowledge from our predecessors after all? 

So with a passion for restoration and a need for busy hands she set to work, uncovering gracious prayers and one of the best cookie recipes she’d ever tasted set within the worn stone. 

It’s months before she comes across him. He’s a big boy, covered in lichen and the webs of spiders, stone stained heavily from the elements. Sharp claws curl into the pedestal he hunkers on, broad wings curled against his back, stone teeth bared in warning. 

Even like this he’s beautiful, strong features carved delicately in tarnished marble. 

She’d found her next project. 

A decade had passed since death had been at Nikolai’s doorstep, when he’d let the stone take him, closed himself off from the world to rest after an egregious injury. He’d watched over the lowly cemetery with weak eyes, until they too became covered. Until he’d lost himself to the void, consciousness falling into inky blackness as he waited amongst the trees. 

That is, until her.

His days had shifted from the chittering of squirrels and bird song to an incessant chatter. A soft english lilt that stirred something in his hazy mind. He likes the english. Past visions of old friends flash in his mind, warm dark skin, cigars, a mask made of bone. 

How could he forget? 

He strains, willing his senses back to life, listens harder for the soft voice amongst the tombstones. 

She talks to the dead, chattering away at graves that will never speak back to her. This graveyard is old, quiet, its occupants long passed over after they stopped burying the dead here, when their loved ones had long passed on themselves. 

She asks them questions, makes up stories, tells them about her day. She’s a museum conservator and she brings things back to life all the time. Making them shiny and new, loving them through hard work and careful hands so that others may get to love them too. 

And when she’s not talking she’s humming, or singing so off tune that even the birds grumble. But she’s laughing at herself,  looking up songs from the years written on the graves and playing those too, a little tune the deceased might be familiar with. 

Her voice bounces from grave to grave, and he realizes she’s cleaning them, scrubbing the dirt away and bidding them adieu when her task is finished. 

Sweet thing, he muses, wishing he could see her, wishing she would bring him to life too.

His dream comes true on a sunny afternoon, the summer rays warming his stone, waking him just a little more. 

She’s close, footsteps rustling the leaves at his feet as she circles him. 

“You keep watch don’t you?” she asks him seriously, and she’s right there. So close he can smell her, like blueberries and vanilla sugar, it’d make his mouth water if he could just move.

She speaks again, but he can barely register the words as warm gentle hands clear the infinite dark from his field of view. Brushing away vines and lichen.

“There! That’s better!” 

And there she is. A big soft girl, with sweet round cheeks flushed from the heat. He needs to hold her, crush her close and reward her for her kindness, but she’s gone just as quickly, promising to return to clean him properly, and his marble heart warms at the thought. He commits her form to memory, watching her soft braids sway against her back as she leaves.  

A longing seeping deep into his marrow as he lets the sleep take him again. 

She returns the following weekend, small spray rig and gentle cleaner in hand when she finds him again. She’s mindful, soft hands gently tugging at his limbs to test the durability before ambling her soft body onto his platform. It’s wonderful, to finally feel the heat of another against his skin, and he thinks if the sun weren’t touching him he could come to life now, tackle her into the soft grass and ravish her. He knows she’d be so sweet, whimpering and mewling under his touch. 

It would wait for another time. 

She works from the top down, soaking him with warm water before scrubbing him with soft bristle brushes. She’s delicate, leaning her soft body against his as she cleans, washing away years of dirt and moss. She scrubs behind his ears, in the bend of his horns, clearing the nests of insects from between his teeth. He revels in the feel of her, soft breasts and belly pressed to his skin, gentle hands stroking over the sensitive margins of his wings. Had he been mobile he’d be purring, with spread wings and stiff cock all over some gentle petting. 

He mourns when she leaves, water cooling against his stone as she packs up before nightfall. 

But it gives him time to practice.

It takes days, weeks, before he can move under the cover of night, limbs coming to life sluggishly, the world becoming more clear to his dulled senses. 

She returns like clockwork, spending the afternoons with him, chatting and humming, leaning against his platform as she eats her lunch. 

He can’t move far, just a few movements, but he gets greedy, finally willing his wings to open, letting them stretch pleasantly in the cool night air and freeze there when the sun freezes him again. 

She’s a bit startled when she returns, eyeing him with confusion and the broad reptilian wings spread proudly behind his back. Come closer love, they’ve always been this way.

Nevertheless she scrubs those too, warm hands petting over the webbing, ghost along the modified fingers of his wings. He has half a mind to wallow in the night, cover himself in more dirt if only to keep her trips regular. But he knows his time is coming to an end when she dusts away the last leaves from his pedestal. 

She has a final rest with him, his sweet keeper perched at his feet as she watches the sun disappear behind the trees. 

And finally, finally. As the soft light of the moon kisses his skin, he greets her. 

“Hello solnyshka” he purrs, voice low and gravely,  amusement crinkling pupil-less eyes, as he watches her nearly jump out of her skin. Scrambling away and whirling to take a look at the massive gargoyle.  He can see now, really see, and she’s lovely. Freckles dusting round cheeks, bulky denim and cotton hiding big soft curves underneath. 

She’s frozen, staring at him with wide eyes. He stretches, not unlike a cat, trembling slightly with the effort as he spreads his wings, lifts his hands above his head to crack his own spine, shaking away the stiffness from his tired bones. He relaxes again,  smiling at her fondly, revealing sharp fangs underneath. 

“I’m grateful for your work.” he calls again, taking a slow step off of his platform, clawed feet digging into the earth below. He is truly, his new keeper being the first ray of sun to truly grace his skin in decades. Just the light he needed to wake him from his slumber.  He needs to hold her, feel her softness under his claws. 

She swallows, clasping trembling hands in front of her. 

“I didn’t mean to be a bother, sir”

Sir.

