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seonghwaddict · 2 months

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the lamb and the wolf — park seonghwa

in which all he wanted was someone to love in his dark, lonely world… and then you came along.

hades!park seonghwa x fem!reader. genre. strangers to lovers. fluff. smut. warnings. he’s literally obsessed with mc, ankle injury, alcohol consumption, mention of cannibalism as a metaphor for love but it’s not really explicit, mc is described as innocent, explicit sexual content mdni, oral (f. receiving), unprotected, soft dom!hwa, big dick!hwa, praise, creampie. wc. 7.2k. rating. mature.

lilo’s notes. i’ve been working on this for two-ish months and i’m so happy to finally share it. writing this was fun, i love writing men infatuated with their lovers <33 the letter he reads does not belong to me and comes from “Albert Camus, María Casares. Correspondence (1944-1959)” which is a collection of love letters sent between camus and casares. this particular one is letter #95.

listening to. from persephone, kiki rockwell // sunlight, hozier // liquid smooth, mitski // cinnamon girl, lana del rey // nothing’s gonna hurt you baby, cigarettes after sex

masterlist.

the realm of the dead was terribly dark and cold and, as the name would suggest, barren of life. for seonghwa, the ruler of the underworld who had spent thousands of years in the realm, this hadn’t been a problem before. yet, he couldn’t deny the temptation of the distant sounds of chirping birds and gentle breezes humming through the air above.

he was, of course, free to leave whenever he wished to but more often than not he was busy—ruling over the souls that had passed or meetings with nymphs and the other deities. there had never been an inclination to explore, but somehow he found himself taking curious steps out of the cave entrance to his world.

and that’s where he saw you.

you weren’t a long way away from the entrance to the underworld, idling in a meadow and picking flowers and berries in a woven basket. the sunlight glinted off your rich skin, glistening on you manicured nails as your hands tended to the plants. the slow wind wafted through your soft-looking hair, making it dance in the air. he was entranced by the way the skirt of your dainty silk dress flowed as you moved around, hypnotised by the ivory fabric folding and brushing against your ankle with every step. you were beautiful in every sense of the word—but not the soft and comforting kind. no, not at all. in fact, he was quite alarmed by the notion of being so infatuated with a mortal at first glance.

seonghwa knew he was doomed from the moment he laid eyes on you. he wanted nothing more than for you to glance his way, willing to split himself in half or carve his heart right out of his chest to get a second of your attention. you spoke to yourself softly, muttering about how pretty you thought the little branch of lilac you plucked out of a bush was.

oh, how lovely your voice sounded; even the sun would not compare to it’s dulcet warmth.

a brilliant idea crossed his mind, one that he knew would get you to fall right in his grasp. and minutes later, he was able to conjure up a disturbingly realistic illusion of a rain storm. he descended back into his realm and all he had to do was wait.

you, however, flinched as the first droplets hit you. looking around for shelter, you spotted a cave entrance just a little way ahead, scrambling to sit there and wait for the storm to pass. the ground and walls felt cold against your body, nothing to separate your skin from the dark stone but your gown that was now soaked through and clung to your body.

minutes after you had sat down, a vaguely familiar scent breezed past you and had your head darting to look into the deeper part of the cave. there was no way it came from outside, not a single house in sight as the dewy smell of rain overtook the meadow. so your next most likely assumption was that it came from inside the cave. you stared into the seemingly endless abyss, squinting into the darkness for signs of, well, anything other than rocks and dirt.

and that’s when you saw it. a brief flickering flame, metres away from where you were sat. in the seconds that it lit, you could faintly make out what looked to be a staircase, descending further into a cave. an intrigued hum left you as you pushed yourself up from the ground and walked to the strange stairs, basket of berries and flowers left behind. there’s a reason they say curiosity killed the cat.

it was significantly colder as you stood at the top of the carved stairs, staring as far as you could see before they winded around and further into the unknown. another light came on, this time around the corner the stairs disappeared behind. with a final look at the exit of the cave, you began your unknowing descent into hell.

the light behind you flickered before going out, leaving you in darkness until you passed by the next torch, mounted on the damp stone. you planted your hand on the wall, afraid you’d lose your footing as each flame only lit the foreign path temporarily. the deeper you went, the colder you got. by the time you thought the stairs were endless, you could see faint puffs of white air emerging from your shaking lips with each breath you took. shivers ran through your body occasionally, your wet dress not doing anything to keep you warm.

just when you were going to give up and turn around to return to the surface, you stumbled at the unexpected absence of yet another step. your faint wince echoed through the small space as you rolled your ankle, instinctively holding yourself against the stone wall. your hand slipped from the wall for a second, a pebble falling and rolling until it stopped with an odd “clink.” you looked up in confusion to see what made the pebble stop with such a sound. looking with wide, bewildered eyes, a black and engraved set of double doors stood a few steps ahead of you. had they been there the whole time?

maybe someone lived there, someone who could help you. your father kept you safe and sound for as long as you could remember, teaching you to always see the best in people, rendering you a little sheltered and much too kind. perhaps this is what made you so trusting as you forced yourself to walk to the doors on limping legs. both doors had beautiful metal knockers mounted on them. the rusted brass resembled three dog heads, a heavy metal ring hanging from the snout of the dog in the middle. more than mildly nervous and with cold, shaking hands, you reached forward and tentatively lifted the ring of the right door before letting it knock against the dark wood.

moments later it swung open, held by a tall, pale-skinned man with slim fingers. for a moment you forgot what you were there for, caught off guard by the sharp eyes that looked down at you. your warm breath swirled in the air as you finally pieced together a sentence.

“i’m sorry, sir, but… i-i really meant to leave but i hurt my ankle…” you spoke quietly, your voice an octave higher than it usually was.

his gaze softened, the light of a torch on the wall reflecting in his dark eyes, and he smiled down at you as he opened the door wider and stepped aside. “oh, you poor thing. please, come inside.”

seonghwa watched you walk past him and into this home he had conjured up just for your arrival. it was quite dark, illuminated by a fireplace and candelabras decorating shelves and tables. he didn’t care enough to provide more light, completely entranced by the way you kneeled in front of the hearth, hands outstretched to warm them by the fire. they looked so much smaller compared to his. seeing you up close made his heart skip a beat, he wanted nothing more than to lay his hands on your smooth skin, run them through your damp hair, pat the thin and wet flowing dress dry and keep you warm. droplets of the rain ran from the top of you head down your face slowly, occasionally getting caught in your eyebrows or the corner of your beautiful lips.

he wondered fleetingly if they felt as soft as they looked. another bead of rain made it past your features, trailing past your jawline and neck. his eyes tracked it but when it disappeared under the fabric covering your chest, he refused to continue looking.

you felt his presence standing beside you a moment later, drawing your eyes—your naïve, innocent eyes—to look up at him. he offered you a hand to help you stand.

“come, love, let me take a look at your ankle,” he smiled at you kindly, pulling you up helpfully as you took his hand. once you stood, you stumbled slightly, accidentally putting weight on your injured ankle and wincing. one of his arm quickly looped itself around your waist, holding you up against him so you wouldn’t fall.

his touch was gentle yet you felt a certain firmness to it, feeling as if his warm hand was searing through your cold gown. your cheeks burned and you looked away shyly, something that had him biting back a smile as he guided you to sit at one of the sofas. he was mildly surprised by how small and delicate you felt in his arms. you felt fragile. there was something so seductive about that, the thought of breaking you in the most intimate of ways. but soon he had to let you go. after you settled into the cushions of the seat, his movements caught your eye.

your jaw nearly dropped when you saw him kneeling on the ground before you. though you weren’t aware of it, something made you so special that you had a god getting on the ground on his knees in front of a mortal. his dark eyes found yours, voice as gentle as it had been the whole time.

“may i?”

when you gave him a small nod, not trusting yourself to say anything, his hand grazed your calf before gently wrapping around your ankle and lifting it to rest on his thigh. despite his intimidating and malicious role among the deities, he was softer with you than anyone could ever imagine. he slipped off your shoe but kept your sock on, dragging the ruffled trim just under your heel so he could inspect the swelling at your ankle. the ruffles tickled you as he moved it, eliciting the most melodic giggle he’d ever heard.

when he glanced up at you, a smile stretched your tempting lips and making your smooth cheeks swell as you looked back down at him. he couldn’t help but smile, endeared by everything you did.

“it tickles.” you explained through another giggle, looking down at him. as his gaze returned to your ankle, you took note of how close he was. if he leaned forward just a little he’d be able to brush his plump lips along your knees. he knew that, of course, since he planned it. every touch, every position, every word had been meticulously planned, it was no surprise to him how close be found himself.

well, other than you getting injured, everything had been planned.

his slender finger pressed against different areas of your swollen ankle with featherlight pressure, gauging where it hurt most. you winced occasionally, but a certain spot made you flinch and whimper.

“there?” he whispered, looking up at you. his gaze was still tender as he gazed at you, his fingers pressing against that spot again with just a little more pressure. you knew he needed to check if it was really that spot, but in reality he wanted nothing more than to hear those lovely sounds tumble from your lips. to his delight, you did just that, bottom lip quivering slightly with the sound as you nodded. his gaze fell to your lips and he imagined kissing you, sucking your lower lip into his mouth, but he refocused his thoughts on your injury quickly.

“how did you even hurt yourself like this?” his other hand moved to the knee of your uninjured leg, thumb brushing small circles soothingly.

“i missed a step on the stairs and rolled my ankle.” you frowned slightly, the cute downturn if the corners of your lips almost making him coo at you. you leaned forward to catch a glimpse of your ankle but it was hard to see in the dim light provided by the fireplace and various candelabras around on shelves.

“i see… how careless of you, dear,” he tutted, fingers tapping against your knee absentmindedly, “but it’s okay, don’t worry. it’s just a small injury… wait here for a moment while i go get something, alright?”

you nodded once more and he got up, disappearing through a doorway as your eyes traced over his figure. you looked around the room as you waited patiently. it was a simple sitting room slash entrance area at first glance, but upon looking closer you found there were many little breathtaking details littered around for those who cared enough to find them. intricately embroidered golden designs decorating the wine red carpet beneath your feet, the shelves lining the wall on either side of the fireplace stocked with worn books neatly.

silent brisk steps drew your eyes back to him as the handsome stranger returned, a little glass bottle and roll of bandages held in his hands. his cheeks warmed at the sight of you sitting there so pretty and obediently. seonghwa kneeled in front of you once again and brought your foot to the same position as before.

“i’m going to apply this,” he held up the bottle for you to see, a mysterious deep blue liquid swishing around inside, “it’ll be cold and it might hurt a bit, but i promise to be gentle, okay?” after you nodded silently, he uncapped the bottle and poured a bit into his hand. “i’ll need you to stay still and relax. can you do that for me, love?”

after you gave him a muttered ‘yes’ he flattened his palm over the swelling. true to his word, the liquid he had poured into his hand was icy cold and stung a little as he rubbed it in as gently as possible. if you had to describe the feeling, you’d compared it to hundred of pinpricks concentrated on one area. it was uncomfortable, to say the least.

your eyes squeezed shut and your hands dug into the couch beneath you. you felt his touch leave your knee but a second later his hand found it’s way to yours, slipping between your fingers for you to hold him instead of tearing up his couch. he squeezed reassuringly and his heart swelled when you squeezed back.

before you knew it, his warm voice filled the silence of the room. “all done. you can open your eyes now, darling, you did so well.”

you eyes opened slowly at his words and looked down. he was peering up at you with round caring eyes, making your stomach flutter. his hand on your ankle lingered before he pulled away so you could have a look at the bandages wrapped around it skilfully, his other hand still intertwined with yours.

“thank you…?” you trailed off, indirectly asking for his name. despite him being a stranger, you somehow trusted this handsome man with your life. perhaps it was because he had shown you nothing but kindness thus far, every one of his actions illuminating warmth and care.

“of course. the ointment works fairly quickly, so you should be free to walk around just fine for a few hours at least,” his lips tugged into a small grin. he thought you were so cute, too shy to be upfront about your interest in him.

he wasn’t blind, your increased heart rate below his touch didn’t go unnoticed by him. for a moment, he considered lying to you—introducing you to an identity that didn’t exist in fear that you’d run away from him once he revealed himself. however, soon enough he came to the conclusion that he wanted you to love him, not some made up caricature. besides, he didn’t have to tell you about his occupation just yet. “it’s seonghwa.”

you tested the syllables on your tongue and he could’ve sworn honey poured right out of your mouth with how sweet you sounded. he nodded encouragingly and you gave him your name. he decided it fit you and your serene disposition. you watched with a warming face as he lifted your hand to his lips, eyes locked on yours as he kissed your knuckles.

“pleasure to make your acquaintance, love.” he winked smoothly before standing from the ground, pulling you off the couch with him. his eyes glanced down at your dress. it was still wet but not nearly as drenched as it was before, though it still clung to your body, teasing him. “you must be uncomfortable. if you want, i probably have a change of clothes for you.”

you smiled at his invitation gratefully, nodding. “i’d love that, thank you.”

“down that hall,” he pointed in the direction he went earlier to get that odd liquid, “the second door on the right is a bedroom. you’ll find some clothes in the closet, i think they’ll fit you.”

you took a step towards the hall before stopping and turning around to look at him with a questioning gaze. it didn’t take a genius to figure out what you were thinking. he fumbled to find a convincing excuse, speaking slowly. “my, uh, sister used to live with me but she moved away recently, so her clothes are still there.”

the explanation satisfied you and he watched as you followed his instructions, eyes drawn to the way you hips swayed slightly with each step. you stepped through the door he told you to, yellow candlelight seeping into the hallway before you closed it behind you. but it didn’t close fully and left you visible through the sliver. he forced his eyes away when he caught a glimpse of you pulling your gown off yourself.

just as he said, you found many suitable clothes in the shelves of the wooden dresser. the room itself was quite plain, though the bed looked more than comfortable. there were many options, though all of them seemed to be dresses of some kind. long or short, dark or pastel, silk or cotton, and everything in between. finally you settled on a flowy white nightgown, the skirt brushing against your thighs. you pulled on some clean socks and slippers and dried your hair as best you could with a towel you found before stepping out to join him in the sitting room again.

but when you got there, he was nowhere to be found. looking around in confusion, you breathed a sigh if relief when you heard him call your name for another room, beckoning you to join him. upon entering said room, it quickly became apparent it was a dining room.

the walls were practically black, much like the rest of the house so far, and made the room appear much darker than it probably actually was despite the multiple candelabras on the long wooden table and the extravagant chandelier hanging from the ceiling. he sat at the chair on the left of the head of the table, a meal set in front of the head. he gestured for you take a seat in front of it. you obliged quickly.

his eyes roamed over your figure, lips parting in a soft exhale at the sight of your bare thighs. fleetingly, he came to the conclusion he wanted to bury his head between them, let them squeeze and suffocate him as he ravished you. before he could further entertain those thoughts, the squeak of the chair brought him out of his head.

“i figured you’d be hungry, so i made a little something for you,” he spoke as you got comfortable in the seat, pushing a glass of water towards you, “i hope it’s up to your standards, dear.”

you gazed down at the bowl of what appeared to be chicken soup with vegetables before looking back up at him. “you’re too kind, really, you didn’t have to do all this for me.”

he was more than delighted by your kindness and manners, looking at him so cutely with the candlelight dancing in your eyes magically. “no but i did have to. i can’t have you sitting here, injured and starved… plus, it’s nice to have company.”

“oh?” his final sentence piqued your interest, fiddling with the handle of your spoon. “you don’t get a lot of company?”

he really didn’t, other than the souls that made down here after their bodies passed on. but that’s a conversation for another time. he shook his head slightly, lifting a glass of wine you hadn’t noticed before to his lips. he let it sit in his mouth for a moment before swallowing it and returning his gaze to you.

“not very often, no…” he explained slowly, setting the glass back on the table with a quiet clink before folding his hands beside it, elegant as ever, “people don’t tend to come all the way down here and i don’t tend to invite people over.”

a frown tugged at you lips and you turned your gaze away, feeling slightly ashamed. “i’m sorry to have bothered your peace then, seonghwa.”

he tensed, hands gripping each other just a little tighter. why on earth were you ashamed, why were you apologising? he reached over and placed a hand over your free one, momentarily distracted by how soft it felt in his grip before he was quick to reassure you. “oh no, darling, don’t you dare apologise. you’re not bothering me at all, really. it’s been a long time since i’ve enjoyed someone’s company this much.”

“r-really?” you finally looked at him again, the warmth returning to his stomach as he faintly noticed one of the straps threatening to fall off your shoulder.

“really,” he reaffirmed, turning your hand over so he could hold it properly, “i should be thanking you, if anything.”

you averted your gaze once again, this time feeling shy rather than ashamed; a fact that had him grinning. soon enough, you began eating your soup, humming at the taste approvingly after the first taste. you conversed leisurely as you ate, jumping from subject to subject naturally as if you’d known each other for years. you asked him why he wasn’t eating with you, to which he said he’d already eaten and didn’t feel hungry. this was, of course, a lie since deities like him don’t need to eat anyway.

eventually, you finished, slumping back in your seat with a yawn. “that was absolutely amazing. thank you, hwa.”

the new nickname had his cheeks tinting a soft pink but he hid it quickly. he watched you yawn. somehow everything you did felt adorable to him, the urge to scoop you up in his arms to hold you tightly and kiss you softly growing stronger by the second. if he weren’t a man with unrivalled self-restraint and patience, he would’ve done it by now.

“someone’s tired, huh?” he cooed at you, crossing one leg over the other. “you should go sleep in the room you got the clothes from. i’d prefer for you to stay until your ankle is fully healed, just in case.”

you nodded slowly, another yawn ripped from your throat as you got up and stretched your arms over your head. the movement caused the skirt of your nightgown to ride up, his breath hitching as he realised if it went up any further head be able to see your lacy white undergarments you’d borrowed from the dresser too. he distracted himself with a chuckle, standing up and guiding you out of the dining room to the bedroom by the small of your back.

before you knew it, you were on your back on the bed of the bedroom that supposedly belonged to his sister. your dress fell over your body entrancingly, tempting his hungry eyes as he stood over you, adoring the way your hair laid on the satin pillow. you turned to your side and curled up with your knees pulled to your chest. he caught a glimpse of your lacy panties before they fell over the swell of your ass as if they hadn’t moved in the first place.

thoughts swarmed his mind, none of them appropriate. he imagined your legs wrapped around his waist, burying himself into the curve of your neck, sculpted for his face to fit right there. he longed to feel your soft curves against his fingers, not a single layer of clothing separating you.

“hwa?” the way you said his name made his thoughts snap to reality as his eyes found yours. the nickname sounded so wonderful with your voice, he wanted to bottle up the sound and keep it safe on a shelf for the rest of eternity. not only that, but the way you looked at him, lips parted softly with small breaths, cheeks flushed, and eyes looking wide and innocent. oh, how innocent you smelled to him. he was torn between preserving it and corrupting it.

“yes, love?” he whispered back, brushing a strand of your hair from you face as casually as possible.

“thank you… for everything,” you whispered, peering up at him with those same glittering round eyes, “i’ll be sure to repay you for your kindness when i can.”

“there’s no need, really. it’s nothing,” he chuckled quietly, gaze flitting all over your features—you fluttering eyelashes, the slope of your nose, the curve of your neck, the slight upturn of the corners of your lips. he took a deep breath as discreetly as possible, reminding himself that there was a chance he wouldn’t be able to convince you to stay with him, he shouldn’t get too attached just yet.

somehow, he held himself back from pulling you into his arms and kissing you breathless. he pulled his hand back after letting his thumb brush against your cheekbone for a moment.

“i’ll let you rest now,” he whispered, “sleep well. i’ll see you in the morning, love.”

you muttered a soft ‘goodnight, hwa’ in return before he was out of the room and shutting the door a second later.

the door clicked shut and you heard his footsteps getting more and more distant. you let out another quiet yawn, pulling the comfortable blanket over your body and up to your chin. your room was quiet, the silence oddly comforting. something about the place had that feel and despite being so far underground, it didn’t feel claustrophobic at all. you compared it to home, your parents always bickering with each other or taking out their frustrations on you. it felt nice to be in a quiet space again, and you briefly wondered if you could stay a little longer than another day.

your eyelids became heavier with each blink in the dark before they ultimately closed completely, pulling you into a deep sleep.

though you didn’t expect it to last so long, over a week passed and you were still staying with him in his little cave house. you didn’t mind, of course, since he took such great care of you. in the week, you’d grown closer, treating each other like lovers though neither of you brought it up. he’d let you sit in his lap and you’d let him brush his fingers through your hair.

you stirred awake, one day short of having spent two weeks with him. today was one of those days where he’d gone out to run some errands, trusting you enough to leave you alone. with not much to do, you usually sat in his little library or took a nap until the evening. this time you chose the latter.

some hair clung to the thin layer of sweat on your forehead, your blanket displaced and only covering half of your left leg, having kicked it off in your sleep. for a second you couldn’t remember where you were, but memories of the previous days returned quickly and you relaxed before sitting up and looking around the room. the candle had stayed on overnight, providing light in a place where windows really couldn’t exist.

there was no indication of the time other than a clock on one of the bedside tables. assuming it was functional and accurate, it was 10:24 in the evening. you hummed, surprised you’d slept so much when usually you’d be awake hours before that. with a quiet groan, you realised there was no point in going back to bed, pulling yourself off the mattress and to the door.

you reached for the door handle but paused, pulling back to check yourself in the mirror. not wanting to look like a mess in front of seonghwa, you readjusted your dress so it sat on your body properly and tried your best to make your hair appear less messy. only then did you tiptoe your way out of your bedroom and to the sitting room.

he was back already, sat on the couch and readings a book, back straight and one leg crossed elegantly over the other. he wore something different. instead of the loose white shirt, black briefs and black corset, he now wore a black vest that had sheer black sleeves with black briefs. the neckline of his vest dipped low, revealing the lean muscles of his chest. you forced yourself to look away, settling into the armchair across from him, separated by a long coffee table.

“i don’t bite, you know,” he spoke without looking up from his book, sounding amused that you sat so far away after how close you’d been the night before.

your daze cracked, chuckling as you stood and walking around the coffee table to sit beside him on his right. though you weren’t touching, a few centimetres of space between you, you could feel his body heat radiating off him. he glanced down at your exposed thighs briefly before continuing to read, or at least trying to. his eyes were stuck on the same line for a minute, distracted by the way you leaned your head on his shoulder to read with him.

he contemplated pulling you onto his lap, missing the feel of your weight against him like the night before. you had insisted for him to carry you to bed, pouty and tired, and when he did, he had a hard time letting go of you and ended up sitting with his back against the headboard with you snuggled safely on his lap until you fell asleep.

knowing you wouldn’t mind, he moved his right arm around your waist, slipping his hand down to your hip to make pulling you onto his lap easier. once you were there, straddling him so prettily, he let you rest the side of your head on his shoulder, your nose brushing against his neck as he tried his best to maintain his focus on his book. to the world he was a merciless king, but with you in his lap he was tender and caring.

you shifted your head, trying to look down at the book he was reading. your breath tickled him as you spoke. “what’re you reading?”

