#and how she cradled them. this familiar spark | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pinkrelish · 10 months

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Eddie and miss mouse doing missionary with his hands beside her head and she grabs his wrists moving her head side to side moaning and him begging her to look at him in the eye 👁️

ugh, yes. 18+ sweet, romantic smut [wc: 1.4k]

humming praise along your jaw, he asks from his husky throat not yet warmed from dawn, “please, baby,” and you nod, “—don't wantcha missin' your god.”

oh, how you explore him without sight, skimming your fingers over the smooth length of his back, planes of muscle filling your palms with steady breaths. from the sway which dips with each long draw of his hips. up bumps of spine, curve of ribcage. contrasts of solid strength feeding into the hidden lurch beneath his skin, subtle contours shifting and flowing in sync with his lazy thrusts. shoulders. working man shoulders, broadened by time and labor, flexing under your loose grip. hard shapes for your hands to find; groove of his delt, swell of his bicep. strong arms beginning to shake.

you lower your sightless study to his forearms. fingertips grazing through prairie grass hair leading you over the ridge of an at-home tattoo and through the field of faint scars. upon his knuckles, you widen your reach to encompass them all, falling short. falling weak. falling, falling.

stability was found in his mighty palm to your cheek. stifling hot, big, and rough with character. everything familiar you sought in a home, cherishing the doorway between forefinger and thumb, trailing open kisses to the bed of his palm—three pecks for good luck, and one to grow on—then feasting on the meat above his wrist, and bathing your warm tongue over the rest.

"makin' you feel good?" eddie checks to inflate his ego, brimming with amusement. "or's here better?" his abs brace, his knees move in, and your body clings to a shiver. "mm, right there, huh?" his tender tease flows into the kindest sigh.

he peels his stomach off yours, chilling your combined sweat and tightening your nipples with the rush of air. sharp teeth flirt on the pulse beneath your ear as he adjusts, uncoordinated, rocking an arm under your shoulder and tugging the fitted sheet loose on the mattress; his other hand slips up to cradle your head, protecting you from the old oak headboard while your pillow lifts your hips.

the position loads his weight where he pins you best—embraced in his arms, wholly respected. your leglock around his ass restricts him down to a fraction of his long draw from before. he understands. the ache he stirred with his practiced fingers crooked between your thighs reached a yearn for something bigger, and when he sank into you, half an hour ago, you expressed your satisfaction in a whisper-thin gasp. "that's it," he kissed. to be stretched by his head notched at your opening, easing in, splitting you, fulfilling you, reaching a depth which was made for him. "that's fuckin' it," he moans in the present when you clench firmer around him.

the pretty noises you made then, when he could last, earned his pride. now, they spur his pace.

you dig your heels into his backside and cradle him close, tilting your hips; wet friction grinding bliss against your core. the warmth of his body smothers you, and the wiry hair above his solid base follows the same quick roll, lapping at you like his tongue. you seek foundation beyond the darkness of your eyelids, turning your mouth to the hand on your shoulder, sucking a kiss on the peak of knuckles. his polished skill between your legs spark deep, fluttering moans. the angle was a work of trial and error over the years, but eddie was ever diligent to learn—eager, you'd say—to delay his release, and build yours.

consuming throbs of hot pleasure pulse within you. each stroke is better than the last. the pillow, the angle, the extra twitch of his cock when you squeeze around him just right. you were—"eddie, i'm—"

"look at me, baby," he asks, and you switch to pursuing his other hand, slotting your small fingers through the gaps where he worsened your bedhead. "open your eyes. wanna look at you," he laughs, mashing his nose along the blooming fever on your cheek, draping his curls over you both. it takes all your strength to answer him in an inarticulate whine, nestling into his palm until he understands the message and caresses his thumb over your temple. "please," he begs. you try. yet, he demands, stern voice pooling molten lust where he delivers relentless smacks of skin, "look at me when i'm your god."

your eyes fly open.

sleepy blue on the cusp of yawning orange presses through the thin curtains. light floods his smugness in swings between his long hair, stupid shadowed grin glinting in the daybreak. his curls tickle in sweeps across your cheeks, and at once, your weak limbs are threaded in the space where your chests press, and you're bringing him down for a rough kiss, teeth to lips, dirty like the sounds drowning out the birdsong.

muffled moans grow loud as he pulls away, just enough to adore you in the cage of his arms, watching you battle the haze while his eyes shine from vanity. his muscles burn from fatigue, and his smile interrupts his panting, cutting each labored breath with a stutter, but he keeps going, chasing the reason your expression pinches.

it comes on so strong, so fast, you clamp down on him hard, and though he expects it, eddie's whine is punched from his lungs, surprising you both. the pretty sound lends you strength, and he nearly collapses from every wet ridge massaging him as he grinds slow and steady in your heat, driven deeper by your assertive legs forcing him to bite his tongue as you rode out your high. he's dying. "baby," he pleas, nose to nose, forehead to forehead, sweat mixing on his damp bangs, soft body squirming under his, "y'look so fuckin' hot. can i?" poor boy asking to finish.

you soothe him in circles scratched on his scalp while he stills from motion, sighs jumping in time with the aftershocks pulsing on his length. the feeling of weightlessness was taking over. showing mercy, you release him, and he rises. careful as he can be in this state. fast, fast, fast, hiking you higher on the pillow and keeping you in place with one hand on your hip and the other cupped under your thigh, dimpling shadows in the sunrise. strong torso between your legs, top of his stomach flexing on every slap, sending ripples over your skin. light penetrates the center of the curtains to paint his beauty. flushed red, head dropped forward, messy hair kissing his shoulders, long lashes marrying, succumbing to whatever his body decides. watching himself slide into you, mouth hanging open at the sight of your pussy gripping him as he rocks back, upper lip lifting at the sheen of cream coating the base of his slick cock, eyebrows scrunching from the honor.

he picks up the urgency in which he's fucking you, each moan cracking higher.

"look at me," you break his concentration, voice not as powerful as his. he obeys, and the connection races an extra heartbeat in your chest, throat gone tight from the sense of accomplishment.

nothing compares to the flattery of his lidded gaze fighting to stay open as his warning comes late, already spilling into you.

wicked heat spreads in waves, burning your cheeks, pumping your reward in arrhythmic pulses. his tip is oversensitive and red when he pulls out, covered in a beautiful shine. he gives you the pillow, and adjusts himself so his length follows your stomach; though he takes a sharp inhale at the sensation; and lays on top of you, stretching his legs between yours. the magnitude of his understated working-man muscles go lax. amalgamating scents of sex encompass the tangle. birdsong rings through the blood rush. you hum, he hums.

"love starting our days like this."

"mhmm."

you revisit discovering him without sight. his weight limits your movement as he catches his breath from his efforts, but you encircle his middle. trace the tacky skin along his spine, roll your head to feel his curly hair sticking to the dew on your neck, rub your foot along his hairy calf. you lean up to press your lips to the salty crest of his shoulder, and end the motion when thick honey drips to the bedsheets. his spent self softens on your belly. you almost drift into a dream. "you're so corny with the 'god' line," you complain in a whisper, only a tad annoyed, and he sweetens you with his full lips smacking a noisy kiss to your cheek.

"yeah, but it worked," he replies, voice retaining its rasp from sleep, yet sporting a teasing rise, "and you still love me."

"and i still love you," you yield, rolling your closed eyes.

"do you?"

"i do."

"good," he huffs, "didn't wanna lose my grocery shopping partner."

you roll your closed eyes harder.

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #stranger things #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfiction #the yes policy

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extraordinari1y-ordinary-writer · 3 months

Text

A Night to Remember

Pairing: Steven Grant x Fem!Reader

Summary: It started with a movie.

Content Warning: NSFW; p in v sex; unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it); Marc giving our boy some tips 😏; vaginal fingering; multiple orgasms; creampie; language; fluff, maybe; Steven and Marc are warnings; kinda rough sex?; Marc kinda fronts for a bit…to help Steven out; really bad ending 😂; whatever else I failed to mention

Word Count: 1,670

Note: Was this requested? No! This was a suggestion from @steven-grants-world in response to my post. I hope you guys like it! I'll come back here and there to make some edits where it's necessary. Any gifs or pictures I use are not mine.

Happy Valentine's Day — if you celebrate it.

Gentle reminder that I am always open for feedback! 💕

NSFW (18+)

Your lips were soft against his, moving with a familiarity that fogged his mind. One of his hands cradled your face, the warmth of your skin seeping into his own. His other hand rested at your hip, thumb stroking your clothed skin. The two of you had been watching a movie, sharing popcorn and the occasional shy touches as time ticked on. It wasn't until the halfway mark that Steven felt brave enough to initiate a kiss. The second you moaned against his lips, he knew he was a goner. The soft warmth of your skin, how your lips moved perfectly against Steven's – how could he not get lost in it?

Your scent clouded his mind, flooding his senses. And the soft warmth of your lips – gods, he was in heaven! You were so close, body melting against him the longer you two kissed. You nudged your nose against Steven's, nipping his bottom lip. He gasped at the sensation, your tongue moving past his lips, deepening the kiss. Steven whimpered, and you moaned; he tasted delicious. Your fingers tugged at his messy curls as you melted further into him. Your tongue explored his mouth for a moment longer before you pulled away. Your chest heaved for air, resting your forehead against Steven's.

The poor gift shopist was a gasping mess. His cheeks were burning, his mind hazy and his eyes clouded from the make-out session. You blinked at the man before you, both hands cradling his face gently. Steven's focus flickered from your eyes to your swollen lips. He couldn't stop himself from kissing you again, devouring your mouth with his. Your lips moved together perfectly; a whimper escaped you. Steven felt something stir in him – knowing he could get that kind of sound out of you sparked a pleasurable sensation deep within him.

Do what she did, a voice stated. Steven's brows furrowed, use your tongue. She'll love it.

Steven paused for a moment. You whined at the loss. Letting out a heavy breath, Steven mumbled an apology and resumed the kiss. It was heavy and deep, filled with need and building up with lust.

Steven, do it. Or, at the very least, kiss down her neck. There was that voice again. It sounded almost like –

Marc! he snapped. Embarrassment flooded the gift shopist. Was Marc watching them? Sure, it was just a make-out session; but still… he had your integrity to think of.

Have you been watchin' this whole time? Steven pressed. An annoyed lilt decorated his words.

It's kinda hard not to.

Bloody hell, Steven whined. Can't I just have one night–

Complain all you want, Marc interrupted, sounding equally as annoyed, but I'm trying to help.

You nipped at Steven's bottom lip again. Only this time you weren't looking to be in his mouth; you wanted more from him.

Just trust me on this, okay? As much as it embarrassed him, Steven was curious. He wasn't as experienced with women as the mercenary was. You were the first semi-serious relationship Steven had been in. He didn't want to mess it up. When he didn't argue, Marc took that as a sign to continue. Okay, he started, kiss down her neck.

Steven kissed along your jaw and down the soft skin of your neck. He gave the occasional nip and suckle, listening eagerly to your whimpers and whines. Steven shifted where he sat on the sofa, hoping to accommodate the pleasurable discomfort he was beginning to feel in his groin.

You're doing great, Marc encouraged, keep goin' at it, until you–

Steven nipped at one part of your neck. You moaned, melting into his body. One hand gripped the back of his head, pushing him further into your neck.

"Fuck," you gasped. "Do that again!"

Steven did just that. He nibbled and suckled and kissed that spot while you squirmed against him. The sounds you made only added to his growing arousal. Your other hand found one of his; you carefully guided his hand to your chest. When you felt his hand cup your breast, you let out a breathy whine. Steven groped her breast through her shirt; relishing in the feel of her soft flesh.

Take her shirt off, Marc ordered. His voice sounded husky. Steven hesitated. Look at her, man, she wants you to touch her.

Steven pulled back and looked at you. Your face was flushed, eyes glazed over and lips swollen. He peered at his hand, still groping your breast. He moved his hands to the hem of your shirt and you gasped. With more encouragement from Marc, Steven tugged your shirt off. You were wearing a black bra underneath; he gulped. Biting your bottom lip, you maneuvered your arms to unclasp your garment. The straps fell down your arms until your chest was exposed to him. Steven failed to bite back a groan. Shifting your hips, you tugged your pants down until you were left in nothing but your panties.

Fuck, Marc hissed. Steven was panting, watching as you climbed onto his lap with your arms draped over his shoulders. Marc moved Steven's hands so they gripped your waist, thumbs stroking your sides. Steven leaned forward, pressing kisses to your breasts. He took your nipples into his mouth and suckled. He alternated between each breast, suckling on your nipples and leaving wet, open mouthed kisses on the soft skin of your mounds.

"Oh fuck," you groaned. You started grinding your hips against his; an involuntary reaction. Steven could feel your wetness coating your panties. His erection was straining against the confines of his pants.

Lay her down. Marc was definitely turned on. And start taking your clothes off. Let her see you.

Steven moved so you were lying on your back on his couch. He removed his lips from your chest to take his sweater off. You sighed dreamily when you saw his bare chest.

"So beautiful," you hummed.

Steven hovered over you, planting a sloppy kiss to your lips. "You're the only one here who's beautiful," he mumbled against your lips. "So breathtaking."

His hand moved to your panty covered heat. Your panties were soaked. You whined into the kiss, your legs spreading wider.

That's it, Marc encouraged. Feel how wet she is – she needs to come, Steven. You think you can do it?

"Gonna make you come," Steven groaned. You practically sobbed. He teased your covered core for a second longer before he stuffed his hand down your panties. His fingers rubbed along your slit. Your juices coated his hand before pushing his index finger in. You moaned his name. His finger thrust and curled in you, testing the waters. There was still that uncertainty on Steven's end, knowing this would be his first intimate moment with someone. What if he didn't please you in the way you wanted? Would you still be attracted to him? Would you still like to be with him? Steven got so caught up in his anxieties he didn't catch on to Marc's impatience until it was too late.

Marc fronted before Steven had time to react. He was breathing heavily, looking at you in the way a predator looked at prey. He shoved two other fingers in and started pumping. You cried and moaned, grinding your hips against his hand. When his thumb started working on your clit, rubbing tight circles on the bundle of nerves, you started chanting Steven's name. The gift shopist watched as you submitted yourself to Marc – and him – and the pleasure. He watched as Marc worked to undo his pants and boxers, his erection breaking free and slapping against his stomach.

"Fuck me," you chanted. "Keep going – ah! – just like that! I-I’m gonna – fuck!"

"Just like that," Marc hissed. He worked your cunt even harder, feeling your drenched heart clenching around him. "Fuck, just like that–"

You came with a high-pitched moan. You gushed around Marc's hand, arousal dripping from his fingers. He kept pumping, keeping the orgasm going for as long as he could.

You gonna fuck her good? Marc challenged. He was drowning in his lust. Good girls like her get fucked nice and rough. Or do I have to show you how it's done?

You were looking at him so nicely, all spent and soaked. Your legs were spread, eager for his cock to fill you.

Marc heard Steven whimper. The mercenary looked down at you again. You were begging at that point, desperate and needy. Steven used that opportunity to front, stuffing his hardened length inside you. You let out a moan. He snapped his hips, holding you down. He watched your breasts bounce with each thrust, the way your eyes rolled in pleasure. His cock was hitting that one spot, the one that made your toes curl and brain short circuit.

Just like that, Marc panted. Oh fuck – just like that! So good, such a good slut!

You felt so good around him; so tight and wet.

"Steven," you cried. You chanted his name as your second orgasm built. Steven felt his fast approaching. His pace became sloppier, hips slapping against you until you both reached your highs. You kept chanting Steven's name, ropes of thick come coating your walls. Steven was a whimpering mess, the feel of you clenching around him only prolonging his release.

When your highs subsided, the two of you took a moment to catch your breath. Steven looked at you; your cheeks and chest red, eyes still hazy. You looked absolutely wrecked, and he couldn't imagine you looking anymore gorgeous.

When your gaze met with Steven's, you gave a small smile. "Maybe we could finish the movie another time," you joked. Steven chuckled.

"How about tomorrow?" he offered. Your smile widened. "You spend the night here and I make breakfast in the morning. We can do whatever you want after."

"That sounds amazing." You leaned up and kissed him.

Steven could practically feel Marc smirking. He'd have to have a few words with the mercenary…

…after begrudgingly thanking him.

Masterlist

Taglist: @staria9100 @radcollectivesoul @cuddlefishextrodinaire @ramielll @lelialynn @identity2212 @whiminiferous @gracescor3 @winterslove1917 @hailycheyenne @dp-marvel94 @queerponcho @mysterystrawberrynigt

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elegantduelliste · 3 months

Text

Epistles of Saints & Sinners

Summary:

When Astarion meets the humble bard, Tav, he soon finds out he's the only one between them that knows they are bound as soulmates through their marks. Deciding it's more trouble than its worth, he refuses to tell her along the course of their journey across Faerûn.

But, unbeknownst to him and their companions, Tav is harboring a gruesome secret that she only thought was nothing more than a traumatized period in her life.

As they both come to face to face with their pasts and presents, will they choose to move forward or let it consume them?

Healing isn’t linear—after all.

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Chapter 1: Song

Ao3

Next Chapter

Main Page & Chapter List

Word Count: 2.3k

Pairing: Astarion x female bard Tav

CW: Sexual Language

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

I am aware of how cruel the moon can be—the many phases it sheds. Lovers, most vulnerable, suffer from such severity of its usually silvery boon. The waxing and waning of their intimacy. Their lives. Their time. By astral’s will. A day, years, or centuries of seeking out each other's tender lips. The tides of the lune renew what is fated to be.

— Unknown

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One Year Before the Nautiloid Crash

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“Where are you taking me lover? I cannot wait to experience what you’re able to do with that tongue of yours,” the human man headily breathed against his nightly suitor’s ear, while the pale elf placed a kiss along the softness of his jowls.