He purrs at the honorific, but why did she think she was a bother? Had she not heard him?

“Not a bother, you’ve “restored” me” he chuckles, “quite well too” he adds looking over his limbs as he eases closer. “Call me Kolya.”

She repeats it, mimicking the accent just right, and being the polite thing she is, she gives him her name in return. It melts in his mouth like sugar, His pretty prize unaware of the hold she’s given him with just her name alone. 

“Come here, let me have a look at you”

She hesitates a moment before inching towards him, and he meets her halfway with a long stride, chin to his chest as he looks her up and down. His poor thing is so nervous. Fidgeting under his gaze, pulling, pushing and twisting at the joints of her fingers, desperate to get them to pop, to alleviate some of the tension in her body. 

He takes her hand in his, sliding a claw between her fingers to shake them loose, letting her soft little hand curl around his own. He dwarfs her, already half-hard with just her palm in his. He moves her carefully, flipping her hand over to trace a dark claw over the sensitive lines of her palm drawing a small shiver from her that has his cock twitching in interest. 

He continues, gliding his fingers up her arm, over her shoulder, toying briefly with the denim strap of her overalls. She’s bashful, keeping her eyes averted, a hot flush to her cheeks as he looks her over. 

“None of that” he chides, sliding his fingers beneath her chin, tilting her back. Her lips part, pupils blown as he smiles down at her, some of her nervousness melting away as he handles her so gently.  “So pretty, daragaya” and the stars in her eyes as he praises her break what little self control he has left. 

He’s quick, catching her round face in both hands and bending low, pressing a hungry kiss to her lips. She squirms briefly, hands flying up to grip his wrists in panic, he curls a tail around her calf, holding her neatly in place as he licks into her mouth, earning a soft gasp from his keeper as her lips part for him. 

Good gods, she even tastes sweet. 

He purrs happily into her mouth, savoring the taste of her flavored chapstick, the end of his tail flickering happily, brushing the soft curve of her ass. She’s panting now, a soft little whine bubbling from her throat at the contact. He dives low, licking a stripe across her jaw, reveling in the salt of her skin before nibbling and kissing his way down her throat, clawed fingers easily popping the cheap metal clasps of her outfit, pushing the denim away before yanking off the extra cotton shirt underneath. 

Nikolai thinks it should be forbidden for such soft curves to be hidden like that. She’s a vision, an angel with the most beautiful soft curves, and when he has her back in his den he’ll dress her in the finest silks and jewelry, pretty chains to hug her waist, dangle nicely between her breasts. Highlight all his favorite parts. He might even keep her bare, just for his eyes to see. 

She shivers in the cold, using her arms to cover her breasts as best as she could, eyes averted from his hungry gaze.  Why did she hide from him? There should be paintings of her, statues in her image. She was perfect. So warm and soft, he kneaded at the handles at her hips, clawed fingers tracing over the soft swell of her belly, the rolls at her sides, skin hot beneath his fingers. He huffs, snagging her wrists and holding them well above her head, using the extra digits at the ends of his wings to hold her there, pulled taught and vulnerable beneath his gaze.

With a sharp claw he rips away the scrap of fabric that covered her chest, large hands palming them eagerly, nipples pebbling under the warm drag of his thumbs. He hums, pinching and pulling at her perfect little tits, hard cock nudging incessantly at her belly, leaving glistening webs of pre-cum over her skin as she whimpers and gasps. 

“Kolya” she whines as he drags a hot tongue over her soft peaks, flicking his tongue over her pert skin before drawing a nipple into his mouth, nibbling and suckleing greedily. He breaks away, grinning up at her, sinking his teeth into the meat of her breast cheekily. She squirms, eyes squeezed tight and teeth dug into her plump lip as she tries halfheartedly to escape him. Though the wiggling only gives her tits a lovely jiggle that has him diving in again, nipping at her nipple just to earn himself another squeal. 

He kisses over the skin in a gentle apology before sliding down her belly, pressing a trail of hot kisses there before he reaches the seam of her panties, cute little curls peaking out around the edges at her thighs. He marvels at the dark stain of her arousal, pressing his nose into the soaked fabric and breathing deep. She bucks against his face, squirming madly to get some kind friction. Not so demure now are you?

“I’ll take care of you greedy girl, patience.” he warns, tail patting her ass fondly as he drags his tongue along the sodden fabric. He rips those away too, thick tongue sliding against her folds with little preamble, the resounding moan like music to his ears. Using his tail to tug her legs further apart, he lavishes her in earnest, slurping at her cunt like a beast, using his thumbs to spready her puffy lips apart. She’s heaven, sweet and tangy on his tongue, and he would stay here for hours, drinking her down until her legs gave out and then taking more. 

He sinks his tongue inside, licking into her tight heat as his nose brushes against her clit, humming wickedly as she cries and bucks. He takes control, dragging his claws up to grip her hips, guiding her into a nice and easy rhythm against his face. He loves every minute of it, reveling in the drag of her soaked folds against his tongue,  the broken whines as he breaks away to suck her clit. He drags her to the edge over and over, fucking his tongue back into her wet heat and nosing at her sensitive nerves until she’s gushing against his face with a choked cry. 

“So good, solnyshka” he praises, sitting back on his haunches to admire his work. He leans in, licking a hot stripe up her thigh, catching the errant rivulets of slick as they drip from her. 

“So wet, I bet we can make a bigger mess can’t we?” he purrs, dragging his knuckles against the soaked seam of her sex, drawing a tired whimper from her. She sags against his hold, chest flushed, and thighs soaked. He could devour her whole like this. 