“oh,” he turned the book over for you to see the title. he let you read over, revelling in the feeling of your nose and lips accidentally grazing his neck. it tested every inch if his patience. feeling your heart beat against his chest and wanting so desperately to crawl into your ribcage, cradling your heart in his hands and peppering the beating muscle with kisses. he cleared his throat. “it’s a collection of poetry and letters.”

“you like poetry?” you giggled quietly and he swore he could taste the sweetness of it.

“i do,” he nodded, the tips of his ears dusted a rosy pink, “would you like me to read some to you?”

the offer made you feel giddy for some reason, glancing up at him with a grin as you nodded. you could only imagine how poetry would sound spoken by his divine voice.

seonghwa snickered at your excitement, flipping through the pages of his book to find something worthy of your ears. he stopped at a page near the end, his hand dropping back to your hip as he began reading. he traced a finger over your hipbone as he did, the light pressure making you squirm lightly in his lap.

“i have never surrendered myself entirely to anyone but you, and only recently. and to let my heart speak, when i am pressed against you, is an emotion and a peace that overflows all imagination.”

by the time he finished reading it, you were holding your breath, heart hammering against your ribs so hard you had no doubt he’d be able to feel it. the way he said it sounded less like a recitation and more like a confession, your stomach buzzing with anticipation as you sat up to look at him face to face, eye to eye, your hands resting on his chest.

your touch drove him to insanity. the soft press of your fingers against his vest, making it that much harder to hold himself back. he wanted to hold you against him forever. to inhale your scent so that his lungs would depend on you and only you. to touch you, to kiss you, to knit your flesh to his so you’d never leave him, to devour you, consume you. he wanted to do it all.

he could only whisper, “may i?”

his words echoed what he said before tending to your ankle two weeks prior, the day you first met him. that felt so long ago, a nostalgic smile tugging at your lips as you nodded.

his hand squeezed you hip gently while the other moved to cup your jaw, wasting no time in pulling your face to his. it was a slow, reverent kiss that filled every inch of your senses with warmth. your lips felt softer than he imagined. when your lips finally touched, your fingers curled into his vest, sighing against his lips softly.

he shuddered at the sound, pulling your hips tighter against him and pressing his lips against yours a little harder, your body perfectly molded to his as if that’s where you belonged. his tongue ran along your bottom lip, not pushing into your mouth, just tasting you enough to satiate his growing hunger. despite the way your hips rolled against him, guided by his hand and eliciting subtle gasps against his lips, he couldn’t help but still find you so sweet, so innocent, as you let him kiss you breathless.

in a way, you reminded him of a little lamb, hunted by a wolf. one could say you had tamed him. he could easily tear out your throat, add you to his collection of souls, yet he decided to kiss you instead. kiss you so softly your cheeks warmed.

the next time your eyes fluttered open, you somehow found yourself in your room, still on his lap as he sat on the edge. his kisses slowed, being replaced with repeated pecks before he pulled away fully to rest his forehead against yours, panting.

he sighed your name and for a second you felt the world stop, the sound making your head spin. “darling, please, let me taste you.”

your breath hitched at his whispered request, suddenly aware of your panties sticking to your wet core. wordlessly, you nodded and he manoeuvred you to lay on your back, making sure your head rested on your pillow comfortably.

he kissed your forehead, then your lips. from there he kissed his way further down over your nightgown—your jaw, neck, shoulder, collarbone, the valley of your breast, your stomach, hipbones, the top of your pelvis—all the while murmuring praises of how beautiful you were. his hands rested on your waist and moved down to your thighs, spreading them apart without resistance as he kneeled between them.

with a final look at your curious face, looking down and following his every action with your eyes, he dragged the end of your skirt up, revealing more and more of your smooth thighs and baby blue cotton panties. he thought they were cute as he let the dress bunch up at your waist, leaning down to kiss the little satin bow of your undergarments before hooking his finger through them.

he began dragging them down but stopped abruptly when you place a hand over his own, worried eyes darting to look at you. all you had to do was say the word and he’d stop.

“no one has ever… you know,” you blushed, too shy to say no one had ever eaten you out, only giving your lower half a meaningful glance.

relieved, he chuckled lowly and kissed the hand atop his. “you know i’ll be careful, darling. just relax, okay?”

once you relaxed as he told you to, he slipped his fingers between yours, using his other hand to slip your underwear down and off you, tossing them in a random direction before finally taking a look at the parts of you he craved the most. he nearly moaned at the sight of your pink folds, glistening in the dim light as your engorged clit begged for his attention.

leaning down to kiss your inner thighs first, his tongue slid between your folds, licking an experimental stripe from your hole to your clit, drawing a soft whine from you. he himself groaned at the taste, the sweet nectar that seeped from your body.

“fuck, you taste so good.”

your thighs quivered around his head as he pushed his face deep into your heat, lapping up your juices and sucking at your nub with the desperation of a starved man. each prod of his tongue had your breath shaking, whimpering, as he drove you closer and closer to the edge. before, you figured it would feel good, but not quite this delicious.

when you came, you came with a faint cry of his name, body arching of the bed. your hand that didn’t hold his moved to his hair at some point during his meal, tugging softly as your juices gushed out and you twitched from overstimulation, his tongue unrelenting and determined to swallow every last drop of your release.

he pulled away as you tugged at his hair, moving his torso up your body to kiss you. it was less a kiss and more feverish presses against each other, his tongue wandering between your teeth and making you taste yourself. you couldn’t taste much, but to his sensitive taste buds you were the sweetest thing he’d ever had.

his hips pressed against yours and your breath hitched, feeling the weight of his erection straining against his pants and nudging your aching clit. he pulled back from your lips, searching your eyes for any sign that you wanted to stop. but you only nodded encouragingly and he grinned, his lips moving to your neck as he helped you sit up so he could pull your dress off you and finally see everything he’d been fantasising about.

he detached his lips from your pulse point to pull it the rest of the way and toss it in a random direction, his eyes trained on your breasts. they were just as pretty as he imagined, nudging you to lay down again so he could take one erect nipple into his mouth and suck and lick and kiss it and around it.

“you look so pretty right now, love,” he muttered against your skin as he kissed his way to your other breast, his hands working on releasing himself from his pants while yours unbuttoned his vest, hands shaking with want.

you closed your eyes and leaned your head back against your pillow, your fingers gripping onto his bare shoulders as he dragged his tip through your folds, gathering your wetness. he kissed your cheek.

“tell me if anything hurts, okay?”

only once you breathed an ‘okay’ did he begin pushing in. he was blessed with a cock so big and perfect it hit every sensitive spot in your walls with precision as his length filled you slowly. his tip alone had you gasping softly, moaning incoherently as your eyes rolled back and fell shut, the stretch somehow pleasing you.

when he bottomed out, his eyes were drawn to the way he could see himself pressing through the bottom of your stomach, groaning as he passed his hand over the area and felt the bump. he stilled inside you, not moving until you told him so.

“p-please move, hwa.”

his pace throughout was relaxed, slow but not painfully slow, just enough roughness to his grinds to leave you breathless without tipping you over the edge just yet. it was when his hand slipped under your waist and angled you differently that you began feeling the familiar knot tighten in your abdomen.

he had a hard time stopping himself from releasing the moment he entered you, your walls hugging him so perfectly he choked back a moan with each stroke. everything about you felt as if you’d been made for him to worship, for him to indulge in. before you had come along, there was that occasional craving of romance, of wanting someone. he longed for someone to hold his hand, whose eyes replied to his so lovingly.

and there you were, beneath him, squeezing one of his hands while your dilated pupils showed him just how much you wanted him too.

you bit down on your bottom lip to hold back your sounds, something that made him chuckle and kiss the bridge of your nose. “don’t be shy, i want to hear you.”

his quiet praises made your face warm, letting out the softest of moans as his words shot straight to your core.

“you take me so well, love.” “you’re so precious and all mine.” “keep your eyes on me, darling.”

at some point his deep slow strokes grew needy and faster, pounding against your g-spot repeatedly as moans and whimpers of the two of you filled the room, hot breaths mingling with each other. your next orgasm crashed down on you with little warning, your walls squeezing around him as he muffled your sounds with his lips.

he came soon after that, filling you with his release after you had told him it was okay. his face dropped into the crook of your neck, cock twitching until his body slumped against yours.

after cleaning you up with a damp towel and slipping a new pair of panties over your legs, he joined you in bed once more and wrapped his arms around you. your legs tangled together and your chest pressed against his, your head tucked under his chin as you drifted back to sleep, lazy kisses placed onto the crown of your head.

he sighed softly and shut his eyes, filled with thoughts. now that he’s had you, he could hardly see himself letting go of you. but why would he? you were all he wanted and more.

networks. @cromernet @wonderlandnet @cultofdionysusnet @pirateeznet

permanent taglist. @ad0rechuu @sankatchu @mlink64 @yeosangsbb @seonghwasbbgirl @likexaxdaydream @dreamingofyeo @yalyallic @yunhoswrldddd @coffee-addict-kitten @thunderous-wolf @chngbnwf

#cromernet #wonderlandnet #cultofdionysusnet #pirateeznet #ateez x reader #ateez #park seonghwa smut #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa headcanons #seonghwa angst #seonghwa fluff #seonghwa imagines #ateez reactions #ateez smut #ateez fluff

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definitelynotshouting · 6 months

Text

MAJOR SPOILERS FOR THE FINALE OF SECRET LIFE!!!!!

so i sped-wrote this as soon as i learned who the winner was this morning, tried to post it twice, tumblr mobile deleted it BOTH TIMES... but i will not be silenced ive finally gone to desktop /silly

this will go up on my rough draft pseud soon, but until then please enjoy the results of me being EXTREMELY unwell about the secret life finale. WOOOOOO WE ARE POPPING THE BIGGEST OF BOTTLES TODAY FR!!!!!!!!!!!

Grian barricades himself at the top of the highest tower of Tango's citadel the moment he wakes up. It's a calculated move, admittedly. There are a precious few places one might still find him if he truly wants to hide, but the Deep Frost Citadel isn't one of them— and with the second Decked Out coming to a ceremonious close, foot traffic here is perilously low. Dawn is a swift-approaching knife on the horizon, and Grian soars above it all, face numb with chill wind, wings brazen and feathers strewn across an empty sky.

He doesn't want to be near when Scar wakes. And he doesn't want to be found just yet, either. Oh, Scar will track him down. Of that, he has no doubt— but for now, Grian takes solace in the snow crunching underfoot as he locks himself inside this barren tower.

It's dark here, which suits Grian just fine. He doesn't bother lighting a lantern; instead, he huddles right on the floor, letting the ice seep through him. From here, he can just make out the sky as it lightens, bringing with it the dawn of a new victor. Nausea boils in his throat. With that victory comes a price, and Scar— And Grian— Well. Grian hasn't treated him very well throughout the games, now, has he?

He curls in on himself even further, feathers brushing along the length of his chilled arms. Each hair stands at attention, in some vain effort to pull warmth from the surrounding freeze— when he scrubs a hand along his arm, his fingers shake, and the gooseflesh remains stark and raised against his skin.

There was a sand-drenched point when the concept of warmth was all he could register— scorching wind scraping the cut on his cheek, the scarlet splatter of blood across split knuckles. And like the steady drain of life from a corpse, that warmth has drawn away, poison from a putrid wound— it leaves him compacting this cold, this loneliness, to mold it into four high walls around his heart; a fitting tribute to every grain of trust he's rightfully lost. Grian huffs the barest traces of a bitter laugh as his breath mists in the air. A better man would meet Scar at his base, extend his support, no matter how icily it might be met.

But Grian is selfish, and a coward, and will always be a coward— and so instead he sits, marrow freezing, with only the thin garrotte of paltry sunlight wrapping itself around his tender throat to keep him company.

And there he stays, motionless, for long enough that the chill makes a home in him— the glistening, pale yolk of the sun warns him of the passing time, a watery heat that counts down the seconds to minutes to hours until Scar finds him. Grian curls his wings around himself, a pitiful embrace, and waits.

Two hours later, the whistle of rocket-propelled elytra warn him of incoming company. Grian doesn't bother fleeing; he knows Scar, and Scar knows him, and with this last, missing puzzle piece finally slotting into place between them, he's under no illusions that staying hidden for long is feasible. Grian's eyes skitter to a crack on the far wall as clumsy footsteps scatter the snow outside, scrabbling for balance before the muted click of a cane joins them. Footsteps; another, louder click— the door's latch gives way, and a brief, blinding wave of light crashes over Grian's face, obscuring everything but the outline of a painfully familiar silhouette.

Grian has to look away. The door shuts, and for a small moment, neither of them so much as breathe.

Then Scar's sighs— one great, resigned gust. "Grian...."

He says nothing else. He doesn't have to. Grian draws his legs up to his chest in response anyway, heart a frozen pump bleeding ice into his very veins. What can he say? An apology? They're past apologies, now— if Scar wanted to disavow him forever, take the crumpled remains of their friendship and throw it at his feet, he'd be right to do so.

But Scar doesn't shout; neither does he leave. Instead, his cane taps forward, boots sliding into Grian's line of vision— and, with a grunt of effort, Scar eases himself down, until he's sitting at a safe diagonal from Grian's hunched form.

Neither of them say anything for a while.

Eventually, Grian licks his lips. They're chapped from cold, thin and ready to split. "Hi, Scar," he says softly. It comes out weak, thready— a barely-there declaration. Whatever Scar wants here... he can take it. It's the very least Grian can do at this point.

From the corner of his eye, he watches Scar settle, shifting his weight before he lands on something approximating comfort. He takes his time with it, blind— or uncaring— to the erratic snarl of Grian's pulse. His voice is just as quiet when he responds. "So... that's it, then, huh."

Grian glances over properly before he can stop himself, stomach churning; Scar's gaze has slipped to the cutout acting as a window, middle-distant and lost. Locked on something only he can see. Then Scar shakes himself, an abrupt jerk of his head and shoulders, and that glassy look turns to pin Grian directly to the wall behind him instead. "Just like that?"

Grian's fingers tighten around his knees. "Just like that," he agrees, hollow.

Scar mulls that over for a moment. His sigh is a wisp of white in front of them, crystallizing in the glacial atmosphere. "Jeez," he says finally, scrubbing one hand through the tangled bird's nest of his hair. He must have flown across half the server as soon as he... remembered, Grian realizes with a visceral pang. "I didn't... that's a lot of memories to just, um, gain back on a dime, huh?"

Grian darts a sidelong glance at him. Shifts his wings until their primaries lower, sweeping the ground around his feet like a feathered cat's cradle. "I wouldn't know," he says, a quirk of black humor dancing around the edges of his mouth. He swallows. "Since. Well...."

He trails off. Imagines, briefly, that he is a black hole— a quasar. A neutron star. Something so tight and compact it can string him out, erase him; a ball of grief and misery dense enough that it contains its own event horizon.

Scar hums a little shakily into the blooming silence. "Yeah. I guess that would complicate things, wouldn't it." A pause. "Does it always feel—?"

Grian shrugs. "Don’t know that either, Scar."

"Oh." Scar's still looking at him, the searchlight of his gaze burning pockmarks into Grian's skin. "Cool, okay... so...." He hesitates, teeth worrying his lower lip, before finally forging on: "So what now?"

Grian sucks in his own shuddery breath. "Whatever you want, Scar," he says, blank and dull. Every inch of him frozen stiff, awaiting the tipped scales of Scar’s judgement. "There's no going back, after this." The quicksilver flash of a grimace tugs his lips back to reveal sharp, white teeth. "Welcome to the club, I guess."

"It sure is a warm welcome," Scar says weakly. "Got— uh, got your complimentary balloons, and— and um, a whole gift basket of... of...."

He trails off too, the fragile ley lines of his humor peeling off, cracking at the seams. Impossibly, Grian curls around himself tighter.

An apology is nothing but wasted air now, but it dredges from his throat anyway. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry, Scar. I—" He breaks off, jaw tight. "I'm... I'm not sure what else to say, honestly. I never thought...."

I never thought you'd win. It's a cruel phrase that haunts the air between them, hanging like a smoky pall across their shoulders.

Scar says nothing against it; he only watches.

An uneasy prickle crawls up Grian's spine. "You don't—" He stops himself before he can finish that thought. "Are you— Scar, why are you here?"

"'Cause Pearl's not talking to me yet," Scar says quietly, prompt. "And— and because I remembered. Us."

Grian's throat closes around the word. "Us," he echoes, a rough rasp that ricochets against the deepslate walls surrounding them. The word tears through his ears, distorting with each pass. "Look, alright— I-I don't know if you got the memo, exactly, but— I'm not—"

He breaks off again, lungs jarring, hitching in his chest. Hot prickles sear behind his eyes, but nothing drops— he’s too tired for crying. "I've hurt you a lot, Scar," Grian says at last, lips numb around the words. "I'm not sure if there's much of an 'us' left, at this point."

"I know," Scar says. His eyes reflect the snow-glitter outside.

"And— I wouldn't blame you, if you left right now."

"I know," Scar says again, softer.

"I—” Grian stares at him, helpless. "Okay, then why are you here, Scar?" He gestures between them, an aimless motion that somehow encompasses the breadth of everything that's rotted at their foundations. "If you know all that, then what—?"

Scar regards him with enviable poise. His throat bobs as he speaks. "Maybe, I just— now that I remember— maybe I just want your company, Grian. Is that really so bad?"

Grian stares at him, at a loss. "I don't understand," he says finally, and it comes out plaintive even to his own ears. "I thought you'd be— angry. After everything I've done, after all that's happened.... What's your play here, Scar? If you want to yell at me, be my guest. I think by now I've more than earned it."

But Scar doesn't take the bait. Instead, he shuffles closer— just by an inch. A careful, cautious inch. "Y'know," he says, apropos of nothing, "and correct me if I'm wrong, here— but I seem to remember something about you wanting an alliance before all of... that crazy stuff happened. Is that right?"

Something in Grian's chest spasms. Whatever expression it spreads across his face must spur Scar on, because he scoots closer again, just enough to bring their calves together. The brief shock of warmth explodes through Grian's skin, worming its way underneath the subcutaneous tissue to flood his veins and gnaw at the lingering ice.

After a moment, Scar's lips tilt up— a subtle, fragile smile. "Is it too late to cash in on that?" he asks.

Grian's mind goes blank, white and buzzing, the thin hiss of a creeper drifting through it like smoke. Unfiltered shock threads through his voice. "You want t— what?"

Scar's smile tempers further around its edges, stretching into something softer, knowing. Rounded out. With solemn motions, he reaches into the pocket of his utterly ridiculous safety vest, and delicately pulls something out.

It's a sunflower.

In the frigid gloom of Tango's citadel, Grian gapes, the brilliant yellow petals incongruous with this grim, grit, darkened room. When he looks up, Scar's eyes are overbright, painfully earnest— brimming with a desperate urgency that tucks itself away in the depths of his pupils.

"Can we try again?" Scar says, soft as the new-fallen snow beyond this isolated cell of misery. "Start over? I— I kind of hurt you too, you know. And— for the record, being without you sucks. I don't—" He falters. "I know it's gonna be all weird, y’know, between us… but I don't want to do that anymore. I just... want you here, Grian. That's all. I just want you to stick around."

Grian sucks in a sharp, daggered breath. "You're joking," he breathes, but his heart leaps, tumbling from his throat and onto the floor for Scar to stomp at his leisure. "You're actually— this isn't funny."

"Hey, do you see me laughing?” Scar presses forward once more, a calculated attack, but still slow enough for Grian to track each move, to stop him if he cared enough to. Gently, Scar unwinds one of Grian's hands from his knees, cupping it between his own and brushing the lightest of kisses against his knuckles before turning over Grian’s palm and pressing the flower into it. Grian's fingers curl around it of their own accord, silky petals burning against his fingers.

"So." Scar smiles, tremulous, eyes suspiciously red-rimmed. "Can we still be friends?"

And Grian has always been a raw creature, a tangled wreck of his own selfish greed— he’s craved the honeyed umber of Scar's love since he first cradled it, tentatively, in his palms all that time ago. In the depths of his heart, there will always be that sandstone cliff, the crack of his bones against hard-packed sand, and wings too clipped to fly freely. There will always be that calloused fist around his heart, and beyond his own scrabbling fear, there will always, always be that fervent need to bring Scar close even as he pushes him away.

And where before, Scar had been playing blind, a game with no true rules… now, his eyes trap Grian against the wall, clear as glass— diamond sharp and just as steady. From a winning game, there is no turning back. There’s nothing left to lose here, except this porcelain trust, this shred of hope Scar offers him once more in the form of a flower.

Even after everything, all the memories flooding back— Scar is still here, holding Grian’s heart, and offering up his own in return.

Grian slowly presses it to his chest with trembling, vulnerable motions. "You're sure you want this."

"I'm sure I want you," Scar says, unwavering.

Grian breathes in. Breathes out. Inhale and exhale, both a heavy drag in his lungs. Already, the sun is beginning to strengthen, casting thick rays through the window and splaying them across Grian’s lap. The advent of gilded noon weaves around them, perfuming the air with light and heat.

"Okay," Grian says at last, and it drops from his lips with the weight of a confession; a relinquishment; a solemn vow. "Okay."

This time, when Scar reaches for his hand again, Grian meets him halfway, and the tangle of their fingers nets the sunflower in a promise neatly between them.

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b00kdiary · 4 months

Note

Okay, you write the most delicious smut, so I think the plus-size reader is watching Cassian and Azriel spar and gets lost in her imagination about what they could do to her. And the duo finds out (maybe from Rhys), and one night at dinner, they offer to make her dreams reality. If you already have something like this in mind, please feel free to ignore it. I just think Az and Cassian would be down bad for a plus-size reader 🙂

Take it | Azriel & Cassian (I)

Azriel x Cassian x Plus Size Reader

Rhysand's playing Cupid and his meddling has you experiencing something you never would have thought possible.

Warnings: Mature content (18+) mild violence, mature language, illusions to smut (smut in part 2)

PART II

MASTERLIST - 1 and 2

I knew I should have skipped training today.

From the moment Mor told me that she wasn't attending, that Feyre wouldn't be coming either and that I was alone with Rhysand, Cassian and Azriel- I knew I should have skipped.

Because now I was here, the scorching sun beaming down over my sweating skin, the barren wind a bare caress through my damp pleated hair- and my eyes unwavering upon the two Illyrian males before me.

Sparring.

"C'mon Azriel," Cassian taunted, hazel eyes gleaming with mischief as he danced around the Shadowsinger, his arrogant demeanour so at odds with Azriel's still, quiet form. "Don't tell me you're already tapping out."

Azriel smirked, the smallest tilt of his lips and I felt a shiver trace down the curve of my spine, watching as his powerful thighs rippled with every step he took, scarred hands angled out before him- waiting.

"And miss all the fun?" He mused softly, head cocking, a purely predatory move and the laugh that escaped Cassian was rough as if the banter between them made this all the more exciting.

It didn't usually affect me like this, I didn't usually feel such a strong, visceral response to the two of them. Yes, they were both unbelievably gorgeous and yes, I enjoyed watching them as much as any female did.