Astarion hummed into the man’s skin as his mouth slowly trailed pecks down to the side of his neck, in tandem with his uncontrolled gasps of assured pleasure. Ringlets of golden spools, bearing the beginnings of silver finery depicting his age, spilled down above his shoulders.

He wrapped a strand around his finger, tugging gently, allowing him to feel a slight pull at his scalp. ”Dear pet, your hair is like that of a crown fit to sit upon the brows of angels. I am undeserving to keep such holy threads wrapped around my fingertips.” He inhaled deeply whispering low into the shell of his ear, “However, I can think of another, more eager, part of your body I would enjoy having wrapped around me that I will have ruined in sin before the night is through.”

His ears perked up when he heard a sharp intake of air from the minor noble pressed deliciously at his side, as they walked arm in arm towards the tavern. Hazel eyes dazzled with sparks of lust. Another simple target. The spawn was grateful.

The scent of a cheap carafe red was thick upon his tongue as his breath fanned near the vamp’s face. Vinegar piss. Wonderful. “I…I am not used to such salacious remarks. Please do not keep me waiting much longer,” the man keened.

The familiar burn of disgusted bile bubbled in Astarion’s throat. He detested this part of the evening with his nightly liaisons. The purgatory in between.

Come with me, ye bleating sheep to the lion’s den!

Oh, but he would practice his due diligence to get his victims to adore him with his charming swagger and a faux interest in their pathetic lives! Eventually whisking them away to bed with a performance of erotic words dripping from his serpent’s mouth. He could make anyone fall in love with him. Yearning eye contact. A feathery brush against their necks with his fingers. An alluring grin. The promise to know them.

Thousands of denizens he deigned upon for the sake of his one and only exalted master. He was the carrion for the true evil that lurked. The one that tightened the leash around him at every turn.

”Good boy, come eat your rat.”

It repulsed Astarion the moment his victim’s lilting voices careened into his pallored ears to speak of their lives. Adventures he would never have. People he would never meet. Treasures he would never see. Pleasures he would never partake. But, most of all, the sun’s warm grace he would never again feel cradling his skin.

His life ended and began with Cazador in his palace of blood and rape. Whips, chains, and the prettiest of screams. Kennels to contain his most prized pets. Lest he not forget his sudden interest in epidermis poetry! How talented his master was indeed.

The purest of shit to endure.

The people of Baldur’s Gate loved to talk about themselves. And he would listen. He had no choice. He had to feign interest. To enchant them. To indulge. It was all part of the plan—after all.

Ah, but there were times he would come upon those in the flicker of a candle’s light in Sharess’s Caress or burrowing their heads in a pint at a tavern that he would take a more special interest in. A young man that had never been kissed. A forlorn maiden that was escaping an arranged marriage. Maybe even a harlot that was once an aristocrat and had fallen into ruin. Those with stories that lived actual lives outside debauchery and the criminal mind. Rarely, were they people that would undoubtedly be missed, but Master Cazador deserved only the most beautiful beings to add to his “collection” of drained corpses.

In Astarion’s more whimsical moments, he would become the storyteller and regale his prey with memories from his mortal life—at least those he could recall—or fabricate a life that never existed. He would possess positions: a craftsman, a trader, a politician. He had been married, had children, ran away from his family, and widowed. Once, he had owned a lavish manor, with privately catered dinners to his palate. Another time, he had traveled with a king and nearly worked as his personal tactician.

Even so, there would never be a relationship to build upon for the vampire. Their fates were sealed the moment he set his designs upon them, manipulating them by way of exchanged bodily fluids and depraved pants given to the night. Unfortunate souls ripe for the reaping of his master.

“My sweetest treasure, it is not much further now,” he assured his target with a playful smile. He dipped his head to speak against the Adam's apple of the man, lowering his voice a few octaves to vibrate against his flesh. “Then, I will take you again and again until I have had my fill. Would you like that? For me to fuck you until you beg me for mercy?”

The man blushed a deeper shade of red than the wine he imbibed earlier, grabbing tightly onto the vampire’s arm with a few quiet nods.

“Good pet. Follow me.”

It was on the precipice of their journey for Astarion to bed this pathetic mess of a man, that he heard it. The distraction. A hypnosis taking him over, causing his usual instinctual schemes to falter. The constellation that made up his soulmate mark—behind the right shell of his elven ear—suddenly had a strange nerve of feeling pulsing softly.

How curious. Nearly 239 years of life—mortal and immortal—the mark finally comes to life.

He had nearly forgotten about it, a dusty reminder from who he used to be when he was “alive.” More than likely it had faded in color, along with the rest of his skin tone. One would be so lucky to be born with such a mark, a comforting solace of a personal intimate attachment shared with another being. However, it only served as a severed connection from his corporeal mortality—lost against his will. He wished he could scrub it entirely from his flesh.

As they approached the dark alleyway of the Elfsong Tavern, Astarion halted them. His body rigid of this utter intrusion paying pittance to his ears. Eyes fluttering shut, he attuned them to the delicate notes swept upon the strings of a lute just around the corner from them. He took a relaxed breath, his nostrils expanding, reveling in the blithely song gracing his ears.

There was a memory here. One buried well beneath his spawned life, hidden away from the prying eyes of Cazador. A piece, a fragment of leftover humanity just for him. Yes—a song that stuck to the walls of an abode. Safety and comfort swelling within. It brought up a familiar vague idea he once might have felt in his former life. An idea of…home. He nearly retched from the very thought of it.

What a sense of humor the gods have to send such a melody along the eventide’s breeze!

The golden haired man at his side cleared his throat in frustration. “Why ever did you stop?”

He noticed the vampire’s attention was leagues away, no longer concentrated on his promise of an unforgettable tryst. He cupped a hand over the bloodsucker’s crotch, rubbing his softened cock through the leathers of his pants with a frisky grin.

The tune tapered off, and Astarion—still dazed from the music—gradually opened his eyes to peer down at his movements, registering that the evening needed to end. He patted the hand massaging his member and lifted his chin up, quickly pressing a chaste kiss on the side of his mouth.

“You, my darling, have purified the longing puddles of void in my heart. Forgive me, but I must end our soiree a bit early. May I come find you again another evening this week?”

Letting him leave without delivering him into Cazador’s arms, was a terrible decision to execute. Yet, this fucking canticle was a succubus that would not release him no matter how much he could get down on his knees and beg, licking the succulent juices of it’s harmony.

He was starving.

Lips pouting, the dispirited patriar removed his hand from Astarion’s breeches, straightening his overcoat and shirt. He stared at him in shock, his mouth opening and closing several times. “I—I see. I bid you goodnight.”

As he turned to leave, ringlets bouncing with the few steps made, he quickly turned back around with a finger pointed in the air, as if he suddenly remembered he was supposed to deliver an important message to the vampire.

He came closer to him, leaning into his neck, and inhaled deeply. “By the way, darling, you smell of fetid rats and sewer shit. I can only imagine the state that cock of yours must be in.”

Astarion froze. His narrowed crimson eyes followed the man’s mouth flip into a victorious smirk that he wanted nothing more than to carve away with the most serrated edge of a knife. The vamp’s lips tensed. He found himself grabbing violently onto the gentleman’s bicep and swinging him around to push him against the wall of the tavern with a loud thud, nearly cracking the stone.

“Ah, I understand now,” Astarion grinned, pressing a leg in between the nobleman’s, locking him in place. He quickly removed a five inch dagger from this boot without even so much as loosening his grip on him and pointed the tip into the man’s throat. His messy curls fell forward, kissing the middle of his pronounced brow.

“Though I wonder, pet,” Astarion deftly reached inside his mouth to pry his tongue out between his sudden sobs. He dragged the dagger upwards from his throat, to his chin, and then without warning, placed one of the sharpened sides of the weapon against the wiggling muscle. “—just how rough you like it. Given that you have such a tongue to tease me with.”

Drops of sweat beaded at his temple. Panic. And then the begging. Of COURSE he would beg.

“Pleaseth do nat hurrrt me! I…I didnet mean it. I…pleaseth…I ‘ave coin. You can ‘ave as mulch as oou ‘ike! I caan, um, I caan…,” he pleaded, nervously crying. A spittle of saliva coated Astarion’s fingers.

The spawn beamed as he traced the dagger lightly against his tongue. “You know—I think there’s quite an important lesson to learn here, don’t you?”

He nodded quickly, tears streaming, a snotty nose sniffling.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll figure out what exactly that is on your way home. You seem intelligent enough to solve such a conundrum! And I must give myself credit for making it so easy for you.” Astarion lowered his dagger, a menacing smirk pulling the skin of his mouth upwards. “Now, it may be best for you to scurry home—lest I change my mind.”

He stepped away wickedly chuckling with the knowledge that this man that saw fit to cross him, would keep this interaction quiet. With one arm crossed nonchalantly on his chest and another open to his side—dagger in hand—he presented him with a mid bow and the permission to leave.

The lowly patriar bent over, vomiting on the ground. He heaved and sobbed until there was nothing left in his stomach, leaving it to the fates of the acids that resided inside. Poor delicate human.

Taking one step forward, he peered at his predator, checking his features for any signs that it was unsafe to leave. Astarion only continued to grin with impish teeth gleaming in the haziness of the town, glowing eyes unblinking. “Run, rabbit, run.”

It was a final warning; one he didn’t chance as he fiercely strutted away.

It was still dusk by way of the ombré purple and blues cavorting across the sky. The sun was beginning to slumber, bidding farewell to his inamorata moon as her light beamed through the clouds. Astarion tucked his dagger snuggly back into his boot and ran his cool fingers through his curls, setting them back into place. The night had not progressed as planned. This would not bode well. Cazador expected a meal tonight and would expect Astarion to “dine” with him.

Annoyed, he groaned as he crossed the threshold of the tavern. A crowd of people— including small children—were gathered near the front entrance, holding one another with simpering affections towards an elven woman. There was a lute in her hands, slightly weathered and warm in color, with beautifully detailed carvings of flowers inlaid on its soundboard.

Astarion eyed her as he stalked by. At first glance, he was disenchanted. Oh, how delectably plain this bard looks! Her hair is just sloppily braided over her shoulder. Is her eye color truly that muted? Natural makeup adding nothing to allure her audience. Gods, and her clothes! Did bards truly leave their homes looking like that?! Pitiful creature. She may never recover. He thought with a quiet tsk under his breath.

He settled himself against one of the street lanterns across from the tavern. Enough of a distance away to be free of the throes of the audience, but close enough to sate his curiosity he so righteously tried to resist. The perfect wallflower. This woman owed him, after all—for disrupting his composure.

“Play it again! Please please pleeeaaassseee! But, with words this time,” some of the children begged with toothy grins. The rest of the group chuckled and commented about how wonderfully precious the young wee ones were for taking such an interest in music tonight.

The bard smiled playfully from her sitting position on top of an overturned food crate. “Hmm, I suppose I could make an exception for one more song tonight, but then I must pack up to attend to a few things before the night is through.” She leaned forward to tap the nose of a little girl, face covered in mud, mesmerized by the songbird. The girl blushed and excitedly sat up straight.

Lute back in hand, she started off slow, finger-picking at the strings. The children’s mouths were agape and a wave of silence settled the crowd. Up and down her fingers strode, moving like a ballerina across the stage.

She switched to a tone, all emotional sweetness, as she dwindled off from the more gloomy beginning—enthralling the audience immediately. A bit more quickly she moved, her pads lightly touching the strings in cadence with her other hand that’s switching from note to note on the fretboard.

Then, she starts to sing. And her voice is as beguiling as a nightingale.

The lute eased, but her voice only grew louder. It is all delightful confectionaries being made by a chocolaterie and otherworldly siren song in one. Astarion paused, cocking an eyebrow before narrowing his vision towards her. There was a faint longing ache of his soul mark behind his ear that he didn’t register.

Her throat bobbed as she hit a tender note and the vampire couldn't help, but notice how pale and velvety her skin appeared. It was a stark contrast against the darker clothes she was wearing, but it only added to her…well—whatever the hells she had going on over there.

The songbird beamed at her listeners, a twinkle in her eyes. She swayed effortlessly, genuinely seeming to enjoy the moment. It is a gift to her. This quaint stage she has set. An audience that wished to truly engage with her music. Astarion could hear the puttering flits of her heart beating nervously, while she maintained a tight composure—an act he found fascinating, given her profession. She looked so alive as she sang.

As her song steadied for its descent, stopping the instrument in her hands to place emphasis on her voice, he saw her peering out into the crowd, catching his pair of scarlet eyes nearly glowing under the light of the street lanterns. There was an intense smirk pulling at the vampire spawn’s lips as he watched her, regarding her gaze.

He nodded in her direction, a final sinuous grin causing a lovely blush to appear upon the swell of her cheeks. A devil she doesn’t know. A dangerous thing.

The bard closed her eyes, tempering the song to its end. Then there was clapping and coin clinking at her feet. She straightened her back, arms outstretched to her sides like a bird in flight, and she bowed. When she rose, she found herself casually searching the audience for those red orbs and snowy curls against her finer shrewdness, but he had already departed, taking her curiosity and “love” with him.

#baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 astarion #astarion #astarion x tav #baldur’s gate 3 fanfiction #bg3 tav #tav #ao3 fanfic #ao3 #bg3 #soulmates #soul marks #bard tav #spawn astarion #female tav #fem!tav

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beansidhebumbling · 2 months

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Once again begging for a bit of bitter rhysta bonding over feyssian being a bit too obvious

Liar, Liar

Idk pals. Blame @ae-neon for this. Warning for blood play I guess. Jesus.

They were dancing.

Again.

Familiar tattooed hands moved over her sister's lithe frame. Cassian seemed to forget she knew his tricks, the gentle tracing of the lower back, the hidden kisses to clasped hands. He'd used them on her too. In a time long gone now. Before Nyx, before the dissolution of the Night.

His hands dipped lower, skirting the bare skin of Feyre's lower back. Nesta looked away, focused now on the thin stem of her cocktail glass.

Lovers deserved privacy after all.

Even her husband.

Even her sister.

***

In this nook she liked to pretend he danced for her. That this was merely one of the games they'd played as newleyweds.

Foreplay.

A small part of her, not her heart, maybe her ring finger, the closest to the shackle held out hope he still loved her.

Hope that died with each secret letter she found, with each charged stare she bore witness to, with each dance she observed.

Hope was for heros and children.

***

The seductive beat moved through her pulse as the smooth vodka barely bit at her throat. This was the top shelf stuff. A rarer find after the treaty. He was clearly in a mood tonight. Sat in the corner as usual, the two regular voyeurs to the budding romance and erosion of two marriages.

She glanced at the slumped form of the former Lord of Night and new monarch of the Velarien Territories. The broken lands of a broken male.

'You can sit up, you know. She can't sense you.'

He glared purple-eyed venom at her. She nearly missed the time when that might have scared her. At least things seemed simple then.

'I don't understand what she sees in him. Three months we've been following them to their dancing'

His voice caught on the shards of jealousy that lined his throat.

'And I have to watch her love him. Him. He took everything.'

'You lose what you don't mind, your Highness.'

She relished in hurting him. Something about how his too-perfect face shuttered and stars sparked from his fingertips. Joy was a scarce commodity and his suffering a deep well of it.

'Don't sound too smug, love. It's your mate she's fucking.'

'I cannot lose what I've never had. You fae and your Cauldron. I have never heeded the divine ruling of crockery.'

His laugh, piercing and chilling, cracked her glass splintering it in her grasp. The smell of honey and iron tickled her nose as blood seeped from her clenched fist.

'Liar, liar Lady Death. I still remember you on the battlefields. You've always been quick to save the bastard.'

With agility she thought him too drunk for he moved closer and cradled her stained hand within his own, droplets of scarlet staining his indigo silk shirt.

'Not brother anymore then?'

Nesta smiled sweetly, words coated in honey and arsenic.

'Not sister anymore then?'

He mimicked, raising an eyebrow as she flinched sharply, his eyes glittering, the Ptsym constellation visible in his pupil.

'Don't talk about Feyre like that.'

She muttered.

Rhysand slowly prised open her palm, magicking away the shards until all that remained of his mirth was a deep oozing cut.

His lips, plush and sharp, dipped to kiss her wrist, licking the blood as he went, laving his tongue over pale skin and working slowly towards the wound.

Tingling electricity erupted, shooting from her head to her core. To swap blood was an act reserved for mates not whatever they were.

Enemies.

Less.

More.

Her head flung back hitting hard on the mahogany lined wall as he reached the cut and sucked deeply, silver flames catching on the seams of his mouth.

Rhysand raised his head, hair tossed and eyes wild. He grinned a feral bloody creation, his canines fully elongated before murmuring,

'I'm not very interested in talking at all. Sister."

#this is rough #open to continuing #let me know #acotar #nesta #rhysta #rhysand #feyssian

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dollyyun · 26 days

Text

𝒆𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝒄𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒆 | chap 06

SYPNOSIS: wherein the princess, who is a clandestine assassin, has been commanded to eliminate the seven vampire princes.

GENRE: 18+ (mdni), reverse harem, contemporary fantasy, enemies to lovers, third pov, eventual previous past lives will be entailed.

WARNINGS: expletives.

WORD COUNT: 5.5k

TAGLIST: @aishigrey @kgneptun @b3tt7boop @smg-valeria @lhspeachie @enhaverse713586 @strxwbloody @firstclassjaylee @jwnghyuns @luminouskalopsia @deobitifull @loumin908

🍒 MASTERLIST 🍒

The sunlight casts a warm glow throughout the forest, with an ethereal ambience infusing the atmosphere and a certain mellifluous melody that kindles a familiar spark within her, inspiring her to dance to the melody.