He releases her, lifting her spent body into his arms, easing her down onto the clean pedestal that was once his. Pushing her legs apart he slides between them, sliding his neglected cock over her folds, using his tip to rub at her sensitive clit before sliding it along her body. He’s thick, head tapered to a near point, thick ridges rippling along underside of his shaft for a textured drag. Heavy balls kiss the seam of her sex as he rests there, tip drooling against her stomach. He needs her to see what she’s getting herself into, how much she’ll need to take for him. His soft girl looks up at him, big glassy eyes full of nervous anticipation. 

“I know” he coos, grinding himself against her skin, “you can take it, my perfect girl, we just need a little more room.”

He needs her pliant, well stretched to take him fully. With his claws as they were, using his fingers wasn’t an option,  but he does have another solution. Dragging a heavy palm through her slick he grabs hold of his tail, coating the tapered end thoroughly before guiding it toward her entrance, using a thumb to circle her clit as he slips inside. 

The tip is easy, no thicker than a couple of her fingers as it pushes its way inside, the glide nice and easy from her previous orgasm. He fucks nice and slow, thrusting the tip in shallowly until she’s whining for more. He leans over her, rutting his cock against the crease of her thigh as he sinks his tail in further, fucks into her with more speed, using his hands wisely to play with her tits, rolling her nipples between his fingers and nibbling at her lips to distract her from the stretch. She’s holding on for dear life, hands gripping his horns for purchase. 

Even as spent as she is, she clenches around him desperately, sweet pussy desperate to take as much of him as she can. He can’t wait to feel her pulsing against his cock. Wet and hot, and so so tight. 

He growls, rutting into her with more fervor. She’s close, chubby thighs clenching as he curls the tip of his tail a bit, just to bully more of his length inside of her. She’s lost in it, frantically kissing at his face as her peak draws closer and closer.  Sneaking a thumb against her clit she cums again, legs slamming shut against his tail as he fucks her through it, laughing as she sobs, shoving at him weakly as she gushes messily around him again, slick coating his abdomen and dribbling down the stone underneath. 

“Good girl, one more for me zoloste, I know you can do it.” He yanks her thighs apart pulling his tail from her greedy cunt and dragging her further down the pedestal, her plush ass hanging off the edge. He rests her thighs against his chest, kissing her ankle soothingly as he drags himself through her slick folds, thoroughly coating himself before lining up with her entrance. 

Even with the prep it’s a tight squeeze. He takes it slow, bullying his way inside her soaked heat, gummy walls squeezing him tight as he sinks in, whimpering as the ridges of his cock drag against her sore entrance.  He fucks slowly, pumping in shallow thrusts before he pulls out again, teasing her tired clit and pushing in again, head thrown back with victorious groan as he finally pushes himself to the hilt. 

Its a gorgeous sight, her pussy split open on the girth of him, legs spread wide and clit twitching as he fucks her with tight shallow circles. She’s a mess, cheeks streaked with tears and trembling against the stone, whimpers and little hiccups falling from her lips. He hushes her, sliding his palms against her thighs, catching her hands to curl his fingers in hers, anchoring her there as he picks up the pace. 

She’s already close, cunt clenching around him with every thrust. He fucks into her with earnest, her pretty fat pussy swallowing him down to the balls as the sticky slap of it echoes through the cemetery. 

“Fuck, taking me like you were made for it.”  he snarls bending over her to lick into her mouth, swallowing every little cry and plea as he fucks her mercilessly, soft body jiggling with the harshness of it. 

“You’ll give me anything won’t you? Let me fill up this pretty pussy.” he pants, yanking her closer, and with a sick knowing grin, his tail slides underneath her, slick tip toying with her asshole. “Let me fill this pretty ass too, wouldn’t you?”

“Anything you want, Kolya, please, please,”  she begs, his perfect girl cock drunk and hazy, tears spilling down her cheeks as she rocks into him for more. 

“Don’t even know what's good for you, silly girl, you’d let me tear you in two.” he chuckles, “ but I’ll give you a little taste.” His tip slides between her cheeks, already slick from her own juices.  He teases her there, flickering playfully at her hole before sinking in slowly, pushing just past her tight ring of muscle to fill her up, groaning at the feel of his own cock sliding against her walls. 

Her next orgasm takes her like a freight train, soft body arching and trembling as it ravages through her. He fucks her through it, pussy clenching him like a vice as he pulls his tail from her ass, sharp claws digging into the meat of her hips hard enough to draw blood as he chases his own end. 

Snarling like a beast he pounds into her, sinking himself deep as he comes with a low growl, painting her insides with long spurts. Filling her completely until his spend seeps out around his cock, spilling down her thighs and into the soft earth below. 

He holds them there like that, cock buried deep as he marks her from the inside out, his bulky head resting against her breasts as they both come down. 

His, his, his. 

His perfect soft girl, flushed and damp from sweat and slick, trembling hands carding though his dark hair.  Kind and gentle despite the way he ravaged her. 

And when she leans up, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips with a nervous giggle, he knows he’ll guard her for the rest of his days. 

[rookiesbookies]

“so what if I sucked his dick. his knuckles were split and bloody from defending my safety and my honor what else was I supposed to do”

With my boys (141+Konig+Keegan)

Price

Price is not a man to bring violence into his domestic life. He just refuses to. He has the gun under the couch and the hand gun in his bedside table, and that’s all the violence at home he needs.

HOWEVER.

The night you both had gone on a nice date and decided to end the night at a pub he was just having a good time. He didn’t want to be bothered. He was having a nice time.

When he watched the guy come up behind the two of you slurring, he was already set on edge. When the man grabbed your ass? There was zero hesitation.

Punch landed square between the poor guys eyes, John took a long sip of his drink and left a $100 on the table to cover any problems and the two drinks you both had, before taking you by the hand and leaving.