But it never affected me as much as it did right now, as strongly as it did from the moment I stepped onto the rooftop and greeted them. It had been hard to deny how my body felt then and it was even worse now.

Especially with them like this- shirtless, sweating, muscles rippling, powerful wings splaying wide, and taunts being thrown between them that made my thighs clench.

I pressed my back into the jagged wall behind me, anchoring myself down with the bite of the concrete against my skin, cutting in through the thin material of my legging and top. The shield I'd erected around me rippled, my emotions overwhelming my control over my magic.

Cassian grunted- raw and grumbling as he swung a fist out aimed for Azriel's rib but was swiftly blocked by a scarred hand shielding close to his tanned skin. Azriel gritted his teeth, his free hand slamming forward, palm connecting brutally with Cassian's shoulder, sending him stumbling back a few steps.

Cassian grinned, feral.

Azriel's eyes narrowed, tongue flicking out to moisten his lips.

And the wetness between my thighs grew and grew, the throbbing ache now incessant, so strong that no matter how hard I clenched my thighs shut it did nothing to quell the need. I swallowed against the dryness in my throat, my body thrumming the longer I watched them.

A deep grunt, a rough, taunting laugh, bodies colliding, wings erected high, sweat and blood over perfect tan skin, trailing down corded muscle and carved abs. Movement so fast that I forced myself not to blink in case I missed something, fighting so intense it was impossible to look away.

And a heat coursing through my body so forcefully I felt like I was going to explode.

'What do we have here?' A voice crooned through my mind, a voice like starlight and I jolted at the intrusion, 'The shield can hide the smell of your arousal, Y/N, but it can't hide the lust in your eyes.'

"Rhys," Cassian grinned, canines bearing to show the blood coating his teeth, and Azriel laughed softly as the male wiggled his brows, eyes upon our High Lord as he stalked in. "Care to join the fun?"

Rhysand smirked, a lazy sight, ringed hands tucked into the pockets of his slacks and my body grew hot, mortification filling me as his long legs brought him closer to where I stood. His violet eyes flash to me- knowingly.

"I think Y/N might be more interested in joining actually," Rhysand mused, his tone dripping with amusement and teasing, and I felt my eyes narrow irately as I glared up at him. "I'm sure she could take it."

My hands clenched as Rhysand's smirk grew, pearly teeth peeking through, seeing how my throat bobbed when Cassian and Azriel both glanced at me expectantly, panting.

"Alright angel," Cassian winked, and I managed a strained smile, feeling my cheeks growing unbearable hot- and Rhysand laughing through my mind. "You're sparring next."

'If only he knew that this wasn't the kind of sparring you were interested in,' Rhys taunted through my mind and I felt his claws racking down my mental shields, so strong I clenched my jaw to stop myself from snarling at him.

'Fuck off, Rhys' I sent a shock of my power through my mind and Rhysand's spine straightened beside me, though that smirk never once left his lips. 'I don't know what you're even talking about.'

'No?' He muses and I roll my eyes as his shoulder brushes mine, my body so stiff as I grab hold of my water bottle, my fingers shaking and weak as I uncap the lid. 'So, you're not having some very naughty thoughts about my General and Spymaster right now?'

'No,' I gritted out mentally, hating how I was falling for the bait, hating that he could see just how caught off guard I was. My eyes flutter as Azriel grumbles, shadows coiling around his lean waist and broad shoulders as he and Cassian circle each other. 'No, I'm not.'

Another rumbling laugh through my mind, a brush of Rhysand's shoulder against me, and the water bottle shakes in my hand as I bring it to my mouth, needing to distract myself desperately.

The mouth of the bottle touches my lip, the lukewarm water just barely tracing my tongue- and then my mind shifts.

And the images leak in.

Scarred hands cupping my breasts, toying with my hard nipples.

Canines scrapping my pulse point, my fingers curled around silken locks of dark hair.

I hear myself moaning as a head slips between my soft thighs, my eyes clenching shut as I rock my hips against the skilled tongue, back arching when another mouth finds purchase around my taut nipple.

I'm trapped between those two magnificent, corded bodies, massive wings shielding our nakedness- but I feel every touch, every kiss, every whispered praise as they worship me.

"Y/N!"

Another blink and the images are gone from my mind, replaced by the world around me again. And three pairs of eyes on me- all of them wide, unblinking, worried as they watch me.

"What happened, sweetheart?" Azriel breathes, chest rising and falling fast as he sucks in air, and I trace over the dark whorls covering his skin as I blink away the thoughts. "Are you okay?"

"I'm uh- I'm fine," I clear my throat, skin burning with heat and that embarrassment only grows when I spot my water bottle dropped at my feet, water already drying up on the concrete. Rhysand snickers as I swiftly reach down and grab it and my hands tremble as I hold it to my chest.

'You should tell them what you want, Y/N,' Rhys mutters through my mind and when I glance sideways at him, he merely smiles, bland and natural, as if he wasn't currently wading through my thoughts. 'They'd be more than happy to make it happen.'

"I think I'm done for today, boys," I manage a small smile, as I turn to grab my training bag at my side, glad for the reprieve from their eyes, even if I felt them wholly on my back. "Too fucking hot out."

'Y/N,' Rhysand called through my mind again, and the teasing was gone- replaced by something sincere.

'They won't be interested,' I hiss back, a lump lodging in my throat as I turn toward the males behind me, still standing watching me. ' I'm not going to embarrass myself by saying something.'

"I thought you wanted to spar?" Cassian raises a dark brow at me, hazel eyes watching carefully as I walk past Rhysand, not sparing him a second glance. "I'll go easy on you if you're scared, angel."

"Didn't she kick your ass last time, Cass?" Rhysand snorted, and I watched Azriel's lips tilt into a full-blow smile, a breathtaking sight as Cassian rolled his eyes, grinning as he flipped off the male behind me.

'You're lying to yourself if you think they're not interested in you,' His voice made me grit my teeth, my back steeling as I inched toward the door. ' Why don't you just find out?'

"Don't rough each other up too bad," I chuckle, ignoring the ache in my chest as I glance between the three of them, ignoring Rhysand's claws in my mind, "Seeing your pretty faces is the best part of my day."

Cassian grins, winking fiendishly at me.

Azriel smiles, red tinting his cheeks.

And Rhysand just cocks his head- almost as if to say see, I told you so.

I turn on my heel, my smile fading as soon as my back is to them and I'm walking toward that exit.

'Drop it, Rhys,' I warn, letting him feel how utterly serious I was, 'I mean it.'

***

'You're lying to yourself if you think they're not interested in you.'

Rhysand didn't know how wrong he was.

It was kind of him, sweet even, to say that two males as beautiful and perfect as Azriel and Cassian would have any interest in me, any sexual desire- even if it couldn't be further from the truth.

Not when I didn't hold a candle to Mor, who they both wholly desired, whose face and body and beauty were incomparable, something that I couldn't have, have never had, not in a million years.

And not when in all the years I've known them, neither of them have ever looked at me the way they look at her- with true lust. No desire, no primitive focus, no carnal need, I was their little sister, the female they loved but could never love like that.

I swallow down that bitter dose of reality as I make my way through the silent corridors of the House of Wind, my heels clinking against the smooth floor, as I get closer to the dining room. There's no sound in the house, unusual for this time of day.

I run my hands down the soft silk dress I wore, the dark green material clinging to my waist before cascading down my thighs, stopping mid-calf. It was more effort than I usually bothered with for dinner with the court, but Rhysand had insisted.

'A special dinner' he had said in his note 'Never hurts to dress up and celebrate our family.'

But as I turn the corridor, pushing past the ajar dining room door- it doesn't seem like much of a celebration.

"Y/N," Cassian greets, smiling over his broad shoulder at me, the material of his black shirt melding perfectly to every hard inch of him. I take a few tentative steps into the room and his eyes grace down my figure, over the dress I wore.

"Hey Cass," I mutter, brow furrowing as I take in the two glasses of red wine, a third sat empty and clean beside them and only three chairs surrounded the oak table Cassian stood before. "Where is everyone?"

My body shivers when something dances around my right ankle, the touch unbearably soft and I giggle when I glance down, noticing the shadow that wreathed around my calf, inching higher up my dress.

"Feyre's cycle started so Rhys is looking after her," Cassian said, wincing in a way that told me he was thankful not to be a female enduring that kind of pain. An amused snort came from behind me, and I didn't need to turn to know that it was Azriel, could feel his quiet scrutiny and recognise it anywhere. "And Mor and Amren had some Hewn City crap to deal with."

"So much for dressing up and celebrating the family," I mumble taking a few steps forward, and when Azriel places his large hand on the small of my back, I feel the touch through every inch of my body. I swallow, glancing over my shoulder at him, meeting those bright hazel eyes.

"It's just us three tonight," Azriel muses lowly, and my dress feels like a non-existent barrier between his hand and my back, his scarred thumb brushing soft circles there. "Is that alright Y/N?"

"Y-yes," I mentally curse myself for the stutter, my cheeks blazing when Azriel's lip tilts into a bare smirk, his eyes glancing to Cassian and gleaming with something dark. I clear my throat, managing a strained smile, "Me and my two favourite Illyrian males, should be fun."

"We won't tell Rhysand you said that" Cassian winks and I grin as Azriel leads me forward, his hand still on my back, burning and igniting my skin, guiding me to the chair- he pulls it out for me, his touch gentle as he helps me take a seat and tucks me in.

"He's my favourite High Lord though, so it's fine," I tease, waving a dismissive hand and I try to force myself to be calm and at ease as Azriel and Cassian take the two seats in front of me, their powerful bodies so foreboding as they settle into the chairs.

"Feyre's my favourite High Lady, Mor's my favourite blonde," I prattle on, ignoring their intense stares as I fiddle with my hands in my laps, trying to babble through my unease. "And Amren's my favourite short, angry person."

"We definitely won't tell Amren you said that" Cassian snickers and I release a tight breath of relief when Azriel begins to pour me a glass of wine, his eyes locking with mine as he hands it to me- my hand brushes his and I swear something flashes through his eyes at the contact.

"Thank you," I whisper, and I don't waste a second before bringing the glass to my lips, my eyes fluttering shut as I tip my head back, the bittersweet liquid sliding down my throat, and I keep drinking until it's all gone.

I feel the tingle the alcohol induces instantly, fae wine so much stronger than the regular stuff and it's exactly the kind of buzz I needed right now, the kind that distracted me from the way my body felt when in the same room as these two males.

I bring the glass back down to the table with a clink and only then do I realise the tense silence in the room. I blink away the haze, and when my eyes meet Cass and Az again, I'm surprised by the look on their faces.

Their eyes are dark, wholly dark- and zeroed in on my lips, watching every breath and move with predatory focus.

"Is-is there something on my face?" I raise a brow, chuckling uncomfortably and when I lift a hand insecurely to my mouth, Cassian releases a tight exhale, shifting in his seat so that he's leaning back, long legs and strong thighs spread under the table.

"No, you're okay," Azriel shakes his head, beautiful face soft with contemplation, though the darkness never leaves his eyes, the emotion behind them that I can't seem to decipher as he stares at my lips still. "That's a pretty shade of red, is all- don't you think so Cassian?"

"Definitely," Cassian mumbles roughly in agreement, a lazy smile pulling at his lip as he takes a long sip from his glass, his tongue flicking out to lick off the wine gathering there- and the sight was more provocative than it should have been. "Red might just be your colour, angel."

"Thanks, uh- it was a present from Mor for Winter Solstice," I swallow thickly, fighting the urge to grab the wine bottle and chug from it. "She said it was one of the most popular shades, I can't remember the name, but I thought it was funny to call it blowjob red."

Cauldron, the air shifts so fast, so severely at those words- blowjob red.

The second I say it it's like the darkness in their eyes, the intensity of their stares, their teasing remarks, it all slots into place- and their shields come crashing down. Arousal, stark and powerful, so raw and filthy that my core ached in response.

"Is that why you wore it tonight?" Azriel spoke, his voice like death incarnate, so quietly violent that my thighs clamped shut at the sound, at the heat behind every slow word. The air caught in my lungs as he cocked his head at me, predator eying prey, "To have us contemplating the feel of your pretty, red mouth?"

Pretty, red mouth.

Cauldron, I must be dreaming.

My lips parted- surprised, and for a moment, all I could do was blink dumbly, staring between them with confusion creasing my brow. They didn't speak, utterly silent as they watched me piece everything together, but I could sense their amusement when my brow furrowed deeper.

"I suppose it's only fair, for you to paint your lips that distracting shade of red, to wear a dress that hugs every curve on your body, it's fair for you to taunt us so mercilessly," Cassian smirks and my eyes widen at every word, at the sincerity behind them. "Especially since it seems we unwittingly were doing the same to you this morning during training."

Training?

Oh, shit, shit, shit- Cauldron fucking spare me.

"Unless Rhysand was being an asshole and lied to us?" Cassian continued, but his words were starting to blur now, the thrumming in my head overwhelming my senses, making it hard to hear, making it hard to see, to speak. "Y/N, did he lie?"

He told them.

Fuck, he told them.

"Hey, hey, hey-" I flinch, my knee slamming against the table when something brushes over my hot cheek. Still, I calmed my alarm upon seeing the tendril of darkness flittering past my eye-line, Azriel's shadows caressing my face, anchoring me down from the panic that was building.

"I don't-uh-," I shake my head, tears lining my eyes and I clenched them shut- I wasn't sure why I felt like crying…embarrassment? Shame? Insecurity? I guess I could pick one and it would be right. "I don't know-"

"We were hoping he wasn't lying," Azriel coaxed gently, and my burning eyes lifted to him, his lovely face was so sweet, so unfathomably kind that it forced me to take a stabilising breath.

"You were?" I question hoarsely, my throat as dry as sandpaper as I glanced from Az to Cass, something coiling in me at the sight of their perfect faces, their broad shoulders, their massive wings, and their attention solely on me.

"Angel, if we haven't made it clear how badly we want you right now, then we must be shitter at flirting than I thought," Cassian snorted and I couldn't fight the smile, the breathy laugh that escaped me at his words.

He grinned at the sight, Azriel too- as if something as small as me smiling, laughing, made their day.

'You're lying to yourself if you think they're not interested in you.'

Dammit Rhysand was right.

"Rhysand wasn't lying, he's an ass but he didn't lie," I say, releasing a long breath and this time, when my eyes lift to them, when I meet their gazes, I let them see exactly how honest he had been.

I tuck a strand of hair behind an arched ear, and I don't think either of the males is even breathing as I push out of my chair, the wood screeching against the floor before I rise to my feet.

My chest aches as their gazes instantly drop down my body- over my breasts, waist, stomach, thighs, over every inch of me.

"I'm going back to my room," I whisper, and both of them go utterly still, and their eyes sharpen, primitive, completely Fae, so strong that Azriel's shadows quieten, and Cassian's wings twitch.

"Would the two of you care to join me?"

__________________________________________

@mis-lil-red @hyemishii @assaultsofthought @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @loveareum @infintyfandoms @sarawritestories @eerievixen @nyotamalfoy

Part TWO and all its filthy smut !

Comment to be added to the tag list!

Taking requests!

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ineylesian · 2 months

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— INHERITENLY UNJUST DESTINY

AVENTURINE X READER

AO3 | NAVIGATION

WORD COUNT — 900

WARNINGS — slight 2.1 spoilers, lowk angst, word vomit about aventurine’s lack of self esteem, sappy unconditional positive regard, handsy aven bc he’s touch starved, preesetablished relationship

SUMMARY — aventurine does not understand the twist of fate that allows him to stand beside you.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — the lack of official aventurine art is making me gnaw at the bars of my enclosure, sloppy headers for now!!

Aventurine isn’t sure how to feel.

The low hues of noon cast a gentle light upon his gloves, giving light to the sea of shattered stones that lie in his grasp. A sea of dazzling green, torn and fragmented beyond repair.

He’s sure he sees it now, a reflection of the wildly wretched life he’s lived sitting in the palms of his hands. The remnants of the only control he’s managed to retain in his life frail as dust in the winds. SIlent he remains, still as a pound dog that has had its bone ripped away from it.

It isn’t until he feels the ghost of your hands along his own that Aventurine realizes his heart is racing. You spin him to face you, and his heart lurches at the worry that etches itself upon your features. He fights with narratives in his head that play games of fallacies, yet the scorch of his devotion to you leaves his tongue tied.

Facades are a game that come like second nature to Aventurine, but he swears he will not do to you what he deems business in his schemes. Instead, he pulls at what little honesty remains in the depths of his heart and his breath shutters.

“Guess I’m back to where I was five years ago.”

The words come out quiet, too soft for his nature and simply small. It’s a confession that makes him wonder how many other pieces of his life will break apart until the whole is severed. There’s a fear that lingers within, bubbling to the surface as he attempts to withdraw from your hold.

Aventurine does not believe that his life holds any meaning with or without the cornerstone. Yet, that title made him seem as if he truly meant something, and without it, what little reign he held over his life disappeared.

He believes you deserve fire, yet he is no more than an ember flickering on a stoked match. He cannot burn in flames bright enough to keep you.

Silently, he awaits your scold, the reprimand that deems him as worthless as he believes himself to be. A reminder that it was all but a stroke of luck that brought you to him, a trial that has run out as you see him for who he truly is, barren and scared.

His hands shake as you guide them to pour his shattered stone into the box at his feet. Shock etches itself upon his features, and he looks to you with nothing but raw, unparalleled fear as you speak.

“You will always be the same to me.”

Aventurine does not understand the twist of fate that allows him to stand beside you. Single handedly, you vowed to peer into the wasteland that was his soul, and devoted yourself to his inherently unjust destiny. And, even as his life’s worth is ripped away from him, you love him unchanged.

An insatiable want carves at his soul like a day yearns for night, and Aventurine knows no other place to put his hands but around you in embrace. His hold is tight, as if he imagines that you will fade away if he abandons it. Yet, the weave of your fingers through his hair is enough to tell him that you’re no illusion, a sensation that will cease to disappear as long as he lives.

“Let me see you, Aven.”

Your words flow as lost prayers on the horizon do, and Aventurine retracts his grasp on you, allowing his knees to bring him to the ground. Your hands, gentle as streambeds in the spring, cup his face, running over spilt tears from keeled eyelashes. Instinctively, his hands latch onto your wrists, desperately chasing after your warmth and attempting to sear it into his skin.

Aventurine outwardly sighs as you run your fingers along his jaw, stopping to tuck a stray wisp of hair behind his ear. Although your gaze rocks with the deepest seas of adoration, the child deep within his heart beckons him to gamble with his luck once again. A risk that trails the faint quiver of his lips, as he would utter no such words to any other being in the entire cosmos.

“Will you kiss me?”

Wordlessly, you nod, and Aventurine closes his eyes. The soft touch of your lips quells the troubles that brew within, igniting fire against endless water. His hands fall to his lap, melting in the passion of your touch, and his heart craves to continue beating as if you are the oxygen that fills his lungs.

He refuses to leave you until there is no air left for him to breathe. Gasping for the vitality of you that runs rampant through his veins, Aventurine tilts his head upward, and your heart flutters at the gentle smile that greets your gaze. Brilliant hues of purple and blue shimmer amidst the night, and his hold on you returns, hands moving to interlock themselves with your own. It’s the same gesture that holds you in the deep of dusk, never waning as lost prayers to the universe whisper behind closed doors.

The words that follow are never far from you, spinning like soft woven silk that rests in your dreams when he’s away. Your eyes shut as he presses his lips to the corner of your mouth, spreading warmth to your cheeks that subdue the chills of frosted wind. In yearn, you wait, reveling in the soft fan of his breath over your skin.

“I love you.”

#eleysiacalling #aventurine hsr #aventurine x you #aventurine honkai star rail #aventurine x reader #hsr aventurine #honkai star rail #hsr x reader

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elryuse · 2 months

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THE SCENT OF JASMINE FLOWERS

WONYOUNG X MALE READER X GAEUL

TAGS : LOVE TRIANGLE, CHEATING WONYOUNG, LIGHT YANDERE GAEUL, ANGST, HAPPY END, FLUFF

The city lights blurred past the taxi window, a kaleidoscope of neon mirroring the turmoil within me. Each raindrop hitting the pavement echoed the hammering in my chest. Wonyoung was gone, not physically – she still shared our apartment, a ghost haunting its familiar walls – but emotionally, her heart stolen by a cruel mirage.

Sunghoon. The name felt like a curse word on my tongue. He was everything I wasn't – loud, flashy, the center of attention. Wonyoung, my sunshine, my Wonyoung, had been lured by his supernova glow, leaving me in the cold, desolate space he left behind.

We were the perfect couple, or so everyone thought. Public appearances, stolen kisses on award shows, our social media a testament to a love people envied. But behind the curated feed, cracks had begun to show. Her lingering glances at Sunghoon, the whispered conversations during interviews I couldn't decipher.

I buried my head in the sand, clinging to the illusion of our happiness. Until the day I saw the message. A careless text left open on her phone, a single sentence that shattered our carefully constructed world.

"Meet me tonight, baby. Can't wait to see you again."

The phone slipped from my grasp, crashing onto the coffee table like a gunshot. The once-sweet scent of her perfume in the air turned suffocating.

Days bled into weeks, a hollow space where Wonyoung used to be. Calls went unanswered, texts ignored. The guilt gnawed at her, I knew, her apologies echoing in a phone call that replayed on a loop in my mind. But the words, laced with a desperation I no longer recognized, rang hollow.

My saving grace, my lighthouse in this storm, was Gaeul. Wonyoung's best friend, always a presence on the periphery of our relationship. Now, she was the constant by my side, a silent pillar of support.

Nights were the worst. Sitting in the living room, the echo of our laughter bouncing off the walls like a cruel ghost. Gaeul would sit beside me, a warm presence against the chill that enveloped me. Her hand, a grounding force.

One night, as sobs wracked my body, a flicker of something new sparked in her eyes. Not pity, but a hesitant understanding. A silent confession we both acknowledged but couldn't yet voice.

Wonyoung returned, a broken bird with tear-streaked cheeks. Her apologies were a torrent of words, a desperate attempt to rewind time. But the pieces of our love were scattered, impossible to reassemble.

My heart, once overflowing with love for the girl with sunshine hair, was now a barren landscape. The thrill she craved had left her empty, the excitement a fleeting mirage.

Gaeul was different. Her love was a quiet flame, a steady warmth in the storm. Her eyes held a depth I hadn't noticed before, a quiet strength that complemented my own.

As Wonyoung packed her things, a ghost leaving the life she'd built, a flicker of hope ignited within me. It wasn't the same fierce love I once held for Wonyoung, but it was a spark nonetheless.

Looking at Gaeul, her hand resting on mine, I finally found the words that had been lost, choked by sorrow.

"Gaeul," I whispered, my voice hoarse. "I think… I think I might be falling for you."

The rain outside had stopped, replaced by a sliver of moonlight peeking through the clouds. A new beginning, fragile but hopeful, stretched before me. The love I once had for Wonyoung, a vibrant flower, might have wilted, but from its ashes, a different kind of love bloomed. A quiet love, a steady flame, waiting to be nurtured.