Her eyes sparkle with wonderment upon seeing pixies with resplendent wings fluttering around her that are about the size of her palm. Giggles of merriment and tiny, high-pitched voices elicit from these ethereal mystical creatures as they dance afloat around her, almost as if they are encouraging her to join, and she does.

As she dances to the melody with the pixies, her lavender glittering dress sways behind her along with her lilac waves. A gleeful smile touches her pink lips as she releases giggles. She never wants to leave this place, where nothing can hurt her and where she no longer feels the excruciating pain in her neck.

Unbeknownst to her, a pair of magenta-pink-hued eyes have been watching her as he remains seated on a fairly thick branch on one of the trees. With his head tilting to one side, his pink lips unfurl a lopsided grin, enraptured by his darling in an effervescent element as she dances to the music he enchants with his magic.

Sensing his prominent presence, the pixies cease dancing and wave at the confused female. Their wings flutter as they gyrate around her while she follows their movement before they fly ahead, leaving her behind.

But the confusion clouding her head dissipates at the moment she lifts her head up and locks eyes with him. Her breath hitches in her throat upon seeing him, decked out in an all-black ensemble.

With ease, he alights from the branch and lands on his feet. Her heart beats in a familiar cadence as he strides towards her, his eyes never leaving hers, as well as the smirk on his charming countenance.

"Did you miss me, darling?" She is bewitched by the mellow tone of his voice, as is the ambience he exudes.

She unfurls a soft smile that shoots cupid arrows into his heart. "More than you'll ever know." She says softly before she finds herself moving towards him in haste.

As she crashes into him, his arm slithers around her waist while the other cradles the back of her head. They hold each other tight in a loving embrace. He buries his nose into her hair, inhaling her sweet natural scent that he used to bask in whenever he had her in his possession.

As they remain in each other's embrace, a certain scene unfolds in his mind, to which a tremendous guilt hits him. "I'm so sorry, Lilith." He whispers painfully. "You know that I would never hurt you, ever, but─"

"It's okay, Shion." She pulls her head away from his shoulder to place a peck on his cheek. Her eyes soften as she sees the guilt swimming in his eyes. "Whatever the present you did was beyond your control. I don't blame you at all."

His arm tightens around her waist while frustration is written across his face. "If only I was strong enough to breach through the borders and remember you. I hate how I have had to watch and feel his distaste for you." He caresses her cheek gently.

"As do I." She smiles sadly, leaning into his touch with her eyes fluttering closed. "Can we forget about everything else and just be like this, even if it's for awhile?"

Not too long after, they lie down on the meadow, basking in the comfortable silence that surrounds them. Her head rests on his chest as she settles acutely on top of him with her arm hugging his torso while his long, slender fingers are mindlessly treading through her soft, lilac locks.

"My time is almost up." He breaks the silence, glancing down at the disheartened female who is staring at him with glistening eyes. He unfurls a soft grin and tilts her chin up, dipping his head to kiss her squarely on the lips. The sweetness of the kiss has her toes curling before she sighs against his lips in contentment.

"Don't go." She whispers dolefully as he slowly pulls away from her lips.

"I'm sorry, darling. As much as I want to have you all to myself, I can't be selfish." He chuckles lightly before placing a kiss on her forehead. "Besides, he's been waiting for you."

Her pouty lips form a frown, tempting him to kiss her again. "Who?"

"Close your eyes first, darling." He instructs gently, and she complies. She awaits him, and she is surprised to feel his lips on her again, but this time, he is kissing her with raw, palpable emotions that bring tears to her eyes.

She feels the warmth of his lips fading while her eyes remain closed, afraid that she might burst out waterworks upon seeing him fade away and disappear from her sight. Now, no longer is there his warmth, and she knows that she is alone again.

Finally, she flutters her eyelids open and is taken aback by the change in her surroundings. The woodland is now covered in snow. She puts her palm out to catch a beautiful snowflake as it lands on her palm. Amidst the tears staining her cheeks and the goosebumps arising on her skin due to the cold, a smile paints her canvas.

Remaining unmoving from the ground, she feels heavy, thunderous footsteps, or rather, paws, approaching her from behind, prompting her body to turn around. Recognition flickers in her gaze as she stares at the wolf, which is bigger than any average wolf, and she has had to tilt her head up to look into his eyes.

He appears intimidating, his chest rumbles as low growls emit from him, and his sharp canines are bared at her, but she doesn't feel the slightest terrified of the enormous wolf. She takes this time to marvel at his white fur, which she used to tread lightly with her fingers. He trods forward with one paw, and given his stance, she knows that he is trying to scare her.

Chuckles leave her lips as she rolls her eyes. "You know you can't scare me, Solon."

In an instant, a whine emits from him, shattering the monstrous, intimidating demeanour he put up. With a huff, he decides to shift into his human form, with the sound of bones cracking painfully, while she watches in awe. Seeing him shift never ceases to amaze her.

She watches with a fluttering heart as his azure-hued eyes lock with hers, and his handsome countenance is adorned with a charming grin, his fang-like teeth peeking from his lips. "For once, I'm thankful to Astra for granting us the ability to shift without having to worry about our clothes shredding to pieces."

She doesn't respond, but instead smiles softly at him as he continues to amble towards her. "Hi." She greets him shyly.

His heart swells with adoration for his beloved. He kneels down on one knee in front of her and grabs her hand before raising it to his lips and placing a kiss on her knuckle. He lifts his head to meet her eyes once again.

"Hi, princess." He reciprocates softly, his thumb caressing the top of her hand. A frown touches his lips as he realises that she does not have enough extra layers to provide warmth to her body. "Are you not cold?"

"I'm fine, really." A knowingness glints in her eyes. "Besides, you know that the cold doesn't exactly bother me."

"But still." He releases her hand to open his arms wide for her. "Come here. My body will provide you the warmth you need."

She doesn't really have much of a choice, especially when he never takes 'no' as an answer as he tugs her arm, pulling her towards him before she crashes into him with her head against his chest. Nevertheless, she snuggles into him and heaves a contented sigh, to which he smiles in adoration.

"I've missed this. I've missed us." He starts off, prompting the female to look at him. There is a sad smile on his lips as he glances down at her. "Being apart from you for a thousand years is torturous, and even worse when our reincarnations fail to recognise you."

"It is part of Astra's punishment." She raises her hand to cradle the cusp of his jaw, and her finger lazily traces a circle on his oddly warm cheek. "Tell me, what does the reincarnated you think about the reincarnated me?"

He scoffs out a chuckle of disbelief as he rolls his eyes. "He thinks that you're a nuisance, and don't get me started on his bloodlust thoughts after having a taste of your blood."

"I sense there's another and." She chuckles softly, leaning dependently on him with her body tilting to face him while her fingers fiddle with the hem of his blouse.

He gazes fondly at her, his arms remaining around her body. "And he thinks that you're gorgeous, just as I think so too."

"You think?" She feigns disappointment, her lips forming into a small pout, to which he can't resist kissing her. She chuckles softly against his lips as he kisses her hard before pulling away.

As he heaves, he leans his forehead against hers while holding her hand close to his chest. "No. I know so." He says. "I hope you don't ever forget that I do love you, despite the fact that the reincarnated me is a bloodthirsty asshole."

The sound of her genuine laugh is melodious to his ears. "You do realise that you're calling yourself an asshole?"

"Promise me that you won't ever forget it." He holds her hand firmly while his eyes turn serious.

Her eyes soften. "I won't, but you know that it's impossible─ Ah!" A piercing yet familiar affliction strikes her heart while there is a jarring sensation throughout her body.

"Princess?!" He cradles her body, which feels heavier by the second, but with his strength, he manages to still hold her with ease. Tears begin to stream down her cheeks while her hand clutches the material of her dress, where her heart is, writhing in agony. "Lilith!"

"Solon." Her voice is barely above a whisper, and her surroundings become disoriented along with his desperate cries for her before the familiar darkness welcomes her as it engulfs her whole.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Even when she has regained consciousness, the piercing affliction persists the same way it did in her dream with the two mysterious men who bear the same faces as her enemies. This time, she can still vividly recall her dream, with the only exception that everything she heard sounded muffled.

Elora can feel the tears welling up behind her closed eyelids before those same tears fall as they trickle down her cheeks. The familiar affliction in her heart is unlike any other. If it's any other being, they would’ve already been dead by how terminal this unidentifiable disease is.

But strangely, Elora manages to live while bearing this disease. It is almost as if this disease is to punish her─unable to die despite how fatal the affliction is.

"What's wrong with her?" Jake.

"Use your magic to wake her up, Celeste."

"I've done everything I can. It's only up to her now."

Elora hears the commotion around her, the voices she recognises, and yet the prince she wanted to launch her rage on is not here.

"It's not his fault." The same voice that spoke the unfamiliar name echoes throughout the walls in her mind once again─her very own voice. It is muddling because, despite the fact that the voice is the same as hers, it feels like a different person speaking. "Please, you have to remember...."

Elora lacks the ability to process anything, only focusing on the affliction in her heart. It is getting unbearable with each passing second, and all she wants is for somebody to rip her heart out.

"Allow me."

"No. You hurt her before." Jungwon sounds strangely protective, and it brings an odd feeling to her.

"It's okay, Jungwon." She hears Celeste coax Jungwon. "His healing magic might be more effective than mine."

Elora feels his hands cradling her cold one. She has no idea what is happening, but the next thing she knows, a tingling yet warm sensation diffuses throughout her body, causing her to abruptly snap her eyes open, startling everyone.

But his healing magic alone is not sufficient to alleviate the affliction in her heart. She yanks her hand away from his grasps and curls her body to the other side, writhing and whimpering in pain.

"Elora! What's wrong?" Celeste rushes over to the other side and kneels down, brushing away the strands of her hair sticking to her face as she is breaking out in cold sweats, fussing worriedly over her like a mother hen.

Elora opens her trembling mouth, but nothing comes out, as coherency is not in her ability at the moment. With their heightened hearing senses, they can hear how rapidly her heart is beating, pounding loudly in their eardrums.

"Something's wrong with her heart." Jake speaks up with a frown apparent in his tone.

Elora's eyelids are slowly fluttering closed while slowly losing all strength in her body, and she allows whoever is holding her and cradling her in their arms. Her head lolls to the back, but a hand swiftly cradles the back of her head, providing her support and tilting her head to meet his luminous crimson-magenta eyes.

"Try and stay awake, Elora." Sunoo's command evokes something within her, forcing herself to heed his words. Her eyes are slowly going into focus before they stare directly into his beautiful ones.

Elora has no idea what sort of magic Sunoo is casting on her, but it seems to work as her heart is slowly returning to its original rate, beating normally but loud enough in her eardrums. Everything seems slow and slightly disoriented, but she continues to focus on Sunoo's captivating eyes.

Her chest heaves as her breathing pace returns to normal, and soon enough, everything, including her surroundings, becomes clearer. She doesn’t even bother to fight off her enemy's hold on her body, simply surrendering herself.

"What just happened?" Riki blurts out, the confusion in his voice is apparent. No responses, as they, too, are uncertain of what happened. All except Elora.

Elora leans dependently into Sunoo, with her head resting on his shoulder while light pants leave her lips. She feels a hand grabbing hers before she turns to look at Celeste, who looks genuinely worried yet relieved, but the sight of her kind smile eases Elora.

"What happened?" Elora manages to speak up, despite how her throat feels dry as sand. "I thought I had died in Heeseung's hands."

She can feel Sunoo flinches and catch the way Jungwon, Riki, and Jake flinch as well. Celeste's smile turns apologetic as she squeezes Elora's hand. "I used my healing power on you, but it wasn’t enough. So Sunoo stepped in and helped since his healing magic is much more effective than mine."

Elora scoffs out a chuckle, casting a faint smirk at Sunoo, who has been silent as he holds her. "Who would’ve thought that you'd be the one to heal me when you're the same person who tried to kill me once?"

Sunoo narrows his eyes at her, obviously not pleased by her remark. "Be thankful that I even offered to heal you, or you'd already be dead."

Elora scoffs once more and attempts to push herself away from him, now gaining stability. Even so, Jungwon steps forward in an attempt to steady her just as she stands, taking her by surprise as she blinks at him.

"I don't think you should move around." Jungwon clears his throat in an awkward manner after having been seen by everyone how quick he was to step in and steady her.

"I agree." Celeste appears next to Elora, wrapping her arm around the latter. "It's a miracle that it has only been two hours since you passed out, but you still need to rest. You've lost quite a lot of blood."

Elora's hand flies to her neck, where she swears there would be big punctured holes from how Heeseung devoured her, but there are none. It must have been Celeste's doing.

Elora looks at Celeste and gives her a small, feeble smile. "Thank you."

In return, Celeste beams with a wide smile. "Anytime, Elora."

Elora takes a glance at Sunoo, who appears disgruntled for some reason. She purses her lips, contemplating for a moment, before she decides to push aside her hatred for the prince. "Thank you as well, Sunoo."

Sunoo clearly didn’t expect her to show her gratitude. He clears his throat while his face remains impassive, but the emotions in his eyes don't go unnoticed by Elora.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Standing in front of a full-length mirror, Elora stares at her reflection while her handmaiden gives her a bow before she proceeds to leave the room. Elora remains staring at her reflection, finding it hard to believe that she looks different than usual.

Elora can't help but admire the plunging neck sequin navy blue dress with glitter ornaments everywhere that drapes flawlessly over her figure, as it also casts a certain ambience of sophistication and regality. Her lilac waves have been braided immaculately into a half-updo, and on her head is a fairly small tiara, while a blue sapphire pendant rests above her chest.

Elora feels as though she is part of the vampire royalty, and she even looks like one. It took hours for her handmaiden and other maidens to dress her up and beautify her. Long, excruciating hours, but at least Celeste was there to entertain her for the first or second hour.

A knock on the door startles her, causing her eyes to shift from the mirror to the side, where a certain prince she doesn’t expect to see is standing by the opened door with his arms crossed over his chest.

Her lips downturn into a frown, confused by his presence. Yet her eyes are raking over him. He is decked out in all white pants, white vast on top of the ruffled blouse, with a royal blue kilt blazer that is emblazoned in intricate silver laces. His stark raven hair is parted in the middle, with the bangs hovering over his chiselled forehead, which also reveals his well-defined yet thick eyebrows.

Elora releases the breath she has been holding back since the moment her eyes landed on him. She hates to admit it, but he looks divinely handsome.

"What are you doing here, Sunghoon?" Elora asks, though her voice comes out faintly.

"I've come on behalf of your groom." Sunghoon declares himself, his voice is icy-cold, as is the way he is gazing at her. "I'm here to escort you to the ball. Before you refuse, you can't. It is also a direct order from the sovereigns."

Elora takes him by surprise when she nods her head before she makes her way towards him. With each step she takes, Sunghoon feels a sense of deja vu, as if he had been her escort before. It is even addling when something flashes in his mind like a film. It is not just something, but a face. Her face.

Sunghoon blinks his eyes once more, and the image is gone. He flinches just slightly when the female is now standing in front of him with her eyebrow raised. "Well? What are we waiting for?"

Sunghoon composes himself as he leans away from the door. Like a gentleman, he offers her his arm, which she accepts, looping her arm around his before they make their way to the ballroom.

Silence envelopes them, but Sunghoon takes occasional glances at her, finding it odd to admit that his enemy looks divine, almost enthralling him. She looks like pure vampire royalty.

Elora, on the other hand, has long since noticed his stares on her face, but she dismisses him. Perhaps she is mentally drained, but today is not the day she wants to start any trouble with the princes.

"You should know that Heeseung feels guilty and regrets what he did last night." Sunghoon breaks the ice just as they are nearly reaching the venue.

Elora stares at him with an eyebrow raised. "Why would he feel guilty? Killing is in your nature, after all." She says tersely. "Besides, I'm still his and your enemy. If I were in Heeseung's shoes, I wouldn’t hesitate to kill my enemy."

"You're right." Sunghoon shoots her a smirk without fully turning his head to look at her. "Despite everything that has happened, you are still my enemy, just as I am still your enemy."

"Exactly. Nothing changes." Elora quips as they finally enter the massive ballroom, which looks extensively endless with chandeliers dangling above the ceiling. Vampire nobles are everywhere, throwing her curious yet hungry looks.

"Stay close to me." Sunghoon murmurs to her lowly, just as he feels her arm loosen around his. His face remains impassive, while his gaze is straight ahead. "At least until Heeseung is here. These nobles are not exactly amiable towards other species."

"I know." Elora murmurs back to him, and with eyes on her figure, she starts to feel her skin crawling. Even if she is the bride of their first prince, that doesn’t mean she is safe.

"Elora!" Celeste comes into her view, dressed in a gorgeous off-shoulder gown that is in the same shade as Sunghoon's blazer. Her golden locks look luxurious as they cascade down her shoulders. "You look absolutely dazzling!"

Elora musters a faint smile at her, still not accustomed to Celeste's exuberant disposition. "Thank you. You look beautiful, princess."

"Celeste." Celeste corrects her for the ninth time. Her eyes trail down to their interlocked arms. "I see that Sunghoon is your escort. Heeseung should be here by now."

"He'll be a little late." Jake approaches them, walking alongside Jay and Sunoo. "Something came up, but nothing too serious."

Elora feels as though her breath has been stolen away when her gaze settles on them. They are decked out in similar attire as Sunghoon's, yet they manage to look distinctively charming. She immediately returns her gaze to Celeste as soon as they look at her.

"So what now?" Elora asks Celeste, not bothering to conceal her apathy. "I don't suppose that I could go for some refreshment."

"Unless you want to drink blood." Sunghoon remarks wittily, casting her an annoying yet charming smirk.