The man had a thick skull and Price honestly just ignored the fact that he had clearly probably broken a bone in his hand because the head you were giving him made it all so worth it.

Soap

Surprisingly, it was not a random person he punched.

He and Gaz had gotten into a petty argument. It shouldn’t have started, really.

Apparently Gaz made some snarky comment about Soap’s girl. It was before Gaz and his girlfriend had started dating so he didn’t have a woman to put him in his place over the shitty comment.

Johnny, however, was happy to oblige.

It took both Ghost and Price to pull him off Gaz, who was luck Soap only got a few good hits in. Soap was sent home like a kid from school and John stapled a note to his shirt explaining what had happened.

What Captain John Price didn’t expect, however, was for you to reward this behavior.

Little kitten licks and fluttering kisses up and down his length, tell him how proud you were he defended you before giving him the sloppiest of his life.

He brain melted, Soap had half the mind to punch Gaz for it again next time he saw him just to see if she would reward him again.

Ghost

Oh, he had considered strangling your ex more than once. But he caught him at your doorstep when he had just gotten back from a mission.

He wasn’t Simon yet. He was still Ghost.

So when the fucker was banging on your door, he was happy he had insisted on getting you a better front door lock. He could see you running to your bedroom, probably to get the handgun he kept under the dresser.

He almost wanted to call you and tell you not to bother.

He tore the man away from the door and just went ham. It wasn’t until you returned and looked out the window to see what had happened that Simon held up the man bloody and bruised and passed out.

Simon shoved the dude in whatever car he came in before driving to the middle of nowhere and leaving an only mildly threatening note, before having you pick him up.

When you went from kissing the splits and blood from his knuckles ot undoing his belt, he was so grateful his old square body had a bench seat.

The death grip on the steering wheel was the only thing keeping him sane. Almost pulling over to cum in your mouth but he had pulled into yalls shared driveway before he even realized. He had probably been doing felony speeds.

He took off his mask for the first time since he got home and planted soft kisses on your face. He mumbled something about not needing to reward Ghost for his usual behaviors between pecks.

Konig

Being the big bad colonel’s sweet little wife had its perks. Walking around the base with no problems, getting to spend all day chilling in his lap, never having to be far from him.

The worst time of year was when Konig had to deal with new recruits, who were already older gentlemen but clearly weren’t raised right and who didn’t understand how things worked in his base.

So when one of the recruits was pushing you around, getting too close and touchy, Konig didn’t hesitate.

One big swing, but that wasn’t enough. Konig was going to make an example of him.

Drug him out to the front of the base and gathered all of the recruits and made a scene. He made an example.

Dude got pummeled by Konig.

You honestly didn’t need to give him head, the satisfaction of putting that man in the med bay was enough. But when the idea left your sweet lips he would never refuse.

His bloody knuckles lovingly rubbing your face and massaging your hair as you struggle to fit it in your mouth, giving him big doe eyes? Its his favorite.

Keegan

Also punched a teammate. You had been brought on base for a celebration, everyone was in all their formal uniforms and outfits.

He had stayed sober, unlike most of his teammates.

Most of them didn’t have any women of their own.

Keegan just found out why.

It was a random Sargent from a different group, clearly hadn’t let you get a word out and just kept talking. Too drunk to realize that if you were here you were probably a spouse.

Keegan just gave him a nice smack to the gut, which ended up making the guy projectile vomit in the middle of the festivity room.

Someone definitely over-served by this dude.

But the way you kissed away the littlest bits of blood from Keegan’s had since his dry knuckle had caught on one of the guys pins and tore open. Made his heart melt.

I guess it melted into his dick because he knew EXACTLY what was happening when you pulled him away and down an empty and dark hall.

Oh he loved the way your lips kissed around him, living lipstick in their wake, before leaving a nice colored ring of it around his shaft.

Oh he’d wear it too proudly. Makes jokes about never washing his dick again.

Gaz

You and Gaz were in a booth on a double date with Soap and his girl. Simple date, just chilling. Soap was making jokes about how Kyle totally had a glow up now that he’s met his girl and about how Kyle probably understands why Johnny punched him for the comment a couple months back. (See Soap’s for an explanation)

However, that story just reminded Gaz, and gave him a good idea.

He mumbled something about still needing to get back at Soap for it. Also mumbling about how his nose still isn't right and his jaw still pops

One swift punch, Kyle was back how he was sitting before like it never even happened.

However the head he got in the family bathroom for that punch being hot while Soap and his girl thought Kyle had an emergency bathroom trip while his girl was changing her pad was crazy.

He almost broke the changing table off the wall with how he was gripping it.

Truly life changing.

Almost hit Soap again when they got back to the table.

Masterlist is pinned on my account as always and requests are open.

[deliciousangelfestival]

Another Ending - 1 | Bucky Barnes

Character: ex!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Summary: It was supposed to be a short week watching over your niece, who loves romance books. She thought you were just a normal aunt, but it turns out you have secrets.

Tags: Spies, action, threat, offense, fight scene, violence, romance.

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 , Chapter 6 , -

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

The weight of the assassin's body presses down on you, pinning you to the ground as his sword hovers dangerously close to your throat. Every muscle in your arms strains as you hold your gun up, barely keeping the blade away from your neck.

The cold metal of the sword gleams under the dim light, a stark reminder of how close you are to death. His eyes, hidden behind the mask, are unreadable, but you can feel the murderous intent radiating from him.

Sweat drips down your forehead, mixing with the dirt and blood on your face as you grit your teeth. With every ounce of strength, you manage to growl, "You're dead to me."

For a split second, you see it—hesitation. The assassin’s grip falters, his focus wavering. That’s all you need. With a desperate shove, you push him off, the sword sliding away from your neck as you scramble to your feet. Your heart pounds in your chest as adrenaline takes over, and you start running, not daring to look back.

