#because shes not allowed in court rip

[usedpidemo]

More than you know (Nmixx Haewon)

“Miss Haewon, please see me after class hours later. I would like to talk to you.”

There it is. A rather predictable bookend to another dull lecture. She saw it coming from the moment she walked into the classroom. 

She absolutely loathes hearing it. 

Despite the comically indignant scowl she shoots you on the way out—and the mocking jeers from her friends that elicit embarrassment—by the time the final bell rings, she couldn’t wait to see you later on.

You’re excited, too—but for all the wrong reasons. 

She’s the only thing keeping your passion for teaching alive.

—————

For the record, Haewon is not a bad student, not in the slightest. If anything, she’s par for the course. She’s not gonna be some summa cum laude, but she isn’t a sorry case, either. And that’s been the pattern with your students for years. They only care enough just to get by. Haewon is the most clear-cut example you can refer to.

Based on the rather intriguing stares she shoots at you, you’d be tricked into believing she’s actually interested enough in improving her future performance in class. Peeking through the laptop, catching glimpses of everyone’s grades. Her name is highlighted on the document, and the scores consist primarily of mid-eighties with some low-nineties. Clearly she’s nowhere close to a flunk or a future dropout. 

Better than the high seventies and low eighties that the rest of your class averages.

“Sir, how many times do we need to go over this. I’m doing well for myself,” she remarks, giving you a look that says I told you so. The evidence is right in front of you, written in bold. “C’mon sir. Just let me go early today.”

And that’s when you make your first of many mistakes—feeding her the attention she craves. Where’s this energy when it comes to your lectures, you wonder?

Before you even entertain the thought, the scene has already gone completely sideways. Here’s a student with zero regard for following rules, and you’ve experienced your fair share of troublemakers. She’s sitting on the desk, pale skin in plain view from the off shoulder cropped sweatshirt that barely qualifies for the dress code. You’re looking—and she’s keenly noticing. 

“Maybe another time, sir?” Haewon reads your mind like an open book. She’s purposely dressing improperly for two reasons: to piss off the higher-ups who hate her guts, and to make it easier for you to rip through her clothes. “I’ve got dance practice with the theater girls and I’m running late.”

“Well for one, you can drop the honorifics,” you reply, plainly, in a particularly weak effort to change the conversation. The attention you give her is short-lived; your focus returns to the unanswered emails and grades you need to fill. “Class hours are done for the day.”

It’s evidently not the response she wanted, because her arms are crossed and she’s pouting. You have to admit, she looks cute acting like that, revealing clothes be damned.

“Sir.” Haewon drawls out into a groan, bothered by the monotony of waiting when she has places to be. She won’t go as far as to knock your laptop down, but she’s considering it as a last resort. “You’re being a bitch right now.”

Anyone else in her position would get it—a verbal lashing that would get your teaching license rescinded and take you to court, but Haewon is the epitome of getting away with murder. You have no idea how she does it—how she manages to escape mostly unscathed from punishment. Even now while you drum on the keyboard, because you’re allowing her to call you a bitch without consequence. 

Maybe because you like her more than you would openly admit.

She sighs. It’s a defeatist tone. A few moments later, you close your laptop and she perks up.

“Take a seat. I do want to talk to you about something important,” you tell her, knowing one hundred percent certain she’s not getting off your desk. 

Haewon can’t help herself to a snarky comment. “Damn. Finally.”

By every conceivable account, this should be awkward, if not outright wrong. She’s still an undergrad, you tell yourself, staring into her sharp, alluring eyes. For as rebellious and as unruly as Haewon acts, she still listens to you. Hell, you’re the only professor she bothers to attend classes regularly for. She’d tell you she cares in her own twisted way. Look at how she dresses, for one. Your thoughts consist of mainly her in some cumbersome position, her lips letting out these desperate, heavy gasps. Your hands squeezing her taut breasts; the way her shirt accentuates the curves of her chest drives your imagination wild. You can spend all day planning how you intend to fuck her—

“Sir, you’re staring again.” A snap back to the present, where she’s grinning and leaning close to your face. So pretty. “I get it—I’m hot, but we’re on borrowed time, sir.”

“Right. I honestly forgot what I was gonna tell you,” you mindlessly drawl, searching through your desk for something. Something to temporarily distract you from the inevitability of the end. The rest of your paperwork lies unattended in the faculty room, you remember, but you’re not gonna step foot inside that place—not when the other professors are still around. Time is money. “But it’s definitely not your grades, that’s for certain.”

“What’s it about, then?” Her eyes continue to follow your every move. 

You place a folded sheet of paper between you. She grabs it and reads through the brief content. The response is concerning. 

“You’re leaving?” Haewon turns to you, stunned and gobsmacked. A rare expression coming from someone who’s usually indifferent toward everything and everyone.

Genuinely, you have no idea how to explain yourself. You had this all planned out since the beginning of the year; these two semesters will be your last, you were completely certain. You could have told anyone in the faculty. They’re decent people—as decent as they can be during the few times you actually interact with them—but they were merely coworkers and nothing more. You could have told your wife, who just so happens to be a fellow professor and colleague, but she’s one of the reasons why you’re leaving in the first place. 

Word spreads like wildfire around campus, so you know to be careful, but this is straight recklessness. You call it mutual trust.

“Been thinking about it for a while,” you say, rather quietly, trying your hardest not to look her way. 

“Let me guess,” she says, breaking the pretense of sympathy and concern for her usual caustic tone. “No one cares about your shitty class?”

You’re not remotely bothered by her comment, even if she’s speaking the truth. Though she could have used a nicer word besides shitty. “Part of it, yeah.”

“I seriously don’t understand why there’s gotta be a religious unit for a business degree,” she adds, fascinated by her own question. Even more so than listening to your lectures. “I don’t get it.”

“I don’t get it either.” Truthfully, you seriously question why you’re even teaching here to begin with.

You’re employed by one of the top universities in the country; every parent would sacrifice everything just for their children to study here. It pays well by teaching standards, but the bar is in hell. Despite the prestige, the overall experience is no different than your time in public high school. Most of the students who do attend come from rich backgrounds; people who use the place as a dick measuring contest to see who is the richer person. These entitled scholars who are always on their phone—one of their many phones—and cheat to get ahead.

It happens so often on the regular that you eventually stopped caring.

“Hmm,” Haewon thinks to herself, running through every piece of information she has to weaponize against you. She knows you better than anyone, mainly because you share personal life details like they’re the daily newspaper. Not to mention the very reason she comes to the classroom in the afternoons: you.

Then she comes to a rather off the wall conclusion. “It’s Miss Myoui, isn’t it?”

You squint your eyes. Haewon glints up. A small opening. 

After a brief pause, she piles on, smirking. “Did I touch a nerve? Poor you,” she says, shooting you a mocking pout that you mostly ignore. “I guess you haven’t had some good pussy in a while. I mean, there’s no reason for me to be here other than the fact that Miss Myoui isn’t letting you clap her ass. Maybe the rumors are true then—”

Before she continues to spill more information that anyone shouldn’t be allowed to know, you fire back with a sharp glare. She cheekily grins. By ignoring the flashing red light right in front of you, you’re purposefully walking towards your own downfall.  It’s a trap; you know this. You know Haewon more than any other student. All her little tricks, all her crafty schemes. 

God, you can already see how this is gonna end.

“So I’m right?” Haewon tilts her head, leaning slightly forward. Her smug expression, word choice, and mocking tone tests your patience—including your blood levels—and you’re failing by the minute. “Trouble at home?”

Your response? Nothing. Going word for word with her ultimately results in a losing effort; previous conversations with her leave you more tongue tied and in a rut by the end. Haewon is so natural at getting under people’s skin. It’s what she gets off on—wrapping professors and superiors around her finger with her mouth. And more often than not, she’s charismatic and charming enough that it’s entertaining, but no one wants to openly admit it except you.

It’s how she’s able to read you like an open book. Let personal information slip so seamlessly. The numerous discussions regarding her underperformance in class lead into intimate sessions where you and Haewon become more acquainted with each other. A little too comfortable at times, but you can see where and why she acts the way she does. And you had come to the conclusion that you can’t fix her. Many have tried—and failed. She does whatever she wants, and she’ll end up getting away with it.

You slide your laptop aside, ready to dance with the devil, going against everything you swore against. “Mmm—not quite, but you’re halfway there.”

Haewon smiles and her eyes flutter. Not in a patronizing, condescending way, but the sweet kind. Genuine. The soft side she’ll only let you see. “Miss Myoui not letting you clap, sir?”

“She does,” you say, dour. And I already told you class hours are done. Please don’t call me sir.”

“Right. Sir.” Haewon’s playful tone trails off with that loathsome word. She can’t help but smirk; it’s second nature to her. She’ll claim that you fell for that bait, but that was deliberate, you’ll say—even if she refuses to believe you.  

After a brief impasse, “So—sir,” she follows, using her eyebrows and cadence to tease, her hands on the edge of her pants, teasing some underwear, “You need to fuck me again? Now? Is Miss Myoui not letting you have some lately?”

Turning your gaze away and to the desk, “About Mina,” you reply, drumming your fingers on the table, deep in thought, “I’m planning to divorce her soon.”

“Huh?” Her eyes shoot wide, her expression rather surprised at the sudden revelation. You’d think by how she teases you about your wife, she’d have a much more subdued reaction. Considering she knows facets of your rather strange relationship with Mina. “Well, I would tell you’d be fumbling big time, but you should know—”

“She’s cheating on me. I know.” 

Now she’s genuinely shocked, completely caught unaware. She’d assume you to be particularly naive and clueless about campus rumblings, especially since she’d never see you outside of the classroom and in the faculty room. “Well damn. I honestly thought you didn’t know.”

“Can’t say it would be the first time I’ve heard about it,” you say, turning to face her again, cold and gloomy. Pointing your finger at her, “And before you say anything, no, I didn’t catch her getting eaten out in the faculty room.” 

You say that with the utmost sincerity—and sarcasm.

Haewon hesitates, before answering, rather  “I figured.” She understands that your poor eyes have seen some things you shouldn’t be seeing.

Truthfully, you’re amazed she hasn’t brought up the subject a lot earlier. Since the end of the previous academic year, you’ve noticed Mina’s sudden changes in behavior. She’s sending more text messages telling you she’ll arrive home later than usual, the frequent faculty outings she chooses to attend, the cancellation of plans scheduled months in advance—the biggest of which, a dinner date at a particularly expensive five-star restaurant on the other side of town that has a notorious 18 month waitlist that you miraculously booked for your anniversary. And that was five months ago.

People change, but Mina is an entirely different person to you now. You can hardly recognize her.

“I guess I should say I’m sorry for what happened,” Haewon says, pretty modest and empathetic in tone, but even during serious moments, she can’t help but remark, “But you were kind of loser material for a woman like her.”

You can only stare back, annoyed. She chuckles, heartily. Seeing your animated, cartoonish expressions only serves to amuse her even further and fuel her addiction of teasing you. 

“Ah, I fucking love you, sir. You’re my favorite professor for this reason.” In an instant, the somber facade falls apart and she’s back to being her usual coy self.

“Among other things?” you question.

“Such as?” Haewon looks confused. It’s a bluff; you’re calling it now. “Such as what, sir?”

Placing a hand on her knee, you’re creating friction so intense that her mouth goes agape and her breaths grow heavier. “Such as the fact that no one eats you out better than I do,” you reply, inflection transitioning from formal to low.

“Oh?” She doesn’t believe what’s happening to you. “Sir,” her cadence dances in such a melodic and sultry way it’s gonna ruin you faster than anything she’s done so far. “You have no evidence to prove—”

Suddenly, Haewon goes tongue tied, unable to finish her sentence. That’s a first. And you didn’t need to lift a finger or use your voice. Your other hand finds solace around her toned waist, exploring her tummy, and it’s thankfully not restricted by any layer of clothing. So much pristine skin to claim as yours, you begin to lose your restraint—and there isn’t much left to begin with.

“I can take you to the faculty room and show you,” you mumble against her belly, the cold breath tickling her flesh that she trembles. Haewon’s senses float off, her vision growing dark as her hands impulsively latch onto your shoulders. In return, you peck her navel, her abs, until you reach her abdomen, a hair’s breadth away from her chest. Between kisses, you continue to feed into her want, “Or I can give you an example right now.”

“Please,” Haewon finds enough clarity to cup your face up and meet her in a lengthy passionate liplock. This is what she wanted from the start. “Indulge me, sir.”

The only thing keeping you two apart is the laptop dangling on the opposite side of the table, almost pushed aside while you were making out. You quickly place it on a random desk before closing the two classroom door curtains.

When you return to Haewon, she’s sitting atop your desk, playfully swinging her legs, smiling modestly. It’s only now that you recognize how pretty she looks. But behind that meek appearance is a demon, a temptress that only sees you as a conduit for pleasure. In her eyes, the only purpose you have to give is sex, and nothing more. 

So push your chair forward when you sit down. Haewon’s legs are already spread wide, but the pants remain on them. She doesn’t like to do it herself. 

“Won’t give me a cheating discount?” you say, looking up at her coy grin, placing your hands around the hem of her trousers.

“Technically—” she trails off, kissing you, “You’re cheating on her with me, sir.” Followed by another. Each one deeper, more intimate than the last. “Don’t act all innocent now, especially when we’ve been doing this for months.”