"Nonsense. There are champagnes and wines as well." Celeste shoots Sunghoon a glare before returning her gaze to Elora with a kind smile. "Would you like to have some?"

"That would be great." Elora smiles, ignoring how their eyes are widening at the side of her genuine smile, directed at their older sister.

"It's best for Elora to stick to any one of us." Sunghoon asserts as soon as Elora attempts to unhook her arm around his. "It's dangerous for her to be alone with these nobles."

"But she'll be with me." Celeste frowns. "Besides, I'm her friend."

"Heeseung's orders, sister." Jay adds, supporting Sunghoon. "We are not to leave her side, at least until Heeseung's here."

"You can drink with me instead." Sunoo nudges his sister by the shoulder, and for the first time, Elora is taken aback to see how laid-back Sunoo is without having the evil glint in his eyes.

"Alright." Celeste loops her arm around Sunoo's and bids Elora a goodbye smile before they saunter away, leaving Elora with the three princes.

"I'm capable of fending for myself if anything happens." Elora tells them firmly.

Jay narrows his eyes at her, clearly unconvinced. "Given the number of times you've been injured and rendered unconscious, I'd say otherwise."

Before Elora can retort, Sunghoon is dragging her with him to the middle of the ballroom, where every other noble couple is dancing to the slow, euphonious tune. Swiftly enough, he has his hand placed on her waist while the other is holding her hand as he raises it up mid-air.'

"What are you doing?" Elora whispers aggressively, yet her body naturally follows the rhythm. Thankfully, back in her kingdom, dance is part of the tradition, so she is familiar with it.

The corners of his lips quirk a smirk. "Dancing, obviously. Besides, you'll be dancing with your groom in a while. Consider this a warm-up."

Elora's breath hitches in her throat as he expertly spins her around before pulling her back, causing her chest to come into contact with his solid one by how firm he does it. She glances up at him with a glare while ignoring the peculiar flutter in her heart. "That was a deliberate move."

"But you liked it." Sunghoon leans down to her ear to whisper, "I'm your enemy, and yet your heart beats for me fast. Why is that?"

Her pulses drum in her ears at close proximity. "Maybe because you're too close for my comfort." Sarcasm laces into her whisper. "And I feel uncomfortable with you touching me."

"Or maybe you have grown to like me." Sunghoon chuckles coldly as he pulls away from her neck. Their eyes meet once more. "You're a decent dancer, princess. I'll give you credit for that."

Sunghoon twirls her around expertly again, but this time, he lets go of her. Elora doesn’t have the time to process when a hand envelopes hers and pulls her towards him before she stumbles into him just slightly with her chest hitting his.

She glances up to look at him under her long lashes, and her heart beats erratically at the sight of his handsome countenance. His full attire is similar to Sunghoon's, but just like the other princes, he looks distinctively charming.

His eyes meet hers as he holds her waist firmly, slowly dancing to the melody. He doesn’t say anything, only gazing at her with indecipherable sentiments, making her go flushed under his gaze.

By now, everyone has their heads turned at the bride and groom. There is a certain yet palpable ambience about them that makes it harder to look away. They look perfect, fitting each other like a puzzle. They have been made aware that she is mermaidian, and despite their distaste for her kind, they can't deny the fact that she looks as if she is meant to be the first prince's bride.

"You look beautiful." Heeseung's compliment surprises, as does the sincerity in his voice.

Elora has no idea what to feel. Does she feel flustered? Angry? She is still mad at him, but the way he is gazing at her makes it harder for her anger towards him to persist.

"I'm sorry." His voice comes out soft, and oddly enough, her heart clenches at his sorrowful tone. "I didn’t mean to hurt you. I lost control."

"Don't apologise." Elora says curtly, briefly looking away from his eyes, which seem enthralling. "Killing is in your nature. Besides, we're enemies. We're bound to kill each other one way or another."

Elora gasps softly as he pulls her closer to him, causing her breasts to hit his chest. His arm around her waist tightens while he leans down to her face, looking ever so serious. "You may be my enemy, but at the end of the day, you're still my bride. You're my responsibility now, whether you like it or not."

"Do you truly believe that I will still remain your bride after retrieving the crystal heart of Oceania? To which I'll be betraying my people?" Elora whispers to him harshly.

"Yes, you will." Heeseung speaks beside her ear, sounding lethally soft, and his breath tickles the shell of her earlobe. "I don't intend to let you slip from my fingers, Mia Cara."

Heeseung places a kiss on her temple, his display of affection draws attention from the nobles in their vicinity, while Elora is rendered speechless by his gesture. She stares at him numbly as he grabs her hand gently, raising it to place a kiss on her knuckles while maintaining eye contact with her.

"Why are you doing this?" She asks in a whisper.

Heeseung unfurls a soft smirk, still not letting go of her hand. "Because if it's not made clear to you yet, you belong to me now, Mia Cara."

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

After dancing with Heeseung, Elora excuses herself as she needs to take a breather. Whatever Heeseung said to her has her mind in a frenzy, and she knows that it isn’t a good thing. Just a day ago, he seemed disgruntled by the fact that they would be tying knots, but earlier, he looked different. It was almost as if he truly wanted her with the way he gazed at her.

Elora has been mindlessly walking, not realising that she has reached a secluded, far end where there is an opened balcony that oversees the empire, where a certain prince is taking a breather as well.

"Oh." Elora halts her steps, staring at him as he leans his body forward with his elbows resting on the balustrade. She meets his eyes. "Shouldn’t you be back there to entertain and, you know, show your royal face to them?" She asks awkwardly.

Jake simply shoots her a lazy grin. "Nah. Those aren’t my scenes, actually. I'd rather be alone in my thoughts."

It's peculiar. Elora initially perceived him as the exuberant prince with an annoying personality and a chattery mouth, but now he looks different than he usually does. There is a certain ambience exuding from him that makes her relax when she shouldn’t be lowering her guards.

"You're welcome to join me." Jake says after discerning her hesitancy. He gives her a boyish grin that sends a flutter into her heart. "I don't bite."

"Funny, because you did bite me the first time." Elora rolls her eyes, but nonetheless, she settles next to him, gazing out at the empire that looks rather beautiful under the moonlight.

"Good point."

Elora steals a glance at his face, and this time, her head begins to throb upon feeling a sense of familiarity with him. "Why does the royal court desire the crystal heart of Oceania?" She finds herself asking him the question that has been lingering in her mind.

"There are numerous reasons why they desire it." Jake indulges her while still not tearing his gaze away from the empire. "Some believed that the crystal heart would grant them unlimited power, while others believed that with the raw power flowing through their veins after obtaining the crystal heart, they would have the ability to resurrect their beloved ones." A faint chuckle leaves his lips. "Actually, I've heard lots of stuff about different kinds of powers of the crystal heart, but I'm too lazy to go into the details."

"And what do you believe?" Elora is intrigued to know his thoughts. Whatever he said is true, but she isn’t going to affirm it.

Jake shifts his eyes to hers, the grin on his lips flattening. "I believe that we can't be too greedy." His answer surprises her as she blinks her eyes. "The vampire species have long since evolved, now having other magical abilities. So I don't see a reason why we need more power. Besides, there's a saying that with great power comes great responsibility."

Elora listens to him attentively as he continues. "So I believe that if we successfully acquire the crystal heart, we might get fucked. No species should be granted such unlimited power unless they're gods or goddesses." He scoffs out. "It will also potentially cause harm to the balance of our realm."

"Wow." Elora expresses her surprise and admiration for the prince. Her eyes glimmer with an emotion that he is unfamiliar with. "I didn’t expect you to feel that way as well."

"Impressed, love?" Jake unfurls a grin, and the endearment slips past his mouth naturally. "Besides, the seven of us are hybrids, so if we took that power, we would be wrecking havoc. Surely, you've already seen firsthand how Sunoo and Heeseung lost control."

"Speaking of hybrids, what type of hybrid are you?" Elora asks as she unconsciously moves closer to him. "I already know that Sunoo is a Fae and Jungwon may be a shape-shifting snake, but I don't know the rest of yours."

Jake's grin remains on his lips as he raises his hand, and with a small movement of his fingers, they seem to illuminate before fire appears magically from the tips of his fingers.

"Pyrokinesis is your ability?" Elora stares at the fire in awe. "So you're like, what? You can burst into flames or something?"

"It is one of my many abilities, but healing and regeneration are my strongest suits." Jake explains, though it doesn’t suffice to answer her question. "No one knows about my healing and regeneration abilities, by the way."

"Why? Don't you trust your siblings? Or even the king and queen?"

Something flickers in his gaze. "It's complicated." He heaves a sigh. "I don't know why I'm even telling you this, but I need your word that you won't tell a single soul about this."

Elora nods her head. "You have my word."

Jake bites down his bottom lip as he looks away momentarily from her eyes before sighing once more. "They don't exactly know what type of hybrid I am. Since I have been granted the ability to shapeshift into anything, they believed that I'm a kitsune after I had shown them."

"I see." Elora stares at him in awe. "So, can you shape shift into your kitsune form now?"

"In your dreams, love." He surprises her by flickering her forehead, causing her to scowl at him. With a grin, he offers her his arm. "Come on. You still haven’t danced with me yet."

Perhaps after having a deep conversation with him, something seems to shift in her feelings towards him. And so, without any objection, she loops her arm around his before they make their way back to the ballroom.

PREV CHAP | NEXT CHAP

#enhypen #enhypen poly #heeseung #jake #jay #sunoo #jungwon #ni-ki #sunghoon #enhypen fanfiction

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lulu24784 · 1 year

Text

washing machine heart | part 10

"I know who you pretend I am."

[AO3 Link]

previous chapter | next chapter

synopsis: | You're absolutely infatuated with Stan Marsh and have even started dating him! It should be a dream come true, but the truth is, he's only with you to make Wendy Testaburger jealous. To help you work through your emotions, you turn to Kenny McCormick, your best friend.

pairings: | kenny mccormick x fem! reader ; stan marsh x fem! reader ; wendy testaburger x stan marsh

cws: | angst, drug use/drug mentions, explicit language, sexual content, unrequited love, mental health themes / sh, violence

everyone is aged up to be 18+

tag list @c1rice @ayoitsmarie33

It had been about a week since your whole world had come crashing down. Saddened by your recent heartbreak, you were progressively redirecting yourself with other hobbies, such as baking and singing your heart out.

As the sweet melodies of your mother's old iPod filled the air, you couldn't help but wonder how it was still working after all these years. The tunes reverberated through the cozy living room and kitchen, amplified by the trusty stereo that had been a fixture in the house for years. The music was a mix of 80s, 90s, and early 2000s music, which you didn’t mind. As those old songs filled your ears, a wave of nostalgia washed over you, reminding you of the countless hours spent listening to them with your Mother while growing up.

At the moment, "Cruel Summer" by Bananarama was your jam, and every time you cranked up the volume, you sang out the words with all your might, even occasionally restarting the song before it ended. Along with it, you loudly and wildly sang along to some Backstreet Boys. In all honesty, it was enjoyable and, in a strange way, helpful.

As you swayed your hips to the rhythm of the music, you carefully mixed the cheesecake batter. Just as you hit the high note of your favorite song, your phone chimed, interrupting your impromptu kitchen concert. As the familiar chime of your phone echoed through the room, a grin spread across your face. With your bowl still cradled in your arms, you couldn't resist stealing a quick glance at the screen.

It was Wendy's group chat that she asked you to join. You were thrilled as hell.

If anything good had come out of your recent breakup, it was that you had finally made some new friends. Ones that hung out and did girly stuff! Those childhood pursuits you regret not devoting more time to.

For the past few lunchtimes, you've had the privilege of joining their circle, delighting in their juicy gossip, and chiming in with your own relevant contributions. Your heart would flutter with excitement whenever they inquired about you, loving the fact that they valued your presence enough to seek out more information. You felt loved and wanted, and you wanted that sensation forever.

As you perused through your text alerts, your eyes caught a glimpse of Bebe's message announcing a slumber party at her place tonight and… You were invited! A spark ignited in your eyes as you gently placed your bowl of batter on the counter. You then jumped up with a burst of excitement and let out a delightful squeak of joy. Holy crap! You were about to have your very first sleepover! You needed to get ready!

Oh, but first… You needed to finish with your baking. Ah! Maybe you'd want to share some of the baked goods you've created with the group... A rosy hue spread across your cheeks as the idea crossed your mind, making you feel a touch shy. Would that be too much?

As your mind raced with a million different ideas, a sudden knock at your kitchen window jolted you back to reality. As you glanced over, Kenny greeted you with a friendly wave and a silly grin on his face. As your gaze met his, you couldn't help but notice the gap in his smile, and a surge of guilt flooded your heart.

With a friendly wave in return, you hurried to the entrance and swung open the door to welcome him in.

“Hey! What’re you doing here?”

“Just popped over to visit my favorite girl~” With a grin on his face, Kenny hugged you tightly, eliciting a joyful chuckle from your lips.

“Geez you! I gotta finish baking, I have a sleepover I’m going to!” Your eyes twinkled with delight as you spoke with Kenny, beaming a radiant smile his way. He patted your head, but his lips curled up in a little pout.

“You’re always so busy now, Princess. You never have time for me, I’m gonna start getting jealous.”

A playful inflection colored his words, revealing his humorous intent. You gracefully separated yourself from his grasp and headed over to the kitchen counter, resuming your meticulous cheesecake preparations.

“Sorry, Ken! It’s just, it’s been a lot lately and I’m really enjoying my time with them!”

With a grin on his face, Kenny strolled towards the kitchen table and settled himself down, his gaze fixed on you with a gentle warmth.

“I know, babe. I’m glad you’re doing better.”

With a gentle sigh, he leaned forward and let his arms find solace on the sturdy table. His head followed suit, nestling into the comfort of his arms as his unwavering gaze remained fixed on you.

Humming along to the music that filled the air, you gracefully poured the batter into the dish, carefully placing it in the fridge. A contented grin spread across your face as you eagerly awaited the outcome of your no-bake cheesecake after it had been left to chill. With a swift motion, you snatched a muffin from the counter and presented it to Kenny, placing it with care on the table before him.

Then, with an eyebrow lifted, he picked up the muffin and began to snack on it.

“I made it. Is it any good?”

“Tastes good to me. What’d you do? Poison it?” He laughed.

“No… Just wondering if it was good enough for me to bring to the sleepover. Or is that weird?”

“I think they’d like it… Or you could just leave them all for me~”

You shared a grin with Kenny as you both sat at the kitchen table. “I’ll make you your own batch. Oh, that reminds me. You and Karen should come over for dinner soon. My parents still aren’t back and I’m getting pretty lonely here without my lil’ sister around.”

Kenny's face lit up with a bright smile as he gave a nod of approval, savoring the last crumbs of his tasty muffin and playfully licking his fingertips. “Definitely. She’d love that.”

The two of you chatted a little more and listened to music together before he left and you began to get ready for your big slumber party.

—---------------------------------------

Summoning all your bravery, you knocked on Bebe's door with a resounding thud. You took a long, anticipatory inhale, holding it in as you waited for her to answer. You could hear a commotion inside and suddenly, the door burst open and she stood before you, beaming with a bright smile, inviting you inside to join the rest of the girls.

You set your belongings down and presented your homemade muffins to the group. The girls eagerly snatched them up, their eyes lighting up with excitement as they took their first bites. You couldn't help but feel a sense of relief as you watched them enjoy your baking.

Thank god.

“Wow! You’re really good at baking, [Name]!” Wendy spoke out as she finished her snack and smiled at you.

“Yeah! Damn, we should’ve invited you a long time ago!” A chuckle escaped Bebe's lips, causing the other girls to shoot her a disapproving glance.

Your lips curled up in a shy smile as you nervously tugged at the hem of your sweater.

“I only just started doing it recently. It’s pretty easy. I bet we could all make something together sometime.”

“God you’re cute.” With a mischievous grin, Bebe enveloped you in a warm hug while you all lounged on the carpet. Your cheeks turned a rosy hue involuntarily from the interaction.

“Isn’t she?! I just wanna eat her up.” With a playful twinkle in their eyes, Red and Heidi beckoned you over to join them, leaving poor Bebe behind. As you settled in next to them, their infectious giggles filled the air.

With a smile on her face, Wendy simply shook her head in amusement. “You guys are gonna scare her. [Name], I promise you, they’re not usually this flirty.”

You just giggled, enjoying the attention.

The night flew by. The group indulged in a fun-filled evening of nail painting, hair braiding, and spine-chilling horror flicks. Occasionally snacking on chips and popcorn. It lived up to every expectation you had envisioned. The only missing pieces to complete the picture-perfect scene were a thrilling game of Truth or Dare and a sexy pillow fight, just like the ones you’d see in the movies.

“So.”

As you sat comfortably, Bebe's quick fingers weaved through your hair, creating a beautiful braid while Heidi sat across from you, expertly painting your nails with a vibrant shade of red.

“Have you dated anyone else? Besides Stan?”

All eyes in the room swiveled in your direction, their shared curiosity apparent as they anticipated your response.

“N-No. Stan is the only guy.” Your voice was a mere whisper as if you were sharing a secret that made you blush. You felt a bit inferior in comparison since you were certain that they had all dated multiple people.

“Really? Not even Kenny?” With a gasp, Red eagerly shoveled handfuls of popcorn into her mouth.

“No… Kenny’s just my friend.”

A burst of giggles erupted from Bebe's lips, quickly spreading throughout the rest of the group with contagious laughter.

“Mhm, girl. Sure. We all got a guy who’s just a friend.” She teased.

“Yeah! Like Red and Kevin.” Heidi giggled.

“Yeah?! What about you and Kyle?! Or is it Eric again?” Red let out a playful huff and stuck her tongue out at Heidi, who responded with a dramatic gasp of mock surprise.