The echoes of your past, the regrets, and the pain are left behind as you sprint away. You know that you’ve bought yourself only a few precious seconds, but at this moment, it’s enough. You leave the assassin behind, along with everything that once bound you.

🥀🥀🥀🥀

The lodge is warm and inviting, nestled comfortably by the edge of a tranquil lake. Large windows allow sunlight to pour in, casting a golden glow across the rustic wooden floors. The living room is cozy, with a soft, earth-toned sofa positioned near a stone fireplace. You push the sofa slightly, adjusting its angle to better face the window, where the view of the lake creates a peaceful backdrop.

As you finish, the sound of the doorbell rings through the house. You straighten up, smoothing a hand over your clothes before heading to the door. When you open it, a smile crosses your face.

Standing there is Lori Grant, your niece. She’s dressed in a green shirt and black pants, her short hair with bangs framing her face beneath thick glasses. A pink backpack is slung over one shoulder, and she’s dragging a suitcase that looks far too big for her small frame.

“Hello, Aunty,” Lori greets you, her voice bright with excitement.

“Where’s your mom?” you ask, glancing past her.

“She just left,” Lori replies, stepping inside and immediately struggling with the weight of her suitcase. She lets out a frustrated “Ugh” as it catches on the doorstep.

You can’t help but chuckle softly. “Let me help you with that.” Gripping the handle, you lift the suitcase easily, though you wonder why a 13-year-old needs so much luggage.

As you bring the suitcase inside, you ask, “Are you hungry? I bought some tofu for you.” Your older sister’s voice echoes in your mind, reminding you of the strict health-conscious diet she keeps Lori on. She’s made a name for herself online with her healthy recipes, and now she’s on a book tour promoting her new cookbook.

Lori looks up at you, her eyes filled with a mix of relief and hope. “Aunty, I’m so excited to be here. I can finally get away from the food my mom makes.”

You laugh, a warm, understanding sound. “Oh, thank goodness. How about fried chicken or lasagna?”

Lori’s face lights up, her hands clasping together as if in prayer. “Why not both?” Her eyes shimmer with anticipation, almost teary at the thought of indulging in something she’s missed.

“Yes!” you reply with a grin, already planning the feast.

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

The two of you cook together, filling the kitchen with the mouthwatering aroma of fried chicken and lasagna. The sizzle of the food and the warmth of the stove creates a cozy atmosphere, and before long, you’re both sitting at the table, enjoying the meal.

Lori, barely looking up from her book, eats with a hearty appetite, tearing into the fried chicken and savoring the lasagna.

You glance at her, amused by how engrossed she is in her book. It’s refreshing to see someone her age so absorbed in reading rather than staring at a screen. She’s been glued to that book ever since she arrived.

“Is it a good book?” you ask, taking a sip of your water.

“Yes. The best,” she replies without lifting her eyes from the pages.

You smile and ask, “What’s the book about?”

At that, Lori snaps the novel shut and looks at you with excitement blazing in her eyes, as if she’s been waiting for this moment. “Oh, Aunty, this is the best book! It’s full of adrenaline, mystery, and romance.”

You raise your eyebrows and nod slowly, recognizing the same spark in her that your older sister often has. “Let me guess, a royal romance?”

Lori shakes her head enthusiastically. “No. It’s set in modern day. It’s an enemies-to-lovers story where both are spies from different sides. They have to decide between love and their duty.”

You nod again, your expression thoughtful. “That’s impossible in the real world.”

Lori huffs, rolling her eyes playfully. “That’s why it’s fantasy, Aunty. Geez, you sound just like my mom.” She returns to her book, burying herself in the story again.

You chuckle softly, setting your glass down as you gather your plate and stand up. “Well, usually betrayal happens in those stories.”

Lori looks up, her eyes wide with enthusiasm. “That’s right! There’s a part where the male character betrays the female character.”

Your hand slips, the plate clattering into the sink, but thankfully it doesn’t break.

“Aunty, are you okay?” Lori asks, concern in her voice.

“I’m fine. My hand just slipped,” you say, brushing it off with a smile.

Lori gets up, carrying her plate to the sink. “I’m already done. I’ll help you with the dishes.”

“Thank you,” you reply, appreciating her help.

As you both wash the dishes, you ask her about life at school. Lori tells you all about her friends, her classes, and the things that make her happy.

“Do you have a crush at school?” you ask, a teasing note in your voice.

Lori hesitates, a slight blush coloring her cheeks. “Well… there is one boy. His hair and smile remind me of the male character from the spy book.”

You nearly drop the spatula but manage to catch it just in time. What’s gotten into you today?

“What about you, Aunty?” Lori asks, her tone curious.

“Me?” you respond, a bit caught off guard.

“While living in this lodge, have you ever met a farmer with a six-pack, a cute café owner, or a cool police officer?” Lori asks, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

You gasp, her question catching you by surprise. “Your mom mentioned you’ve become quite the chatterbox.”

“Aunty, your life is a dream. You have it all—except a boyfriend,” Lori says matter-of-factly. She doesn’t fully understand what you do for a living, but she knows from her mom and grandparents that you’ve traveled the world and are now enjoying the fruits of your hard work.

You place your hands on your hips, eyeing her with a mock sternness. “How long have you been staying with Grandma?”

“Three weeks,” Lori answers, wiping a plate dry with a clean cloth.

“That explains it,” you say with a chuckle, ruffling her hair playfully. Your mother has a habit of prying into your love life, and you’ve overheard her sighing over the phone, saying, ‘I’m afraid she’ll die single.’

“But seriously, Aunty, why are you still single?” Lori asks, her eyes wide with innocent curiosity.

You look at her, a sigh escaping your lips. “When you’re older, you’ll understand that life is complicated. There’s no guarantee of a happy ending.”