Then, Haewon consumes you—as in, devours you. Grabs you and makes out with you with a passion you wish she’d present during class hours. You’d be content to remain in this position for the rest of the day, even if the clothes never come off; he’s so passionate and fervent that it’s intoxicating. But it’s all planned. Elaborate. You’re familiar with her more than you ever want to be: how she loves to unbutton your shirt while kissing you, how she mumbles and hums softly against your mouth, how she whispers desires that end up becoming realized after the foreplay. In reality, she’s the one dictating the pace, the one calling all the shots, and you’re merely an instrument she uses to indulge herself.

And she wants it: everywhere, in every position—something you find too much to handle, and she’s already quite the handful. But it’s merely a delay of the inevitable; you’re going to fuck Haewon, you’re gonna pour all your cum inside her, and you can figure out the rest the morning after.

More often than not, your shirt ends up unbuttoned, but not completely undone. One of two layers keeping your impulsive desires in check. As you work Haewon’s pants down her legs, most of your lesser instincts are shown in full display. It takes almost tearing your own fingers off your very hands not to rip through her panties. Meanwhile, she’s lounging on the desk, enjoying the sight of you reverting back to something primal. 

The way you fondle her creamy thighs, never finding their beginning and end, is like beholding a sculpture crafted by the gods. They’re meant to be worshiped, to be handled reverently.

And Haewon guides you through the process, commanding you like she has authority over you. Titles do not matter—they never have. “Keep going,” she says, as you leave delicate kiss marks down her thighs, slowly burying yourself into the inviting presence of her pussy. Peeking through the near-nonexistent layer of fabric, she shifts the lift of her legs, perching on your shoulders as she forces you into her suffocating warmth. 

“Show me,” she gasps, brushing your hair with her hand, and that’s what sets the rest into motion.

Her legs clutch you into a breathless hold. God, she’s killing you slowly, and you don’t mind it one bit. At this point, you have nothing to lose. You might as well treat this as your last supper, your final meal before you have to say goodbye. She can strangle you with her thighs while you drag your tongue up and down her folds, suck on her clit, take in all her nectar—it doesn’t change the fact that Haewon is gonna fucking end you. 

You might as well repay the favor.

And despite throwing caution to the wind, Haewon appears unprepared. Dazed and confused by the overwhelming sensation burning through her nerves, she trembles—and moans. She couldn’t be any less subtle if she tried; hearing her hit notes you never thought she’s capable of hitting only serves to be a minor distraction from her pulsating heat. You’re relentless, slowly picking away at her senses, at her sensitive cunt, knowing that no one can eat her out as well as you do.

“S-sir.” Haewon can only muster up a single word before her mouth fills the room with nothing but air. 

Deep down, you despise the rather obstructive yet comfortable position you’re in. Your tongue brushes against Haewon’s folds, going back and forth to taste of her warmth and her clit. The rest of her frame lays atop the desk, trembling, unable to keep herself steady under your grip. She’s lost you somewhere in between, clinging onto the edges of the table for support. You can only imagine her jaw agape, her expressions twisting in pleasure, wriggling and tossing her head around as she aimlessly tries to find some semblance of control.

Her mouth is the only tool she can use to make some sense of this overwhelming bliss. And even that doesn’t amount to much. ‘Shit,’ ‘so good,’ ‘don’t stop—’ these are only some of the things she groans out as you trap her in a whirlpool of her own ecstasy. It’s still not enough. You want to prove her wrong; you want to remind her what’s important, and the only way you can make sure she truly understands if she fucking cums all over your face.

So while Haewon writhes and makes a damn mess of your desk, you continue to feast on her pretty cunt. She’s making sure every person in the building knows how good your tongue is, and it’s in character with how unabashedly shameless she behaves in front of everyone. Her legs kick sharply against your chair, so you end up where you were supposed to be from the beginning—on your knees. And yet it doesn’t deter you; if anything, you grow more attached to her pussy, savoring every taste and drop, taking piece of every little part of her as yours.

You can’t wait to explore the rest of her body and claim it as yours. On the off chance you’re able to rip her shirt off, your hands roam her tight, lithe figure. You’re met by layers of fabric, frustrated at the inability to grab her breasts in their natural form. She grabs you by the wrists; it’s a miracle she’s able to feel you through the waves crushing her to the desk. You suck on her clit hard. She lets out this guttural moan that sounds violent in nature, like you’re hurting her, when you’re actually doing the exact opposite. 

And it’s how you play off each other for the most part. Your need to get Haewon naked is only matched by her desperation to cum. She doesn’t need to tell you directly how much she wants to. Her hands guide you beneath her shirt, and you press on the underside of her boobs in appreciation. You’re playing a dangerous game; you have no intention of letting go. 

Surprisingly, Haewon holds up well. One look and it might appear that she’s a complete wreck: how her body trembles unceasingly, how she has half her shirt lifted to give you a better view of her chest for when you eventually come up for air, how helpless she is at even the slightest touch. You made her like this. It’s a habit she’s used to by now; she’s learned that a figure like hers is meant to be admired, to be used.

Before you grow comfortable with the habit, the idea that you can eat her out on the desk for hours, Haewon cums.

She keens and shudders through her surprise orgasm. It’s aligned with her playful nature to cum without your knowing, even though the signs were there all along. Your tongue works through the torrent of fluid, then the wave of slick that you drink up. Lap whatever your satiated bud allows. You can see remnants of her climax spill down the desk and to the floor, to her pants. 

Even now, you’re still learning something new about your students. For one, you never knew Haewon squirts.

The wet desk would make for a perfect reference picture for when she questions your legitimacy again—but you have better ways of explaining yourself.

You give Haewon no reprieve; she mewls and whimpers as you lick her folds clean, till you settle into soft, gentle kisses. The situation is all sorts of fucked; she has places to be and friends to meet, but you have her on top of your desk, keening after eating her out and making her cum without a care. It’s gonna take an essay's worth of explaining the glaringly wet patches on her clothes and deep red marks over her skin. 

Truthfully, she’d rather be with you than with her overbearing friends—but you won’t hear it directly from her lips.

Speaking of, you hear a phone ring. Haewon cranes her neck in the direction of her bag. “Sir, I need my phone.” She huffs, gasping for air, each word spaced out between deep breaths. 

Regretfully, it takes every bit of your resolve to release your tongue from her warm cunt. You rummage through her bag and hand the phone over to her. It’s about picking up the pieces now, salvaging whatever you can make of the mess you made, albeit there’s hardly anything to save, even yourself. 

“Don’t.” Haewon uses her loose toes to point at you, shifting herself into a sitting position on the desk. You’re halfway done with the first button on your shirt when she stops you. She’s tapping through her phone, texting some bullshit excuse to her friends. Knowing her, they’re most likely no better than her; they might be playing into your little secret, too. All it takes is one person, one word of mouth, before information spreads around like wildfire.

Like everything else about her, you had mostly left it up to interpretation. Forcing details out of Haewon is a near-impossible task. You were never really a good negotiator. The deal usually ends up like this: her panties for a bonus in her grades, her lips for a signed excuse letter, and if she was really in the mood, her pussy for a cheat sheet. Sometimes, 

She sets her phone aside on the desk, hopping off the table to lay her hands on your exposed chest. Momentarily kissing you, she whispers, “Sir, I told them I would be a little late today. You should know better by now.” 

Her fingers wring around the collar of your button up shirt, eyes ablaze with reinvigorated lust, lips curled  in a pleasant smile. You’re so enamored with her, it drives you crazy. Even when she pushes you onto your chair, even when she rips the already undone shirt off your body, all you can do is pay attention to the stars in her eyes. Her warm, wanton gaze—both charming and alluring in all the right ways. She knows how to use every part of herself to near perfection. 

The rest of your clothes couldn’t come off any faster. Your pants and boxers pool around your ankles, followed shortly by a dark cropped sweatshirt. You’re not given any time to savor the perfection that is Haewon’s naked figure; she’s straddled on your lap, stroking your hard cock with a delicate grip. She smirks, and she has every right to look smug. You’re left breathless, under pressure; if only you can see yourself in the mirror and see how needy you look, and the utter control Haewon has over you.

And you allow her; this is her specialty, this is what she’s built for—to fucking end you.

If your words allow you, you’d command her to get on her knees, suck your cock and take a warm load all over her face; this is the ideal position to make the move. But you can’t. Not when you’re missing the point. 

Haewon is on the edge of your lap, running her hand around your cock, gathering spurts of precum on her nails and finger pads. She’s still winded from before, slow in her movements. The naughty look she gives your body never grows old. 

“I hope you don’t mind if I ask you a question,” she starts, looking down at the little mess she’s making on your thigh. You’re too overwhelmed to breathe, let alone say a word.

“Be honest with me. I’m being serious for once.” 

And she sounds like she means it. You gulp your throat as you enter the unknown.

Her eyes flicker up to meet yours, her expression deep in thought, something she’s not usually seen doing. And you feel the heat gradually building on your lap, but you’re paralyzed by anxiety for the sensation to register. She runs the other hand through hair to take a good luck at you: your rather sweaty face, somewhere between pleasure and tense. 

“Tell me,” she sighs, running a hand down your shoulder to your elbow, before continuing, “Am I the best student you’ve ever fucked?”

“Yes.” The word comes out involuntarily, as if it were muscle memory. Like your body knows, and it knows itself better than anyone or anything else.

It draws a piqued reaction from Haewon. She raises an eyebrow, unconvinced. “And what about Yoona?”

“And what about her?” 

A reply you end up regretting almost immediately. Haewon doesn’t take bullshit for an answer, as evident by the cold, dour stare on her face. If there’s anyone who knows the ins and outs of university, it’s her. 

It doesn’t take long for you to cave in. “She’s so tight,” you admit, sounding like a guilty criminal being interrogated. “But you’re still the best, I swear.”

“And what about Yuna? That exchange student Lily? Miss Minatozaki? You say that to just about anyone.” 

In an instant, she goes from curious and passionate to downright frightening. It’s not supposed to be like this; normally it’s you who has the authority. Haewon can go on and on for hours if she wanted to. She has all the leverage, all the evidence, all the power to cause the end of everything, your life included. But she only wants one thing: the truth.

“They’re nothing compared to you. Promise. You’re still my favorite student.”

To a certain extent, you’re right; Haewon is your favorite, but for all for the wrong reasons. It has nothing to do with teaching her anything other than being a good toy, because deep down, she’s about as irredeemable as your peers make her out to be. Really, it’s about using her body, fucking her, pushing her to the absolute limits—anything to get your mind out of the numbing, monotonous work of being an actual professor. There are many good girls in class, including the names she mentions in passing, but this is a stark reminder that Haewon is yours, and you belong to Haewon.

“Then show me.”

And to drive the point even further, she sinks down on your lap, pressing her weight on your crotch—until her pussy meets your cock and you both disappear into the sea of pleasure again.

Haewon throws her head back, and she’s never looked more vulnerable, not even when you had her laid out on the desk. All this flesh and body to claim, and you have no clue where to begin. But that’s the least of your problems when she begins to glide up and down, rocking your lap with slow, agonizing thrusts. You end up blanking out and caring about the friction in your hips instead. 

The slip of your cock in and out of her pussy when she rides you. Your palms press against her waist while you watch her slowly come undone: the moans, curses, and every sound in between, the rapidly twisting expressions, the hypnotic jiggle of her chest. Soon, you find a steady rhythm to match, and everything becomes effortless. Both of you pushing and pulling against each other’s bodies in an effort to get deeper. You forget you’re a professor and her a student, only two souls in need of sex during some trying times in your lives.

In a way, you’re both meant to be. Fate is a strange entity.

Then Haewon regains some clarity, enough to be kissing you, moaning directly in your ear, demanding your gaze. Even when her hole swallows your cock, she still wants your attention. And even while you have it so deep in her cunt that she’s mewling, struggling for oxygen, she manages to form a coherent sentence.

“Tell me I’m the tightest. Tell me I have the best pussy you ever fucked.” 

God, she’s so fucking tight you can’t fully comprehend it. Perhaps even more, and you’re used to using her. Maybe it’s all that pent-up frustration toward your dead end job, toward Mina, that makes her clench tighter. That’s now how pussy works; you’re just stretching her out really hard, but you have nothing sensible to conclude with. What you can tell, however, is that you needed this—and you needed it badly. 

You’re thankful you closed off the doors and curtains to the classroom, because the last thing anyone needs to see and hear is the sight of Haewon riding you while you both moan about how good the other feels. 

“Love this pussy,” you murmur, breathing against her collarbone, wanting a taste of her taut nipple. She has you in a tight bearhug that binds your hands around her waist. “Fuck—so—fucking—tight—the best—”

And that’s all she needed to hear. Every word—every sound—slips from her lips like it hurts, but she’s in total bliss. She moves her hips against the roll of your cock with deep emphasis, like fitting puzzle pieces together, and it sends you. You’re left even more breathless, more in awe at how fucking well Haewon takes your length. As if it was always meant for her. 

Curses and praise aside, she’s never one to talk during sex. But then she makes the faintest comment about how your cock fits so snug inside her, and you honestly just lose it.

Once in a while, a certain inquiry is brought up. What’s your favorite thing about me, Haewon asks, when it’s supposed to be the opposite. You’re supposed to give out this very question to your students as a way to improve your teaching style and maybe come off as an approachable authority figure. As expected, it wasn’t helpful in the slightest. She then would suddenly come to you at the most random of times with this particular question, and you’d be preoccupied with numerous things—home life, school activities, the usual—to find an answer. 