“I’m obviously “just friends” with Clyde.” A delicate giggle escaped Bebe's lips, and a rosy tint painted her cheeks as she uttered her words. “And Wendy-” She paused.

A timid smile spread across Wendy's face as she offered a sheepish shrug. “Um… Tolkien is cute.”

You were well aware that the mere mention of Stan's name in your presence was a taboo subject, but you didn't mind it one bit. You were now her friend, regardless of whether she had love for him still. If you had to, you'd do your hardest to suppress your feelings for Stan, for her.

“But for real? You and Kenny have never dated?” With a swift maneuver, Heidi steered the topic away from the potentially uncomfortable subject of your current situation with Stan.

“Nope. I mean, I’ve never really thought about it. Or him, like that… I guess…” You paused, deep in thought, your finger lightly touching your chin.

“Seriously?! He’s totally into you!” Bebe exclaimed, her hand shaking you as she clutched onto your shoulder in astonishment.

“H-He is?”

“Yes!” The group shouted in unison.

Your mind was blown by this unexpected information. The idea of Kenny harboring romantic feelings for you had never crossed your mind. His charming and adorable nature made him naturally inclined to be touchy and flirty with everyone he met. He treated you the same way he treated his other friends. You didn't know what to make of this and were left puzzled.

“But.” You started. “There’s no way. He hasn’t tried anything, and it’s Kenny. I know him!”

“You have so much to learn.” With a wide smile on her face, Wendy chuckled heartily.

At that moment, like fate was just there to fuck with you, there was a tapping on Bebe’s bedroom window.

A sudden burst of laughter filled the air as the girls couldn't contain their excitement. They hushed each other, eager to catch a glimpse of what was happening outside. Red, the brave one, took the lead and cautiously peeked through the curtains. With a fit of giggles, she withdrew and nestled back into the group of girls.

“So… The guys are outside and they’re throwing fucking rocks at the window.”

“Oh my god, if they break the glass I’ll kill them!” Bebe yelled and ran to the window, where she tore open the curtains.

From the ground, Stan's crew and Craig's crew eagerly waved up at Bebe, who stood tall above them. As the other ladies scampered towards the window, you hesitantly trailed behind, cautiously peering out. In an instant, your eyes locked with Kenny's, causing a pink shade to bloom across your cheeks. As you averted your gaze, your eyes caught a glimpse of Stan standing beneath you, and a pang of pain shot through your chest. Shit.

“Hey, you stupid bitches!” The grating tone of Eric's voice reverberated with great force throughout the entire neighborhood.

“Tolkien’s parents aren’t home tonight, we're all gonna hang out there!” With a grin stretching from ear to ear, Clyde's palms cradled his cheeks as he projected his words toward the window.

A burst of joyous giggles escaped Bebe's lips. “We’ll be there! Just give us a few minutes to get ready!”

With a slight tug, she drew the curtain shut and closed the window with a soft click. “Change of plans ladies. We’re gonna go party.”

The unexpected turn your night had taken made your stomach start to flip.

#south park x reader #kenny mccormick x reader #stan marsh x reader #lulu works

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donnabenevientosimpingzone · 2 months

Note

Hello hellooooooo, I have returned with another request ;^)

Could we get some Bernadette x Reader smut, pretty please?

-simp anon

Bernadette simping real lmao

(Female reader)

A light citrus taste hits your tongue as your lips collide into the other woman’s, suggesting that the dark Italian had eaten an orange for a snack while labouring away in the gardens around the manor. You paid little attention to the dirt and leaves that clung to your figure as you pressed against Bernadette with each kiss, gripping each side of her head tightly to keep her from pulling away.

“Hm, won’t even let me clean up?” The blackette teased with a low thrum from the middle of her sternum, her strong arms wrapping around your waist to squeeze you close. She raises a foot to kick backwards, closing the door in which she just came through.

Her thick voice resonated towards your core, like the deepest note of a guitar, plucking at your patience. Despite her words, the tight hold she has on you shows just how needy she was as well.

“Did you really have to work for so long?” You question with a stupid grin, sealing it with another long kiss.

“The garden won’t clean itself.” Bernadette replies with a cheeky grin before easily pushing you off of her and weaving past you to stride further into the manor. You follow her like a lost puppy, practically skipping as the dark Italian woman hums in her baritone voice. It’s a familiar lullaby, one that you always seem to forget the exact lyrics too, but remember well what its meaning is. One that she’ll sing to her baby sister during the harshest of storms, where the lightning lit up the sky as thunder rips it apart. While you knew the middle sister loved storms, and often would be out and about during them, Bernadette was inside with the youngest- cradling her with this lullaby. A few times you’ve walked in on the scene, unable to resist the urge to join.

“But you took so looooooong!” You complain in a playful whine, making your lover chuckle as she takes off her dirty accessories. “How come you took so long, when I know you’ve been pent up?”

“Me?” Bernadette smooths through pursed lips, curling them in a smile. “Oh, you’re referring to the video you sent me? Are you sure that I’m the pent up one?”

“Think about how I feel!” You exclaim, jumping forward to grab onto either side of the dark Italian’s unsaturated green shirt. “I was all warm with you in bed this morning! And you knew exactly what you were doing!”

“Oh, hm.” Your beloved grins, looking away from you in pretend cluelessness. “I don’t know. You just have the softest thighs, my love, I didn’t realize it would turn you on.”

“That’s bogus and you know it.” You retort with a grin, gripping her shirt and pulling her into another kiss. This time, Bernadette gives in and moans against your lips, sending electric sparks through your body. The dull itch in your abdomen roared to life as a warm explosion of heat overtook the space between your legs.

“Well, I know you,” Broad hands fell flat against your hips, holding them steady despite your attempts to seek relief against her thigh. “The more I deny you, the sweeter the release is.”

A humming moan leaves from the vibrations settled upon the middle of your throat as you couldn’t help the spreading heat across your face. Giggles leave your lips as the dark woman’s hands hook into the belt loop of your jeans and tug your pelvis closer, providing the firm surface of quadriceps for you to seek relief upon. Dense and thick hair tickles along your cheek as Bernadette rests her chin against your shoulder, warm breath blushing your ear.

“I know what you want,” She purrs in a quiet rasp, softening her grip to a more guiding palm against the curve of your backside. “I’ll take care of you, but you must show me you want it. Go on, good girl, I’ll give you what you need only after you show me.”

That does it for you, breaking away the restraints that stopped you from practically humping against your lover in desperation. Her thigh provides the perfect surface for your shivering legs to seek support, hips rolling against the surface to force the friction against already soaked lips. Already you could feel the viscous arousal coating the fabric that protected the treasure between your legs, the smell hitting your nose in a mild sample of approval. It must have reached Bernadette too, who moans into your ear, nipping incisors against the crest. It spurs you on more, grinding against her strong thigh, sometimes practically thrusting into it, letting your voice sing for her.

“Oh, amorina, your legs must be tired.” The dark Italian coos, noticing the way your thighs were shivering and the way your body was collapsing against hers for support. No longer able to stand, you were led to the couch, an expectant giggle leaving your lips as Bernadette took her place above you. Straddling your hips, the muscular woman reaches forward a hand to fist the front of your shirt, pulling your limp torso up easily to practically rip the fabric off all in one smooth motion. Damn. What a turn on. You sucked in your bottom lip as your lover hooks her hands beneath the hem of her own shirt, lifting it up and over her head until it was peeled right off from her figure. You were just admiring the way her ponytail was swinging free from the collar when suddenly, your vision was taken over by the dark green of the sweater-like shirt, suddenly finding yourself wearing the musky fabric.

Bernadette’s scent invades your nostrils aggressively along with the spices of the various plant life in the Beneviento garden. You recognize some of the potent scents coming from various flora, but as always- you focus on Bernadette’s scent. It’s become more intense from working underneath the blazing sun and soaking the secretions of salt from tired pores, but it was perfect, and you can’t help but tuck your nose beneath the collar.

“Awh, is mia amata comfortable?” The dark Italian hums, pulling down her sports bra that was still stained from sweating in the garden.

You nod with a satisfied hum in response, smiling beneath the fabric as your lover uses two fingers to ‘walk’ up your sternum, then trace back down to your pants. A squeak lives you involuntarily as the jean buttons are popped open, and you’re violently reminded of the arousal soaking your undergarments.

“Wearing my shirt… mmm- you know, that does something to me.” Bernadette mused, sliding off your pants with a flex of her chiseled biceps, making your mouth dry at the sight. Her eyes are focused intently on yours, and they’re almost all blacked out from the dilation of her pupils. There’s a light pink dusting her cheeks as she’s watching your sweet reactions to her actions, and you could tell there was some kind of swirling squeeze in her core from the way her abdomen muscles were contracting. She wanted you as much as you wanted her. Oh the thought makes your body leak.

“Seeing how you’re all mine.” Her thick voice has you in a spell, pressure spinning in a dizzying typhoon in your head as she’s peeling away the last barrier to the sacred space between your legs. Your lover bites her bottom lip at the sight of your soaked petals, clit swollen and pleading, you’re such a good girl for her.

Bernadette inhales with a satisfied sigh. “And you smell so good. My scent smeared all over you, even the Dimitrescu family wouldn’t dare take what’s mine.”

You pop your nose out from the collar of the shirt, taking the fabric between your teeth as you wiggle your hips, eager for your lover to reward you.

“Oh, oh- and so impatient~” Bernadette hums, tapping her lips with an index finger as a malicious grin breaks out across them. “I have an idea. Be a good girl and flip over for me while I go fetch something.”

“Be fast. Please.” You whine, but otherwise obey, huffing as you prop yourself up on your elbows as the dark Italian slinks away. A dark blush blooms across your cheeks as you turn onto your hands and knees, hearing the door click. Raising your head, you gasp lightly at Bernadette’s return, grasping the belt of a strap in one hand.

“Oh look at you,” The dark Italian chuckles, smiling at your reaction as she strides over and puts on the toy, joining you on the couch once more. You turn your head to look at her, knowing for a fact your entrance is practically drooling arousal at this point, eager to be filled. Her hand cups the curve of your ass, caressing it lovingly with a hum. “You look so beautiful looking over your shoulder like that. Don’t worry, my love. I’ll give you what you want, what you need. You’ve been such a good girl for me.”

You open your mouth to plead for her to go faster, but you’re quickly cut off when the base of Bernadette’s hand presses between your shoulder blades- shoving your face down into the cushions. Without another second passing, you feel the kiss of the rod as it’s slid along the soaked lips, lubing itself on your juices. It’s a lovely opportunity for your melted mind to predict the sort of size that was going to invade, and what sort of delicious stretch it’s promising.

“I think you’re ready for me.” Bernadette hums, placing a hand on your backside as she lines the tip to the entrance. “Are you?”

“Yes-” You gasp, repeating the word like a small chant. You’re been waiting for this all day- from the moment you felt her hands stroking your thighs in the morning- to the times you’ve looked out the window and watched her working out in the sun. Well, perhaps ‘look’ is too light of a description for what was basically shameless staring. “Yes, I am, please-”

“You want me?” Bernadette moans, starting to apply pressure against the pretty petals, “Good. Because I want you too.”

Relief hits your body like a truck the moment your lover enters- strap lubed thoroughly to slip inside- pushing out a stretched out moan from your dropped-open mouth. Your insides clench around the toy, trying to guide it deeper within you. Bernadette’s hands are on you in a second, smoothing over the skin, and slipping underneath the green sweater-shirt. A whimper slips from your lips as more of you are forced apart by the rod, until the entire thing buries itself within you. A perfect fit.

“Taking me so well. Oh- and you’re even backing up into me.” Bernadette purrs as she slides her hands down your spine, hooking around your hips to keep them steady as you’re warming the toy.

She rolls and adjusts her hips, making the toy knock against your walls, making you moan and squeak. If she pushes just a bit more, a sharp pleasurable pain pops within your abdomen as it kisses your cervix, making you loudly groan. Just thinking about the possibility of her thrusting so hard that it pounds against it was enough to turn you on more, which doesn’t go unnoticed by the dark Italian woman.

“Impatient.” She tsk’ed, making you whine.

“I’ve waited all day!” You retort, attempting to wiggle your hips against the strong grip of your lover. “I’ve been good!”

“Have you?” Bernadette questions, starting to pull out. You whimper.

“Yes! Yes I have! C’mon- please!” At this point the tip was the only thing in you, and she wasn’t pushing back in. You could try to push back, but the dark Italian’s grip is far too strong.

“How can I say no when you beg so sweetly?”

The hard thrust into you makes you roar in pleasure. If it wasn’t for Bernadette’s grip, you were certain that your legs would have failed you and you’d collapse into the couch already. With your shivering body in her hands, the dark Italian takes it slow. Her hips move predictably, sliding out slowly before inserting at a slightly faster speed, making sure the sheath fully enters you before repeating. Low moans draw out of you, your arms reaching for the pillow that is laid against the backboard of the couch, drawing it into a tight embrace just to have something for your hands to hold onto. You could feel the smooth surface sliding within you, every stretch as the bulbous tip willed your inner walls apart.

Bernadette was calculated with her motions, angling perfectly to stimulate the most sensitive parts within you. Slow and sensual was her favourite way to make love to you, taking hours to get you off, and maybe even denying you the release. Oh you prayed she wouldn’t choose to do that this time.

“You moan so sweetly, mia cara.” your lover compliments you, still holding your hips tightly to control the pace. She could tell that you were more than ready to just throw your backside into her, taking her with such greed that there would be no time to savour the process. Oh, but she so did love the nights she let you take and take and take- more and more- all of her at your disposal to devour.

Bernadette licks her lips at the slick sounds from the sheer amount of arousal your body was producing, lethargic moans leaving you despite your body’s shivering state. Thighs tense, shoulder blades drawn, the fabric of Bernadette’s shirt suddenly felt constricting and stuffy. Each time you breathed in through your nose, however, the musk invaded your senses and made your eyes roll. You couldn’t find it within you to care anymore, whining as you resist her hold, throwing strength into your pelvis to move.

“Desperate?” Bernadette chuckles, letting go of your hips and running her hands along your backside. “Go on then. Show me.”

Oh this is exactly what you wanted to hear. With reckless abandon, you now throw yourself against her front, changing grip from the pillow to the couch cushion as you thrust backwards, swallowing her strap greedily. Your moans increase in volume and frequency as you chase your orgasm, having been pent up all day.

“Mmmm, I could get used to this.” You hear your lover drone, her hands finding your thighs, guiding your movements to the right angle to get the rod to hit your insides just right. The repetitive spearing of the toy shoots electric storms of pleasure through your system, begging for more and more of the sensation, guiding what little control you had left. You can only do so much though. Despite the primal instinct to breed, climax just won’t bestow its presence to you, and you find yourself begging your lover to help.

“Please- Bern- I… oh…” You drown your own voice in your moans, trying your best to keep the progress you’ve made, but feeling your body fail at keeping the strength to go on. “I can’t- ah… please- I need your help.”

You’re so close- you’re just right there- and relief arrives when a strong hand wraps around your waist and finds home on your clit. A dark chuckle is your only warning before the assault begins- a complete pounding from the source- and you find yourself unable to stop whatever sounds left your mouth. Your elbows buckle and you fall back onto the pillow, biting into the case in the futile attempt to quiet. All it does is make you look even more like a disaster somehow. More of a disaster then your current position of being plowed mercilessly by your beloved.

With her skilled hands on your clit, the climax comes sooner than you anticipated. Without her strong hands on your hips, providing support, your legs fail and slip from beneath you as your body is wrecked with an earth-shattering orgasm. Your spine ducks inwards as you curl in on yourself, silently screaming into the pillow you embraced tightly in your arms, creaming all over Bernadette’s strap.

Sweet release. You fall into a limpless bundle on the couch as afterglow takes hold of you, and your lungs desperately try to catch up with your breath. A small moan leaves you when Bernadette pulls out, leaving you feeling awfully empty. But she makes up for it by settling next to you and snuggling into your shoulder.

“Well done, tesoro.” She whispers into your ear, soft hands caressing along your figure, rolling pressure against places to undo the knots in your body.

You just hum and nod, burying your face into the fabric of your lover’s shirt, which smells like sweat and sex. A small break, and you’ll return the favour. You couldn’t ignore the way your lover was grinding against you. Damn. Bernadette knows what you want.

#ask #resident evil village #resident evil #bernadette beneviento #fanfic #bernadette x reader

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azsazz · 2 years

Text

Summer Daze

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Anon Request: heyy i’m the anon who asked for dad!az fics and i had an idea… what abt a fic where az spends the day with the kids like he has a day off and just goes around velaris with reader and his fam…

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1,372

Note: so not quite Velaris with the fam but still cute af

_________________________________________

You remember being in this exact spot with Azriel years ago.

After your mating ceremony you had gotten away from the chilly winters of Velaris and into Summer, tucked under your mate’s wing on the plush lounge on the beach. The setting sun casting its lovely pinks and creamy oranges across his tan skin.

You’d never seen him so at ease, shadows out of sight and wings hanging low, brushing against the soft sand of the Summer beaches as you curled further into his embrace, his thumb stroking across your sun kissed skin though he had told you to put more sun protecting salve on.

He’d thrown you over his shoulder and you had squealed as he ran into the night chilled water once the sun had gone to rest and that familiar night sky appeared, stars blinking awake. This was everything you had been waiting for your entire life, lovingly wrapping your arms around Azriel’s neck, cheeks hurting from smiling so hard. His hands slipped around your waist, holding you against him and staring down at you with sparkling eyes, pressing his forehead against your own.

“This is by far the best decision we’ve ever made, my sweet,” he whispers, kissing you passionately for a moment. Your hands wind their way into his salty hair, tangled from the ocean. The bond between the two of you glows golden and warm like the sun had set within you.