Timeskip

The scent of jasmine, once a sweet reminder of Gaeul's calming presence, now made my stomach churn. It clung to the air like a ghost, a stark contrast to the cloying perfume that filled the apartment when Wonyoung reappeared.

"Y/n," she breathed, her voice trembling like a teardrop. She stood in the doorway, my name a soft plea on her lips. Her blonde hair cascaded down her shoulders, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. The Wonyoung I knew, the vibrant sunshine girl, was gone, replaced by a fragile wisp of a woman desperate for redemption.

"Wonyoung," I mumbled, unsure of what to say. Gaeul was away for the weekend, visiting her family. A selfish part of me, a flicker of the love that still flickered like a dying ember, welcomed this unexpected visit.

"Can I come in?" she pleaded, her voice a mere whisper. I hesitated, the image of Gaeul, her hand intertwined with mine, flashing in my mind. But Wonyoung's watery eyes were too much to bear.

"Just for a bit," I muttered, stepping aside.

She moved like a wisp, collapsing onto the couch I used to share with Gaeul. The scent of jasmine mingled with the heavy perfume, creating a suffocating mix.

"I miss you, Y/n," she confessed, her voice barely audible. "I miss us."

My heart clenched. The memories flooded back – stolen kisses in backstage corridors, whispered secrets under a blanket of stars. But that time had passed, replaced by Gaeul's quiet strength, her unwavering support.

"Gaeul..." I started, but she cut me off.

"Gaeul is kind," she said, her voice laced with something bitter. "But she doesn't understand you like I do."

She took a step closer, her hand brushing against mine. The touch sent a jolt through me, a betrayal of the fragile peace I'd found with Gaeul.

"We could try again, Y/n," she whispered, her voice husky. "Forget Sunghoon, forget everything. We can be like we were before."

Her words were a siren song, a desperate attempt to rewind time. The Wonyoung I once loved stood before me, but the ghost of Gaeul's hurt loomed large.

"Wonyoung..." I began, searching for the right words.

Suddenly, the door creaked open. Gaeul stood there, framed by the entrance, a dark cloud behind the veil of her hair. Her face, usually radiating warmth, was set in a mask of cold fury.

"Gaeul," I stammered, the air thickening with tension.

Wonyoung, sensing the shift in atmosphere, whipped around, her eyes widening in surprise.

"What's going on here?" Gaeul asked, her voice devoid of its usual gentleness. It was a voice I'd never heard before, a low growl that sent shivers down my spine.

Wonyoung, flustered, stammered an explanation. But Gaeul cut her off, her gaze fixed on me.

"Y/n," she said, her voice a chilling whisper. "Is everything alright?"

The question hung in the air, an accusation disguised as concern. The possessiveness in her voice, the way she clung to the words "everything alright" like a lifeline, was unsettling.

"Yes," I lied, my voice thin. "We were just… catching up."

Gaeul's gaze never left me. It was an intense scrutiny that made me feel like a bug pinned under a microscope. The jasmine scent, which once offered solace, now felt like a suffocating prison.

Wonyoung, sensing the hostility, opted for a graceful retreat. Mumbling a quick goodbye, she practically flew out of the apartment, leaving an unsettling quiet behind.

Gaeul turned to me, her eyes filled with a storm of emotions. The love, the possessiveness, the anger – it all swirled together in a terrifying cocktail.

"Don't let her manipulate you again, Y/n," she hissed, her voice tight with barely concealed rage.

I opened my mouth to speak, but the words wouldn't come. The Gaeul I knew, the comforting presence, seemed to have vanished. In her place stood a woman I didn't recognize, a woman consumed by a love that had turned possessive.

The night that followed was a blur of accusations and justifications. My apartment, once a haven of peace, became a battleground. The love triangle that had started with Wonyoung's infidelity had now morphed into a suffocating web of possessiveness, with Gaeul as the spider at its center.

As the sun peeked through the blinds, casting harsh light on the wreckage of the night, I knew things couldn't go on like this. My once cozy apartment, filled with shared laughter and the scent of Gaeul's jasmine tea, now reeked of tension and the cloying perfume Wonyoung had worn.

Gaeul sat on the couch, her back ramrod straight, arms crossed tightly across her chest. Gone was the gentle touch that used to comfort me, replaced by a cold, unyielding demeanor.

"Gaeul," I started, my voice hoarse. "We need to talk about this."

She finally looked at me, but not in the way I craved. Her eyes, usually sparkling with warmth, were hard and calculating.

"What is there to talk about, Y/n?" she spat. "Wonyoung just waltzes back in after breaking your heart, and you're ready to fall for her all over again?"

"No," I said, trying to defend myself. "I just... I don't know what happened last night. It was wrong, and I'm sorry."

Her lips turned into a thin line. "Sorry doesn't fix things, Y/n. You need to make a choice. Me or her."

The ultimatum hung heavy in the air. The Gaeul I knew wouldn't have issued such an order. This possessive stranger felt like someone I barely recognized.

"Gaeul," I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "We haven't even…"

"Haven't even what?" she snapped. "Haven't confessed our feelings? We've been there for each other through everything, Y/n. Isn't that enough?"

Her voice cracked on the last word, a flicker of vulnerability breaking through the facade. But the possessiveness remained, a dark cloud clouding her love.

The truth was, it was enough. Gaeul's unwavering support had been a lifeline during the storm of Wonyoung's betrayal. Yet, the way she was acting now felt suffocating. Did I love Gaeul? In the aftermath of Wonyoung's heartbreak, maybe it was a form of gratitude, a comfort zone I'd settled into.

"Gaeul," I tried again, "I need time."

Her eyes narrowed. "Time for what, Y/n? To run back to Wonyoung's arms the moment she bats her eyelashes at you?"

"No," I said, more firmly this time. "Time to figure out what this is, between us. This possessiveness… it scares me."

The anger in her eyes flickered momentarily, replaced by a flicker of sadness. "Is that all I am to you, Y/n? Just a possession to be claimed or discarded?"

My heart ached. The Gaeul I knew wouldn't have spoken like this. The love that bound us, now twisted by her possessiveness, threatened to unravel completely.

"Gaeul, you're not just a possession," I said, trying to reach her. "You're my friend, my support system. But… but this isn't healthy. We both need space."

She stood up abruptly, her movements jerky and tense. "Fine," she spat, the word laced with hurt and anger. "Have your space, Y/n. Just don't come crawling back to me when you realize you threw away the good thing you had right here."

With that, she stormed out of the apartment, leaving me alone with the ghosts of the night and the deafening silence in its wake.

The following days were a blur. Neither Gaeul nor Wonyoung contacted me. The space I'd craved felt more like a desolate wasteland. The apartment, once a haven, felt empty without the comforting scent of jasmine tea or the familiar warmth of Gaeul's presence.

As the days turned into weeks, a strange realization dawned on me. My feelings for Wonyoung, once a passionate inferno, had dwindled to embers. The betrayal had left an indelible mark, a permanent scar on our relationship.

What about Gaeul? The possessiveness that had initially scared me, now felt like a twisted reflection of the love she held for me. A love that, however distorted, was genuine.

One evening, I decided to take a chance. Armed with a bouquet of jasmine flowers, I stood outside Gaeul's apartment, my heart pounding a nervous rhythm against my ribs.

After a long wait, the door creaked open. Gaeul stood there, her eyes puffy and red-rimmed.

"Y/n?" she said, her voice thick with surprise.

I held out the bouquet, the jasmine flowers radiating a comforting scent. Gaeul's gaze softened, a flicker of recognition replacing the initial shock.

"Gaeul," I began, my voice rough with emotion. "I messed up. Big time."

She didn't say anything, but her eyes held a silent invitation to continue.

"I was scared," I confessed, taking a deep breath. "Scared of losing you, scared of letting go of the comfort you offered. But my fear twisted your love, turned it into something unhealthy."

The vulnerability in my voice seemed to resonate with her. A single tear escaped her eye, tracing a glistening path down her cheek.

"I don't want Wonyoung," I continued, my gaze meeting hers with newfound clarity. "The woman I miss is the one who brought me jasmine tea in the mornings, the one who held me through the night when my heart ached. The woman I love is you, Gaeul."

A hesitant smile bloomed on her face, as beautiful as the first flower peeking through winter's frost. She stepped closer, the scent of jasmine mingling with the warmth of her body.

"Gaeul," I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. "Can I… can I kiss you?"

Her eyes fluttered shut, a silent permission. As our lips met, a spark ignited, a gentle flame rekindled by honesty and second chances. The kiss wasn't fiery or passionate, but filled with a quiet understanding, a promise of a future built on trust and love.

The weeks that followed were a whirlwind of apologies, forgiveness, and cautious exploration of this newfound love. We talked for hours, peeling away the layers of fear and misunderstanding.

One evening, as the city lights twinkled outside our window, casting a warm glow on the apartment once filled with tension, I knelt before Gaeul, holding a small velvet box.

"Gaeul," I said, my voice thick with emotion, "You were my friend, my rock, and now you're the love of my life. Will you marry me?"

Tears welled up in her eyes, a radiant smile breaking through the dam. "Yes," she whispered, her voice choked with happy tears.

The following year, surrounded by friends and family, we exchanged vows. The jasmine scent filled the air, a symbol of love, comfort, and a second chance. As I looked into Gaeul's eyes, brimming with love and joy, I knew I had found not just a wife, but a partner who understood the complexities of love and was willing to work through them.

The love triangle that had threatened to tear my life apart had ultimately led me to the one person who truly mattered. And with each passing year, the love we shared, nurtured by honesty and trust, only grew stronger.

#ive gaeul #ive wonyoung #ive starship #kpop #kpop x reader #kpop x y/n #x male reader #beautiful #apreciation post #update #yandere #angst #kpop fluff #wonyoung #kim gaeul

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corazondebeskar-reads · 8 months

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all I did was what I had to - part one

all I did was what I had to miniseries

part one: all I did was what I had to

series masterlist | part one | part two | part three

dark!Joel Miller x f!reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Summary: A newcomer to Joel's group of raiders makes a pass at you. Joel reinforces his dominance.

Warnings: DARK. dead dove do not eat. raider!Joel is not a good man, dark!Joel Miller, mention of past assault (not by Joel), dub-con due to power imbalance and implied captivity, reader can have a little stockholm syndrome as a treat. watersports, piss drinking, canon-typical violence, gore, piv intercourse, unsafe sex, oral (m receiving), oral (f receiving), bit of both game and show joel, sorta d/s dynamics I guess, not RACK compliant

Originally written for Kinktober 2023 - Day 4 - Overstimulation / Human Urinal, inspired by this prompt list from @absurdthirst and this gifset from @a7estrellas. I did not come up with raider/hunter!Joel or dark!Joel and many great writers have built in this sandbox before me.

also on ao3

You’d like to say that six months ago, when the group of raiders “took you in,” you would have fought tooth and nail to avoid this situation. You wished you could say you ever really fought back at all.

But after Joel Miller had found you in a supply room during a raid, sobbing and struggling under a FEDRA officer, you had never even so much as told him no. Not after he pulled the man—your husband, who had been starving and abusing you since your wedding night three weeks ago—off your aching body and pummeled his face into the ground. When all that was left was pulp, he had helped you to your feet with bloodied hands.

“You okay?” he said. His furrowed brow and cold eyes told you he was dangerous more than the corpse on the ground, as his concern was for you alone, entirely barren of remorse or disgust.

You nodded, but the tremor of your hands betrayed you. He shucked off his jacket and helped you into it, numb as you were, and zipped it up. It was long enough to give you the illusion of modesty since your clothes were nowhere to be found.

He had led you down the stairs and outside, crowding you into the passenger seat of a dented, rusty pickup.

“Wait here,” he said, shutting the door.

And you had.

Now, you were knelt between Joel’s heavy boots in the living room of the main safe house. He was sprawled on the main sofa, beer in one hand and the other on the back of your head. The others were milling about, drinking shitty moonshine, and enjoying the spoils of today’s raid.

You had an old, soft flannel on and Joel’s thick cock in your throat. He was holding you there, motionless, while your eyes stung and watered. Every so often, he’d guide you to bob up and down or shove your face down to lick his balls. He was dragging it out, savoring it in a rare display of luxury.

Their haul today meant easy living for a couple months after striking an unfortunate band of Fireflies. After the slaughter, they had returned with crates and cases of supplies. You, however, had spent the last two days locked in your room upstairs.

The upper floor of the house was Joel’s. The door at the foot of the stairs locked from both directions, the sole key to which never left the chain around his neck. Your little room had a mattress and a door to a Jack and Jill bathroom. Joel’s room, where you actually spent most of your time, was on the other side. But it had been locked, and you had been left with plenty of food and water but absolutely nothing to do.

So when Joel came home in a better mood than you’d ever seen him, you jumped at the opportunity to go downstairs. He didn’t like you down there most of the time, didn’t like anyone seeing you but him, unless he was putting on a show of dominance.

Like now. Your quiet obedience on full display, a reminder that even in a time of prosperity, Joel Miller was still the king.

He took the last swig of his beer and handled the bottle off to a lackey (you didn't see them enough to tell them apart, or care enough to learn their names). He let go of your hair and gave your cheek two sharp pats, smirking when you scrambled to please him. Your hands had been clasped behind your back where they belonged, but he was ready to cum, so you wrapped one around the base of his cock and massaged his balls with the other, using your throat as roughly as he would.

This was second nature, now. The only days you went without his cock in your mouth were the days he was away on raids. When you had woken that morning without the ache in your jaw and throat, you had been sad. (Whatever that said about your life now wasn’t something you wanted to think about too hard.)

Saliva coated your fingers where they grasped the very root of him, smearing on your face as you buried him as deep within you as possible. Tears scorched your cheeks as you gagged and struggled to remember to breathe through your nose.

He snapped his fingers in your face, drawing not just your eyes to his but capturing the attention of everyone else in the room. He held your gaze and your head in place as hot ropes of cum shot down your throat.

Drained, he let you up, a lazy grin spreading as you coughed and sobbed for a moment.

“Shit,” said one of the newer recruits, too young and stupid to survive for long. “I call next.”

The tension in the room was immediate. One of Joel’s smarter lackeys stepped away from the splatter zone. He was, after all, sporting a new denim jacket from the haul.

Joel held your eyes for a moment before slowly looking up at the offender. He rose, forcing you to scramble back a few inches to make room. His flaccid cock was eye level with you now, but you didn’t dare look away from his face. The satisfied grin had sharpened, his dark eyes clear and dangerous.

“Yeah? You want her to suck you off?” Joel drawled.

How this man had lived to his mid-twenties astounded you. He was making eye contact with a predator with apparently zero awareness of the danger.

“Fuck yeah, man,” said the future corpse.

Joel dragged his eyes back down to you. “Open up, sweetheart.”

The other man made to move toward you, but Joel raised one finger and waited while you opened your mouth, tongue out. Your heart was racing. You didn’t believe he would actually let someone else touch you, but there was still a sharp jolt of fear.

Joel took himself in hand, lifting your chin up with the other. He cocked an eyebrow at you—not seeking permission, but granting a warning. You realized what he was about to do right before it happened, tensing every muscle to fight the instinct to snap your mouth shut.

It wasn’t the first time Joel had pissed in your mouth, but that didn’t make the acrid stream any more pleasant. It burned your raw throat on the way down. He didn’t look away from you, thumb stroking your jaw gently. When he finished, he held his cock out for you to lick the tip clean. You pressed a soft kiss, offering forgiveness he didn’t require, and sat back on your heels.

He looked up at the other man, waving a loose arm in your direction. “Ya still want her?”

“You’re fucked up,” the newcomer said, shaking his head. “That’s fucking disgusting.”

Joel laughed and pulled your head to his thigh, one ear pressed against it and his large palm over the other. You squeezed your eyes shut just in time as he drew his pistol and shot the man in the crotch in one fluid moment. The bang still jolted you, and you pressed your face harder into Joel’s rough jeans.

He took his hand off your ear to stroke your cheek. “Get him out of here,” he barked at one of the others, who immediately dragged the screaming, writhing man out of the house.

Joel squatted down, hands on your shoulders. “You okay?” He inspected you, brushing his hands over “your” shirt to make sure none of the viscera had reached you.

You nodded, though you were shaking a little and forcing slow, wavering breaths in and out.

“That’s my girl,” he said, brushing a thumb over your swollen lips. He stood up and helped you up, leading you upstairs without another glance at his men.

Your hand grasped tight in his rough, calloused palm, and he led you to his room, where you sat on the edge of the bed, eyes downcast.

He toed off his boots and slid his belt out of the loops of his jeans. “Don’t worry, baby. We’ll wash the taste outta your mouth.”

You looked up to watch him shuck off his gray t-shirt, captivated by the way it peeled off his biceps and fluttered to the floor. It was followed quickly by his jeans and boxers. His cock sprung free, hard again already after the thrilling turn of events.

You made to slide to your knees, but he clicked his tongue at you. “C’mon, I ain’t that mean. Lay back, sweetheart. You did so good out there for me.”

You obeyed, ass perched on the edge, knees bent and legs spread wide, braced against the footboard. He stepped between your legs, running a hand over your stomach.

“Look at you, princess, you’re soaked.” The crooked smirk returned as he lightly dragged a finger through your wet folds. “You liked that?”

A wretched flush overtook you from your face to your chest, ears burning. You looked away, but the sharp tsk brought your eyes back to him.

“Don’t hide from me,” his voice pitched low and dark, the drawl always thicker when he was stalking prey. “It’s a good thing, baby. Tell me why you’re dripping.”

“Felt safe,” you murmured, blushing harder. “I like bein’ yours.”

He grinned and pushed his thumb down on your clit, watching as you gasped and jerked.

“Good girl,” he said and sank to his knees.

He chuckled, watching your eyes grow wide. He didn’t want to spoil you, so this was a rare treat. He spread you with two fingers, licking a wide stripe from your cunt to your clit. Your hips jerked, and he lay an arm over them, pinning you down as you sobbed a long moan.

A rare treat, but a divine one. He ate you out like you were the first oasis in the desert. Licking and sucking, plunging three fingers deep into your pussy until you fell apart on his tongue. And he didn’t stop, teeth nipping at your clit until the aftershocks of your orgasm crested smoothly into another. And another. You were sobbing full out, thrashing to pull away from the suffocating pain and pleasure, but he held you in place until the sixth orgasm left you sprawled, loose-limbed, eyes dazed.

“That’s it, baby,” he crooned, standing up and raising your knees to your chest. You hadn’t the strength to move where he wanted, but he was more than happy to manhandle your pliant, soft body.

Your eyes fluttered open when he notched the fat head of his cock at your entrance, only to roll back and shut again when he pushed into the hilt in one smooth stroke. You were slick, and he had stretched you with his fingers (another luxury you weren’t always awarded), but the sheer size of him never failed to take your breath away.

There was no slow, gentle sex with Joel. Only the rough, demanding pace he set immediately, hands bruising your already mottled hips. It didn’t take long, him having already spent once that day and your body in no condition to handle a long session. When he began to flood your cunt with his warmth, he reached down and pinched your clit, twisting cruelly. Your scream was loud but broken, rough with overuse, as he ripped another orgasm from you.

He slipped out and crawled onto the mattress, gently moving you up to rest against the pillows with him. “Open,” he said, tapping at your jaw.

You let your mouth fall open, not a spare thought in your brain, as he made good on the promise to wash the taste of his piss out. Reaching between your legs, he scooped up a glob of your mixed juices, bringing them to your tongue. You automatically closed your lips around him, sucking and licking. He repeated the motion twice more until he was satisfied, then pulled you in for a deep kiss, chasing the taste of both your pleasures.

It wasn’t until after he lulled you to sleep, brushing the sweat from your brow, that he pulled his clothes back on and crept out of the room.

Outside, his men had tied the injured sonofabitch around the wrists and slung the rope over a solid branch, his feet just barely dragging on the mud below.

He jolted alert as Joel approached and began sobbing in fear. Joel spit at his feet.

“Shame you didn’t bleed out already,” Joel said, drawing his finger along the blade of his favorite knife. The blood pooled on Joel’s fingertip, dripping down to his wrist.

The other man watched, eyes wide with terror, and began screaming around the rag in his mouth.

“I mean, a shame for you,” Joel said, with a shrug and a quirk of his lips. “I’m gonna have a real good time, though.”

*title from "There's No 'I' in Team" by Taking Back Sunday.

#joel miller x reader #joel x reader #the last of us fic #raider!joel #dark!joel miller #dead dove do not eat #kinktober 2023 #raider!joel miller #dark joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #corazondebeskar-reads and writes

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iveriee · 8 months

Note

What about a one-shot where yan!Tom kidnaps reader and tries to make a point of the whole "you'll never escape me now" thing but reader goes "why would I want to leave? I love you" or something like that?

★;ANSWER: That's a really great idea! Once again, i apologise if this is rushed.

★;CATEGORY: A yandere x reader

★;PAIRING: Yan!Tom Riddle x Gn!Willing!Reader

★;SUMMARY: In which...you are trapped inside the Chamber of Secrets.. yet you do not seem to mind.

★;P.S: This contains severe mentions of obsessive and toxic behaviour, as well as stalking and kidnapping. This is only for entertainment purposes and I do not encourage such acts. My immediate thought after seeing this was, of course, the chamber of secrets, because what better place is there for such a situation? I apologise for the quality of this fic. I forgot to mention this in my introduction, but English is NOT my first language. I've been going through some complications with my friends, so i once again apologise for the length and quality .

Your eyes unlatched open. This was not [Your house] common room. Your back nudged a wall seemingly made out of archaic stone—Frigid wind smeared across you like an unyielding poltergeist, leaving your frame quivering. Upon the restoration of your vision, You had begun to make comprehension that you were in a perplexing chamber, all alone. Yet that was perhaps, only an illusion. As anomalous as it was, There was something —perhaps someone other than yourself that sauntered these glacial walls.

You had to think properly—Could this have been a mere jest? Or perhaps a mere dream? The thought seemed to birth solace somehow, like a cerulean lagoon in the midst of a withered desert, promising yet untrue. Your hands, of course—attempted to reach out for your wand only to met by your pockets being vacant, However, as some say, when one door closes, the other opens. In your case, it was no door that opened.

Footsteps, yes, indeed. Humanoid footsteps seemed to reach your ears—It would have been better if you were oblivious—if you did not know that something was here—One last resort was to sprint out, however, you had never been quite the runner. Faintly yet surely, you made your way across..this place, (whatever it was) as if a monstrosity might leap out out of the shadows and slit you to litter, until you were the barren dust of [Name] [Last Name].

Your heart almost concluded...There was someone's breath wandering above your shoulders—And henceforth when you turned your gaze behind—It was Tom-Freaking-Riddle! How amusing.. If you had perhaps attempted to tell such a thing, people would blaze into laughter—The suspension that this was a mere dream had become truly something you'd consider—and yet that was indeed reassuring in a way. Nobody possessing a right mind at Hogwarts would ever listen to your accusations. If you got out of here, that is. Fixing your vision and harbouring aspiration that this was a hallucination, It was, surely, him. It was that bewitching face of his that made your cheeks soak crimson—No, this was not the time. Your frame shuddered and henceforth, with a pond of courage flourishing inside of you. You met his gaze.