But right there, right as you spear deep into her tight, needy cunt, is where you figure it all out. It’s all in the little details. Your hand going up and down her arched back. The squelching of her pussy against your cock. The furious sound of your flesh slapping against hers. Her loose, shrilly whines while you bury your face between her chest, begging you harder. Her hands tangled with your hair and nape. All that while she’s bouncing on your lap at such a feverish pace; she’s going to break the chair you’re sitting on.

Before you know it, your tongue has traveled all over the most sensitive parts of her body: nipples, neck, and even pits. 

Everything about Haewon is so ridiculous, you can’t believe how much of a challenge she has been for the longest time that you’ve forgotten how easily she folds. Like she’s meant to be used.

But no punishment is suitable enough; no amount of discipline can change her. If anything, it only fuels her goal to thread the needle even further.

“Gonna fucking cum, Haewon,” you hiss against her ear, blurring the line between kissing and biting her collarbone. Using all the strength in your hips, you have her legs spread as wide as they can over the chair, over your thighs. The squirt she releases as she crashes on your lap serves to fan the flames in your cock even brighter. It’s all but inevitable that you’ll pour it all inside her, and she wouldn’t want it any other way.

If you had any semblance of a spine, you’d never let her hear the end of it. The idea that her pussy isn’t getting its fair share of seed disgusts her. She needs to learn what boundaries are, and how not to cross said lines. At least there’s one lesson you can impart on her before you split, but you’ll save that for another day, because you cum.

You fuck Haewon so hard, she turns into mush that melts in your grasp. Forget the guttural groan you made; the aftermath is alarming. Her pussy drips with a huge load pooling on the chair and trickling down her thighs. You make sure you bury yourself to the hilt and unload inside her. The evidence is undeniable; from the smell to the sight of clothes and cum, there’s no concealing it—if there was even anything to hide, because your salacious activity could easily be heard anywhere in the building. 

And lost in the madness is your train of thought; your body is reeling from the aftershocks of your orgasm, and you simply idle. Let your cock stay in Haewon’s warmth as long as possible. Let the setting sun bathe her pretty face in that lovely afterglow. Let her slowly recover and realize that you’ve been right all along about everything.

“Sir, you came inside me a lot,” she says, a little over a whisper, trying to take record of your work. Her eyes stay glued to the puddle of cum dripping down her leg, running a finger to taste you. 

“For my favorite student, why wouldn’t I,” you tell her, caressing your hand up and down her back. Even through the climax, you never stopped. 

The brief, peaceful respite is interrupted by, you guessed it, another phone. This time, it’s not Haewon’s. She moves gingerly bending down, almost tumbling over in an attempt to retrieve your phone from the depths of your pocket. Your only contribution is ensuring she doesn’t bash her head on the floor. 

“Well, well, well,” she comments, looking at your phone with a familiar, sarcastic tone before handing it over to you. “Speak of the devil.”

On the screen are two missed calls and one new text, all from none other than Mina herself. A grim reminder of the reality you live in.

The message is as predictable as it reads. She won’t be home till late in the evening, which might as well be dawn of the next day.

“Miss Myoui is getting it. A hundred percent sure.” 

She delivers it with such conviction that it might as well be fact. You’d be upset about the very thought—anyone would—but a glance at Haewon gives you an idea. One that leaves her curious.

“Sir? Why are you looking at me like that?”

You can already imagine it: the image of railing Haewon everywhere. On the table, against the wall, under the showers. Maybe if you’re lucky enough, Mina will go through that door and be greeted by the sight of her least favorite student getting fucked by her husband from behind.

You show her the text, and just like that, you’re both one and the same. A look of pride crosses her face, as if she’s accomplished an important milestone—and it’s quite a momentous one.

And what better way to celebrate than inside the comfort of your home.

—————

(A/N: Been down bad for Haewon since December. Also, NMIXX is actually good now! Their latest EP has some bangers, highly recommend Run for Roses and Passionfruit. The setting might be a bit more on the bleaker/less wholesome side, but I hope it's not uncomfortable/upsetting. Thank you for reading!)

#smut #kpop smut #nmixx #haewon

[thesunloveschips]

Eye of the Storm - Chapter 4: Introductions and Newborns

Summary: Nyra is one of the older Archeron sisters. Twin to Nesta. Plagued by a mysterious illness that her mortal body cannot endure for too long. And yet, it seems her curse is to see her family suffer. When the youngest of her sisters is whisked away into the land of fae, immortality soon follows for the rest of them. And as an immortal, there is more to her that she has yet to know. 

Chapter Summary: With all the sisters now present, they dine. New shadows are born. Conversational topics include childhood trauma and prelude to war.

Click here to access the Masterlist of the Eye of the Storm

****

“Nyra.” Feyre stood up immediately. The call for her older sister had been one of surprise and something else. Whatever that something else was, she couldn't identify it. That unknown feeling froze her limbs and stopped her from moving towards her sister. The others stood up after Feyre and waited. Nyra Archeron walked forward towards Feyre. She ignored Azriel and Rhysand and despite passing by their towering figures. She saw Feyre and only Feyre.

Rhys felt a tad bit offended at him being ignored by a female—how could anybody look past this? This being his gloriously crafted face, his muscular body over which he wore fine fabrics, his neck and chest with tattoos peeking out. How was it that none of these females were in awe of his beauty? Feyre had thrown a shoe at him the first time he met her after he had started recuperating and was back to his level of handsomeness. Nesta looked at him like she’d rip his head off. Elain had commendably not vomitted upon seeing him. And Nyra just walked past.

Cassian watched this female walk in. He noted that her body was weaker, her steps seemed to require more energy. And despite this female being twin to the wildfire standing next to him, he had started noting their differences. Subtle differences like Nyra's cheekbones not being as high as Nesta's. The shape of their eyebrows. And they way one of them looked at the fae murderously and the other simply ignored them. Nesta's eyes were feline-like. Eyes that narrowed at him and had his knees weakening. Nyra had larger eyes. And these little differences made it easier for him to differentiate between the two sisters.

Seeing Elain and Nesta had made Feyre quite emotional but Feyre had managed to keep it all contained. But seeing Nyra took away the lid of it all. Tears formed at the corner of her eyes. Nyra pulled her in for an embrace and Feyre began wailing like a newborn at the comfort of her sister. Nesta walked back to her chair but did not sit. Not until Nyra had taken her seat. All of them continued to stand and watched with mixed feelings of awkwardness, grief, confusion and so on as Feyre cried and Nyra hummed an old tune for her youngest.

“Let’s get you seated now, shall we?” And with that, Nyra gently led Feyre to her seat and made her sit. She leaned down just enough to kiss Feyre on the forehead. “Feeling better now?” Feyre nodded. Nyra kissed her again and then looked at Nesta and then at Elain and then at Cassian.

“Are you Feyre’s friends?” And then she looked at Rhysand and Azriel properly. She hadn’t seen any of them or even her sisters when she entered the room and headed straight for Feyre. And now that she had, she noted the difference in appearance and their presence which had created a peculiar scent in the air around them.

Rhysand was pleasantly surprised. He was the High Lord of the Night Court but he was also Rhys. He was thankful for having a family in front of whom he could be just Rhys. And he was sad that his mate had no one who let her be just Feyre. Because Feyre had always been the breadwinner for her family. The Cursebreaker for all of Prythian. A mere wife for Tamlin. But this female, his mate, was just Feyre. Neither Elain nor Nesta ever truly allowed her to be Feyre. But in this moment, Nyra did. And he felt a wave of relief. The only sister who let Feyre be a sister to her. To be just Feyre. And a sense of gratitude bloomed in his chest. Gratitude and respect. Because Nyra might not have been able to stop Feyre from going into the woods but she treated Feyre like what she was. A young girl. Just Feyre.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Nyra Archeron. My name is Rhysand and I am the High Lord of the Night Court. Please feel free to call me Rhys.” Rhys bowed and raised his head with a smile. Cassian looked at Rhysand like he had sprouted a tail. Where were these manners suddenly coming from? And Rhys sounded so genuine.

Nyra’s body dipped a bit and she closed her eyes in return to Rhys’s bow. She was now confused. Wasn’t Feyre in love with the High Lord of the Spring Court? Then why was the High Lord of the Night Court here with her? Regardless, she gave him a polite smile. “It’s nice to meet you too. Apologies for not dressing properly. I had already retired for the night.”

“That is no issue, my lady. It is we who should be apologising for our unplanned visit.” Rhys bowed again to Nyra, albeit not as low as he had during his own introduction. Only he knew that the difference in his manners was because of the difference in the levels of affection Feyre had when she spoke of each of her sisters.

“That is of no issue. Please. Call me Nyra.”

“Certainly.” Nyra nodded and then moved to the seat at the head of the table.

“Shall we?” She looked around and then sat. Everyone took their seats. In a bold move that did not make her faint, Elain took the first dish and passed it on and soon, the foods were served in all plates except Nyra’s.

“Will you not be dining with us?” Azriel asked when he noticed Nyra’s empty plate.

“I have had my dinner and my medicine. I cannot take more food so soon.” She replied and then waited. He had yet to introduce himself whereas her name, it seemed, was already known among the fae.

“Pardon me,” Azriel stood up and bowed. “My name is Azriel.” He felt a tad bit awkward for not having introduced himself. And even more awkward because the first thing he said to Nyra Archeron resulted in a reminder of her illness.

“Please do not bow. In fact, let’s skip the formalities. Nice to meet you, Azriel. My name is Nyra. And would you and your friend like stools? We have never had winged people visit us. I’m not sure if the chairs are comfortable for you.”

“We are fine, my lady.”

“Are you sure? And my name is Nyra.” She had the oddest feeling rise within her. The need to tease this man. He was as flustered as a boy who was going through puberty.

“Completely sure,” The shadow singer paused for a second before saying her name. “Nyra.” It felt like a test to see how her name would be on his tongue. He liked it. And from her warm gaze, it seemed she liked it too.

She looked at Cassian who grinned at her. “My name is Cassian.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Cassian.” Her smile seemed to brighten as the fae introduced themselves and she took it with no hostility and greeted them like people. Cassian decided he liked her despite the growing sense of something that bloomed within him. It felt a lot like meeting a polite version of Rhys.

When Feyre took her first few bites of her food and grimaced, Nyra noticed. “Are you alright?”

“Is there something wrong with our food?” With Nesta’s question came a wave of awkward silence.

“No.” Feyre took a huge gulp of her water. It was too evident that she was forcing herself to eat.

“So you can’t eat normal food anymore—or are you too good for it?” Nesta posed a question and a challenge. A challenge Feyre had accepted out of habit. A challenge that had Nyra putting her hand on her forehead in anticipated exasperation.

“I can eat, drink, fuck and fight just as well as I did before. Better-“

“Mind your manners, the both of you.” Nyra’s sharp tone cut in between. With a gentle yet strict tone, she addressed the youngest sister first. “Feyre, if you don’t want to eat or cannot eat due to any reason, don’t force yourself but that is no excuse for your foul language. Nesta,” She turned to her twin. “That is no way to talk to your sister even if you have your queries about why she is not able to eat well.”

“I’m sorry, Feyre.” Nesta sounded like a thoroughly scolded child now. The situation became even more surprising when Feyre gave out a similar sounding apology for her language. Elain seemed to be more at ease now that something familiar had presented itself—even if it was her sisters at each other’s throats.

Rhysand, despite his growing fury, somehow gathered himself to address Nesta. “If you ever come to Pythian, you will discover why your food tastes so different.”

“I have little interest in ever setting foot in your land, so I’ll have to take your word on it.”

“Nesta, please,” Elain’s plea went into deaf ears when said sister realised Cassian was looking at her. She angled her body towards him properly.

“What are you looking at?”

“Someone who let her youngest sister risk her life every day in the word while she did nothing. Someone who let a fourteen-year-old child go out into that forest, so close to the wall. Your sister died—died to save my people. She is willing to do so again to protect you from war. So don’t expect me to sit here with my mouth shut while you sneer at her for a choice she idd not get to make—and insult my people in the process.”

Cassian's words had everyone at the edge. Rhys was angry. Azriel was ready to intercept if a physical brawl began. With Nesta, it seemed like that was a huge possibility. Nesta seemed like she'd been born to fight and not to sit around like a proper lady. That seemed more like Elain but this one looked like she'd lost her appetite.

Nesta breathed once, looked at Cassian with the same fighting spirit that had risen in his bones and then turned away like he had never even spoken. Dismissed his entire existence. He was used to people cursing at him. Calling him a bastard. Calling him anything and everything. He was used to fighting and being fought against. Not at all used to being ignored, especially by the person sitting next to him.

Rhysand blinked once to process what had happened. Cassian had insulted Nesta and she had ignored him. Despite the anger rising at the truth of what his brother said, he did find the humour in the situation. Sitting next to him, Feyre coughed to the side, masking her laugh. Azriel couldn't help but smirk.

Nyra tried hard to control her laughter at Cassian's entirely feral expression upon being dismissed. She knew she had a bad habit of laughing at the wrong time. She looked around seeing how she could control it. The mischievous gleam in Rhysand's eyes was definitely not going to help. His grin was even more of an indication that she had chosen the wrong person to look at in this moment of tension between the two individuals who seemed like they could spit fire and claw into each other.