You hum in agreement, resting your head against his chest, looking out across the serene waters, the moon just making its appearance over the horizon. His heart is a steady beat beneath your ear, strong and comforting as it had always been.

“And someday, we can bring our children here, to experience Summer like we have.” Your heart swells and you hold him tighter in your arms, twisting so your chin is on his chest as you blink back the happy tears in your eyes.

“Yes Az, I want that with you so badly I can hardly wait,” you admit, and he smirks suggestively at you, his light.

“Who says we have to wait?”

__________

You can’t help but to smile, remembering the first time you’d been here.

You relax beneath the shady pergola on a lounge fit to fill your entire family, Jax settled and sleeping against your chest while you read, the shrieks of joy from your children and their cousins as Azriel, Cassian, and Rhys toss them up into the air above the water.

Nesta, next to you, admires her own mate, failing to hide her smile behind her fruity drink.

“One of these days Nes, you ought to have another,” you comment softly, watching how Cassian cradles your daughter just a little closer to his chest as he dips the both of them down into the water. You can hear the squeal of surprise at the cool water, then giggle as she splashes her tiny hands around.

He’d been hinting at having another for a while now, and always had Zuzu in his arms when she was around. It was so painfully clear that he wanted a daughter of his own.

“One of these days,” she agrees, flipping the page of her own book with indifference. You’ve been around the oldest Archeron sister now to know, can hear the mirth beneath her bored tone, the idea sparking in her mind.

Your heart swoops and you clutch your youngest tighter to your chest, jolting the small child as you straighten, watching Wren and his cousins – who had just learned to fly – getting as high in the air as they can, then tucking their wings in tight and freefalling into the ocean below.

You pass a whiny Jax into the arms of Feyre, who is on your other side, sunbathing, as you scramble up from the daybed, taking a few steps towards the rest of your family, “Not too high!”

Azriel’s head perks up at your voice, Baz sitting on his shoulders, his father and his own little shadows splash in the water around them. Your mates’ halt at the worry in your tone, immediately looking for danger, and you can hear him warning his son to be careful before he’s taking Baz off of his shoulders and tucking him against a hip, retreating from the water and jogging over to where you’ve settled back in on the lounge, Jax content in his aunts arms.

You can’t help but admire him as he comes to console you, your second son laughing as he bounces against his hip. His skin is glowing under the bright sky and he looks every bit as relaxed as he did all those years ago, happier now that he has his children, mate, and family near.

He places Baz down on the cushion and he immediately scrambles away for a refreshment of his own, Elain helping him drink from the straw of the coconut, Lucien’s chin hooked around her shoulder and beaming down at your son. Rhysand was always one to go all out when it came to important events, and this was no different. You were all staying in the most lavish of houses Adriata had, backing right up to the ocean with enough rooms inside for you all to have two.

Nesta and Feyre groan playfully as your mate climbs up on the lounge, immediately standing and retreating towards the water where the rest of your family is. The shadowsinger stops, kneeling between your legs, an easy smile on his lips. Hands planted on either side of your hips he kisses your swelling belly, not quite showing, the next babe inside.

He then moves to your lips, pecking you lightly and staring down at you, sprawling out into Nesta’s abandoned spot beside you, head propped up on his fist, other hand caressing your stomach lovingly.

“They’re just having a bit of fun, Love,” he says softly, and you give him a knowing look, “Just like we did when we were young.”

“Not all of us had wild childhoods,” you tut, brushing back his hair from his face as he rolls his eyes. You are utterly in love with him, and admire how much he’s grown since you’ve known him. How he’d come out of his shell over the years, finally finding his place within the Inner Circle. His shadows didn’t hide him as much, and though he was still quiet and sneaky, Azriel had really opened up over time.

“I’ve known you to get a bit wild, (Y/N),” he muses, tone suggestive.

You laugh, fingers dipping down from his hair to play with the shell of his ear instead, hazel eyes gleaming with mischief.

“I love you Az,” you sigh, closing your eyes and letting the sun beam down on your face.

He takes your hand, kissing up the inside of your wrist, “I love you too, my sweet.”

Baz takes the chance at a peaceful moment to jump on his fathers back, wrapping his little arms tightly around his neck, giggling with pure happiness.

“Daddy, sand,” your son cheers as Azriel wrestles with his son playfully, all while being mindful of where you lie.

“Okay buddy,” he agrees, “Give mommy a kiss first.”

Your son climbs off of Azriels chest and over to you, your mate keeping an arm around him in case he tries to jump on you, the little rascal. He presses a sloppy kiss to your cheek and you hug him close for a moment, breathing in deep. He smells like coconut and the strong sunblock salve and he sighs against you and you know he’s torn between wanting to stay with you and take a nap or go back and build sandcastles with his father.

He opts for playing in the sand again, and you watch as his father chases after him, screeching with laughter. You look at all of your family, smiling to yourself, knowing that the kids will be out like lights as soon as you get them cleaned up, a long day of playing under the sun with their family.

You couldn’t ask for anything better. This is the dream, and you rub your belly. You can’t wait to welcome the little one into this big, happy, family.

#Azriel #AZ #azriel x reader #dad!azriel #azsazz #azriel/reader #azriel x you #acotar #acomar #acowar #acomaf #acotarxreader #fluff #az fluff #inner circle

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weekend-whip · 10 months

Note

Under what circumstances/what characters would this happen with (I’m a sucker for this thing)

In her youth, Nya's only ever felt comfortable falling asleep in the presence of her brother, especially when huddled under a blanket beside their workshop's hearth. But over time her body grows a tendency to fall weary while studying with Zane, sharing headphones with Cole, stealing a mid-class nap with Antonia, or in the throes of the past, when she and Olivia would spend school afternoons upon the rooftop where the clouds aimlessly drifted by just as their conversations did. Yet she needs no excuse to rest her head upon Jay's shoulder as he works himself into the night, knowing he'll carry her to bed, should he not fall asleep first.

Kai would never be so foolish as to let down his guard so vulnerably—he can't afford to—so it scares him at first when he jolts up from being against Cole as the Bounty lazily sails across the provinces, when he finds himself in Zane's lap as the Nindroid tends to a wound otherwise gone unnoticed, when Jay's got a supportive arm around him as he drags Kai's battle-weary body to safety. It takes months for the ingrained hesitation to chip away, to let his walls down brick by brick, to open up just enough to have his arms wide open when Skylor trips, stumbles, and crashes into his life, seeking a solace of her own.

Cole is the same way, mainly offering a shoulder for others yet rarely seeking a perch for himself—unless that perch is Zane, in which he embraces it readily and easily, until such a comfort is reserved for another. He hates to ask or assume otherwise for anyone else—tries to bury it out of his mind—too afraid of being seen as needy, clingy, constantly wanting that grounding physical contact—until he finds a familiar, comforting hand slipped into his, as it always has been, and something shifts. He falls under the magic of Jesse's presence; he lets go, head supported by the other's shorter stature, and sleeps.

Zane's guard does not drop readily for the sake of slumber—there's a time and place for resting, and alas, the demands of a ninja do not allow for many such moments. He also knows how... uncomfortable it might be to support a metal shell of a soul, or to be supported by such, and thus does not indulge often. It's only at times when his world is torn apart, or it is him that is rendered asunder, that his loved ones will pick his pieces off of concrete, desert, and city streets—and only then does he find himself cradled gently while in the midst of sleep mode.

Jay jokingly calls the others his "Starcatchers", for the only times when he's not sparking around the skies is when he's falling from them in exhaustion. He's no stranger to waking up being carried upon Cole or Zane's backs, or in Nya's arms, or strewn over Kai's shoulders like a sack of potatoes. When he's pushed to the limits of his electrical reserves, he'll keep staggering step after step, and it rarely matters who comes to bottle his lightning–he'll crash right into them unprompted, and pass out regardless.

Trust already does not come easily to Olivia, nor does she give it freely—only to those she deems worthy or have impressed her. Seldom may there be a moment where she isn't seeking opportunity or hitting the pavement anyway, but there's a few wisps of memories—when things were slightly more right in the world—when she spent an afternoon with her best friend out by the sea and found herself serenely at peace, enough to lay sprawled out on a beach using Nya's lap as her personal pillow. Day by day she dreads never being able to feel so free to feel free to do so ever again...but, "never" is a bold sentiment to cling to.

When the world is at its simplest and most predictable is when Jesse's eyelids will start to droop, his body will sink to the side, and he'll plop into the lap of another—as he sits with Miranda indulging in Saturday morning cartoons, as he curls around a bowl of popcorn on Antonia's couch for movie night, as Harumi calls him over to be reminded the world can't be as bad as she believes, as he shamelessly plunges into Cole's arms during another of their countless stolen moments and tells himself for the umpteenth time "Ah, maybe just this once"—and in slumber becomes unshackled from the threads of constant paranoia and anticipation and simply...lets the moment lie.

Lloyd Garmadon only ever finds peace in the presence of the Elements; in the warmth of a campfire, in the vastness of the ocean, in the spectacle of a stormy sky, in the comfort of a blanket of snow, in the foundation of the ground, in the creation of the universe, in the destructive heat death of it all, in the motherly absence of any Element at all, in the eternal churning of amber, in the neutralizing embrace of a crystal, and in the miracles brought upon by life itself, and they all will always welcome him with open arms should he seek solace—he need only ask. He rarely ever does, for energy does not rest; energy does not sleep. And, most certainly, the energy never dies.

Thus, inversely...no one can ever truly rest easy in the presence of Lloyd Garmadon.

#only doing the (current) main eight im sleeby #ninjago #the lego ninjago movie #tlnm #the ninja legacy whip #legacyverse #kai smith #jay walker #cole brookstone #zane julien #nya smith #lloyd garmadon #oc: olivia omar #oc: jesse marvell #asks from nice people #k1ng boo #long post

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whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk · 11 months

Text

Begged & Borrowed Time (ixx, ao3)

(Chapter nineteen: Buckle up kids, we’ve got a lot to get through. Cassian arrives in Windhaven, where after setting the record straight with Mor, secrets are revealed. Feyre learns of the mating bond, and back below the wall, plans are in full swing for Elain’s wedding, but there’s something starting to concern the middle Archeron.) (Prologue // previous chapter // next chapter)

Cassian was certain she’d felt it.

As the wind raked sharp across his skin and an unsettled, disjointed kind of unease ticked through him, it was the only thing he could think of. He was so godsdamned sure of it, and it was the only fucking thing on his mind as resentment curled low in his stomach, a bitter taste coating his tongue as he clenched his fists, feeling the sword strapped to his back. Looking out at the ragged mountain he’d once called home, he was absolutely convinced that Nesta had felt the bond between them, and yet here he was, standing beneath a granite sky in Windhaven, looking not into Nesta’s mercury-blue eyes, but at Devon’s familiar face drawn together in a deep scowl, arms folded tight over his armoured chest.

Rhys stood beside him, ordering the camp lord to clear out his mother’s old house, and at his back stood Feyre and Mor, huddled in the thickest cloaks they’d been able to find. Velaris might have been cradled by spring, but Windhaven clung still to winter, and the bare rock of the mountain loomed above, casting a long, cold shadow. As the wind screamed through the valley below, Cassian’s siphons pulsed, unsteady.

The single siphon on Devlon’s chest flared in kind, a brief spark in the emerald stone. Cassian was barely listening as Devlon protested, and though he noted the soldiers grouped as Devlon’s back, counted their weapons and clocked their positions, there was no pretending he was anything but hopelessly distracted. Foolish, to be so preoccupied in Illyria but—

This was the last place in the world he wanted to be right now.

With less than three hours of sleep behind him, he was feeling the absence of Nesta like a bruise. His patience was stretched thin, fraying like a piece of age-worn thread, and all he could think about was how much of himself felt missing, how much he was missing her, and not even Devlon and his men were enough to pull Cassian’s mind away from Nesta fucking Archeron. They’d been apart for a grand total of eight hours, and already he missed her like he’d been robbed of something vital.

He almost wanted to scream now, to roar, and was it any wonder, when his temper was balanced on a knife edge— and had been, ever since Azriel had showed up that morning to take his mate back below the wall, back to the bed she shared with another man?

As Devlon sent one of his men darting through the snow towards the house that had been Cassian’s first real home, Rhys turned towards Feyre and held out a hand, but Cassian could think only of how Az had arrived at the river just before sunrise. As Feyre’s hand slipped into Rhys’ palm, he watched and thought of how Nesta’s fingers had tightened around him when the first shadow had skirted the edge of the dock. Cassian had sent Az back up to the House to fetch Emerie’s book before taking Nesta home, and it was a desperate, pitiful attempt at stealing another few moments but it had worked. Cassian had held Nesta tighter in those borrowed seconds, afraid of letting go. He’d kissed her— softly at first, but then Nesta had practically moaned against him, and any sense of control he’d had snapped as the kiss turned feral, all hands and nails and teeth as they grasped at one another, sharing breath in the dark as their lips met like they were both of them trying to make up for lost time with that single aching kiss—

But it was like trying to contain an ocean inside of a puddle, and soon it had drowned them both, leaving them gasping, shaking, eclipsing anything Cassian had ever felt in his life and—

“We’re heading out,” Rhys said to Feyre, turning his back on Devlon without bothering to dismiss him, and pulling Cassian, blinking, from his reverie. He cleared his throat, forcing himself to focus.

The western wind rattled through the camp, vicious and biting and as cold as the ice underfoot, and Rhys’ wings spread behind him, shielding Feyre from the worst of it. Cassian wondered if she noticed. If she’d seen the way Rhys had been drawn to her side, exposing the most sensitive parts of his wings to the cold as he sought to protect her from the weather.

“We’re going to train,” Rhys continued. “Azriel is going to check if Elain has had word from the queens today. Until she does, we’re using the time here to practice.”

Feyre nodded, stepping closer into Rhys’ side as the wind rustled his sable hair. Her hand curled around his, and Cassian turned away, feeling the sharp tug of envy in his chest. It just didn’t seem fair, didn’t seem right, that his mate should be so far away, when only hours ago he’d had her in his arms, falling stars reflected in her eyes as she felt the bond twining his heart and hers.

“Check on the forces,” Rhys instructed, meeting Cassian’s eye above Feyre’s head. “See that the girls are training, and do whatever needs to be done to ensure our forces are in peak condition. We’ll be back by nightfall.”

Grimly, Cassian nodded.

“Stay out of trouble,” Rhys added as he looked to the line of the trees in the distance, their branches tipped with ice. He offered Mor a weary smile as he raised an eyebrow, and as he pulled Feyre into his arms and lifted her off her feet, Mor scoffed.

Then they were gone, leaving only silence in their wake as Mor watched her cousin leave, flying fast towards the dense thicket of trees at the mountain’s base. The smile on her face fell away, replaced by a terse kind of quiet as Cassian looked for something to say and came up empty.

They hadn’t spoken since that night at the Hewn City, and there wasn’t a single word to be found between them now— not one, not as they waited for the soldiers to file out of Rhys’ mother’s house, not when they marched through the snow and made it to the front door Cassian knew so well, not when they crossed the threshold, and not when the door closed behind them.

Just— nothing.

It was a silence that was awkward, heavy and complete as Mor took off her cloak and draped it over the back of the sofa. She didn’t sit— instead she lingered, standing in the centre of the sitting room that Cassian had spent so much of his youth in, and as she cast her eyes over all four walls, Cassian knew without her needing to speak that she was thinking the same thing he was when he, too, looked around.

Nothing had changed.

The same watercolour paintings hung over the same mantelpiece, the same few books lined the shelves in one corner. The floorboards beneath his feet still bore the scuffs of a fight he and Rhys had once gotten into, and for all the world it felt like Rhys’ mother might just step out of the kitchen and offer them both some stew. But like a fine layer of dust, there was a patina of old grief draped across it all, and Cassian’s heart tugged as the silence deepened, echoing in the house that had never felt empty before, not when he was a boy.

He hadn’t been back since Rhys became High Lord, and as Cassian cut through the sitting room and made for the doorway leading to the kitchen - Mor drifting behind him and rubbing her hands together for warmth - suddenly he felt the past raise its head, old ghosts stirring as the anguish he felt over Nesta was compounded, redoubled. Suddenly, he remembered the very first time he and Mor had met, standing in that same kitchen.

Rhys’ mother had been there too, and his sister, with that laugh of hers that had always seemed to echo. There had been five places set at the table then, the scent of cinnamon and hot chocolate hanging in the air. Gone, now. All of it gone, and how did Cassian even begin to measure all the things that had changed since that day, when Mor had first stepped beneath that door? Where did he even start?

She’s a damned viper, Cassian.

He recalled Mor’s words from the Hewn City, and as he filled the kettle and slammed it on the stove, he felt his resolve harden. Mor was complicated— he knew that. His past was woven tight with hers, and he knew, too, that her dislike of Nesta wasn’t something entirely personal, rather a desperate attempt at keeping the status quo. But Nesta was Cassian’s mate, and he wasn’t about to let anything slide when it came to her.

Never when it came to her.

So— he refused to be the one to break the silence, and as Mor looked flatly at the single cup Cassian set out on the counter, she let out a bitter huff and turned away. Only when Cassian heard a door close loudly upstairs did he let his head drop towards his chest.

Ruefully, he sighed and prepared himself for a long, agonising stint in Illyria.

***

The next morning, Rhys and Feyre left early.

In the room he’d once shared with both of his brothers, Cassian woke with the dawn to inspect the camps, and looking over to the bed by the window, he found Rhys slowly waking. The High Lord dragged a hand through his hair, shaking off the sleep that still clung to him, and when Cassian clapped him on the shoulder and told him he’d gone soft if he couldn’t handle a dawn wake up call anymore, Rhys had snarled and told him to fuck off— just the way he had when they were boys. Rhys hadn’t been a morning person back then, either.