“Seems like you don’t believe in romance anymore,” she says, her voice soft but probing.

“Lori…” you begin, but her words strike a chord in you. Kids have a way of getting straight to your feelings. You head to the living room, trying to shake off the conversation and turn on the TV. With a sigh, you throw yourself onto the couch.

Lori follows you, still determined to rekindle your belief in romance. But then, something catches her eye. “Aunty, what’s on the second floor?”

“Just a storage room. Full of dust and spiders,” you reply, waving a hand dismissively.

“Can I go up there?” she asks, her enthusiasm barely contained.

“Go ahead,” you say, smiling at her eagerness.

As soon as the words leave your mouth, you hear her running feet thudding up the stairs. You shake your head, chuckling to yourself. What happened to the little girl who was afraid of spiders? Maybe the influence of that action-packed novel, the fantasy world, pulled her in.

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

Lori’s eyes lit up with excitement as she explored the second floor, her steps quickening with each new discovery. It felt like a treasure hunt to her, the dusty corners and forgotten items fueling her curiosity.

She opened old boxes, sifted through forgotten knick-knacks, and rummaged through piles of clutter. Her heart raced with the thrill of the search, every creak of the floorboards adding to the sense of adventure.

Then, tucked away near the Christmas decorations, she spotted a plain, unassuming box. It didn’t look like much, but something about it caught her attention. With a soft gasp of anticipation, she opened it and found an old, bulky laptop inside. The device was covered in dust, its once sleek surface now dull and scratched.

“Wow,” Lori whispered, her eyes widening in awe. She lifted the laptop carefully and opened it, running her fingers over the keys. “Clicky, clicky. Love this keyboard,” she said, delighting in the tactile response of the keys beneath her fingers.

Unable to contain her excitement, Lori ran downstairs to find you, clutching the laptop in her arms like a prized possession. “Aunty, look what I found! This is so old, and I love the sound it makes!”

You glanced up and your eyes widened in surprise. “Where did you get that?” you asked, a mix of surprise and concern in your voice.

“Near the Christmas decorations. Can I turn it on?” she asked, her eyes shining with eagerness.

You shook your head, a hint of hesitation creeping into your tone. “It’s been a long time since I turned it on,” you admitted, memories flickering at the edge of your mind. You had pretended the laptop didn’t exist for so long that it had slipped from your thoughts entirely.

“I’ll throw it away,” you said, reaching out to take the laptop from her.

But Lori quickly pulled it back, guarding the laptop protectively. “Even if it’s broken, I could use this for throwback videos,” she argued, her determination evident.

You sighed, seeing the pleading look in her eyes. “Fine. You can have it,” you relented.

“Thank you!” Lori beamed, her smile so bright that any irritation you felt melted away. She hugged the laptop close and dashed off to the guest room, eager to play with her new toy.

Inside her room, Lori’s excitement was palpable. She carefully plugged the charger into the old laptop and pressed the power button, holding her breath in anticipation. But the screen remained dark, the laptop unresponsive.

Her enthusiasm waned slightly, but she didn’t give up. Determined, she searched online for ways to fix old laptops, flipping the device upside down to look for a serial number or brand name. But the markings were too faded to read.

Her hope began to crumble as she realized the laptop might never work again. With a sigh, she set it aside and opened her suitcase, revealing stacks of novels inside. This was the real reason she had wanted to stay with you—to immerse herself in her books without anyone bothering her.

As the night wore on, the clock crept closer to 10 p.m. You yawned, feeling the weight of the day settle in, and turned off the TV. Before heading to bed, you decided to check on Lori. When you peeked into her room, you found her already fast asleep, curled up with a new book clutched in her hands.

You smiled softly, understanding now what was in her suitcase. With a gentle chuckle, you carefully adjusted her sleeping posture and tucked her in, whispering, “Good night.”

As you left, you saw the old black laptop still plugged in, silently charging in the corner. It had been nearly seven years since you last thought about it. You shook your head, a mix of relief and resignation washing over you. It was better if that thing stayed dead, buried in the past where it belonged.

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

The next morning, Lori woke up feeling cozy under the blankets. She glanced around, realizing she must have fallen asleep while reading her book again. The comforting silence in the room was a welcome change from the usual yelling of her mother.

This is why staying with you was such a great idea. She turned her attention to the old laptop, remembering she had left it charging all night.

With renewed hope, she quickly jumped out of bed and moved to the laptop. She pressed the power button, but the screen remained stubbornly black. Disappointment settled over her like a heavy fog.

Then, she heard it—the faint hum of the laptop’s fan. Her eyes widened, and a gasp escaped her lips. She clapped her hands together in excitement. “Yes!”

Just then, you called from the kitchen, your voice carrying cheerfully through the house. “Lori! You’ve woken up? I’ve made breakfast.”

“I’m not hungry yet,” Lori replied, her focus still on the laptop, waiting for the screen to light up.

“It’s bacon and eggs,” you added, a hint of a smile in your voice.

The mention of bacon and eggs immediately captured Lori’s attention. It had been ages since she’d had a breakfast like that. “I’m coming!” she called out, her voice filled with enthusiasm.

Without another thought, Lori dashed out of her room, leaving the old laptop to continue its quiet struggle to turn on. Her excitement for breakfast had completely overshadowed her frustration with the laptop, and she hurried to the kitchen, eager for the delicious meal you had prepared.

After breakfast, Lori returned to her room, and her excitement about the old laptop reignited. As she entered, she was stunned to see that the laptop had finally powered up completely.

Her eyes widened in disbelief as she stared at the outdated app icons, which looked dull and unappealing. Despite their lack of charm, something else caught her eye: the email application.