Nyra accidentally let out a laugh and then intentionally coughed thrice to cover her slip up. Her twin was immediately by her side, taking her hand and telling her to drink water. Nyra was sure she would spit it out because both Nesta and Cassian were now looking at her. And there was no way she would not laugh. She looked at Feyre whose eyes twinkled like Rhys's own. The youngest understood her predicament but she pretended not to. Azriel was smirking and she wanted to spit that water in his face to wipe off his smirk.

Despite living for more than five hundred years, Azriel felt like he had never seen a female before he saw Nyra Archeron for the first time. And he continued to watch her like he was seeing for the very first time how a female walked and talked and breathed. He was quite amused when she laughed and then pretended to cough. She would probably laugh again with how worriedly Nesta and Cassian were looking at her.

He felt everything more acutely than he had ever felt. He was a shadowsinger and those shadows told him everything. And he did feel things others did not. But this. The intensity of his own awareness alarmed him. He was suddenly aware of every breath everyone took. Every rustle of clothes. Every sound of cutlery. The sound of the food being chewed. And he could even hear his own heartbeat. It had changed slightly. The rhythm of it. He did not understand why or how. And another heartbeat. So soothingly familiar.

New shadows were now being born. They started from behind his neck. His shoulders and his hands. He noticed them only when he saw them circling his arms. Azriel knew he had left behind his shadows. Cassian was now looking at him with a raised brow and then motioned to the new shadows. He felt a gentle brush against his mental wards.

Didn’t you leave behind your shadows? Rhysand sounded confused. He had every reason to be.

Azriel himself was confused. I did. These were born just now as we started eating.

Rhysand left the compound of Azriel’s mind and the shadowsinger put up his shields. The High Lord did not know there could be newborn shadows. But then again, what did he know of shadows and shadowsinger’s except for whatever Azriel disclosed.

“What are those?” Elain’s question had everybody’s attention diverted to the newborn shadows.

“My shadows.” Azriel looked down at the black swirling around him as he answered. And then they slowly danced forward, slithering through the air towards the center of the table from where they took a sharp turn—towards Nyra.

“Pull them back.” Nesta demanded, deeming them to be a potential danger to Nyra. Azriel nodded her and willed for it but the shadows moved forward. They coiled themselves around her wrist and Nyra took her other hand to touch the shadows. They froze in place. And then they danced. Azriel could hear their cries of delight at being touched by her and he could not comprehend anything else.

Wordlessly, she continued playing with them, not bothering to see anyone looking at her with shock on their faces. Rhysand quickly looked back at Azriel who looked uncharacteristically shy.

“The queens,” Nyra began, still occupied with the shadows with faint amusement. Everyone was now listening. “Have recently had a conflict of interest. I believe one of them, the youngest, has been somehow pushed out of the picture.”

“How do you know that?” Cassian asked, receiving a glare from Nesta for speaking as he chewed his food. He seemed to revel in angering the fiery one among the twins.

“I saw a few letters. Wrote a few letters. Received a few letters. Sent a few replies. And so on and so on.” She rested her elbow on the table and lifted her hand. The shadows curled around her hand and stretched upwards. She smiled then. Azriel felt like something incredibly intimate had happened.

“Do you think a request for an artefact will be granted?” Nyra then looked at Rhys.

“The Book of Breathings?” Nyra’s mention of the book had Cassian drop his fork. “Are you alright?” She immediately turned to him and asked. The shadows froze when Nyra stopped playing with them.

Cassian sputtered a few apologies and took another fork from the cutlery stand in the middle of the table. He asked. “How do you know of the book?”

“I know of a few things.” She looked amused. Cassian shuddered at how eerily Nyra sounded like Rhysand whenever he kept secrets he did not ever want to divulge. The shadows around her arm made it seem like she fit the part. Like she could tame darkness and make it reveal whatever it concealed. She looked at the frozen shadows and gave them her hand again. She began moving her fingers slowly like how one would pet a cat. The shadows curled around them and Azriel felt their delight. "But that doesn't really help us right now. You will face far worse prejudices outside this house."

"How worse?" It was Elain who then answered Rhysand. She told him about how hard it is for the humans to accept fae due to their upbringing with all the stories about the fae crossing the wall to hurt humans. She gave the example of Clare Beddor and explained how disorienting it was.

By the end of her explanation, Elain felt a little brave. Like she achieved a milestone by talking to them. It was her personal success no matter how easily her sisters had done that. This was hers. And hers alone. Elain then addressed Cassian with newfound courage about what she had to say about Feyre hunting for their family.

"It was not Nesta's neglect alone that is to blame. We were scared, and had received no training, and everything had been taken, and we failed her. Her and Nyra."

Nyra's amused smile had vanished. She looked contemplative but was still playing with the shadows. Elain looked at her and knew how hopelessly she had neglected in contributing to the household during their days of poverty.

Feyre grabbed Nesta's hand and squeezed it slowly. "Can we just... start over?" She felt Nesta's pride war with Cassian's taunts, ready to take the bait with a bite that promised pain. But then Nesta agreed and Elain continued conversation.

"Can you truly fly?" Elain looked at Azriel who had been looking at Nyra and his shadows. He seemed fascinated by the one who brought such joy to his newborn shadows.

The shadowsinger looked at the gentle girl before replying. "Yes. Cassian and I hail from a race of faeries called Illyrians. We're born hearing the song of the wind." As though he felt it, Azriel looked over at Nyra who was now smiling at the shadows. Elain followed his gaze and watched her sister at the head of the table. Elain felt something in that gaze, the promise of something, perhaps more beautiful than the song of the wind. She felt a little more at ease, hoping that this feeling about whatever it was with Azriel and Nyra would remain and that this beautiful feeling would bless them.

"Song of the wind." Nyra repeated. "That sounds like a dream." Then she looked at all three men and asked. "But then how are you all so different?"

"How are we different?" Azriel asked, not quite understanding what she was getting at.

"Rhysand has pointed ears but the two of you don't. Azriel and his shadows." She raised her hands. "And Cassian doesn't have shadows. And Rhys doesn't wear seven gems like the two of you."

"I am what you would call a half breed." Rhysand announced, completely unbothered by how demeaning it sounded even when he was using the term to refer to himself.

"I don't think I've ever heard someone insult themselves so easily." Nyra looked at Rhysand with an expression of disbelief. Azriel coughed to disguise a laugh that had escaped him. Cassian did not even bother and laughed heartily.

Rhys chuckled. "I meant that I am half Illyrian and half High Fae."

"You look like High Fae," Nesta cut in, looking at Feyre. "But you're not?"

"Only the High Fae who look like them, are High Fae. Everyone else, any other differences, mark you as what they like to call 'lesser' faeries." Cassian explained. Nesta still did not look at him.

"It's become a term used for ease, but masks a long, bloody history of injustices. Many lesser faeries resent the term—and wish for us all to be called one thing." Rhysand sounded like he was used to talking about this subject and had thought about it for quite some time. Could be a few centuries since fae did probably live that long.

"Rightly so," Cassian raised his glass before drinking his water.

"But you were not High Fae—not to begin. So what do they call you?" Nesta's question sounded like something tiptoeing the lines of genuine curiosity and mockery.

"Feyre is whoever she chooses to be."

After Rhys had answered in Feyre's stead, Nesta examined all of them. She then told them to write their letter which the sisters would go and dispatch tomorrow. "And contemplate how you plan to get us all out of this mess should things go sour."

They discussed bedroom arrangements for the fae and then Nesta took one look at Nyra. Despite playing with the shadows, her twin's stare was too intense to be ignored. Nyra looked at her twin. Some silent form of communication began. None of the others ever understood how two people so unlike each other ever understood each other. But with one stare that lasted just a second, Nyra then turned to no one in particular.

"Shall we rise if everyone's done eating?" And that was dinner time.

****

While Nesta, Nyra and Elain washed the dishes, Rhysand wrote the letter while discussing with Feyre, Cassian and Azriel. They knew that this would not be the final draft and that they would have to stay up for a long time. Their discussions paused when the sisters started laughing and shrieking. The twins had started splashing droplets on each other while washing the dishes and Elain now felt fed up. She grabbed the two of them by the ear and took them to the sofa next to the table where Rhys had been stationed.

"If you're going to delay washing the dishes then don't even enter the kitchen." Elain put her hands on her hips and spoke determinedly and completely annoyed at her older sisters who acted more like children no older than ten. The twins muttered their apologies.

"The two of you are going to sit here while I get the work done." And with that, Elain spun on her heel and worked on the dishes. Feyre stood up, stating that he would like to help. Elain reluctantly accepted and they began washing the dishes without conversation.

Nesta and Nyra looked like a pair of petulant girls who had been forbidden from something they loved. And Rhysand looked thoroughly amused. "And why were you two splashing water?"

"She's a grumpy cat. Ignore her." Nyra looked at Nesta with equal amusement as her twin glared at Rhysand for even daring to ask a question.

"You said something about the queens and their internal discord. Could you share more?" Azriel's request had earned him a look of surprise and a smile from Nyra that had suddenly taken all his attention. The shadows that had briefly left her when she had left to wash the dishes returned to her. They settled around her shoulders, hands and waist like a child. And Nyra's gaze was a gentle one for the shadows. And she began narrating every detail she knew.

****

TAGLIST: @waytoomanyteenagefeels @impossibelle @esposadomd @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @judig92 @bunnyredgirl @sh4nn @a-frog-with-a-laptop @kattzillaa @ronnieglennn @wallacewillow0773638 @forgiveliv @justdreamstars @donttellthecats @cat-or-kitten @jojodojo02 @wandas-dream @evylynny

#a court of silver flames #a court of thorns and roses #acofas #acomaf #acosf #acotar #acowar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x oc #azriel x original character #azriel spymaster #azriel x reader #feysand #nessian #nesta archeron #feyre archeron #elain archeron #rhysand #cassian

[traveler-at-heart]

Game, Set, Match

Summary: Natasha Romanoff is a professional tennis player, struggling to go back to the top and win the US Open. Reluctant at first, she allows a sports journalist into her life... and a bit more.

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!R - Ya know it, fluffy af.

A/N: I love tennis and this was basically written for me. But @canvascoloredin is also a fan and thought, ok well, let's post it, maybe someone else will enjoy :)

“Thirty all”

She’s catching up, do something.

“Forty, thirty”

“Deuce”

“Come on, Natasha” her sister yells from the box.

Advantage, Romanoff.

Game, set, match. Natasha Romanoff.

Everything that happens after is a blur. Natasha feels like she just played the final, but in reality, it’s just the first round.

“Way to go, darling” her mother compliments when she’s back in the locker rooms, but Fury is quickly behind, not holding back.

“Three sets against an amateur and you won because she got nervous and got a double fault. That’s not good” 

“I beat her, didn’t I?” Natasha averts her eyes, putting on her jacket to go to the press room.

“Barely” her trainer mumbles. 

Natasha’s heart beats fast as she sits in front of all the journalists. They were warned about the questions they could ask, but still. Natasha feels all eyes on her, judging her reaction and demeanor.

“Did you worry about losing control at the start of the third set?” a man in the front row asks.

“It was the defining moment of the game, so I felt like I had to push myself harder and control the rhythm of the match. Which obviously happened”

“How was it to go back after your break? Unlike other players, you didn’t participate in any tournaments between Wimbledon and this”

“I’ve been playing tennis all my life, really, so it doesn’t feel like a big deal to me. Just because I wasn’t playing to win titles doesn’t mean I didn’t train” 

Natasha hears Fury cough and has to resist the urge to roll her eyes.

Control your temper, he’s trying to say.

Well, maybe they shouldn’t ask stupid questions.

--

You’re sitting in the middle of the press room, eyes trained on Natasha. She’s looking anywhere but you. 

I guess this means she read my column.

The conference is coming to an end, so you raise your hand and the assistant points at you.

“We have time for one more” he concedes.

“That’s enough for today” Natasha shuts it down before you can ask. 

Yeah, she definitely read the article.

Natasha can’t wait to get out of there, thanking the press before sprinting out of the room. You consider following her, but a text from your boss stops you.

Go to LA Stadium, Wanda Maximoff just bageled some poor girl.

With a bit of luck, you’ll get an exclusive with Wanda.

--

The biggest crime of Shostakov

It was a Tuesday afternoon, well into the second week of Wimbledon, when the news broke out. Alexei Shostakov, retired tennis player, was arrested for fraud and tax evasion. While in custody, it was discovered Shostakov was in possession of drugs.

The famous Red Guardian, who once had won on that very same club, was now dragged away in a patrol car, stripped of his days of glory. For people who are well versed in the history of tennis, this doesn’t come as a complete shock. Shostakov was a notorious trouble maker, often breaking rackets, ripping his shirts open and getting expelled from a total of 15 matches during the entire run of his career.

No one seemed more affected by the news than his protegee and adoptive daughter, Natasha Romanoff. The favorite to win the world’s most important Grand Slam retired amid the breaking news. As a result, Wanda Maximoff’s path to the trophy was an easy one, taking the number 1 from Romanoff while she was at it.

If her career depends on Alexei’s ability to get back on his feet, Natasha Romanoff should retire now.

In her best form, Romanoff is stealthy, precise and absolutely lethal. Her movements reminisce those of a ballerina; one that gracefully dances across the court -doesn’t matter if it’s grass, clay or hard- to deliver blow after blow of brilliance. Natasha has raw talent, pure heart and an unbreakable spirit.