But that was hours ago, and now Cassian stood at the side of the training ring at the cliff’s edge, looking out over the mountains as before him boys - not men - sparred with wooden practice blades. The snow was drifting, dusting the ground as the morning wore on, refusing to melt.

This place was always fucking cold.

Casting an eye over the ring, Cassian picked out the bastards in the bunch easily. Four of them, who looked like the cold hadn’t just touched them, it had crawled inside their bones and made itself at home. Their cheeks were tinged with pink, noses red, and there were more than a few fingers far too close to frostbite. He knew what that was like, and being in Windhaven, staying in Rhys’ old house… it had all kinds of old feelings stirring in his gut, twisting inside as he looked at the worn leathers and ill-fitting boots, watching the four bastard boys hit harder than the rest - fight harder than the rest - for no recognition or reward.

He knew what that was like, too.

His stomach soured, and yet he didn’t move on. Though he was supposed to be inspecting the rest of the camp, Cassian stayed until their training was done, and as the other boys began to leave the ring, Cassian lingered. Something kept him there, stationary in the snow, and as the first of the bastards hurried past, Cassian brought him to a halt with a palm on an entirely too-thin shoulder. The boy’s hands looked so painfully cold that Cassian almost winced.

“Find Emerie,” he said lowly. “Tell her to give you a pair of her thickest gloves and take extra for your friends.” He nodded to the three other boys slowly putting away their practice swords. “I’ll call on her later to settle the bill.”

The boy whispered a stunned thank you, General before racing towards Emerie’s shop, and Cassian’s heart tugged. Rhys wanted the armies in peak condition, but good soldiers were being left to starve and freeze as a consequence of their birth, and though getting the girls to train had been a start, Windhaven was just as cruel as ever and coastlines changed faster than the camp lords.

Cassian had had enough.

As the sun began to dip towards the horizon, he sighed heavily, pushing away from the wooden posts that surrounded the training ring. He’d see Emerie tomorrow, he decided. Place an order for gloves and leathers and have them distributed to the poorest of the soldiers— the bastards and the orphans. While he was there, he decided too, he’d pick up another book for Nesta, for when he saw her next— whenever that might be.

Resigned, he let loose another grumbling sigh before glowering at the sky and heading back towards the house. The mountain cast a long shadow, plunging Windhaven into deeper darkness as the sun dropped behind the summit, and when Cassian pushed open the front door and found Mor wrapped in a blanket on the sofa, fluffy socks on her feet and a book in her lap, he stilled. With the snow melting on his boots he paused in the hallway, wanting nothing more than to avoid her. But it was difficult, he’d learned, to avoid someone when you were sharing a house roughly the size of a postage stamp.

Looking through the living room and into the kitchen, searching for his brother even though he could tell by the silence that the house was empty, Cassian frowned.

“Rhys and Feyre back yet?” he asked tersely, his voice clipped and tight. When Mor shook her head, he looked to the window.

It was the first exchange since the Hewn City, and when Cassian nodded curtly and made for the stairs, Mor closed her book and set it down beside her. They had argued before, but in all the centuries they had known one another, the fallout had never lasted longer than an hour. Never had it been like this, never so strained.

“Cass,” Mor said, sliding her fluffy-socked feet to the floor. “Can we just… stop whatever this is?”

“I didn’t start whatever this is,” Cassian answered flatly. He turned and leaned against the doorframe, folding his arms. “So I’m sure as hell not going to be the one to stop it.”

Mor rolled her eyes. “Why are you being so damned defensive? Why does what I said at the Hewn City even matter—”

“Why does it matter?” Cassian repeated, indignant. His voice was thick with scorn, practically incredulous as Mor shook her golden head, waving a hand in frustration.

“Look, from what Feyre has told us about her sister—”

“You don’t know her,” Cassian cut in. “You don’t know a damn thing.”

“And you do? After a handful of weeks, you think you know her better than her own sister?”

Cassian raised an eyebrow. Boldly, he shrugged. “Yes.”

Mor’s eyes shuttered, grew dark. “I just want you to be happy,” she said lowly. “And I don’t see how—”

She cut herself off with an irate sigh, tipping her head back to the ceiling. Her golden earrings danced, her hair cascading in waves down her back.

“Take it from me, Cass. From someone else who once got too involved with a human.”

She dropped her gaze, finding his as the hardness in her expression was slowly replaced by something older, something more sombre. Ancient grief shone in her eyes as an old wound was torn open— and it was one Cassian hadn’t even known she’d been dealt. Her face was limned with old agony, her bottom lip beginning to tremble as she drew it between her teeth. Confusion drew his eyebrows together, his lips parting as he opened his mouth to speak - to ask - but Mor shook her head in a single sharp movement.

“Trust me. The only way this ends is in heartbreak,” she finished, and something about the pain lining her face had Cassian’s anger drawing back, receding a little as he let his folded arms drop.

“It’s my heart to break,” he said quietly— but not softly. His voice was as firm as ever, resolute, because he’d made his decision, hadn’t he? Weeks ago, the day after the bond had snapped. He’d decided then that the centuries of sorrow he’d endure without her would be worth it for even one day by her side. “So stay out of it.”

“She’s human, Cass—”

“It doesn’t matter,” he countered roughly, feeling the bond strain in his chest, constricting his lungs and squeezing his heart until it felt like it would burst. With a hand, he gestured to the window. To the camp outside. “Not when I could be dead in a week. Or had you forgotten why we were here?”

“How could I forget?” she answered, incredulous. “It’s all the more reason you can’t afford a distraction—”

“A distraction?” Cassian hissed, but Mor only lifted her chin, steadfast.

“Is that not what she is? Tell me honestly, Cass. Out there yesterday morning— were you thinking of all that needs to be done to win this war, or were you thinking of her?”

Cassian snarled, but he couldn’t answer. No, he hadn’t been worried about Devlon out there yesterday. He’d been too busy thinking of the way Nesta had felt in his arms. He hadn’t been thinking of soldiers to train, supplies to organise, camps to inspect. He’d been thinking of silver-blue eyes and a bracelet he’d tied around a slender wrist, so much more meaningful than the wedding ring on her finger. He thought of her in every waking moment… but she wasn’t a distraction.

She was the opposite.

“I’ll win this war because of her,” he said darkly. “Because if losing means harm coming to her, than losing isn’t an option. So don’t doubt me when I say, Mor, that I don’t want your advice. I’m as focused as I need to be.”

Mor sniffed, and as his words hung in the air between them, the silence stretched, morphed. The tension shifted as anger devolved into something like anguish, red hot fury melting into something just a little less fraught than before— still jagged, but a little less sharp, and for the first time in days, the silence didn’t feel awkward. Still though, Cassian didn’t move from his spot by the door, and Mor didn’t rise from the sofa. They remained, frozen, until Mor shifted, tucking an errant curl behind her ear.

“I just hope you know what you’re doing,” she said at last, drawing one knee up to her chest. Her eyes closed, and Cassian wondered what she’d kept hidden all these years, what human had stolen her heart. Still, he lifted his chin, not a shred of uncertainty in his veins.

“I do,” he answered, taking his first step into the sitting room. Mor looked up at him, resting her chin on her knee as he let out a heavy sigh and lowered himself down at the other end of the sofa. Tentatively, he tilted his head.

“Tell me,” he said quietly, “about the human you loved.”

Mor smiled sadly, her eyes distant as, mute, she shook her head. He noted the sorrow on her face, all that heartache she’d endured alone and in secret, and as a single, solitary tear tracked down her cheek…

Cassian couldn’t help but wonder if he was looking at a version of his own future, a preview of his own pain.

A glimpse of the grief that awaited him.

***

His heart was still heavy when he awoke the next day, and as dawn broke and Cassian found the bed on the other side of the room still empty, Cassian knew with absolute, unwavering certainty that something was wrong. The siphon on his hand pulsed uneasily, ice spreading along his limbs as he slid from beneath the covers and pulled on his leathers, his hands stumbling over the ties as he swore softly and looked out at the window, at the untouched snow leading to the front door.

Rhys and Feyre hadn’t come home.

Cassian refused to think of the last time Rhys hadn’t returned. Refused to entertain the idea, or to remember all those decades he’d spent waiting in vain for his brother to come back, but nevertheless apprehension was thick in his stomach as, barefoot, he went in search of Mor across the hall. But she hadn’t heard anything from Rhys either, and just as Cassian had pulled on his boots to go out there and search the mountainside himself—

Through the window, he saw his High Lord materialise in the snow.

Rhys sank to his knees, as if all his strength had departed, and with Mor quick on his heels, Cassian rushed for the door, heart hammering as he wrenched it open just in time to see Feyre tear her arm from Rhys’ grip. The High Lord let out a small sound, something between agony and grief as Feyre walked away.

Cassian’s concern spiked as he lurched out into the snow.

“What happened?” he demanded, but Rhys was too busy trying to steady his breathing to speak, a hand pressed to his side as if he were wounded, and Feyre had already stormed past him and headed right for Mor instead. Cassian frowned, about to ask his brother what the fuck was happening, and then— he noticed Rhys’ torn leathers. The mud on his knees, the shadows beneath his eyes, the hair messier than Cassian had ever seen it.

The blood on his fingers.

Fucking hell— Rhys looked like he was at death’s door, his skin drawn and ashen as he fought to keep his eyes open. Cassian reached for him, bringing him to his feet and helping him to stand, his entire frame weak and unsteady. Cassian turned and looked to Mor, but she was standing torn, her gaze flitting between Rhys - hardly strong enough to carry his own weight - and Feyre, standing with indignation on her face, her hands outstretched as she grabbed Mor’s forearm.

“Take me somewhere far away,” she said. Her voice was leaden, anger etched onto her features as she stood firm, not sparing the weakened lord at her back a second glance. “Right now.”

Mor hesitated, drawing a lip between her teeth as she looked from the Cursebreaker to her cousin.

“Please,” Feyre said, her voice breaking as that single word had Rhys trying to lurch forward, slipping from Cassian’s grip even as his legs gave out once more. Rhys kneeled in the snow, panting as he struggled to rise, the hair hanging limply over his face as he tried to lift his neck. All over again, Cassian wondered what in the ever-loving fuck had happened, but Feyre’s anguish was palpable, and Mor’s eyes were fraught with indecision.

Rhys moaned Feyre’s name, a broken plea as Mor swallowed and extended a hand. She nodded, and Feyre’s tattooed fingers closed around her own in the heartbeat before Mor winnowed them away, leaving nothing behind but footprints in the snow and the High Lord of the Night Court, broken on the floor.

Cassian hauled him to his feet, Rhys’ arm slung around his shoulders as he gripped his brother around the middle, feeling the tears in his leather with his fingertips, tears that seemed to have been made by arrowheads.

“What happened?” Cassian asked again.

Rhys shook his head, but it was an effort as Cassian guided him towards the house.

“I fucked up Cass,” he answered, his voice hoarse, words slipping from between cracked lips as every breath seemed to tax him. He lifted his head just enough to meet Cassian’s eye, and there was something akin to horror in the widened violet. Mournfully, Rhys let his head drop once more.

“Feyre knows about the bond,” he rasped. “And I… I think I might have just lost her for good.”

***

The air was thick with the scent of flowers.

Hyacinths, peonies, roses.

All of them laid out on the table as Elain picked out her wedding bouquet, humming lightly as she dragged a finger over the different stems, plucking up each bloom and holding it against the other to find the most perfect arrangement. Beside her, Greysen held a sheaf of papers in his hands, his light brown hair falling easily over his forehead as he rifled through guest lists and seating arrangements and plans of his father’s estate— all the small, excruciating details that would come together to form the society event of the season. When he handed Elain a list of vineyards supplying the wine for the wedding, an iron band gleamed dark on his wrist.

Nesta watched as it slipped back beneath his sleeve, silent in her spot by the window.

Elain’s voice rang through the airy space of the Archeron morning room, and as the conversation drifted away from flowers to focus on where exactly the ceremony would be held on Lord Nolan’s estate, Nesta let her eyes fall back to the book in her lap. Turning the pages of Emerie’s latest, she settled into the role of chaperone more than anything else, only barely listening as her sister and future brother-in-law combed through the plans for their wedding.

“Beneath the ironwood trees perhaps,” Greysen suggested, pointing at a spot on the map. “The foliage is quite lovely this time of year, especially in the grove—”

“No,” Elain shook her head. “No I think I’d rather somewhere…”

Somewhere other than beneath the trees used to make weapons that can kill my sister, Nesta thought wryly, not lifting her gaze from the pages before her. Elain sighed.

“Somewhere brighter,” she finished, and if Greysen thought it strange, he said nothing. He only shrugged, turning his blue eyes back to the map.

Nesta had been listening to them for an hour.

She’d arrived at her father’s estate early that morning after a letter was delivered at the Mandray house, just as she’d sat down to breakfast. She’d cracked the seal immediately, finding a letter from Elain that had her pushing away her plate and preparing to leave before the messenger that had delivered the note had even left the courtyard.

Nesta, Elain had written. I know it’s short notice, but please— come for tea this morning? I could use the company, what with father gone, and I had such terrible dreams last night that I’d rather not be alone. Greysen is coming later to talk about the wedding, but I’d like to see you before then. Perhaps you can help me look over the designs for my dress? All my love, Elain.

Tomas hadn’t liked it.

He’d sneered and scowled and said that unless Nesta was going to bring back a purse full of gold, she was wasting her time. He’d caught her by the door, hand closing about her wrist, lip curling as his eyes fell on the bracelet tied there. Like Cassian had suggested, she’d told him it was a gift from Elain, but Tomas hadn’t seemed to buy it. His grip had tightened, almost painful, and Nesta had hissed before wrenching herself away, so hard her wrist barked beneath the pressure. Without a word, she’d slammed the door behind her and now she was here— listening to her sister plan her wedding like she had no cares in the world, when Elain had been so troubled that morning that she’d sent for her older sister, so shaken that her hands had trembled on her teacup.

She’d been dreaming of Clare Beddor lately.

It’s silly, Elain had said over their first pot of tea, looking down at the cup balanced in her hand. I just keep thinking about her. About her whole family. Gone—killed. And poor Clare, taken in the dead of night.

Her voice had grown quiet, her eyes haunted, as Elain looked up. In my dreams they come for us, too, she’d whispered.

Nesta had felt a chill run through her entire body. It was just a dream, and yet a shudder had racked her, thundering through her as Elain had taken a quivering breath.

They come for us too, she’d repeated, and a slick, foreboding kind of dread had coated the inside of Nesta’s veins, her heartbeat rising, uneven, as she searched in vain for the words to comfort her sister.

Greysen had interrupted them then, and Elain had shaken it off, plastering a wide smile on her face that betrayed little. It was dulled only at the edges by the concern in her eyes, but Greysen hadn’t seemed to notice as he kissed Elain on the cheek and Nesta rose, moving to the armchair by the window to let him sit on the sofa with his betrothed. She had pulled Emerie’s book out of the canvas bag she’d brought with her when she left the Mandray house, grateful for the distraction.

She didn’t trust Tomas not to find it, so she kept the book with her, along with the dagger Cassian had given her. Both were a comfort now— the latter, especially. It was tucked in the pockets of her skirts, a steady weight at her thigh, and even though some sensible part of her knew that Elain’s dreams were nothing to fear…

She shook her head, dropping her gaze to her wrist, to the bracelet there that somehow soothed the sharpest edges of her worry. She thought of Starfall, the way they had danced and kissed and clung to one another, and suddenly she had to blink to focus on the words on the page, her mind scattered and only one word cutting through the tangled mess of her thoughts.

Cassian.

Gods— he had ruined her.

He’d destroyed her entirely, taken her heart and marked it— claimed it. How could she ever again pretend that her marriage to Tomas was what she wanted? How could she look at the ring on her finger and pretend it had been worth it, when she didn’t have the energy to deny it anymore? It was Cassian she wanted, he she craved, and there was no turning from it now.

She was too far gone.

Nesta spent another hour in that chair, her eyes moving idly over the page as she only pretended to read. She took none of it in, too preoccupied with the memory of the warrior above the wall, and the way he’d called her his. She was distracted— so distracted that it was only when the clock chimed noon and Greysen rose to his feet that she realised she’d not been listening at all.

After giving Elain a sweet farewell that Nesta couldn’t help but think rang hollow, he left, leaving her alone with her sister as Elain plucked up the thick pile of papers from the table and pulled out one from the very, very bottom

“Here,” she said as Nesta rose from the chair and took back the seat on the sofa she’d given up when Greysen arrived. Elain held out the paper. A sketch for a dress. “Its from the dressmaker in the village,” she explained, smoothing her skirts as the servants brought in a fresh pot of tea. “What do you think?”

Nesta held it in hand, casting her eyes over her sister’s wedding dress.

It was beautiful.

All flowing skirts and elegant sleeves, there were flowers embroidered at the hem and around the wrists. Delicate material gathered at the waist before sweeping down in a cascade of blush, pale pink skirts. It was staggeringly pretty, exactly the kind of dress that Nesta envisioned Elain in, and with the hyacinths set out on the table… It was lovely. But— a tiara had been added at the top of the faceless figure drawn on the paper, sketched in charcoal. It was a thin band of grey shaped to look somewhat like a wreath, fashioned with leaves that might have looked pretty— but it was iron, and it’s sharpness was a horrible contrast to the soft, pale pink of the gown and the pearls that Elain would wear at her neck and ears.

Nesta fought back a frown. “It’s… beautiful.”

Elain noted the hesitation. “It’s the tiara, isn’t it? You hate it.”

Nesta didn’t bother to deny it, and Elain let out a sigh that soon turned into a groan.