Curiosity piqued, Lori navigated to the email app and discovered a list of old emails. She wondered if the laptop could connect to Wi-Fi. To her delight, it could. She connected it and noticed a new notification. Her heart raced as she clicked on it, only to find a single new email dated five years ago.

“This is like something out of a novel,” Lori whispered to herself, her fingers trembling slightly as she opened the email.

Her gasp was audible when she realized it wasn’t spam or a work email—it was a love letter. She read the email with growing excitement:

Subject: An Apology and a Request

Hi,

I hope this message finds you well. I’ve been carrying a heavy heart and wanted to reach out, even though it’s been a while. I left the organization and have started a new life, but I’ve realized that it won’t feel complete without you.

I’m deeply sorry for everything that happened and for the pain I caused you. I know that I have no right to ask for anything, but if there’s any chance for us to meet and talk, I’d really like that. I’m not expecting anything, but I hope we can find some closure.

Yours,

B.B

Lori’s eyes sparkled with excitement. This was even better than the romance novels she had read. She couldn’t believe her aunt had an ex who had been missing her all this time and had finally reached out after five years.

Feeling a burst of inspiration, Lori unplugged the laptop and raced downstairs to find you. “Aunt! Look! Look! Someone sent you an apology letter!” she exclaimed, her voice filled with excitement.

You were busy preparing to head out to your bee farm, dressed in your suit. The sight of the old laptop suddenly turning on and Lori’s enthusiasm about the email caught you off guard. You knew exactly who had sent it, and it brought a wave of mixed emotions.

With a sigh, you closed the laptop, noticing Lori’s disappointed look. You knelt to her level, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Lori, sometimes it’s best to leave the past where it is.”

“But…” she started, her voice trailing off.

You stood up, adjusting your head protection for the farm. “Just enjoy your time here,” you said gently, then headed out of the house.

Lori sighed, her heart heavy with the sadness in your voice. She could sense the pain behind your words and felt that maybe this person was someone special to you. A sudden idea struck her, and she rushed back to her room, placed the old laptop on the table, and began typing a reply.

With her knowledge of romance novels, she crafted a short but heartfelt response:

Subject: Re: An Apology and a Request

Hi B.B,

Thank you for your message. It was a surprise to read your letter after all these years. I appreciate your honesty and the courage it took to reach out. I’m still processing everything, but I’m grateful for your apology.

Maybe one day we can talk, but for now, I hope you find the closure you’re seeking.

Take care,

Y/N

Satisfied with her words, Lori clicked “Send,” feeling accomplished. She hoped her reply would bring peace to her aunt and the sender.

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

A few days passed, and Lori grew increasingly nervous. She kept checking the email, but no new notifications appeared, only that eerie computer-generated voice. You noticed her restlessness; she fidgeted with her fingers and paced around the room.

“What’s wrong? Feeling bored?” you asked, trying to lighten the mood. “We could go out for a while, get some fresh air.”

“Eww… no,” Lori replied, wrinkling her nose at the thought of the hot sun and heavy gear. She enjoyed the freedom of staying with you, but she wasn’t enthusiastic about adventures.

“I’d rather stay here, curled up with my book—” Lori was cut off by the familiar, unsettling notification sound.

You flinched at the sound too, a chill creeping down your spine. Lori quickly ran to the laptop, her heart racing with excitement as she saw the red dot notification. She opened the email and skimmed the reply: "I received your message. We need to meet. I’ll find you soon."

“Aunty, look! This person wants to see you. Isn’t it romantic?” Lori said, her excitement palpable.

Romantic my ass, you thought, feeling a cold shiver as you read the email. You abruptly shut the laptop and started packing Lori’s things. Your sudden, frantic movements startled her.

“Change your clothes. Wear something practical and put on running shoes,” you instructed, your voice taut with urgency.

Lori’s eyes widened with concern. “Why? What’s going on?”

“Forget the books. We have fifteen minutes, Lori. Now!” You dashed to your room, grabbing essentials with swift, practiced motions.

Lori, bewildered but obedient, quickly followed your orders. Fifteen minutes later, both of you were ready and in the car. You sped away, your face set in grim determination.

In the passenger seat, Lori clutched the seatbelt tightly, her voice trembling. “Aunt…”

“Lori, did you not hear me? Some things are better left in the past,” you said, your tone cold and firm.

She nodded slowly, her anxiety mounting. “But why?”

Before she could ask more, a deafening explosion rocked the car. “BOOM!” The blast made Lori flinch as she turned to see your house engulfed in flames. Her face pressed against the car window, eyes wide with shock.

“Oh my God. Is that your house?” Lori’s voice was barely a whisper.

You kept your gaze fixed on the road, your face pale and determined. “This is the reality of espionage. The hardest part is when someone tries to kill you.”

Lori gasped, realization dawning on her. “You’re a real spy!”

You didn’t answer, but the silence was deafening—a resounding confirmation.

“And the person who sent the email is another spy!” she exclaimed.

“Yeah. But unlike the novels, we’re not looking to fall in love. We’re trying to kill each other.” Your words sent a shiver down her spine, the gravity of the situation settling in with chilling clarity.

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

At the gas station, you and Lori were picking up essential supplies. Your disguise—a dark hat, sunglasses, and a coat pulled tight—wasn't exactly subtle. But Lori's eyes sparkled with excitement.

“This is so cool!” she exclaimed, her voice brimming with admiration.

“It’s not,” you muttered, your voice strained as you tried to mask your growing unease. The thrill of the moment had been replaced by a harsh reality. “I’m taking you to your mom.”

Lori’s enthusiasm faltered as she noticed the tension in your body. “But Aunt… why are you running away if this person wants to see you?”

You sighed heavily. “Because—”

Your words trailed off as a shiver ran down your spine. You felt eyes on you and slowly turned to face the source of your unease. There he was, striding towards you with a purpose.