The biggest crime of Shostakov, is that he’s in the way of her greatness. Maybe it’s his ego or a compulsion to attach himself to a woman who has the capacity to break every record from the Open Era.

Whatever the reason, it’s clear she’s better off without him. For those of us who love this sport, and want Natasha to be the champion she was meant to be, this is an unique opportunity to watch her finally emerge from the shadows of the overbearing man.

The proverbial ball is in Romanoff’s court. In all her brilliance, the one thing Natasha rarely does is take risks.

It’s never too late to start.

--

“We’re finishing the second day of the US Open and we have some major upsets. Carol Danvers, number 3 in the world and only American in the top ten lost to Brit Peggy Carter” you say, holding the mic and looking at the camera.

“I understand there was some excitement on the man’s singles” you hear Maria say on your earpiece and you nod.

“Queens had a face off with Brooklyn today. Bucky Barnes defeated amateur Peter Parker, but get this! They played five sets, and Peter won every tiebreak. So it seems like we have some exciting new talent”

“We’ll keep an eye on him, for sure. Thanks for the report, Y/N!”

“A pleasure as usual, Maria. Greetings to everyone back on the studio” 

“And cut” Darcy, your producer says. You remove the earpiece and hand over the mic. As you turn around, you spot Natasha training. It’s obvious you’re staring when Darcy speaks.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, you know? You wrote what a lot of people were thinking”

“Well, seems like she doesn’t wanna hear it”

“It’s fine. I mean, it would be better if we could get a quote from her or an interview but if she hates you that much we can get someone else to do it”

“Or, I could go and try to talk to her?”

“So you have a death wish!”

“Didn’t you just say I did nothing wrong?”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean she’ll listen. I am also legally obligated to tell you that your health insurance doesn’t cover injuries caused by tennis balls. Or rackets”

“Very funny”

--

“Relax your wrist” Fury instructs once again and Natasha ignores him, as usual.

She hates the press, the interviews, the hoops she has to jump through just so she can play tennis. 

None of it is optional and she has to follow the rules, something Natasha is particularly bad at.

“If you want to move to the next round you’re gonna have to listen to me”

Does she really want to move to the next round? Is there a point to all of this? She had lost her number one ranking and people were focusing more on her private life than her career.

Fury spots you across the court and smiles. 

You nod your head towards the man and he sighs, defeated.

“Can you talk some sense into her?” 

“Can anyone?” you say and he pats you on the back, leaving the court. The sun is setting and people are going home, ready to return tomorrow to watch the next round of players. You greet Natasha but she ignores you.

“You owe me a question” you try to joke, as she keeps hitting the ball so hard you think her racket will break in half. 

“I know who you are and I’m not talking to you” 

She looks hot when she’s pissed.

You push those thoughts away.

“Natasha”

“No, you and I are not on a first name basis. Not after you wrote all that crap about me without knowing me” 

“I only spoke the truth” 

“That my career is doomed and I should retire?” she finally stops throwing balls across the court and turns to look at you.

“Oh, my God! You didn’t even read it, did you?”

“I don’t need to. I know what everyone's been saying ever since Alexei was arrested. I know he was unconventional, but he was my trainer. He was beside me through the good and bad” 

“I get it, ok? He’s your family. And your trainer. That’s never easy and I understand how it can be hard to see things objectively. But,  Natasha, you are great in spite of him, not because of him”

That makes her pause.

“Nick Fury came out of retirement to train you. That’s how talented you are!”

The redhead serves a couple of times, staying completely silent.

“I’m not talking to you” she reminds you. 

“You’re the best player out there, Natasha. And right now you’re the only thing getting in the way of your success” 

--

Morning comes and so does the next match. Natasha is looking out the window of the suite, as people come and go around the busy streets of the tennis center.

Fury steps in, immediately aware of her nervous energy. If he asks if she’s ready, she’ll probably rip his head off. So, talking about something different might be the way to go.

“Her father was also a sports journalist,” he says, pouring himself a glass of orange juice.

“Who?” 

“Y/N. Richard was a single parent, so he’d always bring her to the games, even as a baby. She behaved better than most people too” 

“Is he retired?” 

“Nope. Cancer. Four years ago” Fury sits in front of Natasha. “Didn’t expect her to follow his steps, but that girl really knows sports. She’s working with the local station, and also writes for Sports Illustrated”

“What are you trying to say?”

“Never hurts to have a couple of friends around,” he says, sipping from his glass.

“I’m not good at making friends” Natasha looks away.

“Yeah, I know. You’re good at tennis, so…” the man checks his watch and stands up. “Let’s kick some ass”

--

Natasha has to face Kate Bishop, currently ranked 24. Her game is the opposite of aggressive, but she’s famous for her impeccable aim. Natasha has to control the game from the start if she wants to win.

She serves first, and as she bounces the ball, preparing her stance, Fury’s words echo in her head. All the advice he has given her for the past months, advice that she has consistently ignored.

Then, as she throws the ball, her eyes meet yours. You’re sitting in the front row, leaning forward. 

In a split second, she makes a decision.

Natasha is ready to take risks.

She aims for the corner of the service box, hoping it will fall inside. Kate lunges forward, shocked at the speed of the ball.

“Ace” the umpire announces. “Fifteen love” 

Natasha sees you clapping and can hear Fury shouting “That’s it, you can do this, Romanoff”

And boy, does she deliver. Kate is running across the court. Natasha’s unforced errors are incredibly low. While the crowd usually loves long games, the redhead is a legend and they’re excited to see her prowess first hand. 

The game ends in 47 minutes, 6-3, 6-2.

Kate approaches the net and shakes Natasha’s hand.

“That was… incredible, Romanoff”

“Thank you, Kate” 

The kind words and the genuine admiration make Natasha relax instantly.

Of course, the crowd goes wild as the redhead lifts her arms, clapping and waving. 

She’s in such a good mood that she decides she’ll finally take your question. But as she enters the press room, you’re nowhere to be found. 

Still, she chats and even jokes around with the journalists present.

Once again, the entire family celebrates as if Natasha had already won the Grand Slam.

“Seestra, the crowd was going craaaazy, it was like a Taylor Swift concert” Yelena tells her excitedly as they eat. Natasha’s starving, so nervous about today that she didn’t even have breakfast.

They keep chatting, talking about strategy for the next game and wondering who will go against Natasha next. 

“Natalia, your father wants to talk to you” Melina interrupts, holding her phone.

“Why?” Natasha snaps, going back to her stoic self.

“He wants to congratulate you,” the woman insists.

“I’m not in the mood. Excuse me” she stands up, losing her appetite.

Out on the terrace, she watches people passing by, trying to think of anything else but Alexei.

Your words come back to her, and she starts to believe them.

You are great in spite of him.

“Hey, there you are!” you shout from the bottom of the stairs, waving. “Do you have a sec?”

Natasha nods, going down. 

“First of all, wow. Brava”

“You wanted something?” she rolls her eyes, but you notice she blushes lightly.

It’s quite the view, Natasha’s body covered in sweat from the physical exertion, her sculpted arms in full display.

That tennis outfit looks really good on her.

“Oh.. yeah. Do you, uh, have time to meet a fan? She’s a little girl and you’re her favorite player”

“Of course” 

“Awesome, come with me!” you take her by the hand.

Natasha tries to ignore the tingling feeling she gets as she’s dragged around the center. Some people recognise her, but you’re walking fast and they don’t have the chance to stop her for a picture.

“Hey, Ava!” you greet the little girl, who’s holding a big tennis ball and a black marker. “Natasha, meet Ava. She’s your number one fan” 

“Hi,” the girl says shyly. She’s about nine, her mother standing next to her and smiling.

“Hi, Ava. It’s so nice to meet you” Natasha greets. “How are you liking the tournament so far?” 

“Uh, it was great, and you were so awesome today!”

“Thank you, I really appreciate it. Would you like me to sign that?”

“Yes, please!” her arms shoot forward, anxiously. 

“What other players would you like to meet?” Natasha says, as she signs the ball.

“Maybe Peter Parker… We met Carol Danvers, Bucky Barnes and also, Wanda”

Yeah, Natasha didn’t miss the way Maximoff signed the ball. 

From the number 1 player to the number 1 fan. 

So pretentious.

“That’s nice,” Natasha says, handing the ball back.

“Alright, let’s take a picture” you pull out your phone. Natasha kneels to be closer to Ava, and then places her tennis hat on the girl’s head.

“You can have it” Natasha smiles and is surprised when she gets a very enthusiastic hug. Her mother has to practically drag her away from where you’re standing, Ava turning around every couple of steps to wave at Natasha.

“Thank you, Nat,” you say, smiling.

“It’s not a problem. I didn’t see you in today’s press conference”

“That’s because it’s my day off” you say, surprised that she noticed your absence.

“What about that thing?” she points at the badge hanging from your neck that reads Press.

“That’s how I get in for free, duh” 

“Sneaky” 

“I can be” you shrug your shoulders and then turn back to your phone. “Hey, so can I send this to your PR team for them to post it?” 

“You don’t have to” 

“Fine, I’ll post it on my feed and tag you. Alright, gotta go. Have to cheer for Bucky” you say, taking her hand one last time. “Once again, thank you. And congrats. You were fantastic”

“I owe you a question” she calls when you’re walking away.

“I’m saving it for when you win the championship” you wink and she smiles, scratching the side of her neck nervously.

Later that day, her phone is blasting with notifications.

“Almost one million likes, Natasha” Yelena shows her the picture you uploaded of her and Ava.

“Is that good or bad?” the redhead shrugs her shoulders and her sister rolls her eyes.

“You’re so uncool!” 

However, she knows enough about Instagram to find your profile, going through your feed. Most of the pictures are from different games, some hangout with friends, the most frequent ones being Barnes and a pro that plays for the Yankees, Sam Wilson.

She’s about to close the app when two things that are equally horrible happen.

First, she likes one of your pictures from two years ago.

Second, she gets a message.

OfficialWandaMaximoff: Congrats on your win today <3

--

Bucky just lost the second set and is down on the third one. You keep refreshing the feed as you wait next to other journalists for Wanda Maximoff. 

Of course she’s in the quarter finals, that’s hardly a shock. Everyone’s waiting for her to face Natasha in the finals. When it happens, you’re obviously rooting for Nat.

Speaking of which…

@SportsBrooklyn: Good luck tomorrow! 

@NatashaROfficial followed you back

@NatashaROfficial: Do you only use Instagram or can you text like a normal person?

@SportsBrooklyn: Oh, right, text you to the number I don’t have!

Wanda walks in that moment and you lock your phone. Her auburn hair is tied in a high ponytail, and she changed to her signature red windbreaker and black pants.

You’re busy taking notes when your phone pings again. To your surprise, Natasha actually gave you her phone number.

@NatashaROfficial: If you share it with anyone else I’ll choke you

@SportsBrooklyn: Kinky ;)

The press conference ends and you practically sprint out to see if you can catch the rest of Bucky’s game.

You have to settle for the screens on the Champions Bar, comforted by the fact that Bucky seems to be ahead on the third set. As soon as he wins it, you stand up, knowing the break is the perfect time to slip into the player’s box.

“I’m so sorry” you say as you crash into none other than Wanda Maximoff. She grabs your arm to steady herself, smiling to ease you.

“That’s alright. You’re in a hurry?” she says, turning at the screen. 

“A bit, yeah” 

“I wish someone as cute as you was rooting for me” she smiles, placing a strand of hair behind her ear. She’s flirting? Oh boy. “I noticed you looking at your phone during the press conference. Barnes is a lucky guy” 

“Oh, we’re not…” 

“Here I was thinking he was smarter than that”

There’s a sense of urgency to go before the break is over, but you’re also completely confused. Why is Wanda Maximoff taking an interest in a local reporter? You’re vaguely aware that her eyes drift somewhere behind you from time to time, but before you can turn and have a look, she pulls your press badge and smiles.

“If you ever want an exclusive, just let me know, Y/N…” she reads the name from your press badge and walks away, leaving you completely confused.

--

Natasha watches the entire interaction from her small table. She needed a break so she decided to put on a hat and glasses, to get a drink without being recognised.

Wanda was all over you, giggling and looking Natasha’s way as much as she could, to let her know this was entirely to upset her.

All Natasha wanted to do was stand up and take you away from Wanda. You were too good for someone like Maximoff.

Wanda thought she was making Natasha jealous. 

She was right, but not in the way she would have wanted to.

--

“Maybe it’s time I retire” 

“You’re 28” 

“Might as well be 100 in tennis years” 

“Buck” you nudge him.

You’re looking out the Brooklyn Bridge, trying to cheer up your best friend after losing in the round of 16.

“You won the Australian Open this year” 

“Oh, yeah. I forgot about that. See? I’m senile” he mumbles, still grumpy.

“You did great, and you’re still in the top five, Grumpa. Ha! See what I did there?” he rolls his eyes and you smile, pulling him back to the street. “Come on, Sam is waiting for us to have some lunch” 

“Ok, but it’s on you because I’ll be broke once I retire” 

“Yeah, yeah” you roll your eyes, looping your arms together and dragging him to your favorite dinner. Sam’s already there, chatting around with everyone that recognises him.

All eyes turn to you as he stands up and practically shouts.

“How’s my favorite girl?” Sam greets you and then slaps Bucky’s shoulder. “Don’t make that face, man. You won the aussie one”

“That’s what I told him” 

Bucky takes his jacket off and orders a beer as soon as the waiter approaches you; even if it’s only noon, you let it slide.