To gaze at his eyes was to gaze at a boundless puzzle—you could never comprehend it. Indeed, his last was Riddle afterall and you could not make of a reasoning when he smirked. His hands etched their passage to your cheeks—Perhaps lovingly?. No...That could not have been it. You aspired to question him...Why were you here? And quite even so, Why was he here? Yet words collapsed in your throat, never quite arriving at your mouth.

"Do you perhaps plan to stare all day long, my love?" He questioned, striding nearer. "Indeed if you strive to do so, i do not mind. However, i suppose I owe you an explanation, don't i?" He added curtly, his gaze weakening you like thunderous currents of the Black Lake. "It is quite complex to say very the least, So i must warn you to expect astonishment. [Name] [Last Name], i...love you." He murmured. The word 'Love' seemed,perhaps, unhomely to him, Your reasoning being when his face flashed a string of vulnerability that vanished in mere seconds. "In more accurate words, I desire you." Of course. It was mere desire, wasn't it? His words stung deeper than anticipated. "As you are well aware, i do not particularly enjoy sharing what is mine, and henceforth, here you are—locked up in the Chamber of Secrets, all mine with no route of escape whatsoever."

"Why would I even ought to escape?" You interrogated, tilting your head to the side. "I'd be content with residing here." You added in perplexity. "I suppose anyone would accept you being their kidnapper." To drown in honesty, You did not mind your current situation, Perhaps—You 'loved' him as well? No it could not have been such a feeling...He was a mere stranger to you.. Yet you felt inclined to stay, to embrace him, to be completely and utterly his..

His lips parted yet no words were heard. Never had you ever aspired that Tom Riddle would be astonished at your words. Of course, he collected himself after a mere second. The silence was serrating, like a honed dagger slicing through you, yet no pleas were heard from your throat. He grinned wickedly and tilted nearer, your noses bordering eachother as his hands seized your chin, angling it upwards. "I suppose I must reward you for your acceptance."

#harry potter #hp fandom #tom marvolo riddle #tom riddle #yandere tom riddle #tom riddle x reader #wizarding world #yandere tom riddle x reader #yandere x reader #yandere #willing!reader #hp fanfic #voldemort

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fungifanart · 3 months

Text

Deserted

Characters: Leona Kingscholar, male reader, yuu!reader

CW: Heavy angst/whump, slight suicidal ideation

Word count: 1K

Notes: Did you guys know that Leona is my favorite character? (Also, @oleilaa got mad at me when I didn't tag them in my last Leona-related fic)

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

Somehow, Leona knew that this is how it would all end for him.

Trudging alone across a barren desert, the hot sand slowly burning the bottoms of his bare feet beyond repair, his once proud and well-maintained mane now a rat's nest caked with more sand.

He turns his dry eyes up towards the horizon, hoping to see even a mirage of an oasis just to revel in the illusion of hope, but his mind won't even grant him that much. So he lowers his gaze back to the ground, he doesn't have a destination in mind anyway.

Should he go back to his home? What home? His "home" is nothing more than a large building full of people who hate him and reminders of all of his failures and shortcomings. In that sense, his home is just one big prison.

And he'd rather die than go back there.

So he keeps walking. In no definite direction. All while his hunger and thirst eat away at his insides and the harsh sunlight beats down on him from above.

This must be punishment for the Spelldrive tournament. The karma for his scheming, sabotage and lashing out has finally caught up. And it's going to be the death of him.

After what feels like hours of painful walking with no end in sight, Leona's legs finally give out. Leaving him no other option but to use his hands to drag himself across the sand on his stomach.

This is unequivocally the lowest Leona's ever felt: Aimlessly dragging himself across a desert he feels no greater than a grain of sand in.

However, just as Leona's arms are beginning to give out as well, he hears the sound of light footsteps approaching and looks up to see a familiar-looking face crouching down in front of him and extending a helping hand. Though, his eyes are too dry and tired to recognize who it is.

A few seconds of blinking later, his eyes finally adjust enough to fully make out the person's face, recognizing him as the prefect of Ramshackle dorm who's smiling like nothing is wrong as he holds out his hand.

Leona's eyes go unfocused again as he questions how he came to be here and, more importantly, why he's reaching out to him now.

Why is the Prefect reaching out to Leona: The man who put him through so much, almost taking his life in the process, and used him as a simple pawn on a chessboard before leaving him by the wayside?

Does he...really forgive him despite everything?

One more look at the Prefect's comforting smile and still outstretched hand gives him his answer: The sun positioned perfectly behind the other man's head to create a halo around it, giving him the look of a saint.

And that's what he is to Leona.

A saint.

A savior.

An angel.

His angel.

Leona finally musters the strength to reach out and take the Prefect’s hand...only for cracks in his skin and the color of sand to quickly spread all over the Prefect’s body, starting from where Leona had taken his hand.

Leona frantically lets go of the Prefect, but it's already too late. In the Prefect’s place stands a sand sculpture of him, still holding out its hand with a no longer comforting smile, which then crumbles into another pile of sand, indistinguishable from the rest surrounding him.

His body forces out whatever water it has left in the form of tears as the realization hits him.

He was a fool to have hope.

This is who he is.

Destroying things, reducing them to sand no matter what or who they are, is all that he's good for.

Who's to say that this entire desert isn't his handiwork as well?

His despairing cries echo over the area as the wind picks up, sweeping up the Prefect’s remains into a sandstorm that swirls around him almost mockingly.

Leona's body curls itself into a ball as his cries continue, growing more labored as sand invades his mouth and throat, drying them out and causing him to cough more than cry, wishing that his signature spell worked on himself as well.

The wind howls in his ears as this happens and he swears he can almost make out the sound of malicious laughter at such a pitiful display.

This new torture goes on for what may well be hours or even days for all Leona knows. He has to keep his eyes closed to shield from the sand and the sandstorm is blocking his view of the sun regardless.

This is truly his personal hell.

However, an unknown amount of time later, the laughter dies down before completely disappearing, taking the sandstorm with it with what sounds like a defeated sigh.

Leona opens his eyes, blinking the sand out of them as a more grounded set of footsteps than before approaches and he feels a hand take his and lift him up onto his feet, which suddenly feel normal again. In fact, everything about him feels normal again!

Looking at his savior, Leona is shocked to see the Prefect once again. However, his face bears much more mixed emotions than before, the forefront of which being...pity.

"I can't stay mad at you." He says with a sigh while turning away, "So I'm giving you one chance to wake up and get out of my sight."

Leona doesn't move or say anything, still too surprised over this development to even attempt waking up from this apparent dream.

A few seconds pass and the Prefect looks back at him with an incredibly frustrated expression, "Didn’t you hear me?!" He says before winding up to slap him.

"WAKE UP!!!"

The moment the Prefect’s hand connects with Leona's face is when he jolts awake, sitting up in his bed in Savannaclaw, with the only remnants of what he'd experienced being a dry feeling in his throat and a dull pain on his cheek.

#why is this mushroom writing fanfics?#twisted wonderland #twst leona #twst #leona kingscholar #twst mc #twst yuu #angst #heavy angst #tw sui ideation #twst x reader #twst x male reader #leona x reader

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jaskiercommabard · 9 months

Note

Hi can I request “Let me do this, please.” for geraskier please and thanks 💛

I'm sorry this took so long! I am a slow writer on a good day, and I was planning on doing like a 300 word drabble but Geralt said NO. 2500 words or I feed you to Roach

Read on AO3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Geralt, help me, please,” Jaskier screams.

Not Jaskier.

It is not Jaskier, but that doesn’t keep the blood from rushing in Geralt’s ears as he hunts the thing that has his voice.

Jaskier is safe, back at the inn - probably sleeping by now, or else terrorizing the pretty barmaid Geralt had left him flirting with. He’s safe, far away from this barren, gore-filled clearing, unless-

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have followed you.”

The voice is thick with tears, wobbling pitifully. The cries continue, ricocheting mercilessly through the forest.

“I’m afraid.”

“Don’t leave me.”

“Geralt, Geralt. I’m here.”

He is not here. The only trace of Jaskier comes from the strip of thick linen blocking Geralt’s vision, the barest memory of lemongrass and cinnamon hitting the air when he tugs the fabric more securely over his eyes. Beneath it, only rot.

Geralt turns in a slow circle, blade raised and ready to strike. He’s spent all day tracking the location of a nightwraith that has been calling young men to their deaths in the forest, and now the moon is high. Geralt is not a young man, so he is relieved to find - in a stroke of his peculiar sort of luck - that the nightwraith isn’t overly particular about which hearts it rips out and leaves at the edge of town.

“There you are,” it coos, the tone familiar and melodic. “I tried so hard to find you.”

It’s a perfect mockery of relief and exhaustion, the same sigh that greets him after a long day riding or a long night performing, and it’s close. Its feet fall just like Jaskier’s, a little heavier on his right side where his hip is starting to give him trouble - Geralt can almost see the unevenly worn soles of his boots crunching toward him through the blanket of leaves on the ground.

It's late enough in autumn that Jaskier would be grousing about the cold, and as soon as the thought crosses his mind, the creature's teeth begin to chatter.

“There’s something out here. I’m frightened. Why won’t you help me?”

Closer, now. Close enough for Geralt to lunge at it, and the gasp that falls into the quiet air when his sword finds the creature’s flesh belongs to Jaskier, too.

The strike falls short of a killing blow, thrust out blindly as it is, and does little more than confuse and enrage it. Soon the voices are overlapping, shrieking above him, losing their soft edge. Vicious wind tears around him and he’s caught in a squall of Jaskier weeping, Jaskier laughing, Jaskier howling in pain. It is behind him and before him, above him and around him, oppressive, inescapable. He has no choice but to rip the fabric from his eyes and-

And there is Jaskier, where Geralt knew he would be, kneeling in the dirt with trembling hands pressed into his side. A gruesome stain slips out from beneath his fingers, so similar to the red of his doublet that it only makes the fabric darker, and a matching ribbon of it falls from his mouth.

It’s a nightmare Geralt has woken from a thousand times, Jaskier all blue and pink and red, too red at the end of his own sword.

"Why?" the thing mouths, but it's lost, crackling out somewhere in the air instead of falling from his lips. The creature wields his voice like a weapon as it loses control, twisting that sweet tenor into something that stings his ears.

The taste of blood coats Geralt’s mouth and fills his nose, real and hot and nauseating. It's a strong illusion, built from grief and malice, and it has to end, now, before he cracks beneath the weight of it. He has no choice but to sprint past Jaskier to reach the corpse on the other side of the clearing, but even his enhanced speed is no match for a wraith this powerful. Fingers colder than ice wrap around his ankle and he is flung like a doll to the ground, knees singing with pain as they crash into the earth.

“Let me do this,” he shouts over the roaring wind, twisting back to face the wraith. He’s foolish for it, maybe, but it’s easier to argue with a monster when it wears a face he squabbles with a hundred times before breakfast most days. “Please. Let me help you!”

For a moment, the frigid hand on him only tightens. It’s enough to make his bones creak, but then Jaskier’s face softens, rippling out from the center. That familiar mop of messy hair turns golden, tumbling easily over a set of round, narrow shoulders. Finally, blue eyes turn maple brown - upturned and mournful, a perfect match to the farmer who had begged Geralt to find his missing daughter.

They had looked just like hers, watery and wide, when the man chased him down outside the alderman's hut. Find my girl, he had pleaded, pressing a stack of old coins into Geralt’s palm. Bring her home, however you can.

The flickery image of the girl nods once, just the barest dip of her chin as she releases his ankle. It’s enough for Geralt to lurch away, extending his hand to cast Igni over the too-small body decaying in the dry grass beside them. For a moment, above the rot and char and heat, the air is washed out with a breeze of sweet hay and lilies, and then she is gone.

What’s left behind is a maelstrom of untamed rage and malice, once more with Jaskier’s face, flickering now as the illusion struggles to hold itself together. Something sick and sharp blooms in Geralt’s throat, but he raises his sword anyway. He wavers, and the wraith smiles with his friend’s mouth. It’s all wrong - all sharp, dripping teeth jutting out from endless black, and that is just enough to snap Geralt back to focus.

The wraith shrieks, the witcher springs. It still has Jaskier’s tears and Jaskier’s hands and Jaskier’s sweet, wide eyes when it dies on Geralt’s sword.

The pleasant hum coming from the warmly lit hall of the Merry Magpie rises when Geralt stalks in the front door, its patrons ruffling like rattled hens at the sight of him. He forgoes the bar entirely - he’ll collect his coin from the alderman and deliver it along with a box of ashes to the farmer in the morning. Tonight, he’ll tend to the cold spike of grief and guilt settled in his own chest.

He can’t shake his unease as he climbs the stairs to the shadowy upper floor of the inn - it rolls around in his gut, sends his shoulders bunched halfway to his ears. It’s irrational, he knows, but the feeling only winds itself more tightly around his spine when he shoves open the door to their shared room and finds it empty.

Geralt swallows around the sharp thing creeping higher into his throat. The bard isn’t far, not with his lute and songsheets strewn about the bed. He’s just as likely to be in a room around the corner with that freckled barmaid, or out behind the inn with the stableman he’d been making eyes at all day, or-

“In here, Geralt!”

In his panic, he’d missed the thick humidity of the room and the scent of Jaskier’s soap, missed the familiar tick of his heart beating quarter-time against Geralt’s own.

“That is you, Geralt?” he continues, calling from behind the dressing screen in the corner of the room. “You’d better be Geralt, or you’ll have some explaining to do to my outrageously large and occasionally violent very best friend in the whole wide world-”

His voice swings up an octave when he turns to find the witcher only a few paces from him.

“Merciful gods, witcher, you really have to stop doing that. It’s…unnerving. I am unnerved. Has anyone ever told you you’re unnerving?”

Jaskier has. Frequently, but Geralt is so caught up in staring at his throat working, whole and unhurt, that he doesn’t answer.

“Fuck. Are you alright?” Jaskier asks as he rounds the steaming basin in the center of the room to close the space between them. His tone is tempered now, low and even, the way it is when he soothes Roach while Geralt picks pebbles out of her shoes. Geralt wets his lips but only nods, and careful hands rise up to pet him over anyway.

There’s a peculiar crease in his brow, a dimple beside his frowning mouth that, surely, no creature could ever mimic. It only deepens as he works away the armor to uncover Geralt piece by piece, unable to find any visible injury. The help only slows him down, really, but Jaskier is warm and real and his waist fits neatly into Geralt’s palm where his hand has drifted, so he lets himself be fussed over.

The bard is chirping away as he always is when the thorns start to prick at Geralt’s stomach again.

“Jaskier,” he tries to command, but it comes out strangled, “I need you to stop talking.”

The bard squawks indignantly, swatting at his shoulder where he’s masterfully knocking loose a pauldron that needs its latch replaced.

“You are so rude, do you know? You’re terrible to me.”

“Jask. Stop.”

Either Jaskier hears the plea he’s trying to swallow, or Geralt is bleeding out on the forest floor and hallucinating, because he snaps his mouth shut obediently and steps back. That’s wrong, that’s worse, so Geralt tightens the hand on his waist to draw him back into the circle of his arms.

He presses his face into the space beneath Jaskier’s jaw, because he wants to, and because he can’t help himself. His other hand drifts into the gently curling hair at the nape of Jaskier’s neck, damp with sweat and steam from the bath slowly cooling beside them. He startles slightly at the touch, but Geralt only noses in further.

After what has been only a moment for Geralt but certainly a small eternity for the bard, he speaks softly into the top of Geralt’s head.

“Just tell me what’s wrong, dear. Please.”

“It had your voice,” he whispers. Jaskier scoffs indignantly, but it’s missing some of his usual bluster.

“I can assure you, nothing and no one on this Continent has my-”

He cuts himself off, tensing in Geralt’s hold as the words hang above them.

Luring our men into the forest, the innkeeper's wife had said. They all heard it - their wives, lovers, calling to them in the night. It drove them mad, ripped their hearts out.

“It had my voice.”

He understands, and the meaning is cutting through the air like an arrow let loose too soon, flying outside Geralt's control.

“And you had to…?” Jaskier grimaces, all blunt teeth, and leans back to drag a thumb across his throat. Geralt nods tightly, follows the motion with his eyes and then with the tips of his own fingers. That familiar sparrow-heart pulse jumps up to meet his touch in the same soft and perfect spot where Geralt had plunged his sword.

“Oh, love,” he breathes, and it twists in Geralt's stomach like a fist. He slides his eyes away to track a bead of sweat falling from Jaskier's temple, and he can smell it - lemongrass and cinnamon, salt-sweet skin. No copper, no decay.

Though his blood moves too slowly for it to show, Geralt feels the flush high in his cheeks anyway, where it might blossom on a human's face - where it does begin to blossom on Jaskier's. It pricks strangely beneath his eyes, makes his tongue slow and clumsy.

“Did you know?”

A startled noise bubbles out of Jaskier as he meets Geralt’s gaze, but his eyes are fond and soft, wide with something that looks like wonder. Geralt leans into the tender brush of knuckles across his cheek, forgetting for a moment why he ever stopped himself before.

“That you love me?” He laughs, high and soft and musical. It's unbearable. “I suspected. Did you?”

The answer sits on his tongue like the last bite of an apple tart, lives in his throat like a shared skin of good wine, scratches at his chest like an ancient shirt stitched together by a musician's cautious hands.

“I must have. I-” he shakes his head as if the right words might tumble out of him. Jaskier only sighs, an easy smile stuck on his face as he raises his palm to Geralt's cheek. It's the same look he has when they meet each other on the road after a season apart.

He can’t reconcile the smile and the screaming, the image of the wraith still exploding like a bomb behind his eyelids.

"I'm sorry," he says, nonsensically. His thumb is back at the hollow of Jaskier's throat.

"For what?"

"I hurt you."

I cut you down as you begged me not to. As you cried out for me to help you. What does that make me?

"Show me," he whispers, just loud enough to hear over the peculiar tangle of their heartbeats. There is an unfamiliar look on his face, something curious and patient, something that makes him sweat even as the room is cooling.

Geralt swallows hard, presses his thumb into the top of Jaskier's throat, dragging it down until it meets the loosely gathered laces of his chemise. Jaskier's hands fly up to untie them, slowly exposing each precious inch of skin that had been rent and torn by the blade. Instead of steel, Geralt pulls gooseflesh along in his wake. It blooms along with the sweetly creeping flush that spreads across Jaskier's collarbones - blood brought to surface by his hand, again, so different this time.

Geralt continues his path over Jaskier's breastbone, across the dip between his ribs, until he reaches the spot above Jaskier's navel where his sword had struck its final blow. He follows the path again with the flat of his hand, up over a rabbiting heart until his palm rests in its place against Jaskier's neck. His breaths have gone thin and quick, the way they did when he was dying.

He's not dying, now - no, Jaskier is very much alive when he closes the meager space between them. He's alive when he tips their foreheads together, and Geralt wonders how he could ever have been fooled, seeing this face without the crinkles near his eyes and the easy flush in his cheeks. He’s so alive when their lips brush and it’s all sweet and hot, no ash left in the breath they share.

Geralt knows what Jaskier sounds like with steel in his throat, now, what he sounds like drowning in his own blood. He’ll never unlearn it. It's only fair, he decides, that he should know what Jaskier sounds like when his lips find that same place, when his tongue follows.

#Soooo this for sure got away from me lolol #Thank you so much for the prompt I hope this is okay!!!!!#Geralt x Jaskier #geraskier #geraskier fic #witcher fic #little fics #fic prompt #my brain does weird things when I ask it to write

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wardenparker · 10 months

Text

The Viper's Bride - ch 10

Oberyn Martell x female reader x Ellaria Sand x OC Co-written with @absurdthirst

The second Prince of Dorne has lived under the illusion that he would not be forced to wed for his entire life. He has enough lovers and illegitimate children to make him a legend across Westeros, and the love of his soulmate Ellaria Sand to content him. But a contract between his brother and a lord from the north will catapult him into a match that may prove to be as complicated as it is intriguing. Especially when he learns that you already have a soulmate of your own.

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 11.7k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: terrible parents, age gap 10+ years, arranged marriage, classicism, cursing, food and alcohol, internalized homophobia. Reader is described as having hair long enough to braid* Fluff and intimacy, blink and you'll miss it pregnancy kink, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, bath sex. Brief mentions of physical pain and past abuse (parent to child and spousal). More secret keeping. Summary: An unexpected development could change everything - but will it be as good a change for everyone as it is for some? Notes: Tumblr is rejecting any effort I try to put into editing my taglist for this story, guys. I'm really really sorry. If you want to be put on the master tag list please send me an ask or a DM and let me know, as that does not seem to be experiencing problems at the moment.

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9

In the days that follow, routine develops. Walks with Margaery become frequent interludes, there is more chance to spend time with Ellaria or with Raeden, and suppers in your quarters are occasions for the four of you to bask in each other’s attention. A week of pleasant days goes by without incident, all except for the gnawing feeling in your chest that never seems to dissipate.

Despite the joint coupling that happened a week ago, there has not been a repeat. The days have turned longer with meetings and whispered conversations in darkened hallways of the wretched keep. Oberyn has kept you and Ellaria apprised of what is being said, Raeden already knowing, but he will be glad to leave King’s Landing behind when this is over.

There has not been another night with Raeden, despite many pleasant evenings in his arms after supper while the four of you have talked. Each night he and Ellaria have retreated to the second bedchamber and left you and Oberyn to your conception efforts with little or no fuss at all. It seems strange, considering how hard you fought to be able to keep Raeden at your side – but you remind yourself that it does not mean he loves you any less. Or that you love him any differently, either.

Oberyn pours another cup of wine and sighs. “I am ready to be rid of this city.” He tells you as he looks out the window at the city below, watching people and animals scurry about their evening. “Will you miss it?”

“I cannot think so.” The gardens are beautiful and the library welcoming, but apparently both are more stunning in Dorne. “If nothing else, it makes the people I care about unhappy, and my mother is still here.” You shrug at him half-heartedly. “That alone is enough to make me long to be anywhere else.”

“Has she said something to you?” Oberyn turns and gives you a sharp look, instantly ready to cut her with his tongue if she had. You have opened up more to him over the past week and the woman should have been barren rather than a mother.

“She found me this morning in the library,” you admit, not liking the look of concern on his face all at once. “And…asked me to have dinner with her and my father tomorrow.”

“Just you?” He asks, raising a brow and wondering what her play is. She might be trying to curry favor. That would be very plausible considering she would have someone close to the small council, but he knows you are far too smart to fall for her shit.

“I did not want to commit you to an entire meal of her insults,” you admit with a small grimace. “So I said you were otherwise occupied on small council business.”

“So I can interrupt if need be and rescue you.” Oberyn smirks before he shakes his head. “You do not have to go. Make your excuses or just do not show if you wish to not go.”

“I thought you might say that.” He has developed a habit of playing with the hair along your neck when you sit together and it soothes you measurably, making you nearly sigh as you sit together. “But I do not want the last meal I share with my parents to be that disastrous breakfast the morning we were introduced.”

“I thought that meal was quite amusing.” Oberyn hums, remembering his own part with satisfaction, though he frowns when he realizes that it has been days since he was close to his lover.