The man stood tall and lean, his dark hair tousled and his leather jacket catching the dim light of the gas station. His face was striking—handsome in a rugged, intense way. His presence radiated strength and determination.

“Bucky,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Bucky didn’t break stride or acknowledge you. His pace quickened, and your instincts kicked in. You reached for your gun, but before you could draw it, a loud BANG! shattered the tense silence.

“Kyaaa!!!” The sound of the gunshot set off a wave of screams from everyone inside the store, including Lori. The chaos erupted around you, but you and Bucky remained focused.

You threw yourself in front of Lori, protecting her with your body. Bucky did the same, his gaze locked on the threats.

“You—” you started, trying to catch your breath.

“We don’t have much time,” Bucky cut you off, his voice a low growl. He grabbed your arm, pulling you up, and snatched his own gun. Without another word, he started firing, taking out the shooters one by one.

You joined him in the fray, your movements sharp and efficient. Bullets flew and bodies hit the floor. Bucky’s sharp eyes and quick reflexes contrasted with your precise, practiced shots.

“Your aim’s getting rusty,” Bucky grunted as he took down another opponent.

“Shut up,” you retorted, focusing on the task at hand.

In no time, the immediate threat was neutralized. You both made a break for your car, adrenaline surging. Bucky took the driver’s seat, his expression grim and focused.

“Wait…” you began, but Bucky cut you off.

“Just put on your seatbelt first,” he said tersely, glancing at you with an intensity that brooked no argument.

You complied, snapping the seatbelt into place as Bucky threw the car into gear. The ride was tense, an awkward silence hanging between you and Bucky. Lori, however, was brimming with curiosity.

She tugged at Bucky’s leather jacket, causing him to glance at her. The way she looked at him, her eyes wide with awe, reminded you of how she had always romanticized the world.

“Are you the one who sent that email to my aunt?” Lori asked, her voice tinged with a mix of excitement and expectation.

Bucky’s eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t respond, turning his attention back to the road.

Lori turned to you, her eyes glowing with revelation. “I get it. Both of you were spies! But you couldn’t be together because of your jobs! A forbidden love! This is so romantic!”

"!!!!!"

Your jaw dropped, and Bucky’s expression shifted to one of utter disbelief. The two of you exchanged a stunned look, unsure whether to laugh or feel embarrassed by Lori’s innocent but surprisingly accurate guess.

The air in the car seemed to crackle with the weight of her words, as the reality of your intertwined past and present hung in the balance.

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A Christmas Encore | Preview

Part of A Holly, Jolly Holiday with Min Yun-Kay collab with @yooglefics

✎ ˎˊ˗ Pairing: Min Yoongi x female reader

✎ ˎˊ˗ Summary: You never thought you’d see Min Yoongi again, not in this lifetime, not in this place. He left years ago with big dreams and bigger talent, trading snow-covered Seollim Hollow for the city lights of Seoul. But now, with the cultural center—the heart of your hometown—on the verge of being sold to a soulless corporation, you’ll do anything to save it.

When Yoongi appears on your doorstep, it feels like a miracle wrapped in regret. But as the two of you work together to save the center, old promises resurface, along with feelings you thought you’d left behind. Can you trust someone who was never meant to stay? Or will you just get hurt again?

✎ ˎˊ˗ Genre: Childhood Friends to Kinda Lovers to Kinda Strangers to Friends to Lovers (WHAT?! Yeah I got dizzy too) Second chances basically, Fluff, Smut, Mild Angst, Very Hallmark

✎ ˎˊ˗ Posting Date: Surprise drop this Dec 2024

✎ ˎˊ˗ Notes: Hello ho ho. We are back with another Ginger Yoongi fic, because I lub him 🧡

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Silence falls over the group. They’re looking at you, waiting for a solution you don’t have yet. You force a smile and say, “Don’t worry. I’ll figure it out.”

The meeting wraps up, and the others file out, leaving you alone in your office. You sit at your desk, scribbling a to-do list, chewing on the end of your pen. You’ve made a promise, but the cracks in it are already starting to show.

You hear the shuffle of footsteps outside your office and freeze. It’s late. Too late for anyone to still be here. Shit.

Your pulse kicks up as you glance at the coat rack in the corner, grabbing the old baseball bat you keep propped against it. You stand, holding the bat tightly in both hands as you approach the door.

“Hello?” you call out, trying to sound calm but firm.

The figure standing in the doorway doesn’t move. They’re tall, dressed in a black coat, with a ball cap pulled low over their face. Your heart races. An intruder? Someone sent by the corporation to intimidate you?

“I’m calling the police,” you say sharply, raising the bat a little higher.

The figure finally shifts, lifting their hands slightly in surrender. “Relax,” they say, their voice low and familiar. Too familiar.

You freeze. That voice is impossible to mistake.

The man reaches up and tips his cap back, revealing a face that stops you in your tracks. Min Yoongi.

Your mind scrambles to catch up. It’s him. But not exactly how you remember. His eyes are even sharper, his jawline more defined. Tufts of bright hair peaks from his cap. He’s wrapped in a black coat that fits him perfectly, the snow-dusted collar somehow making him look like he’s stepped out of a winter drama.

“What…” Your grip loosens on the bat, and it clatters to the floor. “What are you doing here?”

Yoongi’s mouth quirks into the faintest smile, the same one you’ve seen in every polaroid and Christmas card he’s sent over the years. “Hi,” he says simply, as if he hasn’t just materialized in your life after years of absence.

You stare at him, your thoughts a snowstorm. He looks good—too fuckin’ good, if you’re being honest. But he doesn’t belong here, standing in the doorway of your tiny office like he’s just another guy in town.

And yet, here he is.

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