You get a text from Darcy, asking if you’re watching the game.

Your mind instantly goes to Natasha. Did she lose? No, that can’t be. She was playing against Van Dyne, who was only there because of a wild card. You turn to one of the screens and ask the waiter to change the channel. 

“She’s winning” you say, still not understanding what Darcy meant.

“Why does she look so upset, then?” Sam points out.

Natasha is arguing with the umpire. You recognise him immediately.

“I hate that guy,” Bucky says, echoing your thoughts.

“Jarvis… something. Stone?” 

“Yeah, a total asshole. Wouldn’t give me a point I clearly won on Wimbledon because the other player was also a Brit” 

The argument ends and she keeps playing. Her forehand is killer today.

“Wow” Bucky says at the same time as you gasp.

“Man, I feel so dumb right now” Sam is looking between both of you, not knowing what caused your reaction.

“Just now? It’s more like, always” Bucky teases and Sam glares. He rolls his eyes and points at the screen. “Van Dyne hit after a double bounce. That’s not allowed. But Stone clearly doesn’t give a shit. He’s giving her the point”

“Natasha stopped playing because she saw it. He claims he didn’t so in his mind, she lost this one” you keep explaining.

“If Hope had a little bit of integrity, she’d concede the point or play it again”

“Well, she’s losing so she’ll take all the help she can get” you say. 

Natasha’s rage fuels her after this and she ends up winning, the second set a devastating 6-0.

However, the two men on the screen are being unsurprisingly critical of her. Your stomach turns when you hear the words “emotional” and “aggressive” thrown around.

Even if it’s a long shot, you try calling her. Phone’s off.

If you’re lucky, you’ll manage to see her once you get back to the stadium.

--

“Turn it off,” Natasha grumbles. Fury is watching the news in the living room. 

“I wanna see the highlights of other players. Prepare for what’s coming next. If you don’t like it, leave the room” he says with a dismissive wave of his hand.

After the game, Natasha did the mandatory press conference, went back to the lockers, destroyed two rackets, took a shower and then looked out the window for the better part of the day. 

She wasn’t in the mood to do anything and she didn’t want to turn on her phone. The temptation to read what the press and public had to say about her after today’s argument with the umpire was too big.

“Y/N, how are things at the US Open?” Maria Hill says. The screen splits, your image appearing on the right side.

“Exciting names on both sides for the semis. We have Thor against Banner, and T'Challa faces Namor for a spot in the semis. As for the ladies, Maximoff breezed through the match against Jean Gray”

“Well, I understand Romanoff didn’t have it so easy,” Maria says. 

From her seat, Natasha holds her breath. Yelena walks in at that exact moment, watching her sister closely.

“You know, I find it unbelievable that an umpire at the US Open could make such a poor call, not once but twice. First, with the hindrance call against Natasha and then by completely ignoring the double bounce before Van Dyne hit the ball” you say, clearly upset. “We’ve seen time and time again that some umpires are not up to the standards set by Grand Slams. And to my fellow journalists who like to throw around words like emotional, better save that energy for the men that smash their rackets just because they lost a point. As we all saw, Romanoff was in her right to demand fairness and she did it with the utmost respect” 

“Yes, I completely agree with you” Maria nods, clearly regretting even asking about it. “Well, let us chat tomorrow after we have the final for the men” 

“Of course, Maria,” you nod.

Natasha tries really hard, but she can’t help but smile at your words.

Yelena arches her eyebrows.

Well, this is interesting.

--

Natasha refuses to leave her room, arguing she’s not hungry. Melina, Yelena and Fury leave her alone, but the sudden silence becomes too much. There’s no noise to stop her thoughts from spiraling.

With a sigh, she turns on her phone. Two messages come through.

Y/N: Sorry about today. That umpire sucks :( 

Y/N: Bucky hates him too

Next thing she sees is a picture of Bucky and you holding your middle fingers to the screen with Jarvis’ face. Natasha chuckles at that.

She also zooms in, checking that your other hand is very close to Bucky’s. She feels a pang of jealousy that is interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Room service” a strange voice says.

“I didn’t order any..:” she says, but finds you smiling on the other side of the door.

“Gotcha” 

“What are you doing here?” the redhead can’t help but smile. You’re wearing a black leather jacket, a white tee and skin tight jeans. She’s torn between admiring your figure and paying attention to what you say next.

“Little bird told me you were very upset and you might need a distraction” 

“I’m gonna kill Fury” 

“Not Nick. Your sister. And are we gonna find something to eat by standing here or…?”

“I’m not hungry” 

“We’re going, Natasha. Go get changed” you push past her, tired of waiting around in the hallway. She’s taken aback by your forwardness. Her mother and sister would usually let her get away with anything.

“Where are we going?” she asks, hoping you won’t go all the way to her room and pick an outfit for her.

“Something casual will do” 

She changes as fast as she can, taking her phone and some money with her. You nod approvingly and then open the door, peeking around the hallway.

“This little field trip is not Fury approved so let’s be discreet about it” you inform her, taking her hand to lead the way to the elevator.

“Oh, yeah, this is super discreet” Natasha complains as you lead her to an electrical carriage. 

“Have a little fun, why don’t you?” you climb up, offering your hand. She takes and sits next to you. Natasha resists the urge to put a strand of hair behind your ear as you lean forward to give the address.

You feel her eyes on you, so you turn back, smiling and blushing lightly. 

It’s a short ride, and soon after you enter a small diner.

“Hey, Y/N” the owner greets you. “My, this must be a special occasion” she leans towards Natasha and whispers. “She’s never brought a girl over”

“Ok, Pat! Natasha is just a friend” you clarify, blushing in the process. Natasha laughs at you.

“Why? She’s pretty. You need to start dating” Pat says, leaving two menus.

“Don’t bother” you stop Natasha as she starts reading it. “She’ll bring us whatever she wants. But it will be worth it, I promise”

“Do you come here often?”

“My dad couldn’t cook if his life depended on it. But he was always good at finding the best spots to eat. So we came here all the time during the US Open and then later when Bucky started training”

Natasha nods and looks away. 

“So, you’re not dating Barnes either?” she says, looking anywhere but you. It’s embarrassing how much she cares.

“Uh.. no. He’s like a brother to me. His parents worked a lot so he’d tag along to games with us, and we grew up together” you wait until she turns to look at you. “Can I ask now?”

“Is this off the record?”

“Do you see my press badge anywhere?”

“One never knows with you people”

“Ouch, Natasha” the redhead laughs but you ask anyway. “Are you dating anyone? You’ve never been public about it”

“I’m not, no. I just don’t think I’d be able to find the balance. Between tennis and a partner. And my public and private life”

“Fair enough” you say. Pat approaches with milkshakes, cheeseburgers and fries.

“I hope you girls are hungry”

“Starving” 

“Fury’s gonna kill me” Natasha sighs, but then dips a fry in the milkshake and practically moans at the taste.

Your mouth is hanging wide open, and your teeth clash at how fast you shut it when Natasha turns to you.

“You’re right, this is worth it”

The rest of the night is spent eating and talking about everything but tennis. You learn that Natasha likes to bake in her free time, and that Yelena is taking a sabbatical before moving to New York to study at NYU.

After finishing your food, you both agree that walking back will be the best idea. 

“I’m so full” you complain as you enter through the back, too scared to be caught by Fury. Natasha walks in the opposite direction of the foyer. “Uh, what are you doing? I don’t want your coach all over my ass if you’re missing” 

“Have a little fun, why don’t you?” she echoes your words from before and you have no choice but to follow her. You end up on a tennis court, balls scattered around the floor.

“Do you practice here?”

“If I can’t sleep” Natasha picks up a ball and a racket and hands it to you.

“Can I help you?”

“Play with me”

“I can’t even serve, Natasha”

“Well, would you like to learn?” she says with a smirk and you can’t resist it.

“Fine. But after that, you go back to your room”

“Stance first” Natasha instructs. She corrects your posture and movements a couple of times, inching closer until she’s whispering instructions in your ear. The last thing she does is put her hands over yours to make sure your grip is tight. “Show me what you got”

She steps away and you miss her presence instantly. Trying to remember everything she told you, you toss the ball in the air and swing a little too hard. You trip over your own feet, but Natasha moves forward and catches you before you fall.

“You ok?” she says and you nod.

“How did I do, coach?” you steady yourself, holding her close to you. Your eyes travel to her lips, and you’re both out of breath from laughing.

Neither one can tell who leans first, but the fact is that you do and you discover, with great pleasure and no surprise, that Natasha is an excellent kisser. Her lips are soft against yours and she pulls you closer by your waist.

“Is this a new way of interviewing people, Y/L/N?” 

Oh, shit.

You break apart and turn to Fury, who looks very much not impressed.

“The only cardio you’re allowed to do until this slam is over is at the gym, Romanoff. Back to your room, now” 

“I’m not a little girl you can boss around,” Natasha protests.

“Come on, you should rest. We’ll talk later” you don’t want her to start arguing with Fury, not now that she’s finally listening to him. Natasha turns to you and nods, squeezing your hand one last time before going back to the hotel.

“I don’t want her distracted,” Fury says and you nod. 

“I wasn’t trying to… I won’t get in her way, Nick. I want her to win”

“Glad we understand each other. Now go home” 

He turns to leave and you wait for a little bit, trying to calm down after a mindblowing kiss. As you’re about to leave, you spot a yellow bracelet on the ground. You’ve seen Natasha wearing one before, but you’re too scared of Fury to go back now.

Tomorrow will be a new day for all of you.

--

“Keep your leg behind the ball” Fury instructs. Natasha has been listening to every single thing he says.

Yes, she’s nervous about the semis. And Fury’s the only one that can understand the feeling or help her play better.

“I want you focused,” he says as she walks to dry her hands.

“I am”

“You know what I mean” he says and as if on cue, you walk up to the court, waving. Natasha places the racket down and approaches you. “Practice isn’t over, Romanoff!”

“Five minutes” she asks, meeting you on the edge of the court.

“Hi”

“Hi” she says back. Her eyes go down to your lips and your heart flutters.

“Uh, you left… I think this is yours” you remember to speak, showing the yellow bracelet.

“Yes, thank you. Do you mind?” Natasha extends her hand and you put it around her wrist. “Yelena gave it to me before my first match. It’s my lucky charm”

“Well, good thing I saw it”

“Maybe you’ll be my next lucky charm”

“Oh? Am I supposed to be at every game from now on?” you smile, nodding when you’re done with the bracelet.

“I really wanna kiss you” Natasha blurts out and you blush. “But…”

“There are people watching and Fury doesn’t look happy either”

“He never does. Can I call you later?”

“Yes, you definitely can”

You want to kiss her so bad, damn it.

“Come on, go back, before Fury kicks me out of the court”

Natasha nods, squeezing your hand gently.

The way Natasha looks at you makes you all kinds of flustered, so you leave in a hurry before your desire takes over and you end up kissing her in front of all these people.

Once again, you run into Wanda Maximoff, only this time she doesn’t smile at all.

“She’s quite the player, right?” she says with a cold voice, her accent a bit thicker.

“Uh- yes. Natasha is a very talented pro”

“Oh, that’s not what I meant” she takes a step forward and looks you up and down. “Natasha likes to fuck around. But she always comes back to me”

“You’re… together?” your heart drops. Natasha wouldn’t lie to you about this.

Would she?

“Look, of course she wants to get distracted and she’ll use anyone that is dumb enough to fall for it. But don’t forget, she and I have history. And that’s stronger than whatever it is you think you have with Natasha”

No one is around to save you from this horrible conversation. You don’t want to argue with Wanda, because you’re still a journalist and it’s your job to be on the players’ good side.

But the reckless part of you wants to tell her to fuck off.

You sigh and look down. Wanda takes this as a sign of defeat and smiles, leaving you standing there.

It takes a minute for you to snap out of it, and you look around, desperate to walk away from everything that just happened.

—

“You’re seriously telling me you know nothing?” you ask Bucky for the tenth time.

“I don’t pay attention to rumors” he shrugs his shoulders, and you roll your eyes at him.

He’s sitting on your couch, the movie long forgotten. You nudge him with your foot and glare.

“Your best friend is a journalist, you should know better. You’re my insider into this crap”

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m just not on the loop of who dates who on the women’s side. But I am not surprised Wanda scared you. Heard she can be batshit crazy”

“She didn’t scare me” you mumble. The both of you sit in silence for a while, until your phones ping simultaneuosly.

Thankfully, it’s not Nat. Right now, you don’t even know what to say to her.

“Sam. Probably to brag about his date in that fancy restaurant” Bucky tells you, but his eyes widen as he reads the message. “Wow. You need to look at this”

He hands you the phone and you read the conversation. It’s your group chat and Sam just sent a picture of Jarvis Stone, who is having dinner with none other than Wanda Maximoff.

“What the actual fu…”

“So that’s why he was being a dick to Natasha” Bucky says. “You’re not telling her about this, are you?”

“No, of course not. She has the semis tomorrow and I don’t want to distract her”

You look at your phone and press send before you chicken out.

Y/N: Can we talk tomorrow?

YBelova: Sure

—

You’re waiting by the entrance to Arthur Ashe, looking around.  Even if Maximoff’s match is later, you are still dreading to spot Wanda.