“Yet remembering it makes you upset?” A fact which, when you point it out, makes you frown in turn.

“Simply your fear that followed.” He assures you. “Hopefully now put well to rest.” He leans in and kisses your chin to dispel the frown and replace it with a smirk.

“There will always be some looming fear in a life frought with responsibility and power.” But you turn into him, seeking a kiss from his lips to yours, and smile softly. “What I am assured of is the support of my husband. And for that I am grateful.”

“There is nothing much more powerful than a prince.” He reminds you. “Unless those rumors of dragons are true.”

“I value your support much more than your power.” It would not be true of every woman he could have married, but it is certainly true if you. And you hope – however quietly – that the fact of it means something to him.

“You have both, Princess.” He softens, his fingers caressing your skin and he’s aware that he is lucky in the choice of bride made for him. It might not have been intended, at least for your sweetness, but he is drawn as a bee is to honey.

“Then I am very lucky.” Returning his gentle gesture, your fingers caress the sharp line of his beard and make your smile grow a little wider.

“I have to shave tonight.” He grunts, watching you carefully. “Another bath.” He doesn’t care for the baths in the Keep. “I have already told Cal, do you wish to join me?”

“Leyth will be grateful,” you muse, glad to accept the invitation. The small and large moments of intimacy you get with him are always worthwhile. “It will save her having to draw one for me tomorrow.”

Oberyn had not been with either servant since coming to the keep, in fact, he had been inside no one but you. “Princess.” He tilts his head and draws a circle on your arm.

“My lord?” Though he has yet to demand your fealty, he is that. Your husband. Your prince. Your lord.

His lips twitch slightly and he lifts a brow, approving of your demeanor. “Have you touched your lover since that time we were all together?” He asks it softly, no accusing, just wondering if you had managed to spend time with him when Oberyn is occupied.

“Not beyond a kiss.” There had not been time for it during the daylight hours and you have spent every night since the consummation of your marriage with your husband. “He has been considerate of our efforts to ensure your heir.”

“Very considerate.” Oberyn hums and adds it to the tally that he is forming in his head. “Do you wish to go to him? Seek other pleasures with him?”

The offer, even though there is no malice in his voice, makes you shrink back a little. “Do you wish for me to leave you after we bathe?”

“Not at all.” He shakes his head, making an effort to not frown. Reminding himself that you are still innocent in the ways of multiple partners. “I just realized that I have been greedy with your nights.”

“I enjoy our nights.” Perhaps too much, you have thoughts more and more frequently — especially when laying in his arms at night.

“I have enjoyed our nights as well.” He chuckles and brushes his nose along your neck. “Are you wishing for anything? Something I can give you?”

“How could I possibly wish for anything beyond what I already have?” Your soulmate, a doting husband, and a divinely lovely friend in his own soulmate. A growing friendship with the widowed queen. What better companions could you ask for?

“Lovers.” He hums. “Whichever you want. A pretty cunt to eat or a cock to suck.” He chuckles quietly. “I am merely asking if you have grown more curious. Though you drain me dry every night when you ride my cock, perhaps you have secretly wished for more.”

“It would not give me the same satisfaction, I think.” The idea of sharing your bed with a stranger simply to take pleasure in them actually appeals to you very little, you have found. It is the closeness – the intimacy – of the act that you crave. Even the most intensely physical fucking you have ever shared with Oberyn has been fraught with feeling. “I think that…it is important for me that I care for my lovers.”

“Interesting.” He’s not of the same mind frame but he respects that. His own feelings for you are complicated and burgeoning as he spends more time in your presence.

“It may seem a bit unconventional to you.” Which is in no way a thing to regret or censure. It is simply a fact. “But I think so far it has made me happy.”

“Just because it is something I am not used to does not mean it is wrong.” He reaches out and caresses your neck gently to reassure you. “I just wish to make sure you are happy with this arrangement as it is.”

“I am.” Much to your surprise, in fact, and you nuzzle against his hand. “I am happier than I ever thought possible. But if you wish to have others in your bed, you only need to say so.”

“I will hurt you.” It’s a simple statement, but one that holds a heavy weight.

The light in your eyes dims and you glance away, suddenly focused on your fingernails far more than his face. “I do not like how you seem so sure of that.”

Oberyn tuts and reaches for your chin. “I do not want to hurt you, Star.” He rephrases softly. “So I need to know if it will hurt to find me with other lovers.” With Ellaria, there had never been that question, but for some reason, it seems terribly important to work out before he causes a hurt he cannot kiss away.

“I expect it.” It is not precisely an answer to his question, but at least it is honest. “You cannot be satisfied by limitations, I knew that when I first went to your bed and I know that still. And, if I am perfectly honest, I admit to being surprised that you have not bedded anyone else since our first night together. I thought to spend most nights with Raeden. Or…even alone.”

“Why alone?” That makes him frown fiercely, and his dark eyes pierce into yours demanding the answer.

“If you are with someone else and Raeden is with Ellaria, then surely I must be keeping my own company.” It is not a judgment call. Simply a fact. But one that apparently neither of you enjoys.

“Princess, you never have to be alone.” He huffs. “Even if you did not join, you would be welcomed to lounge on a chaise and eat berries while I fuck.” He teases, hoping to chase away the clouds of sorrow in your eyes.

“I fear that while I enjoy being observed, I do not think I would enjoy watching you take pleasure in another.” Yet another unfortunate truth that you feel compelled to divulge to him, but it is what it is. “Unless it were Ellaria or Raeden…or someone else you cared for.”

“Hmmmm.” He nods in understanding, and lets go of your chin to lean in to press a soft kiss to your lips.

"Perhaps you may hurt me, but I fear I will still prove a disappointment to you." He had observed once that he did not have the power to hurt you because he did not hold your heart. The terrible truth is that with every passing day you become less and less sure of the truth of that statement. Fight it though you might, it seems very possible that your affection for your husband has outgrown what it once was. And that makes you not only a potentially disappointing wife, but a disgrace of a soulmate to Raeden as well.

“How?” He tilts his head curiously, wanting to see why you would think so.

"Try as I might, I do not think I am as free as you would wish me to be." As free as Ellaria is, you think loudly and with growing remorse. This night has already strayed a long way from the promise of a shared bath and a warm bed.

“I want you to be as free as you are comfortable.” He takes another sip of his wine. “I have not visited a brothel or tossed a servant’s skirts up.” He reminds you with a wink. “I’ve not even had Cal suck my cock, though that mouth is a gift from the gods, old and new.”

"I will sleep on the chaise tonight if you wish to share your bed with him." You would, your twisting chest tells you without words, do anything he wanted. It is an alarming thing to realize and you wince slightly without realizing it.

“You misunderstand my meaning, star.” He shakes his head and reminds himself not to get frustrated with you. “Checking to see if you have developed curiosities does not mean I wish to have another in our bed.” He murmurs quietly. “Freedom and security is all I am offering. The freedom to take or leave it, and the security to know that I will not rebuke you for it.” His hand takes yours and he brings it up to his lips to kiss the back of it like he had the first time he greeted you.

"And you have the same freedom, which is why I offered." The way he changes from intimate to polite at the drop of a hat is mercurial at best and infuriating at worst, but you remind yourself that you still do not know him as well as you think you do. As well as you wish you did. Your marriage is barely a fortnight old.

He sighs softly and gives you a fond smile. “My stars and moon, I have found that I am exhausted by the time you collapse into my arms.”

"Then perhaps I am not so disappointing a wife after all." For now, you can only pray that he remains satisfied with your time together.

“There will come a time that I hope all of us might be together.” He admits softly, leaning in and nudging your nose. “I would like to see you impaled on your soulmate's cock, full of my heir with your skin glowing and your belly swollen.”

That image – the image of the four of you so deeply entwined together – is one that you will soak in and burrow inside. At this stage of things, it is the truest version of what you desire. "If we are lucky, that day will not be so far away."

Perhaps not. Instead of answering, he nods and stands when he hears footsteps approaching. “That will be Cal.” He hums.

“Do you still wish me to stay? To bathe with you?” After the unexpected conversation, you would not blame him if he had changed his mind.

“Stand up and come to me.” He orders, turning away from the table where he was refilling his cup.

It is not often he gives orders, and your tendency from childhood is to follow them as long as they are not cruel, so you do what he says. Standing from the large, cushioned chair you had been sharing, you get up and cross the room to stand before him.

Cal opens the door and nods respectfully to Oberyn, The prince smirks slightly and nods in return before shifting his eyes towards his wife.“My lord.” Cal comes into the room with buckets of water and nods to you both. “My lady.”

“Strip.” He orders you softly, only to where you can hear him. He wants to see if you will argue or if you will trust him.

It is not necessarily so unusual an order, considering Cal has come to fill the bath, and you reach for your laces thinking only that Oberyn's tone is a bit odd.

Pride fills him, pride that you had admitted a preference for being with those you care for and yet you place your trust in him when Cal is in the room. He sets his cup down and his fingers tangle with yours. “Would you strip in front of Cal if I wished it?” He hums against your neck, “would you let me bare you in front of him to see your gorgeous cunt and delicious tits?”

It is not something you would ever think to do, nor is it something perhaps something that would be everyday behavior for you, but you nod slowly. This feels like a test, and you do not intend to fail him if you can help it. "I trust you," you tell him quietly. Quietly, but surely.

“Good.” He rasps out, sliding his hand up from your laces and cups your neck to drag you against him and plunders your mouth in a ravenous kiss.

Confident that you have passed his test at least for now, you sigh into the kiss and let him take all that he could possibly want from you. Because Oberyn gives as much as he takes it is no hardship - in fact it is entirely the opposite. It feels like being worshiped with every breath.

He breaks the kiss when Cal leaves to fetch more buckets and he smirks at you. “You did well, Princess.” He coos with a wink. “You always do well, you just need to believe it.”

"In time." Relieved that you were correct about his intentions, you let yourself lean into his embrace for a moment. "I think perhaps I have been molded out of clay that you know more of how to reshape than I do."

“Just be honest in how you wish to be shaped, Star.” He murmurs softly.

"I cannot claim to know just yet." An alarming thought does float to the top of your mind, though, pushing to be noticed and clamoring to be said. You swallow it deliberately. Too afraid of the words to even know how to form them on your tongue.

"Then we will make sure that you are not pushed into anything too soon." He toys with the laces of your dress and huffs quietly, unable to wait until you are in Dorne and wearing dresses that are far easier to access than these Northern dresses.

“Once again my gown is vexing to you?” The small tease feels good after such a serious conversation as you have had, and you look over your shoulder at him. “If there was a Dornish dressmaker in the Capitol I would have seen her immediately.”

"Wear nothing and make all of the women stew in their jealousy." He grunts, only teasing slightly because he knows your modesty will not allow that. You still cover up when anyone comes into the room, including Leyth until you are sure that it is just your maid.

“Perhaps one day.” If that day ever comes it will be a long way off, but he knows that. Instead you tip your head back further to kiss his cheek. “But well before that, I will be glad to be rid of all of these undergarments.”

"So do not wear them." He proposes easily. "You do not need them. You should be bare under your dresses."

“Truthfully?” This time you do turn fully, a slightly bemused and embarrassed smile on your face. “I asked Leyth to help me dress without them a few days ago and the dresses simply do not look or fit right. They are made for them.”

"How terribly proper of the ladies of the North." Oberyn snorts and continues to toy with your laces. "When it comes time, I will cut your dresses off of you in my eagerness to touch you, star." He promises quietly.

You hum. “It will be the only time gowns have ever been hunted for sport.”

“Vicious, dangerous creatures – cumbersome gowns.” He smirks slightly and decides to loosen some of your laces to make it easier for him to touch you.

“I can put on my dressing gown before Cal comes back,” you remind him. “If you truly want it gone.”

“No.” He isn’t going to disrobe you since you will be uncomfortable. “I just want to touch my wife.”

“That is certainly permissible.” If you could, you would loosen your laces for him and let his hands slip under your clothing to let him touch anywhere.

"I know." He doesn't say that because as your husband, he has every right to touch you whether you like it or not, but because you will let him touch you.

Cal returns shortly with more steaming water, readying the prince’s bath near the fire and with tamped wood underneath to keep the metal tub warm. As a soldier Oberyn Martell has faced plenty of cold baths and far worse conditions – as a prince he has the luxury of insisting for better. When he goes again it is to leave you and Oberyn alone for the night, and that small relief is enough to relax you a bit more.

"They have private rooms." He tells you. "Cal and Leyth. Allowed to sleep together safely every night." He is talking just to talk, but to also put you at ease. Pulling your dress down as he does.

“They deserve as much.” Neither of them knows any of the fate of their soulmate, they have said, but their love for each other is evident. Not everyone is lucky enough to know the other half of their soul – but at least Cal and Leyth are able to share one heart.

"I think they are happy here with us." He hopes they are at least. He had taken them from the brothel where they had known what to expect and thrown them into the world of nobles and lies.

“And if they decide they are not, they now have the power to make their own way in the world.” A fact which makes you hum softly as Oberyn undresses you. The irony that your servants have far more freedom than you do is not lost on you.

His fingers pause for a split second as he comes to the same conclusion and he resumes the task with a hum. "Yes, they will." He says after a moment.

“I suppose you do, in fact, have more meetings tomorrow?” The amount of time that the small council seems to spend ruminating over the smallest matters is extraordinary to you. Oberyn and Raeden seem perpetually frustrated and tired each evening.

"No." Oberyn lets the dress fall to the floor and he hums as he sees the layers of underclothes. "Tomorrow the trial begins."

“How could I have lost track of time so easily?” Days blend together here, you have found, and you shake your head. “We will all be there.”

"Ellaria will stay here." He knows his lover and she would be bored with the trial. "I know she does not wish to watch an innocent man be wronged."

“Nor do I, but I promised Margaery.” Oberyn had said it was up to you whether or not you came, but a promise to a queen cannot be broken.

"Do you wish to have Raeden sit with you?" He asks softly, knowing that you will feel comforted by his presence.

“Only if he wishes to attend.” It is your turn to undress your husband, but your work is much faster than his for lack of an abundance of laces. “My comfort is not more important than his.”

"Raeden will attend, his comfort notwithstanding." Oberyn tells you. "He is now a Lord representing Dorne."

“Then I will ask him to sit with me.” You lift the robe he wears from his shoulders and lay it nearby with care. “That seems only polite.”

"Polite." He chuckles quietly and plucks the ties of his breeches open. "You are always polite."

“Some of the things about my upbringing were not terrible.” You attest, frowning for affect because you know he is only teasing you. “I never liked thinking of Raeden as being inferior. It is a comfort that you have elevated him so that he no longer is.” The thought makes you sigh slightly, but you swallow it. “To where he belongs.”

"I have given him nothing that he has not earned." Oberyn insists. "Your own father should have elevated him beyond a mere knight." He huffs, shaking his head. "He had a good man under his nose and he could not even sniff him out." He had a less than stellar opinion of the man due to him letting his wife run his household, but this had made him sink even lower.

“I suspect my mother may have had more to do with keeping Raeden a subordinate than anything else,” you admit ruefully. “If Father had elevated him, there would be nothing to keep us from marrying for love.”

He snorts and rolls his eyes, making a face that would tell you exactly how he felt about your mother. "And then you would have been actually happy." He murmurs softly.

“Do not say such a thing.” Rather than being insistent or upset, your voice is quiet. Pleading. There are words you cannot bring yourself to say. Things that you feel that you have battled from the very beginning and have only grown stronger. But one thing you are not is unhappy. “I am happy.”

He senses there is something else, something you are unwilling to share and it seems as if there are three people around him who carry secrets that are to be kept from him. "Then we will not talk." He pulls the ties of your shift and pulls it over your head to reveal your body to his eyes and immediately guides you back towards the tub.

“Because I insist I am happy with you, we will not talk?” You ask, bewildered and instantly upset.

"We will not talk so I can show you how I feel." He hums, gripping your hip and pulling you close.

Oberyn's expression is rarely done with words despite how eloquent he can be when he chooses. He would nearly always rather express himself by fucking or fighting, you have found, and while that is admirable in a soldier it is not always particularly helpful in your husband. Especially when you are the sort of person who benefits from having things spelled out for you. It is only because you have shared so many kisses that you understand instinctively that this kiss shared between you is somehow different.

He tries to keep his emotions out of it, but it bleeds through the kiss. Pouring into your mouth from his. Keeping his tongue busy and following it up by keeping his hands moving over you. Guiding you towards the bath and at the same time stripping off his breeches.

The large, heavy tub has held both of you before and you are certain it will again, but tonight when your legs knock against it the wind seems almost to knock out of you at the same time. His movements are as hurried as they are sure, making you all but certain that there are things he is not willing to say to you. It is a vain thing to hope that they might be the same things you cannot bring yourself to say to him, but somehow even the prince himself is keeping secrets.

He reaches up, tangling his hand into your braid and starts to pull it apart. Wanting your hair down, his to touch – to pull. Once the two of you are in the bath, he pulls you into his lap. "What do you want, Princess?" He demands roughly.

Instinctively, your answer ought to be that you have everything you want, for it is very nearly true. But what he means is what do you want from him, and that is a very different question altogether. The bath is the best place for only one kind of intimacy and so you straddle his hips carefully in the wide metal tub. “You, husband.”

His cock is already hard so it is not hard to pull you down on him. Reaching for the cloth and the soap, he rocks his hips up and lathers up the rag so he can drag it over your skin. "I will wash you." He tells you.

"I do not believe I have washed myself once since we married." Though it might be a cheeky observation, it is also true. Oberyn seems to take delight in the show of gentle care.

"You have been bathed by all your lovers, star?" He asks, smirking slightly. "My princess is becoming quite spoiled."

“Ellaria insists. And I have learned quickly not to question her.” The slow, languid pace that you ride him is luxurious and you have no wish to hurry it. Not tonight.

"Has she bathed with you?" He asks curiously. "Or just washed you while exploring your body?"

"I–" It takes a moment of thinking, but you look down at him with a similarly curious expression. "I cannot recall precisely."

He has to give it to his lover, she is good at confusing or redirecting someone. Especially when she distracts them with her sexual prowess. He has no doubt you were cumming while you were being bathed and the fog of pleasure distracted you from anything else.

“Surely it was only a coincidence if she did not.” The wheels of his mind are turning, and sometimes you truly cannot fathom what may come from that. Right now all you want to focus on is him.

“Surely.” He agrees with you, even if he does not mean that. Instead, he kisses along your neck and pays special attention to a small mark on your skin. Laving it with his tongue gently before pulling back to examine it. “What did you do here, Star?” He asks, curious to know what caused it.

“It is Raeden’s mark,” you tell him without thinking anything of the fact. “A scratch from his training as a young man.”

“It is?” Oberyn’s eyes narrow on the mark and he runs his fingers over it again. “Interesting.”

“Only if you consider sparring to be interesting.” Which, at this moment, you absolutely do not. You would much rather concentrate on the man inside you.

“Sparring is always interesting.” He muses, rocking up into you with a rougher thrust that had water splashing over the edge of the tub. “Do you not feel my spear?”

The sharpness of the thrust makes you moan, head falling back as you grip his shoulders to hold on. “Always— I feel you even when you are not inside me.”

“Good.” Oberyn hisses and holds onto you tighter. “I want you to feel me. Every second of every day.”

"Think sometimes you want – oh gods!—" A particularly hard thrust rocks through you and you keen loud enough that you are sure someone heard you, but the idea bothers you less and less. "Want one of us on your cock at all times."

“It would be a nice way to live.” He doesn’t deny it, smirking as he watches your tits bounce and your tongue stick out between your teeth.

"Wicked man." It is barely chiding – a mere tease at best, but you gasp out again as you grind down onto his length with swirls of your hips. "Wicked."

“Completely wicked.” He chuckles and leans down to wrap his lips around your nipple.

“Thank the gods.” You groan deeply as you both give yourselves over to the pleasure once more. It seems every night and every morning that you cannot have enough of each other and you are having such trouble now in keeping your sleepy thoughts to yourself in the first waking moments. It can never be – you promised yourself that – but you never anticipated that Oberyn would be such a good and clever man. Such a supportive and caring husband. The promise you made to yourself was when you thought he would be a cur. It gets more difficult each day not to admit more.

“Gods, Star.” Oberyn groans, getting closer to cumming and he is loving how open you are with him now. How his seemingly uninterested wife now rides him with an eagerness that is nearly unmatched. “You are exquisite.”

“Kiss me.” If he does not you might say something you regret. Or worse – not regret it at all. And that possibility is at its highest when you are coming apart in his arms, which you will be in mere seconds.

He almost refuses, but he has quickly learned he can refuse you nothing. His mouth latches onto your with a kiss that is both passionate and tender, assertive and giving. Sure that he will awaken the ancient dragons below the keep in the dungeons with the force of his groan.

It seems almost a cue for your body, the way that his sounds of pleasure rip through you and always pull a shaking orgasm from your body as he pours that passion into his kiss. Your cunt bears down on him, clutching and pulling him as deep into your body as you can manage while states burst behind your eyes and a cry of your own melts in his tongue for him to swallow.

Oberyn’s singular focus is on you. Feeling the way that your body shakes and keens in pleasure. Only satisfied to take his own release now that you are seen to. His grip bruises and his thrust manage to be brutal, even without the natural momentum of being on top of you. Holding you close in an iron grip until he is buried deep, groaning your name as he floods your womb with his seed.

The moment tears into you, crashing through your nerves and over your heart like a wave heralding the incoming chaos of a storm. There is too much in you to pretend anymore — and despite the way your heart aches at feeling that you have betrayed your love for Raeden, it is no longer something you can deny. The affection you feel for Oberyn has bubbled over. It is more than that. Perhaps it has been from the beginning. But the wracking sob that shakes your frame as he holds you close to him is proof to yourself that you cannot deny it any longer. Falling in love with your husband was never meant to be, but it has happened regardless. And all at once the single sob from your lips is followed by a scream of searing agony. It feels like small fires have lit all over your skin and no water in the world could soothe them.

“Star!” Oberyn’s eyes widen in shock, perhaps a moment of fear as your scream fills the air. It is not one of pleasure, it is pure agony and he’s lifting you off of him for fear he had pushed too deep and wounded you in some way. That he had somehow breached your womb and done you a great wound. “Gods, tell me what is wrong!” He cries, trying to be delicate with you as he stands and lifts you out of the water to rush you over towards the bed.

As quickly as the burning begins it seems to end in a moment’s flash. The pain is all too familiar, but the shock of how intense it is has dropped the well of tears before they can begin, leaving you in shock. All that is left is for you to sputter and cling to him, shaking with disbelief. “It—” You gasp for breath and manage to look down your body even for the briefest moment. “Gods above…” There are new scars marring your skin. Ones that you know all too well – from Oberyn’s body. “H—how?”

“What? What is it?” He demands, not looking at your body, but your face. Too worried about his wife’s health to pay attention to you and needing you to answer him. He’s about to call for a maester. You don’t say anything and so his eyes drift down to find marks on your body that he is familiar with. “Star…” he breathes out. “What has happened?”