“So do I,” she admitted. “But it was Greysen’s mother’s. His father gave it to her on their wedding day, and it would mean a lot to both of them if I wear it.”

Greysen’s mother had died years ago, and Nesta could understand the sentiment but… did everything have to be made from iron?

“It is pretty,” Elain said, her lilting voice turning somewhat conciliatory. “Aside from the iron, it is pretty.” She sighed again. “I suppose it’s a sacrifice that I’m willing to make.”

Nesta stiffened.

Elain hadn’t called it a compromise. She’d called it a sacrifice, and as Nesta looked at the flowers laid out on the table, the hyacinths in various shades of pink, she frowned in earnest. She didn’t think the word sacrifice was usually associated with weddings, and it was all too reminiscent of her own marriage.

Greysen was fine enough, she supposed. Wealthy and landed, titled— a decent match. Elain could do worse. But perhaps, Nesta thought darkly, she could do better, too. Elain deserved somebody that would give her diamonds, not iron, and silently she wondered whether Elain would wilt like the flowers on the table the moment she was sequestered behind those high stone walls.

Elain waved a hand, shaking her head.

“Anyway,” she said, changing the subject. “I don’t think the iron tiara is the worst of our problems. Greysen thinks its strange that Feyre won’t be at the wedding.”

Nesta shrugged. “Well, you could always tell him that your sister was turned into one of the fae and see how strange he thinks that is in comparison.”

Elain rolled her eyes, batting Nesta on the arm.

“I wish she could come. I want her there, but…” She trailed off. “Perhaps if she came with Rhysand? He hid behind a glamour once before, that day they first came here. Perhaps he could make them both look… human?”

“And if he can’t?” Nesta asked. “If somebody should see through it?”

Elain huffed, defeated. She pushed the papers away, letting the sketch for her dress lie discarded at the top of the pile.

“Do you think there’s something between them?” she asked curiously, turning away from talk of the wedding altogether. “Feyre and Rhysand.”

Nesta sipped her tea. “It’s obvious, isn’t it?”

Never mind that Feyre and Rhysand were… bonded. Cassian had told her about the mating bond, but it was still so foreign, so inexplicable, that Nesta couldn’t quite wrap her head about it. She wasn’t about to tell Elain— not when she wasn’t sure if Feyre even knew about it herself yet. She could think of nothing worse, if everyone else knew whilst Feyre was left in the dark. It didn’t exactly endear her to Rhysand, but still she kept her mouth shut. In silence, she dropped her gaze and dragged a fingertip lightly around the edge of her saucer.

Elain hummed. “He seems nice enough. I told you, didn’t I? That first day they stayed here. I said he seems nice.”

Fighting the urge to roll her eyes, Nesta said nothing. Rhysand was all smiles with Elain, but he tended to look at Nesta like she’d committed some great wrong just by stepping into the same room as him. The arrogance rolled off him in waves, and it didn’t matter if he was devoted to Feyre. Nesta didn’t like him.

But Elain tilted her head innocently, almost idly as a small, curious smile crossed her face that she quickly hid. She tapped a finger against her teacup, making the porcelain sing.

“They’re all nice I suppose, “ she continued lightly, humming as she reached out to straighten the flowers on the table. “And I like Azriel, even though he’s quiet. He’s the charming type, don’t you think?”

Nesta wondered where Elain was going with this— what angle she was striving for. But her sister did nothing but lift the teacup to her pale pink lips, delicate fingers curling around the saucer’s gilded edge. She didn’t look to her elder sister, only kept her eyes forward in a perfectly crafted display of nonchalance. Outside, the trees lining the borders of the estate swayed in a gentle breeze, and Elain looked absently out to the green-tipped branches as she let out a soft little hum.

Nesta had known her sister for twenty-two years. She knew when she was up to something, and as Elain sat there, sipping elegantly from her teacup and avoiding Nesta’s eyes, there was no doubt in Nesta’s mind.

Elain was up to something.

“And, well,” she said casually, almost idly. “Cassian certainly knows how to get under your skin.”

Nesta’s eyes narrowed. “He’s incessant, that’s what he is,” she countered. “He knows exactly how to stir my temper, so perhaps I wouldn’t describe him as nice.”

Elain smirked. “Well, when I said he knows how to get under your skin, I didn’t mean it in quite that sense.”

She looked up suggestively, raising an eyebrow and glancing at her sister from the corner of her eye. A moment passed, a single beat, and in the silence Nesta felt her shock give way to something else, something… lighter. Elain’s eyes glittered, and Nesta was so surprised that she barked a laugh, setting her teacup down on her saucer with a clatter. Her mother would have had her head for it, but…

Well, her mother wasn’t here.

Elain’s lips pressed together as a look of satisfaction bloomed in her eyes, as if she’d gotten all the information she’d wanted, just from the look on Nesta’s face, from the surprised laugh that had burst from her chest. Nesta blinked, and then they were both laughing, the way they hadn’t in years, not since before they lost their money. Elain’s hand fluttered to her chest as her cheeks turned pink with mirth, and as Nesta shook her head, she forced her smile away.

“I don’t know what you’re implying,” she said at last, her tone laden with a kind of faux innocence, a steadiness she didn’t feel.

“Of course you don’t,” Elain countered with a roll of her eyes. Still, her lips curved into a gentle smile, and for a moment there was silence, comfortable and complete. And then Elain let out a huff. “Oh, I wish you’d told me you were so unhappy with Tomas, Nesta.”

She turned to face Nesta on the sofa, the fabric of her dress rustling as she shifted closer, angling herself so she faced her sister fully. She put her own porcelain saucer down on the table, folding her hands in her lap as her expression turned pleading, turned sorrowful.

“What difference would it have made?” Nesta shrugged. “It was already done.”

“It’s not too late, surely—“

Softly, Nesta shook her head. “But it is, Elain.”

Elain’s lips pursed, and a brow formed between her brows. “We could forge a family tree that says Tomas is your cousin,” she suggested brightly. “That would make the marriage void and none could dispute it.”

“And then Tomas and his father would want to claim their share of father’s money if they think we’re related,” Nesta pointed out. Elain cursed under her breath.

“We could fake your death,” she suggested. “Or poison him. I know exactly which plants to use that won’t leave a trace, and—“

Nesta leaned over to pat Elain’s arm, grateful even as her sister started to plot a murder. A smile pulled at her lips, a warmth blooming in her chest. There was no need for any of it, she thought, because as soon as Elain was married, she’d take Cassian up on his offer. The world above the wall might still terrify her, and she might have panicked at Starfall, but she could get used to it slowly— acclimatise. Elain’s voice trailed off, and Nesta’s smile remained.

“I love you, Elain,” she said. “For trying to kill my husband for me.”

Elain gave her a small smile in return. “What are sisters for?”

Taglist: @hiimheresworld @highladyofillyria @wannawriteyouabook @infiremetotakeachonce @melphss @hereforthenessian @c-e-d-dreamer @lady-winter-sunrise @the-lost-changeling @valkyriesupremacy @that-little-red-head @sv0430

#nessian #nessian fic #begged & borrowed time #anyway im posting and then heading out sooo if anyone wants to shout at me for the angst feel free #ill be back in a bit ✌🏻

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marvelousmisterstark · 1 month

Text

Chosen has Fallen

Cyllene watches the young man, and he watches right back.

There’s a caution in his amber eyes, eyes much too old for the sixteen year old who bears them. He watches her like she’s the enemy. Watches her like he’s waiting for her to lash out. Watches her like she’s a ghost.

Like she’s familiar.

Even if she wanted to, his beast of a Pikachu would kill her before she had the chance.

At first glance, Cyllene had been sure the boy had a Raichu draped over his shoulders. A Raichu that looked so at home wrapped around this human. The beast was massive, and dwarfed Akari’s Pikachu as if it was a Pichu. The two didn’t even seem to be the same species.

This Pikachu was a hulking, narrow-eyed, scarred thing, battle wounds worn like the stars Cyllene so seldomly bequeathed. Old, odd red scars burned a long-healed pattern into its flesh, circles with branching lines situated on its forehead and stomach. The fur on its tail had been worn away over time, now a razor’s edge raised in warning.

Its cheeks sparked red with cursed lightning.

The boy wasn’t much better.

His flimsy clothes did nothing to hide the array of old injuries; lacerations, burns, gouges, bites, and a particularly harsh lichtenberg figure that carved through his right palm and up his arm.

How could this boy bear all the brutality of Pokémon and still treat this monstrous Pikachu as a brother? How could he be so calm with Laventon’s three research subjects so lovingly wrapped around his legs, or cradled in his arms?

Cyndaquil’s flames could erupt without warning, scorching the boy’s leg in seconds.

Oshawott could take its scalchop and slash through his achilles tendon, crippling him without a thought.

Rowlet was so close to his throat, it could tear through the skin and muscle and vasculature and there’d be no time to save him.

Instead of fear, the boy's cautious expression would deepen to sadness when he looked at them. Standing there like these beasts were old friends.

He stood there like his life wasn’t in the hands of others.

Cyllene was wary.

This boy falls from the sky, no word on his origins or how he came to be here, just that he had Fallen from Heaven’s Fracture.

This was an omen, she knew. An omen for better or for worse, and it was up to her to decide if Jubilife Village’s fate would rest on his shoulders. Give this Fallen free range over her home and risk the sky’s wrath? Or cast him out, and risk forsaking the cure so mercifully proffered?

In the end, she could only test him.

And in the end, she could only show Ashura his new home.

#ash ketchum #pokemon legends arceus #legends arceus #captain cyllene #pokémon #pokemon #hisui #Ash in Hisui #pokemon akari #ash's pikachu #Might turn this into a fic #tbd #tumblr blurb

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owl-of-fandom · 1 year

Text

written for @drarrymicrofic‘s prompt: runaway by the corrs

this is the happy ending we have all been waiting for! you can find the other parts here (part 1 | part 2 | part 3) you can also find the whole thing on ao3 here thank you so much for being patient and sticking around for this 🫶🏻 I hope you like it! 🩷

wc: 1634

He’s so nervous. He knows Draco wrote in his letter not to contact him. He wants to respect his wishes, but he can’t just leave it like this. He’s mad about Draco. And he never even got to tell him.

If, after this, Draco really doesn’t want him, it will be fine. His heart will be broken, even more than it is right now, but he will leave Draco alone.

Harry just got back from the most humane and mutual breakup he could have imagined. Ginny only needed to look at him and they both knew it was over. She made it so easy for him.

But that doesn’t matter now. All that matters is to get to Draco.

His heart is pounding madly in his chest, as Harry knocks on the familiar door. There’s no answer, so he knocks again. And again.

Oh god, what will he do if Draco’s not home? What if he’s out? Or on a date? His heart drops and for a second he contemplates going home. But his flat is cold and empty and the thought of having to go back there fills him with dread. If he’s being completely honest with himself, for the last few months he hasn’t really felt at home in his own flat. When he thinks of home the image of Draco’s flat comes to mind. The image of Draco, mostly. It has for a while. He can’t believe he didn’t realise before.

Finally he can hear a commotion from inside. Draco is home and grumbling as he approaches the door.

Then suddenly the door is yanked open and Draco stands there, looking furious for the fracture of a second. The grumbling stops and his face falls. His eyes turn impossibly huge.

“Harry.” Draco’s voice rings through Harry and for the first time in days he feels like he can breathe again. A weight is lifted off of him, that he wasn’t even aware was pulling him down.

“Hi,” Harry says. He feels foolish. How can hi capture what he means to say?

Draco looks adorable with his thick duvet wrapped around his lithe frame. He must have been in bed already.

Shit, Harry thinks sheepishly. He hasn’t even considered Draco being in bed. Hopefully he hasn’t woken him up.

“Hi,” Draco echoes. His eyes are still wide, his expression unreadable. Just now Harry realises how red his beautiful grey eyes are. Something twists in his stomach. He wants to hold Draco, console him, make everything right again. But he doesn’t know yet if he’s allowed to.

“Can I come in?” he asks instead.

Draco opens the door wider but he doesn’t step aside. A ray of different emotions flash across his face, too quick to name any of them. His face hardens, becomes all pointy and aristocratic again. Harry barely recognises the man he fell in love with.

“Draco?” Harry wills his voice to be gentle, careful and tries to put as much emotion as possible into it.

“No. No, I can’t let you in.” Draco says, quietly, but determined.

“You –“

“No. I can’t. I’m not … I can’t. Please, leave me alone.” Draco looks so sad. Harry is almost sure there are new tears welling up in his eyes.

“Draco,” Harry sighs. “Please. Hear me out.”

Draco wraps the duvet tighter around himself, folding his arms in front of his chest.

“I don’t want to hear how you miss me. And let you back in only so you can slip out in the early morning hours and go back to her. I don’t want to hear all of your empty promises. I don’t want you anymore.” He spits his last words. His red-rimmed eyes spark fire. Angry tears spill and roll down his cheeks.

“Draco,” Harry says again. Tender and soft. “I love you,” he says helplessly.

“You – what?”

“I love you.” Harry takes a tentative step forward. He reaches out a hand to cradle Draco's face, wipe away the tears, but drops it again, as Draco flinches away from him.

“I’m sorry,” he goes on. “I never should have kept you a secret. I never should have brought you into the situation you were in. It wasn’t fair to you. Or to Gin.” Draco winces slightly at the name and Harry feels another wave of guilt wash over him. How could it have taken him so long to realise the harm he was doing?

“I know now how wrong I was. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m sorry,” he repeats.

“So,” Draco speaks slowly, carefully, “you’re here to what? Apologise?”

“Yes.” He can see, how Draco’s face falls, just barely, but noticeable to someone who knows Draco as much as he does.

“But also,” he hastens so say, “I miss you. I need you. Draco I’m in love with you. I love you. Please, don’t give up on us. Don’t give up on me.”

Draco sighs. Then he turns around and walks back into his flat, leaving the door open. “I’m making tea,” he announces.

Harry follows, relief washing through him, as he closes the door behind him and finally allows himself to hope.

Only a few minutes later, they sit at Draco’s tiny kitchen table, each of them with a steaming cup of tea in front of them. The smell comforts Harry more than he thought it would. The situation seems so mundane. How many times did he sit right here and have tea with Draco in companionable silence?

Harry watches Draco’s long fingers wrap around the mug. He blows into the steam and takes a tiny first sip, burning his tongue, like he always does.

“Harry,” he breaks the silence eventually. Harry’s head whips up and he tears his eyes away from Draco’s hands.

“I meant what I wrote,” he says. “And I don’t expect to change my mind.”

“But I –“

“You love me, yes. So you’ve said.” Draco winces slightly at the words. “But that doesn’t really change anything.”

“I broke up with Ginny,” Harry blurts. He didn’t want to say it like this. But it terrifies him that he might have to leave here again. Might have to be without Draco after all.

Draco looks at him, all shocked and wide-eyed. His hand with the tea mug stays frozen in the air, halfway to his lips.

“I broke up with her and I love you. I want to be with you. I – please. Draco, darling. Please give me another chance.”

“You. You did what?” he stammers. With a thunk he puts his mug back down on the table, the tea inside sloshes precariously high and just barely doesn’t spill.

“I broke up with Ginny,” Harry repeats weakly.

“Why?”

“Because I want to be with you. I love you.” He knows he will say it as many times as Draco needs to hear it. He’ll be lucky if he gets to tell him for the rest of his life.

“You want to be with me?” Draco echoes. His façade crumbles and finally Harry can see the man he loves so much. His grey eyes soften, he pulls his legs up and under himself and his fingers begin to fiddle with the hem of his duvet. Finally he stops holding himself so stiff and allows his body to be comfortable.

“More than anything,” Harry confesses. He reaches out and gently cups Draco’s cheek, just like he longed to do ever since he got here. Warmth spreads in his chest as Draco leans into his touch instead of flinching away.

Draco takes his hand and holds it in his own, intertwining their fingers.

“What about the press? Your friends? They won’t like you being … with me.”

Draco shudders visibly.

Harry moves around the table, without letting go of Draco’s hand, so he can sit beside him. He puts an arm around his shoulders and pulls him closer, duvet and all, pressing a soft kiss to his temple.

“I don’t care. Draco, there’s nothing like the feeling of being with you. We can run away together if you want to. Be somewhere nobody knows us and start anew. I don’t care as long as I’m with you.” As he speaks, Harry feels the words ring true. He’d go wherever Draco wants to be.

“I love you. And I will keep loving you. As long as you want me.”

“Are you sure?” Draco asks. He looks up, from where he has his head leaned against Harry’s shoulder, his face soft with vulnerability.

“Yes, I’m sure. I’ve fallen in love with you. And I’m never going to stop falling deeper in love with you. If you want me?” he can’t help himself but intone the last words as a question.

Draco begins shaking against Harry’s chest. In a panic, Harry goes through everything he just said and tries to find out what it was that hurt Draco, that made him cry.

He opens his mouth to trail back, to apologise, whatever it is that Draco needs right now. But then he realises Draco isn’t crying. He’s laughing.

Harry swallows. His heart plummets, his stomach drops.

Draco pulls away giggling, but stops abruptly as he notices the look on Harry’s face.

“Oh Harry,” Draco murmurs. He cups Harry’s face. His warm palm feels grounding and comforting against his cheek. Involuntarily Harry leans into the touch.

“Of course I want you. I love you, too, you sap.” He grins broadly. Harry doesn’t remember the last time Draco looked this happy. He’s not sure he ever saw him grin like this. He does his best to match the enthusiasm with his own smile.

“Can I kiss you now?” he asks, already pulling Draco closer by the collar.

“Please,” Draco murmurs against his lips. He tastes of milky tea. And home.

#owlish writing #drarrymicrofic #drarry #draco malfoy #harry potter #harry x draco

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