“Hey” Yelena says and you jump like a coward. “Wow, relax, it’s me”

“I’m sorry to be meeting you like this. I didn’t want to bother Natasha, especially today… she has enough on her plate”

“It’s ok, you can trust me”

“I know I can… it’s not easy to ask this, but do you know if Wanda and Natasha had a… thing? Like a relationship”

“Are you asking as a journalist?” the blonde says, clearly on edge.

“No, it’s not like that! Natasha and I… we kissed. And then Wanda told me yesterday that Natasha is just fooling around because she always comes back to her… and that’s weird but then a friend sent me this. It’s from last night”

“That’s the umpire that was a jerk to Tasha” Yelena takes your phone, looking at it in desbelief. “That bitch is still pulling this shit”

“If it had been only about us, I would have waited until Natasha finished her match. But it seems to me, like Wanda is trying to play dirty here”

Yelena sighs and hands the phone back. She looks around and steps closer, lowering her voice.

“Yes, they dated. Kept it a secret. It was on and off, especially when they were playing against each other. Wanda didn’t like to lose and then, after a while, she began to mess around with Nat. She would have a fight with her before a big match, even if they weren’t playing each other. Made Natasha lose her cool and struggle. They really haven’t spoken since the AO”

“What do we do? I don’t want her to mess with Natasha. I won’t let Wanda get in her way”

“I’ll speak to Fury about this. He knows everything. I’ll let you know what he says”

“Didn’t know you two were friends now”

A voice calls from behind you.

“Seestra, hey!” Yelena steps forward to give you time to recover. “Y/N was just telling me about her time at NYU”

“Is that so?” the redhead looks between you two and you nod.

She stills makes you nervous and flustered.

“Alright, my presence is no longer required” Yelena complains, but still gives you a meaningful look as she walks away.

“I have to warm up, will you stay for the game?” she asks, stepping closer.

“Yes, of course I will. I’ll be screaming your name” you blurt out and then blush. “I mean, rooting for you. Didn’t mean it to sound like that”

“Sounds good to me” she says, coming closer. “Can I have a good luck kiss?”

You look at her smile, her beautiful green eyes. Think about all the times she’s been kind and funny and brave. And you also think about how someone played with her heart just for a stupid title.

So you nod and lean forward, kissing her gently.

Natasha deserves to win, not only because she’s the better player. She’s the better person.

“Go win this thing” you say against her lips and she smiles, pecking your lips one last time.

—

Natasha’s win is not a surprise to you, considering the level of her recent games. You still have to stick around for the Maximoff match, opting to stay far away from the press room once she wins.

So, it’s down to the two of them in the final.

You’ve never wished for Natasha to win something so much until today.

Work keeps you busy enough. Both of the men’s semis take a combined time of eight hours and you end up completely exhausted, seriously considering just sleeping in one of the locker rooms.

You haven’t heard from Natasha but it’s understandable. She’s playing for the championship tomorrow, and knowing Fury, he will be preparing her in every way possible.

As you get a cup of coffee from one of the last stands open, your phone pings again.

Natasha: Are you still here?

Y/N: Yes :(

Natasha: Meet me in court 17?

Y/N: Yes :)

When you finally get there, you find Natasha serving a couple of times, wearing a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt.

“Is Fury ok with you staying up so late?”

“I did everything he said today. I think I deserve this one thing” she smiles, walking towards you. “You look a bit tired”

“Jeez, thanks”

“I didn’t mean it like that. Ugh, Yelena is right, I have no game off court”

You laugh at that, taking her hands in yours.

“It’s fine, I was just teasing you” you say, looking as her eyes drift towards your lips. You both lean forward, sharing a kiss.

“Thank you” Natasha says.

“Uh, you’re welcome?”

“I don’t mean the kiss, no. Thank you for telling Yelena that thing about… Wanda”

“Oh”

Natasha walks with you to one of the chairs and you sit together.

“I haven’t spoken to her in months. And I don’t want to be with her. I need you to know that”

“But still… you said you’re not sure you want a relationship, right? It would be too much trouble”

“I think it might be worth the effort for you” she confesses and you smile.

“You do have game”

“I do?”

“Tiny bit. We’ll work on it”

She laughs, and you sit in silence for a moment.

“I made my debut in this court”

“I know”

“How…?”

You sigh. Since you’re sharing stories…

“After my dad died, I kinda took distance from the things we did together. That included all kinds of sports. It was a painful reminder. And then, as the USO was starting, I realised he had already bought our tickets. So I came here, walked around a bit. And then I saw you”

Natasha smiles, squeezing your hand.

“Your hair was shorter, and you were wearing a weird orange top with green shorts” you frown as you remember how awful it looked.

“My mom chose it for me!” the redhead buries her face in her hands and you laugh. You take them in yours as you continue the story.

“You were amazing that day. Controlled, precise… I forgot for a little while about how sad I was. And after you won, I came back everyday to watch you play”

“Thank you for telling me that. I wish I could have known your father”

“I would have liked that too”

There’s silence as you both think about your own journies, the things that brought you to this moment.

“Come on, we should go. You need your rest” you stand up, offering your hand to Natasha. She thinks for a moment before taking it, but instead of standing up she pulls you down until you’re sitting on her lap, your legs around her.

“Nat?” you gulp, blushing at how close you are.

“Tell me to stop and I’ll stop” she whispers, kissing your neck and squeezing your ass.

“Holy shit, no, don’t stop” you plead, tangling your fingers in her red hair.

“Locker room?”

“Lead the way” you kiss her frantically, hoping no one sees you.

Once you arrive there, Natasha smiles and your heart stops for a second.

“Ready to scream my name?”

—

There’s warmth. And a nice pressure. Some tingling on your back. Like a soft touch.

You open your eyes in an unknown room, trying to remember where you are. As you turn around you find Natasha fast asleep, her arm around your middle.

“Nat?” you call for her, hoping no one walks in any time soon.

“Five more minutes” she mumbles against your skin.

“Nat, wake up” you plead.

As it turns out, she only reacts when Yelena kicks the door, walking in on you naked under the sheets.

“Happy finals day seestra—-ah! Naked”

“Yelena what is wrong?” to your horror, Melina joins her daughter. “Oh, you two lovebirds!”

“WHY DOESNT ANYONE KNOCK HERE” Natasha screams, putting the sheets above her head.

“Sorry”  Melina says, dragging away Yelena.

“Yeah, sorry” Yelena echoes, sounding anything but.

As you both get dressed, the memories of last night come back to you.

After your rendezvous -and almost getting caught by security- you decided it would be better to continue elsewhere. You blush as images of Natasha moaning, kissing and pleasuring you also come back.

“Hey” she approaches you as you walk to the door. “You ok? You look a little…”

“Flustered?” you say, trying to hide your blush.

“Well, yes. I’m sorry about them walking in”

“Last night was… amazing”

“Yeah?” she circles your waist with her hands and pulls you closer. “How amazing?”

“Like winning all Grand Slams in the same year kind of amazing” your hands go around her neck and you pull her for a kiss.

“Wow, that’s big talk” Natasha comments agains your lips. And as she’s about to kiss you, Fury walks in.

“Romanoff! What did I tell you about that cardio”

“For the love of God, knock!” Natasha says, defeated.

“Don’t worry, Fury, I promise she was laying down for the most part” you wink at the man.

“Stay for breakfast” Melina invites as she’s setting the suite’s table with all the room service.

“This has been sufficiently awkward, thank you. And I also imagine you have stuff to do”

“You need to stay hydrated. How much liquid did you lose?” Fury says, going around the kitchen like a headless chicken.

“Fury, I haven’t seen her this relaxed in months. My sister will be fine” Yelena comments.

“Are you coming to the game?”

“Of course. I’m on press duty”

“Come to the player’s box” Melina says.

“Would that be wise?” you ask and everyone shares a look. “What I mean is, we want to make Wanda think her plan worked, right? If she sees me there she’ll know we are on to her”

“I don’t care what she thinks. I want you there” Natasha takes your hand and you smile.

“Alright. I’ll be there. See you later” you kiss her cheek and smile.

“Byeee” Melina and Yelena say, and you realise that Natasha will have to deal with their questions.

Well, if she can deal with the press, she can deal with her family.

—

The day goes by in a blur, and as the match approaches, you feel more anxious. God, how does Natasha do this? If it were you with the world watching, you’d probably break down the minute you step into the court.

“Hello there” Yelena greets as you meet at the player’s entrance of Arthur Ashe.  “Ever been here?”

“Just once, with Bucky”

It’s hard to forget the luxurious facilities where players can get food, special gifts, some physio or workout before their matches.

“He won last year, right?”

“Yes” you smile at the memory. “How is Natasha doing?”

“She’s done with warmup, she had something light to eat and she seems ready. She’s also been smiling like an idiot all day, even if Fury kept her away from her phone”

“I want her to win, so whatever it takes” you smile at the blonde, and follow her to the lounge, where Natasha is waiting with Melina. The redhead smiles as soon as she spots you and you kiss her on the cheek.

“How do you feel?”

“Like a complete wreck”

“You got this. Remember she prefers short games, she also doesn’t like to volley or come close to the net. And people say her forehand is killer but she goes too far behind her back, so use it against her”

“Y/N?” she interrupts your rambling. “All of that is fine advice, but I already have Nick on my back 24/7”

“Right, sorry”

“You know what he doesn’t provide?”

“Hm?”

“Good luck kisses”

“That’s right, it’s above my paygrade” Fury says. “Say your goodbyes now”

Melina and Yelena hug her, Fury squeezes her shoulder and then they give you some space.

“Go win this thing” you say, leaning forward and kissing her softly.

Natasha leans her forehead against yours and smiles.

She’s ready.

—

Natasha comes out first, and the crowd goes wild.

Wanda is close behind her; you catch her staring at you, clearly shocked that you’re next to Nat’s family.

“Who’s losing focus now?” Yelena says with a cheerful voice and you can’t help but smile.

The game begins and it is very clear that Natasha is playing aggressively. She has an ace on every game and there are hardly any break points for Wanda. It’s been 30 minutes and the score is 5-2.

“She’s cooked,” Fury says, looking at Wanda. You shake your head.

“Maximoff has an insane record after losing the first set, you know that”

And in fact, she does lose the first set. As always, the crowd loves to cheer on the underdog, so they go wild when Wanda wins the first two games of the second set.

“Come on, Tasha” you scream, and she looks your way, smiling. In no time, they’re tied.

“What are the odds on a tiebreak?” Yelena asks.

“It can go either way” you sigh, confirming that it will happen as they reach 6-6.

Natasha is playing fast and hard, giving no time for Wanda to recover.

But as she serves for the match, Wanda challenges the call in the most disruptive way possible.

It was in, but since Nat stopped playing the point goes to Wanda.

“That’s bullshit” Yelena says under her breath and you nod.

Sure enough, Natasha zones out and goes from match point to losing the second set.

“Dear Lord” Fury says, trying to keep a neutral expression.

“Maximoff looks exhausted, Nick. Natasha is doing great. She didn’t give away the second set. She’ll do this”

The third set begins, the first four games a close call. Deuce is called when they’re tied at 2, and you know that whoever wins this point will end up winning the match.

Every time Wanda has an advantage, Natasha comes back and breaks. Even when the Sokovian is serving, it doesn’t stop Natasha from pulling her back to 40-40. The Russian is a wall, and Wanda seems to lose hope as time passes.

And then, it happens.

Wanda has a double fault that gives Natasha the advantage. Followed by a double fault that gives her a break.

“Yes” Fury claps, trying to keep it together.

As the score approaches 5, your heart beats faster. Once again, 5-2.

Natasha serving for the match.

An ace.

The crowd goes wild.

The second ball goes out of the court when Wanda hits it.

Then, a double fault.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

It’s 30-15 and then 30-30. All Natasha needs are two more points to win.

She searches for your face in the crowd and you smile, nodding.

“You’re going to win” you say and she smiles.

Another ace.

The screens show the “championship point” sign.

Wanda doesn’t make it easy for her. She’s like a wounded animal that has nothing to lose, so she runs, she answers every throw with a groan, she comes to the net.

But when Natasha does her signature dropshot, Wanda tries to run, reaches too late and the ball bounces one, two, three times.

“Game, set, match, Romanoff”

“Fuck, YEEES” Yelena screams, standing up and cheering.

It’s all a blur, Natasha falling to the ground and covering her face. Walking to the net to shake Wanda’s hand, and then  the umpire’s.

After, she walks among the crowd, trying to reach her box. Yelena is the first to jump, their mother hugging them both and crying.

Fury looks like he’s about to cry as Natasha hugs him. You’re certainly crying happy tears as you watch them.

And then, she walks past him and picks you up from the ground, kissing you in front of the entire stadium.

“Congrats, Nat” you say against her lips.

“I’ll be right back” she promises when the security guard asks her to come back for the ceremony.

“You owe me a question”

“Save it for the next championship” she says against your lips and you kiss again, in spite of the guard’s insistence and with the crowd cheering you on.

—

It’s been six more slam titles, two years of tours around the world.

Natasha still owes you a question.

You’re saving it for a time when you’re both ready, and you’ll ask her to marry you.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x y/n #Natasha Romanoff fic #Natasha Romanoff x you fluff

[daydreaming-nerd]

Young Love and Old Money (Cassian x Female! Reader) Part 10

Young Love and Old Money Masterlist

AN: You guys I'm sorry this took a while. I really put a lot into this so I hope the wait was worth it. ALSO The Tortured Poets Department just came out!!! which means my creative juices are flowing, because nothing gets me thinking like Hans Zimmer and Taylor Swift. Already thinking of some Azriel angst for The Black Dog. ALSO this fic has a a cinematic playlist that goes with it? I can post it if that's something you guys are interested in.