Scrambling for the familiar, you frantically bend your leg to see if Raeden’s marks have somehow been replaced, but find the goring mark from the day he saved your life still carved into the skin of your inner thigh where it has been for years. “I do not—” spluttering for an explanation that you could never conceive, your hands search out Raeden’s other marks on your skin and find each one where it should be. “Impossible.” You manage, with confusion and an almost awe-struck fear in your voice.

“You have two sets of marks.” Oberyn manages after a moment, his eyes studiously contemplating the situation before him. A book in the Citadel’s library springs forward in his mind. It had been one on soulmates. Something he had no interest in at the time. Now he wishes he had read the book when boredom had taken hold.

“It is not possible.” You insist again, desperate to understand what is happening despite the evidence in front of you. The evidence that is on you.

“Apparently, you are mistaken.” He reaches out and touches one of your scars, his scars, in wonder. “Fantastic.” He muses as he examines the skin. Wondering how such a thing could be and yet it is here before his eyes.

“Fantastic?” The shock of hearing him be so enthusiastic about this development is almost as shocking as what happened in and of itself. You had been about to start apologizing.

“Two soulmates.” He muses, shaking his head and tracing your other soulmate’s scar. “It seems as though you might wish to be a simple woman with a simple life with your lover, you are not destined for that.”

“You are��pleased?” Fighting the instinct to cover yourself, which is unnecessary in front of your husband and ridiculous considering he wears these marks, you cannot stop staring at him in disbelief.

“Intrigued.” He tells you, his eyes sliding up to meet yours. “Wondering. And pleased.” Of course he’s pleased his wife bears his marks.

“I—” Still at a loss for words, all you can think to do is shake your head a few more times before trying again. “It did not happen to you…how is this possible?”

“I am not sure.” He admits with a small shrug of his shoulders. “There is a book in the Citadel on soulmates. Perhaps you should read it.”

"For once, books are the furthest thing from my mind." Sinking back into the mattress, the urge to cover yourself is overpowering again as you try to process what has happened. How in the instant that you admitted to yourself that what you feel for your husband is more than mere affection, his marks had appeared on you.

Your husband watches you seemingly close yourself off from him again. A wall building between you because you wear his marks. You are pulling away from him, undoing all the closeness the past weeks have brought. He frowns slightly and straightens so he can step back. “I will get you some wine.” He decides that giving you a minute is the best thing and turns around to grab the drying cloth since he is still dripping water onto the stone floors.

The momentary impulse to watch him walk away — to try to understand his melancholy as well as your own unease — becomes all the more unbelievable in an instant. “O-Oberyn…” You gasp, climbing out of the bed again with wide eyes. “Your back…” The switch marks you had received from your mother as a child of seven for the unladylike offense of climbing a tree stand out against his tan skin and you can’t help but gape.

“What about my back?” He asks, drying off slightly and turning towards you. He flashes you a small smile, a cover for his discontent in your reaction. “Scratches you make during sex do not bother me, Star.”

“It is not scratches I made.” Although those are there, too. “It is ones my mother made…”

He pauses, frowning and tilting his head for a moment as your meaning becomes clear to him. “Scars?” He asks. “I am wearing your marks. Is that what you are telling me?”

“Check your arm.” There is a mark there from when your brothers had been teaching you to handle a dagger and Antony accidentally nicked you with the tip of his blade. Your eldest brother had babied you for a week in apology.

He looks down at his arm and frowns. Bringing it up to inspect closer, he sees a mark that he doesn’t recall having before. “What is this from?” He asks, sure that it is your mark.

“Antony caught me with a blade when I was thirteen.” You explain carefully, trying to absorb the implications of what has happened. “My brothers were teaching me to defend myself.”

“What other scars do you have?” He demands, immediately starting to search his skin for marks that are new. “Not Raeden’s, yours.”

“The only other is on my ankle.” Every other scar on your body previously was Raeden’s. Now Oberyn’s mar your skin as well. “I was bitten by a stray dog and caught a fever.”

Bare assed, Oberyn bends down to examine his ankles and chuckles. “I did not know that scars could be so attractive, Star.”

“The dog that left it was mangy and mean,” you chuckle, not knowing what else to say in your disbelief. “How is this possible?”

“I do not know.” Oberyn admits, frustrated that he does not know the answers that you are seeking. “When I was training to be a maester, I had no interest in soulmates, so I did not study the matter.”

“Did you already know Ellaria then?” If he did, you can see him being content not to learn more. He already knew everything he needed to. If not? You cannot imagine not wondering - but you have a different outlook than Oberyn does.

“No.” He shrugs slightly as he stands straight. “I had watched my sister endure her own soulmate running off to be with another woman. Leaving her to deal with the madman who sat on that throne and refuse to come home because she had thought it was her place to stay and wait for Rhaegar to realize his mistake and come home.” He snorts and shakes his head. “She loved him and was stubborn.” The grin he flashes is wry. “A Martell family trait, I’m afraid.

“There are worse things than to love unerringly and to be stubborn about it.” Inching to the edge of the bed, you reach for him to give him the option of returning to your side if he wishes. “In fact they may be traits we share.”

“Yes.” Oberyn takes the invitation and strides over to the bed to sit down. “It is said that a Martell, once they love, it is for life.”

With your arms tangled around each other it seems easier to breathe, and you bury your face in his chest for a moment to do just that. What has happened is a miracle only read about folk tales or fantasy romances. Even then the tales are always of someone gaining a second soulmate after the death of their first. Never about having two soulmates at once. Still, you cannot ignore this gift from the gods. It is miraculous in and of itself. “I do not think there is such a saying about my house, but perhaps there should be.”

He wonders if that means that you love him. He had thought you might but your loyalty to Raeden was strong and you might have fought it. “Yes.” He murmurs softly. “Your Raeden is lucky to have such a fierce love.”

Though you nod slightly against his chest, you lean back to look into his face. For such an expressive man, he betrays nothing unless he wants to. And it makes you sigh softly, swallowing your fear. “If the gods have seen fit to give me two soulmates, I can see fit to love them equally.”

Oberyn's hand finds your cheek, caressing it softly as he stares into your eyes, gauging your comment and finding nothing but naked hope shining in your eyes. "Star..." He murmurs softly. "You must know that there is a place in my heart that belongs to you. I think it has since you begged me to marry you to save your Raeden and it has only grown bigger since then."

“It sounds so dramatic when you say it like that.” Dramatic and poetic – and of course Oberyn is a professed poet.

It was not the response he was expecting and his lips curl into a pout. "You believed me crass before and now dramatic." He huffs at you, his fingers still caressing your skin. "Next you will say I am boring."

“If I claimed so, it would only be to see you pout at me.” You lean close to him, feeling your skin tingle and breath catch with this admission you have made to yourself and the stunning result of having two soulmates. “But…” you press a soft kiss to his lips. “I do not think I could ever love a boring man. And I must confess to loving you more deeply than I have been able to reconcile.”

“You have been fighting it.” He surmises, not surprised by that. There have been moments where he could see your guilt at being apart from Raeden for so long. Times where he had almost sent you to the other man to cast away the unease in your eyes.

"Are you upset with me for doing so?" That is the furthest thing from what you want, but you would understand it. Understand that he was hurt or disappointed by his wife fighting against falling in love with him.

“Why would it upset me?” He asks you, tilting his head curiously. “You have freely admitted that you are not like Ellaria or I, sharing the ease of our physical affections. Why would emotions be any different?” It’s reasonable and rational, and he’s surprised that you think he would not understand your internal conflict. “The only upset that I harbor is that you have been upset by it. Even if it was passing moments.”

"You have changed my life in so many ways," you admit quietly, leaning your head once more on his shoulder to have him close. "I think I had no idea just how many changes you would make simply by being at my side. Or by allowing me to be at yours."

“I only allow you to take your rightful place as my Princess.” He teases with a smile as he wraps his arm around you. “You have been the one doing all the work.”

"It was no work to fall in love with you." For better or for worse, it is the truth. And a truth you will no longer be hiding.

“You have been working.” He hums. “Working to make sure that your lover is safe, that my lover’s feelings are respected.” He rubs your arm. “Working to become the woman you are meant to be.”

“I only hope that it is someone you can all be proud of.” If you can accomplish that, you reason, it will have been worth every ounce of effort. Their happiness and comfort is everything to you. Your two soulmates, and fascinating, intimidating Ellaria.

“Two soulmates.” He muses, shaking his head. “I am already proud of you, Star.” He promises. “Never doubt that.”

“Though I am not sure why, I will wear it proudly.” Turning your head, you place a kiss on his shoulder before another sigh escapes you. “We should tell them in the morning. I do not like the idea of keeping secrets.”

“Hmmmm, you don’t?” He asks lazily, kissing your shoulder. “Perhaps we should sit with it another day or so. Find some answers to our questions.”

“How can we?” He could distract a dragon from its gold with that mouth, and you have nowhere near the strength of a dragon. “The trial begins tomorrow. We will not have time to go to the Citadel.”

“Perhaps you could go after the break for the noon meal.” Oberyn is well aware that there will be plenty of breaks for the whims of the lords, and this is important. “You can take Cal with you.”

“What should I be looking for?” The idea of keeping secrets from Raeden and Ellaria bothers you more than you can say, but Oberyn seems resolute — and he usually has good reason for the things that he does.

“See if there is anything written on two soulmates.” He instructs you, knowing your studious mind would quickly absorb the information if it was to be found. “When you arrive, seek out the maester that married us. Do you remember his name?”

“Rhodestone.” The man will forever be an important and anxious memory for you, so you have not forgotten.

He nods in approval and kisses your shoulder again. “Good girl. Tell him that I want to you to have access to every tome on soulmates they have.”

“And I will bring back any findings to you…before we inform our soulmates?” He must have a reason for wanting it done this way, you just wish he would share it with you.

“That seems the best way to present it. Would you not agree?” His eyes slide up to yours and he waits for your honest opinion.

“I suppose I simply do not like secrets,” you admit with a small shrug of your shoulders. “But I can see the virtue in doing research first.”

He hums in agreement. “If you truly wish to tell them, I will not stop you.”

“I would not interrupt them now.” The sounds of their pleasure bleed through the wall and you are only confused – and slightly deflated – by the fact that they did not come to see what had happened when you screamed. “I will think on it again in the morning.”

“I wonder why I did not feel your marks.” He grunts, squeezing you close again since you gave him the answer he wanted before he stands back up. “Do you wish to wash up? Or simply stay in the bed?”

“It would be self-flattery to suggest you did not feel them out of some kind of worry about me.” Even knowing you share the same feelings for each other - knowing the gods have declared you soulmates - you cannot imagine thinking that well of yourself in any way and you slip backward under the bedclothes in answer to his question. “It is likely the immunity of a soldier. Pain does not bother you the way it bothers others.”

“No,” he shakes his head as he moves towards the wine. Determined to get you that cup. “I was concerned with what was happening to you. I feared that I had injured you.”

“With your cock?” The idea almost makes you snort, and in holding it in, you end up smirking at him. “I confess I would never have considered that a possibility.”

He could say something crass or revolting, but he reminds himself that you are very innocent in many ways. He purses his lips at you in a pout. “What else was I to believe? It is not as if I expected you to suddenly gain my scars.” He slides into bed with you, not spilling a drop of the wine and kisses the closest scar that is also on his body.

“No one could have expected it.” His warm breath on your skin is as welcome as the wine and you sip it gratefully.

“Does it upset you to carry my marks?” He asks curiously. Eager to know your thoughts on bearing his and Raeden’s scars on your body. “Does it make you feel disloyal to your lover?”

“I thought it made me disloyal to…to fall in love with you…” you admit, leaning back against the bedhead and contemplating him carefully. “But it seems that I am meant to share my heart as I share my bed. There is no loss here, as I feared there would inevitably be. Only gain.”

He nods slowly and sighs softly. “I know there are a lot of challenges in our situation, but I want you to know that you are free to love whoever you wish. Share with me, of course, but your heart is your own.

“It is not something that comes easily to me, but as you say…once it has blossomed it is endless.” The wine in your hand is helpful for steadying your nerves, but gratefully it is watered down. A clear head is necessary here. “I have wondered for some years if I loved Brynna, and the wondering is why I am not so certain. With Raeden, and with you? It is like an unquenchable fire.”

“There are many types of love.” Oberyn reminds you. “The innocent first loves are there to remind you of something pure. Even if it was fleeting.” You have not had time or space to allow for you to experience such a thing. Girls being held to a vastly different standard than boys in the Seven Kingdoms.

“Perhaps it was innocent and pure, then.” That would be a comfort. That though it was secret and felt terribly wrong, it was nothing of the sort. “It would be nice to think of her that way.”

“You should.” He encourages you. “You have such a capacity for love, Star. I would be surprised if you don’t recall your time with your Brynna with tender affection.”

“I can only hope that Raeden takes the discovery with half as much grace as you have.” That is where your worry lies now, though you cannot imagine what he will actually say either way.

“I think he will not cause you any grief.” He predicts. “He will accept it.”

“Do you think Ellaria will be as accepting?” It does not, after all, only affect you.

“Ellaria will understand why such a thing happens.” He muses, rocking his jaw in contemplation.

“You are always so certain of everything.” As though you could absorb some of his assuredness, you lay your head on his chest when he puts his arms around you. “I envy that.”

“You do?” He hums thoughtfully and smirks as he rubs your back. “I shall teach you how to be certain, love.”

"There is plenty to envy about you." To hear him call you love is a bright and shining moment of goodness that you had not looked for, but it washes over you with joy. "At least I need not envy anyone for being close to you."

“No, I imagine a perfect world would be sleeping beside both of my soulmates.” He chuckles. “Lavishing you both with attention.”

"You would need a very big bed," you laugh softly at the idea, trying to assemble the visual in your mind. "I would want both of my soulmates there, as well."

“Much bigger than this.” He scoffs, indicating the bed you are in. There wouldn’t be much room for a child if one had a bad dream with the two of you in it, let alone two other adults. “We will have to have one made for our chambers in Sunspear.”

"How wonderfully luxurious." Conjuring the image for yourself makes you hum and turn your head to smile at him. "A four-person bed. Can you imagine?"

“I can.” He chuckles again. “Rolling over and deciding who I am going to fuck is a delightful image.”

"I believe that might even be your dream." You cannot help but tease him, enjoying the sound of his laugh immensely.

“Would it not be a dream?” He asks you, cocking a brow up in challenge. “Turning over to mount my cock, or turn the other way to swallow your lovers? Perhaps ignoring both of us to find pleasure with Ellaria. Letting me wake to your combined sweet moans.”

Wanting to be as confident or as bold as he might be, you straighten your spine and smirk back at him. "I think if you woke to our shared moans, it would not take long for you to impale one of us on your cock."

“Perhaps.” He enjoys the confidence in your smile and winks at you. “Or perhaps I will make your Raeden moan louder.” He teases.

"A competition." It makes you actually laugh, even if it is just an amused little chuckle. "That would be very like you both, I think."

“He will be very competitive.” Oberyn predicts with a grin.

"I think you have that effect on people." Still grinning, you lean over to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "We should sleep, love. Tomorrow is sure to be a trying day."

He snorts in amusement. “Yes it will be, Star.” He agrees. “A trying trial, certainly.”

"I had not even--" The pun had not crossed your mind and you roll your eyes at him with doting affection. "You are teasing me."

“I am.” His nose nudges yours and he kisses you one last time. “Sleep star, we will see where fate takes us in the morning.”

******

Unfortunately, Fate sees you sleeping in, in the morning. Instead of lazily making love again before , you and Oberyn are up and dressing as soon as Leyth and Cal reappear. Apparently you had been impossible to wake an hour ago when they first tried.

“Sit with Raeden.” Oberyn instructs you, reaching up and caressing your cheek. “Make sure that you do not reveal what you are thinking on your face. Act aloof and almost disinterested.”

"Am I still to go to the Citadel during the break?" Provided that Maester Rhodestone will be willing to help you, the idea of trying to find a book - or several books - about soulmates is enticing in the light of day.

“Yes.” He would go himself, but there is no way to delay the trial. “Find what you can.”

"I will find out everything I can." You give him a firm, lingering kiss before his brisk exit from your chamber, knowing that he has to be to the trial early before spectators and all manner of other attendees arrive. Dressed in one of your more modest Northern gowns that will cover all of the new marks you have gained, you add the necklace he gave you the morning of the royal wedding and make sure both of your rings are in place before knocking gently on the chamber door where Raeden and Ellaria are starting to move about.

When the door opens, Ellaria breezes out, completely dressed “Star, you look positively radiant this morning. Oberyn must have planted his seed deep.”

"We slept late this morning." Is this excuse you give, finding it hard to look her in the eye with the secret of last night's truths weighing heavily on your shoulders. "But you look more stunning than ever. I trust you slept well?"

“Like a baby cosseted in silk.” She assures you with a smile as she comes over to cup your cheeks and kiss your lips. “I must thank you for allowing me to spend time with Raeden.”

"As I must thank you for allowing me to spend time with Oberyn." It does not matter that both men are now your soulmates, what matters is that the four of you have struck a balance that works for everyone. Which, right now, you are not sure Oberyn would agree with.

“You are planning to go to the trial, yes?” She asks, having no interest herself but encouraging you if that is your wish.

"I promised Margaery." Otherwise you would now be spending the entire day with Maester Rhodestone, scouring the Citadel for your necessary research. "In fact...I was hoping to ask Raeden to sit with me during the proceedings."

“Lover!” Ellaria calls over her shoulder before she beams at you. “I know he will be pleased to spend time with you.”

"I have missed him," you admit with a slightly sheepish sigh.

“I have been selfish.” She hums. “Keeping your lover for myself.” She pouts slightly and there is a flash of something in her eyes. “I am sorry, Princess.”

"I could have asked at any time." But you had not, and your growing bond with your husband has now resulted in something miraculous. So you press a kiss to her lips and offer her a sincere smile. "I am glad that you have found such affection for each other. It makes our intertwined lives far more enjoyable."

“Yes.” A cloud of doubt passes over her face before a pleased smile chases it away. “I am sure we will be well pleased with our arrangement. Nothing to worry about.”

"There is not anything to worry about," you murmur your agreement with a nod. "Enjoy your day far away from the trial, Ellaria. I am sure we will all much rather hear about how you spend your time than discuss the proceedings over supper tonight."

“I am certain I will have a much more entertaining time than you.” She reaches up and squeezes your shoulders affectionately and gives you one last smile as Raeden steps out of ‘their’ bedroom.

Ellaria slips away with a mysterious smile and you turn to the towering man who has been so familiar to you for years. "Good morning, my love." He is that, no matter who else might also live in your heart, and this morning you find yourself sure of it rather than afraid as you had been last night.

“Good morning.” Raeden’s smile is rather sheepish and he reaches out to pull you against him, still in awe of the fact that he can do so without worry. “Did you sleep well, my love?”

“I did.” You tilt your head back to smile up at him and silently ask for a kiss. “Did you?”

“Should I feel guilty if I say I did?” He asks with an amused twist to his lips. He rubs his hands up your arms and stares into your eyes softly.

“Of course not.” Such a motion makes you frown and you shake your head. “In fact I far prefer for you to sleep well. No matter who you share your bed with. If you had not, I would be asking Ellaria why.”

The nagging guilt eases and he flashes you a small smile. “I have no doubt that you sleep well in the Prince’s bed.” He muses. “After he has worn you out and filled you with his seed.” The jealousy of knowing you must carry Oberyn’s child before his own is nothing but a small twinge and he would never voice it out loud. Too aware of everything the man has given him already.

“I will bear one for him and one for you, and the rest for whichever the gods decree,” you hum, seeming to read his mind. Your connection has always been a very deep one. “But I am afraid I have a favor to ask of you, my love. If that is acceptable?”

“Anything in my power to give you is yours. You know this.” He reminds you, although now he has a chance of giving you more than his loyalty.

“I had hoped to coax you to sit with me during the trial.” It sounds like such a small, silly thing, but it means so much to you. “Years of hiding or affection can be over, if we want it to be. But all I wish for is the comfort of your presence.”

“I would be honored to sit beside the Princess of Dorne, but more importantly, my soulmate.” Raeden straightens proudly and nods. “I am to sit with the other lords.”

“I see nothing wrong with a Princess of Dorne sitting to observe with the lords of her country. You will do your duty as a Head of House and we will have the luxury of each other’s company.” He is so utterly proud to be elevated and recognized for his noble blood and you grin to see him preening. “You deserve this place, my love. Oberyn bestowed it upon you because he saw that right away.”

“I hope so.” He has been worried that it is because he is your soulmate, or worse, because the prince wants to fuck him. Hoping to earn the title that has been bestowed upon him. “It is vastly different from being your guard.”

“I hope it is a good change, and not one that brought you cause for worry?” The last thing you want is to make his life harder, but you also know that this change is something he has desired for a long time. For perhaps his entire life.

“It is very good.” He nods and smiles at you. “I cannot describe it, my love, but I feel….free.” There had not been the mistrust amongst the Dornish lords that he might have faced in the Vale. He knows that it is a good thing for him and is looking forward to establishing his house.

“Then I hope you embrace it fully.” The fact that you feel very much the same is not lost on you - now is the fact that it was the marriage you were sold into that has provided such freedom. For more, you simply reach up to kiss him again. “Your happiness has always been of the utmost importance to me, and that has not changed.”

“You are happy?” His own eyes turn searching, wanting to make sure you are not merely putting on a show for him. He knows the intrigue of the prince, his magnetism is hard to deny, but he wants to make sure that you are truly happy.

"I am." You can feel the way it lightens you from the inside, your heart swelling in your chest with love and pride. The way that new love seems to make you stand taller and smile more easily just the way it had when you fell in love with Raeden. You put both hands on his chest and lean into his warmth, letting it envelope you. "I honestly think I may not ever become used to the title, but I am happy with this life."

“If anyone deserves the title of ‘Princess’ it is you, my love.” He reaches up and caresses your cheek. “You are kind and gentle, loyal and just. You were a princess to me before you married your husband.”

"I think perhaps you were a little biased, beloved." Still, it is relieving to have such a gentle moment with him, and teasing him does not keep you from savoring it as you nuzzle into his touch. "If it were not so important that we leave our rooms today, I might simply pull you into bed with me never to leave again."

“It is a shame.” Raeden groans quietly as he leans in and kisses your jaw. “I fear I have been negligent in making sure that you know that I still desire you so much I ache with it.”

“Stay with me tonight.” It’s almost a plea, as you tilt your head to let him touch and taste any part of you that he pleases. Every thought but him has left your mind completely.

A small fissure of something akin to fear races across Raeden’s face, almost imperceptible but he nods. “It might be late.” He warns you. “I know the council will want to convene after the first day.”

"I cannot find it in me to care," you admit, looking up at him with pleading eyes. "It will be a treasure to sleep against you and wake up beside you."

“Do not try to burn the candles and stay awake.” He urges you with a smile. “I shall sneak into your bed like a thief and pretend that I must keep you quiet.”

"It sounds far more appealing when it is a game, and not a matter of life or death against my parents' will." Something which had been the entire truth not too long ago. "Promise to wake me, my love. That is all I ask."

“Of course I will.” Despite his concerns, he craves the closeness of your body to his. The reassurance of your kisses and love. “Now we must hurry.”

******

There is nothing less desirable in the entire world than sitting through this trial, but you have not flinched all morning. Oberyn bid you to steel yourself and you have, sitting firm in your seat with Raeden beside you and envying Ellaria's ability to be absent from the proceedings. The only thing that saves you from complete and absolute misery is the call to break for the midday meal. When that break is agreed upon you squeeze Raeden's hand in yours and offer him a weak smile. "I think I need a walk," you murmur, knowing that the fresh air will do you a world of good as you make your way to the Citadel.

Raeden frowns and he bites his lip. “If you need to stray too far, go back and take Cal or Leyth with you.” He insists, wishing he could go himself, but he will be required to converse with Oberyn and stand by him in the talks that are inevitable to come.

"I will stay safe, I promise." The Citadel is not far, thankfully, and you can make the walk on your own. "Will you be alright with Oberyn while I walk?" Given that it was your husband's idea for you to journey out, you know he will not object, but you still want to make sure that Raeden is not too uncomfortable from the morning.

“Yes.” He frowns slightly. “I just wish you had someone with you.” He grumbles, having taken Oberyn’s warning about your safety seriously.

“Will it comfort you if I take Cal?” You will lose time because of it, but not much. His ability to trust you are safe and not be distracted with worry is more important.

His eyes slide past you to where Oberyn is beckoning him. “Does your husband know?” He asks and you nod, because he does know of your plan. “Then I trust his judgment. Go, my love and keep your dagger close.”

"I promise." With a nod and a reassuring smile, you head through the halls of the keep with a confident stride. There is only so much time before the trial will reconvene and you will be expected to return. You must make good use of your time.

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit

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#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Oberyn Martell #Oberyn Martell x reader #Oberyn Martell x you #Oberyn Martell x female reader #Oberyn Martell x f!reader #Oberyn Martell x Ellaria Sand #Ellaria Sand x male OC #Ellaria Sand x female reader #Ellaria Sand #female reader x m!OC #female reader #male OC #Game of Thrones #soulmate au #polyamory #arranged marriage

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mint-yooxgi · 10 months

Text

The Library of Illusion - Prologue

Yandere AU - Based off of This Event hosted by @cultofdionysusnet

Genre: Mature, Horror, Angst, Slight Humour

Pairing: Ateez X Reader - (Focus on Seonghwa to start)

Words: 4,362

Warnings: Mention of losing consciousness, dehydration, and starvation. This is a Yandere story, it will contain themes such as stalking, violence, obsession, possessive natures, and just general overall creepiness and swearing. You have been warned.

A/n: Huge thank you to the network for allowing me to participate in this event!! I'm super excited for everyone to see what I have planned, there's a lot of stories heading your way!! I really hope you all enjoy, and please do let me know your theories and what you think so far!! As always, Feedback is greatly appreciated! Enjoy!~

Gentle reminder that I do not do tag lists.

Mini Masterlist

The heat is unbearable.

With every step you take, exhaustion creeps closer and closer. Your entire body feels heavy, your eyelids drooping further with every blink. Long since has your blood flowing through your ears drowned out any other sounds of the desert around you, the sun bearing down on you like an iron cross. Each breath is a pain filled dagger into your burning lungs, but still, you carry on.

It has to be around here somewhere.

For four days and four nights, you have been trekking through the red, unforgiving sands of the desert in search of a library. Not just any library. A hidden library that is said to house an indescribable knowledge, and a hidden treasure.

You’ve never been one to care for material treasures, nor seek vast riches in life. In fact, you had been perfectly content with the way your life had been going.

Until the accident.

Now, you desperately seek this Library of Illusion and it’s treasure, for it is foretold that it can grant any wish, and right now, you only have one. You will only ever have one.

The constant drag of your feet through the sand grounds you. Your mouth, which has gone as dry and barren as the desert around you, desperately longs for water. A luxury you ran out of twelve hours ago. Already, you can feel the effects of severe dehydration, your vision blurring at the corners as your body feels as hot as the scorched sands of the earth you traverse.

Only yesterday, you ran out of food, and you can feel those familiar pangs of hunger twisting at your stomach. Yet, nausea builds steadily in your chest. Bile rises in your throat, and each attempt to swallow down the acidity rising within has your chest constricting from the pain.

You should have packed more. You should have been more prepared.

The map you had been following fluttered away in a sudden sandstorm early on, of which delayed you by a whole day. You had managed to find an outcropping of rocks to hide yourself in as the storm passed, but the only thing you had to gather your bearings and reorient yourself with afterwards was the sun. You’re running on pure adrenaline and hope right now, but you don’t know how much longer either will last.

Already, you can feel your movements slowing down, chest feeling heavier and heavier with each inhale you take. You would have called for help some time ago, were it not for the fact that your phone died, and so did the multiple spare wireless charges you brought along with you. Even so, there’s no service in this particular section of the desert, so you’re stranded regardless of if you had been able to garner communication with the outside world or not.

With each blink, your eyes sting from the sand beginning to swirl around you. Dread weighs heavy on your heart, which begins to slow with each languid step forward. Already, you are close to collapsing.

An ominous feeling from behind you has you turning your head to see a looming cloud of smoke approaching from the distance, and you realize with a horrid sense of dread that another sandstorm is on its way. Only this time, there is no shelter you can seek.

You are doomed, and probably have been from the very start. There probably isn’t an actual library out here to begin with, and you’ve just thrown away your life for a chance at something that seemed impossible to begin with.

Rumours are just that. Rumours.

Your feet give out beneath you.

Sand clouds your vision, stinging at your tired eyes as your body refuses to move. So much as coughing to clear your throat feels as if someone has taken sandpaper to your lungs, scraping the tissue raw from the inside out.

You begin to choke on dust, no tears able to form in your dry eyes.

This is it. This is how you die: lost in the desert, alone and starved, dehydrated and exhausted to the point of delirium. All for the hopes of some sacred treasure that may or may not actually be able to grant your wish. A desire so deep, you had been more than eager to throw away your life for, even if it did not actually exist.

Even now, on the bring of death, you cling onto that wish. A flickering flame of hope continues to burn so deeply in your soul, you swear that you can see the embers lighting up behind your very eyelids as they finally fall shut. The only thought in your mind as you succumb to your exhaustion is a desperate plea to whatever is out there in the universe to let you see him one last time.

~~~

It’s dark.

Dark and cool, despite the feeling of something draped over your body. A body of which feels the lightest it has been in days, that aching feeling no longer buried deep within your bones.

Dark, and cool, and quiet.

A low groan escapes you, turning onto your side form your back as you begin to regain consciousness. Raising your one arm, you bring a hand to your head, wiping at your face lethargically.

A deep chuckle sounds from beside you, “Are you finally awake?”

Immediately, your eyes are flinging open as you tear the covers off of your body. You appear to be in a bed of some sort, dark red curtains, almost maroon, hanging from each of the grand posts rising high from each corner. The sheets are light in material, but dark in colour as your head darts everywhere around the room.

“Where am I?” Your frantic voice, sounding much better than you thought it would after days of no use, echoes around the area.

You seem to be inside of an old building of some sort, the walls the same dusty red as the sands of the desert. It appears as if this chamber has been carved out of stone, a wooden antique desk resting off to the side while shelves upon shelves of books line the walls. The ceiling is high and arched, chandeliers hanging every three rows or so to illuminate the space.

At least this place has electricity… and air conditioning, it seems.

“I think you already know the answer to that.” The same voice replies.

Turning your head, your vision is drawn to a man now leaning against the wooden desk. His arms are crossed over his chest, yet despite his closed off stance, his shoulders appear relaxed. He has somewhat medium length black hair that falls in light waves, parted over his forehead, and wide, dark brown eyes. They appear almost black in colour, for you can see what is supposed to be the whites of his eyes have faded to a sort of aged yellow, almost reminiscent of the few pieces of worn yellow parchment you can see littering the top of the desk.

His clothes are fair. A low collared black shirt adorns his torso, while black pants rest over his legs, reminiscent of jeans. You can even see a silver chain dangling on his hip, attached to the one loop on his waist while the other end disappears around him and into his back pocket. Another chain rests around his neck, thick and just as silver as the other.

How he doesn’t overheat is a mystery to you.

Amusement dances lightly in his eyes as he watches you from across the room. His lips tug upwards in a friendly grin, but the more you stare, the more unnerved your become.

Softly, you place your feet upon the floor, standing cautiously from the bed. Your eyes lock on your personal items - your backpack, canteens, and holster - all sitting beside him on the floor. They seem to be resting against the desk, untouched and in perfect condition.

Inhaling sharply, your one hand rushes to your back.

“Looking for this?” With a quirked brow, the man pulls out your hunting knife from under his arm. “I will say, not as many come as prepared as you do. Desperate, yes, but with weapons?”

A loud clanging echoes throughout the chamber as he tosses the knife onto the top of the desk behind him.

You eye him carefully, guard still high as you prepare to defend yourself using any means necessary. You’re not much of a fighter, but you won’t go down so easily.

“I’m dead, aren’t I?” You voice lowly. “This is the afterlife.”

The man begins to laugh, quite boisterously at that.

“No. You’re not dead.”

“I should be.” You counter. “Even I know that there’s no way in hell I could have been rescued from the middle of the desert when there was a sandstorm approaching. I was already suffering from heat stroke, and dehydration. I should be dead.”

“Is it that surprising to learn that you are not?” He tilts his head curiously at you.

“Did you save me, then?” You counter, mirroring his stance by crossing your arms over your chest.

“I did.” Comes his blunt reply. “It was quite easy, too.”

“Then, if your earlier implication is to be believed, this is the library I’ve been looking for.” You state, somewhat skeptically.

“The one and only.” He confirms with a slight grin.

You blink, disbelief painting your features. “Why… is there a bed in the middle of the library?”

“The bookkeeper needs some place to sleep, no?” He chuckles.

“You’re the bookkeeper of the Library of Illusion?” Your head tilts forward slightly, looking at him with a clearly raised brow.

“Well, I am the Keeper of Keys. Bookkeeping is just my hobby.” He shrugs casually, as if this is a conversation he has often.

“So, then, I’m also correct in assuming you know everything there is to know about this library?” You continue.

“That would be correct.” He nods his head once.

“Great.” You mirror his nod. “Where’s the treasure?”

His eyes widen in amused disbelief. “Not even going to ask for the name of your saviour first?”

“Fine.” You heave a tremendous sigh. “What’s your name?”

He smiles, as if he’s been waiting for this opportunity all along, “My name is Seonghwa.”

A firm nod in response in all he receives from you as you begin to look around the space once more.

His smile falls.

“You know, it’s common curtesy to introduce yourself after someone has identified themselves to you.” He states, rather pointedly.

Your brow furrows as you choose to ignore him for now. There doesn’t seem to be any visible entrances or exits in the immediate vicinity, and the entire chamber doesn’t look that grand to begin with.

“How did you manage to save me?” You turn your attention back to him.

“You were passed out, so I brought you inside.” Comes his simple reply.

You hum, clearly not convinced. Only, you decide to leave it at that for now. Instead, you opt to introduce yourself just as he said. It’s better not to get on his bad side, anyways. He may be the only one who knows the ways in and out of this place. Besides, he did save your life.

“So, bookkeep,” you straighten in your spot, “the treasure?”

“And here I was thinking you’d be different,” he sighs.

“Different?” You nose scrunches, dissatisfied with his tone.

Purposely, he ignores your statement. “What is it that you were told the treasure was this time?”

“I was led to believe the treasure is said to fulfill your deepest desire.” You eye him warily, lowing your hands to your sides for the moment. “A wish, if you will.”

“Let me guess? Fame? Fortune? Beauty?” His gaze narrows slightly, disinterest painting his features. “Love?”

You inhale sharply.

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to.” You reply darkly, tone low and ominous.

“I am the Keeper of Keys, it is my duty to ask questions,” he pushes himself off of the desk. “Especially when the treasure is involved.”

“It’s real, then?” You watch as he begins walking down the open hallway a ways.

“As real as you and me.” He sighs, not even bothering to look back at you.

“Great!” You begin to follow him, that familiar blossom of hope swelling inside of your chest. “Where can I find it?”

Suddenly, Seonghwa makes a sharp right, stopping right before an iron gate. A plaque above the intricately shaped bars of metal reads ‘Restricted Section’ in big, bold letters.

Wordlessly, he points at the gate.

“Behind there?” You question.

“If you can get to it.” He hums, shifting to lean against the shelf closest to him.

You go to take a step forward before stopping yourself. “What’s the catch?”

“What do you mean?” There’s a certain giddiness shining behind his eyes as he meets your own.

“I’m not stupid enough to believe you would lead me straight to the treasure without there being some kind of test.” Your answer is quite firm, irritation lining your voice. “So, what’s the catch?”

“You’re not even going to try the doors?” His tone is nothing short of mocking as he continues to stare at you.

“You didn’t unlock them.” You reply bluntly.

“Smart girl.” He hums. “You see, I cannot unlock them.”

Your brow quirks. “Can’t or won’t?”

“I cannot unlock them.” He repeats, emphasizing his every word. “I don’t have the keys.”

“Some Keeper of Keys you are.” You exhale a disappointed sigh. “Doesn’t even have the key to the restricted section. Bookkeeping must get so boring for you, not having any of the fun books to go through.”

“It has its moments.” He nods, actually contemplating your words. The way he notices you shooting him a blank look has him chuckling. “No, only you can unlock this door.”

“Me?” Incredulous doesn’t even begin to describe you, your eyes going wide as you look from him to the iron gate.

“If you’re serious about wanting this ‘wish’,” he stands back to his full height, “Then, you are going to have to earn it.”

“Earn it?” You shoot him another incredulous look. “How the hell do you expect me to do that? I can’t knock down a locked iron gate!”

“How do you even know it’s locked in the first place?” Seonghwa replies smartly.

“You just said you can’t unlock them!” You raise your hands exasperatedly in the air in front of yourself.

“Oh, I suppose I did.” He chuckles.

“Spend too much time in the desert you have dust for brains or something?” You mutter, shaking your head.

“That’s not a very nice thing to say to someone you just met.” He pouts.

A moment passes where you consider his words before your entire body is deflating.

“You’re right.” You take a deep breath as you look towards the ground. “I’m sorry. It’s just been a long past few months.”

His brow furrows in confusion. “You’ve been looking for this library for the past few months?”

“No, that’s not what I meant.” You shake your head once more.

“Then, what did you mean?” He blinks at you curiously.

“Never mind.” You wave him off. “Forget I said anything.”

“Normally, when people seek out the treasure’s wish, they tend to be down on their luck.” He comments. “Even fewer still who make it inside.”

“Well, I have you to thank for that, don’t I?” You attempt a faint smile, but it does not reach your eyes. “How do I even get into this restricted section, anyways?”

“You need to find the keys.”

“I think we’ve already established that.” You sigh.

“Not just one key. Keys.” He purposely emphasizes his final word, motioning for you to look closer at the door.

Sure enough, glancing intently at the iron gate reveals six different sets of locks, all weaving together intricately to keep the door tightly shut.

You swallow thickly.

“Where do you suppose I start looking for those? You already said you don’t have the key.” You turn back to face him. “Or well, keys.”

Again, Seonghwa motions across the way, and you follow the movement. A moment later, and he’s stepped to the opposite side of the hall where five plaques seem to be placed directly beside five doors. Each plaque is bronze, title corresponding the the name engraved onto the front of the section it resides beside.

“Each of these doors lead to a different section of the library.” He explains.

“I thought everything would be in one place.” You mumble, crossing your arms over your chest.

Looking closer at the wall that houses the doors, you notice each door to be different. One is a steel door with a circular handle that looks quite familiar to you. A few are thick wooden doors. One is intricately carved with what appears to be mini statues of kings. The other simply looks like an old wooden door, the types castles are sure to have. Another door is more modern in shape, but still not up to today’s standards, while the other is a mix between iron and wood with a porthole type window frosted over in the centre of it.

Scanning your head around the area, something to the left draws your attention. There seems to be a metal grate on the floor, the area beneath glowing faintly as if there are burning embers far beneath the surface.

That’s when you realize, that must be the sixth door.

“You will need to find the keys in each of these sections before you can attempt to open the main gate of the restricted section.” Seonghwa continues. “But beware, each of these keys are guarded. These guardians will not be easy to convince to give up their keys, if you can even manage that.”

“We’re talking regular old keys here, right? I don’t want this to be some kind of riddle where the key is, I don’t know, a sacred orb, or something that will only transform into a key when I get back here.” You say, somewhat skeptically.

“No, no,” Seonghwa assures you. “They’re all physical keys.”

“Little concerning that the Keeper of Keys doesn’t have the ones we need.” You shoot him a look out of the corner of your eyes.

“It’s not like I wanted them to have these keys. It’s just the way things are.” Seonghwa shrugs.

“Alright, so, these… sections house individual keys kept safe by these guardians.” You repeat back to him, noticing how he nods along to your words. “Anything I should know before I attempt to look for them?”

“Once you enter a section, you will no longer be able to reach the main chamber, or me, for help.” He adds. “Not until the task is complete.”

“If I’m being honest here, Bookkeep, you haven’t been much of a help to begin with.”

“Need I remind you that I saved your life?” He quirks an amused brow.

“Yeah, yeah,” you wave him off. “Details, smetails.”

“That’s not a word.”

“Neither is ‘irregardless’, but people still use it, irregardless.” You quirk a small grin, glancing at him out of the corner of your eyes.

“You certainly are very interesting.” He hums.

“I’m going to take that as a complement.” You say, moving closer to each door to inspect the plaques beside them. “Is there a time limit for each section?”

“Not that I am aware of. You can spend as little, or as much time in each section as you desire.” He responds, watching you carefully. “The only way you can come back is if you’ve successfully retrieved the key.”

“So, I could spend years searching for the key inside each section, and still come up empty handed.” You exhale a large sigh. “Great.”

“Not necessarily, but that possibility is not zero.” He replies. “There is no time limit. At all.”

Your brow furrows in thought. “Is there a specific order I have to do this in?”

“No. It is completely up to you to decide the order.”

“Can I take breaks between these so called ‘trials’?” You inquire, tilting your head slightly to the side.

“Yes.” He confirms. “You may stay in the main chamber with me for as long as you desire.”

“Are you allowed to come with me?” You turn to meet his gaze.

“Unfortunately not.” He shakes his head. “This is something you will have to do on your own.”

You purse your lips in response, opting to turn back to the first plaque closest to you. It just so happens to be beside the door which says ‘Adventure’ on the front of it. Stepping in front of it, you begin to read:

“The sea calls us home; a heart to yearn.

Hoist the colours high; never shall we die.”

Inside your chest, you can feel your own heart pang, eyebrow twitching in tandem as you recognize the saying. No wonder there’s a porthole on the door.

Shifting over to the next door, the one with the carvings of kings, an audible gasp escapes your throat as you read the plaque. You’d recognize that inscription anywhere, the lines of the script as familiar to you as breathing. Subconsciously, you clutch at the necklace that you wear in your hand of a golden ring with the same inscription found on its sides.

How fitting for it to be for the ‘Fantasy’ section.

The next door you look over says ‘Mystery’ in those big, bold letters. It really reminds you heavily of a castle, and once you read the plaque, you find out why.

“Deep within the stone walls, terror lurks. A monstrous creature thirsting for blood. Some call it a beast, while others never get a chance as it steals their last breath. Can you uncover the monster lurking in these walls? Can you survive the cold, dreaded night?”

Your eyebrows raise in contemplation as you move onto the next door. It’s the steel one with the circular handle.

Glancing at the plaque, your heart skips a beat in your chest. Lines of code seem to be engraved upon the bronze to serve as the description. Lines of code which you recognize, especially considering the door proudly reads ‘Sci-fi’ as you walk passed.

The final door in the row reads ‘History’, and it is the only one you actively reach out and touch. It’s cool against the skin of your hand, but you find yourself recoiling quickly at the rumble you feel shake the door. Reading the description, you find out why.

“War-torn and forlorn, a husband desperately longs to see his wife instead of the gruesome sight of the dead and injured littering the battlefield. Never has there been such bloodshed since The Great War, and five years in, the world just longs for it to end. However, Europe isn’t the only battlefield this soldier has to brave, but does he have the courage to fight for and defend what is his?”

A slight hum escapes you as you finish reading the plaque, nodding to yourself as you move over towards the grate to your left. Crouching down, you read the final plaque for ‘Horror’.

“Mother is god in the eyes of a child.”

You seemingly breathe a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank god.”

Standing back to your full height, you notice Seonghwa standing a little tense off to the side.

“What?” His inquiry is somewhat short, but curious none-the-less.

“I’m assuming these plaques tell of what each section has in store?” You ask.

“You would be correct.” He confirms. “I still don’t see-“

“I’ve figured out a majority of what resides in each sections.”

Seonghwa frowns. “How?”

“Simple.” You shrug. “My husband and I-“

Immediately, your voice gets caught in your throat. You blink, fresh tears immediately springing to your eyes as you turn away from Seonghwa for the moment.

“I read a lot.” Your voice is strained as you attempt to clear your throat, wiping subtly at the few tears that manage to escape and roll down your cheeks.

Subconsciously, you grasp that ring hanging around your neck tighter. Another, thinner band of the same golden metal glints off of your own finger on your left hand.

“You’re married.” Not a question, but a statement from Seonghwa.

You glance at him from over your shoulder, unable to get a read on his expression. “I was.”

“Divorced?” Seonghwa’s brow furrows. “Many seek the wish to make the one they still love fall back in love with them-“

“He died.”

A brief silence settles over the both of you.

This time, it’s Seonghwa who clears his throat. “My condolences.”

“I appreciate that.” You reply roughly, tightening your grip on that ring once more.

“I understand your motivations, now.” He replies, beginning to walk back towards where you first woke up. “You may start whenever you’re ready, but I highly recommend eating something first. Take as much time as you need.”

You swallow the sudden dryness in your throat, nodding your head along with his words despite the fact that he’s no longer looking in your direction.

Slowly, you begin to follow him back to the main area, your steps almost as silent as his.

“This wish…” you begin, voice much smaller than before. “Can you guarantee I’ll be able to obtain it if I do this?”

Seonghwa turns around once he reaches his desk, leaning against the front of it as he meets your eyes. “Your greatest desires at the time when you obtain the treasure will be fulfilled.”

Your own gaze narrows ever so slightly, “How do I know that I can trust you?”

“You don’t.” He hums in understanding. “But it’s either that,” his eyes flash to some point in the library off to the side, “or go back.”

“I can’t go back.” You shake your head. “Not now. Not ever. Not without him.”

Seonghwa takes a moment to observe you carefully, before seemingly nodding to himself.

“Then, My Dear,” he grins widely, and you swear his teeth suddenly look a lot more sharper than they should be, “Welcome, to the Library of Illusion.”

#cultofdionysusnet #library of illusion event #yandere ateez #ateez scenarios #yandere kpop #kpop scenario #ateez x y/n #ateez x you #ateez x reader #kpop au #yandere au #seonghwa scenario #yandere seonghwa

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