Summary: She was the most beautiful woman in Prythian, sister to the High Lord of Night, and now she is the soon-to-be wife of Eris Vanserra. Despite her many titles and her aura of unattainability, Cassian can't help but fall deeply in love with the princess of the Night Court. But will it be enough to stop her impending wedding to a man who is sure to destroy her from the inside out?

Warnings: Sexism, heavy angst, descriptions of character injuries, reader got the Mor treatment, last lil bit of angst guys you'll like the end.

Word Count: 5,103

Third Person pov:

Cassian stared at the other side of his bed. The one that suddenly felt so large now. He skipped training that morning, skipped breakfast too. Instead he twirled a small brass ring between his fingers. His mother’s ring to be exact. The last thing he had of hers, given to him by the female that told him where her body was dumped. 

He had wanted to give it to her, his mate.  Longed to see it on her dainty hand. He laughed when he thought about it in comparison to the ring Eris gave her. He remembered the sight of it as she pulled it out after the night he first made love to her. The thing was huge, when he held her hand yesterday he could practically feel the weight of it. The idea of putting a busted up old brass ring on that finger made his heartbreak. He wanted to give her so much more. 

At least, he thought, if she’s married to Eris she will be able to have nothing but the finest things. 

He tried to make that a consolation for him. But he knew that even a gilded cage was a cage. 

It wasn’t until midday when pain exploded through his gut, white hot and unyielding. He sat up abruptly, clutching his heart as he reached down the bound searching for her. Gasped as he realized that golden rope unwinding slowly but surely. He looked deeper, allowing himself to feel whatever she felt. His body temperature dropped as the pain in his gut worsened, and then as if the string was cleaved by a sword he felt nothing at all. A stone wall had dropped over the bond.   

No, no, no, no. 

He shot from his bed, ripping on whatever leathers he could find on the ground of his bedroom. Banishment be damned, he wouldn't let her die. 

Azriel sat on the couch nursing a hangover as Cassian bursted into the room, he tossed him a spare dagger. 

“Get up somethings wrong with y/n,” Cassain ordered the voice of a general making itself known as he laced up his boots.

Azriel didn’t object, didn’t even whine or moan from his aching head as he got up to join his brother. The shadowsinger had always been the calmest of the three, always the most collected. But he had never seen his brother so scared before, and that cool veil of calm that he always kept so wholly intact started to slip. 

It was a short flight to the townhouse and as Cassian landed at the front steps he started to realize the weight of what was about to happen. He had no time to prepare himself for how he would tell his High Lord, his best friend, and his brother in arms about the secret relationship he had been having with his precious little sister. And y/n was precious to Rhys, always had been, even if the trauma they both endured under the mountain had driven a wedge between them. 

Cassian reached through the bond and felt nothing still. He lost all hesitation and nearly blew off the doors to Rhysand’s study. 

Rhysand’s head flew up, and assessed whatever threat would lie before him. His eyes soften when he found his best friend standing in the doorway, but hardened again once he saw the sheer panic in his eyes. 

“y/n is in trouble we have to find her,” Cassian ordered, leaving no room for argument. 

“What do you mean y/n is in trouble?” Rhysand stood to brace his hands against his desk. “If she’s having a problem her husband can help her Cassian.” 

“And what if her husband is the reason she’s in trouble? I came to you for help, but if you won’t offer it I’ll take Azriel and I’ll find her myself.” Cassian growled, a male beyond feral. 

Azriel looked between the general and the High Lord, the stare down between the two so cold, so unyielding that it would go down in history. Rhysand’s violet eyes burned into Cassian’s, looking for the untold truth Cassian was keeping from him. When he didn’t find it, power filled the room as Rhys looked into Cassian’s mind.

“Stay out of my head Rhys!” Cassain grumbled, shaking his head as if those dark talons had already pried into his memories.  

It was too late, and Rhysand’s eyes filled with an anger Cassian had never seen as he winnowed over to where he stood and slammed him against the wall. 

“YOU SLEPT WITH MY LITTLE SISTER?!” Rhysand bellowed in his face. 

Cassian had never been afraid of the High Lord of Night. Not when he showed up at Windhaven with his brand new training clothes, not when he saw him wipe whole infantries off the face of the earth with the flick of his wrist. The common denominator was that he was never on the receiving end of Rhysand’s rage. But now he had a not so friendly reminder that he was the most powerful High Lord to ever grace Prythian, and Cassian was scared. 

“Let me explain,” Cassian choked out, the raw power spilling off Rhysand stifling his ability to even breathe. 

“Rhys,” Azriel warned, that cool calm coming back to him as he watched his brothers at eachothers throats. 

Rhys’ head whipped around to Azriel, “You knew?” he seethed. 

The spymaster didn’t dare speak, he simply took a step back raising his hands in surrender. 

“She’s my mate Rhys,” Cassian ground out. 

Rhys’ eyes met Cassain’s, and saw the pleading in them. The kind that could only be found in a male who’s mate was in danger. He had seen it before, when Kallias talked about Viviane, even before he knew she was his mate. 

Rhys released his hold on Cassian and the general's boots hit the floor with a thud as he started to collect himself. 

“She’s dying Rhys’ I can feel it. She was so cold and then there was just nothing. Please we have to find her.” Cassain pleaded. 

The High Lord seemed to be inside his own head, sorting through all the information he had been given in the last couple of minutes. This was more than just saving his sister, it was saving his best friend’s mate. Losing one would be like losing both, Cassian could never recover from such a loss. 

“If you felt cold she’s most likely in the Winter Court. You and Azriel take the border of Autumn and Winter, I’ll go speak to Kallias and Viviane and see what they know.” Rhysand ordered in a way that was more High Lordly than his brothers had ever heard. 

y/n’s pov:

It had been at least an hour, I had deciphered. The cold winter winds whipping around me as my body became so cold the snow started to bury me. 

I thought about grabbing the dagger just inches away from my frozen hand and plunging it through my heart, but when I tried to reach for it the pain that radiated through my side was too great. 

So I kept pulling on that bond, the rope that had turned to a thread. It felt like it was tied to a boulder, as every time I pulled it I found the otherside dead. The effects of the bloodbane taking away my ability to feel Cassian and my ability to heal.  

As I lay there, my legs becoming heavy as they become covered in a thin layer of frost and my blood spilling out onto the snow, I thought of one thing. 

It was all for nothing.

Cassian’s pov: 

The blizzard that had waged war on my wings yesterday was even stronger today. Thankfully Azriel was able to winnow the two of us to the border with ease. If y/n had truly been left out here then there was no time to waste. The snow and wind was so thick I could hardly see the ground below us. I prayed to the mother that she was with Kallias and Viviane, warm, safe and alright. Because if I found her out here it would be a miracle to find her alive. 

I flew as fast as possible, fighting against the gusts of wind. Azriel was farther behind me, no doubt running his eyes over every place I might’ve missed in my panic. If she was out here she wouldn't be hard to find, for on the border there was nothing but bare land. No trees, and no bushes or rocks. If the snow hadn’t buried her she would stand out like a sore thumb. 

She can’t be gone.

She can’t be gone. 

She can’t be gone.

I was beginning to lose hope, nearing the end of the border when Rhys spoke into my mind. 

Kallias and Viviane have not seen her, they’re sending out search parties as we speak.

My fears only heightened at Rhys’ status report, she was out here somewhere and I was most likely already too late.

No she’s not gone.

I told myself as I tugged on the bond one more time to see if there was still that concrete wall there and to my surprise I found a faint hum. The rope between us torn to shreds, I almost felt like if I tugged on it one more time it might disintegrate.  

“I can feel her!” I shout to Azriel over the wind. He shields his eyes from the wind to give me a nod, as he continues to search for her. 

My eyes scan the vast expanse of white below me until I see a small crumpled form, lying in the snow. 

No. 

I don’t think for another moment before tucking in my wings and diving straight for it. As I slam into the icy ground. I rush over to the heap on the ground and my worst fears are confirmed. 

There lies y/n with her back facing me, nothing covering her but a silk robe. Her body littered in bruises and blood pooling all around her. I fall to my knees before her, ignoring the bite of the snow. I pick her up and turn her carefully in my arms. The frost that covers her cheeks isn’t the worst of my concerns as my eyes fall to her stomach. There, nailed to her womb is a note that reads… 

‘WHORE’

I feel a liquid coating my hand and I hold it up to find blood. I spy a bloodblane laced dagger lying in the snow just a foot away. I reach down inside for the bond but I feel it disintegrating before my very eyes. 

“No, no, no Princess wake up!” I cry moving the hair from her frozen face. 

She doesn’t move. 

“Please wake up y/n!” I scream, my tears falling on her face as I try to shake her awake. “COME ON!” I growl. 

A shadow slams into the earth behind me and I feel Az’s presence behind me falling to hitting his knees next to mine. I don’t try to read his face, if he looks at her like she’s dead I don’t know what I’ll do. Instead I focus all my efforts on trying to get those frozen eyelashes to open up for me. 

“Come on baby come back to me,” I grit, pressing a kiss to her forehead. My lips bite at the coldness there. 

“Cass I told Rhys, he’s already home,” Azriel reported, putting a hand on my shoulder. “Give her here,” he began reaching for her.

“No, don't touch her,” I growled, holding her closer to my chest. 

“I can winnow her back faster than you can fly her. You need to trust me Cass or she’s not going to make it,” he pleaded calmly. 

I sigh knowing that my brother is right and that my territorial male bullshit would only kill her. I reluctantly give her to Azriel and it isn’t until he stands with her that I realize how small she looks in his arms. How breakable, and I wonder if I’ll ever see her again. 

“Save her Az, please,” I beg, still on my knees. 

“Hang tight Cass I’ll be right back,” he says winnowing away. 

I’m left with the aftermath, and the roaring wind that’s practically white noise by now. In front of me is the imprint her body left in the snow and ice, as well as crimson colored snow. The knife that lay just a foot away identical to the one that was jabbed into my side just yesterday. I nearly threw up at the idea that she had felt that white hot pain of bloodbane making its way through her blood. 

A few minutes later Az winnowed back and took me with him to the townhouse. We landed in the foyer, and I didn’t hesitate to bound up the steps towards her own room. The door was flung open and Rhysand was already pacing watching Madja do her best work. 

“Is she going to be okay?” I ask, unable to rip my eyes away from her too still form lying on the bed. Her hair is still frozen, lips still blue. 

“We don’t know yet,” Rhys answers in a tone so somber it pulls my attention. His eyes are just as bloodshot as mine and his hair is sticking up all over the place like he had been running his hands through it too much. 

As Majda stitches her wounds and assesses every inch of her, I find myself peeling off some of my leathers. The place was practically a sauna with a roaring fire heating the room and the bedpans littered about her bed. Even Rhys had a bead of sweat dripping from his forehead. It was the only thing that could be done, to warm her up. 

I stared at my mate's unconscious body, and prayed to the Mother that she wouldn’t take her away. Even half frozen, battered and bruised, she was still so beautiful, still the Jewel. Still my princess who I had fallen for all those years ago.

Please Mother, please don’t take her. 

If anything, just let me see her one last time. See her beautiful eyes and kiss her lips. Allow me to hold my mate one last time while her heart is still beating. 

As Madja worked her hands up and down her body she didn’t say a word, didn’t even breathe loudly, as if she was listening for something. Her behavior affected us all, as we stayed completely silent, the only sounds in the room coming from the crackling fire.

So when her shoulders slumped and she sighed, the breath echoed throughout the room. My stomach sank as she turned to us with a somber face. 

“Before she was left out there she was taken by force, that’s where the bruises are from. The wound to the right side was caused by a dagger laced in bloodbane, she was practically mortal when he left her in the snow. And the wound to her lower abdomen? It hit her womb, if she ever wakes up she may never be able to have children,” Madja says sadly. 

“If she wakes up?” I ask quietly, praying I heard wrong. 

Her eyes meet mine and then Rhysand’s, “We’re losing her.” she begins and I swear I feel my knees about to give out. “I can’t access her thoughts or her emotions, but given what she’s been through, it seems she’s lost the will to live.”  

That was it. 

I take the two steps to the edge of her bed and my knees hit the ground as I begin to weep. I slide my hand under the piles of blankets, careful not to disturb them, and take her hand in mine. Gods it’s so cold.  She had always had cold hands, she used to put them under my shirt to warm them up. But this was different, her hands were like ice. She didn’t even feel like her. 

“Maybe if I can look into her mind?” Rhys breathed, the angst ridden in his voice. 

“You are welcome to try my Lord,” Madja said solemnly, like whatever he found wouldn’t be of any use anyways. 

I hear Rhys' footsteps walk around to the other side of the bed and kneel. He places a hand over her head, his palm twitching from the sudden cold that was there. I watched intently as his eyes closed and brows furrowed. As he went deeper and deeper into her mind his face contorted until it began to soften once more, and a single tear fell from his face. 

“What? What is it?” I asked, my voice cracking. 

The High Lord pulled his hand from his sisters face to wipe his stray tear,  “Madja’s right. She’s given up. Her last thought was that she had lost the Autumn Court’s armies and she had lost you too Cassian. After everything that happened, it was all for nothing.” Rhys relayed sadly. 

“But she’s here now, she’s safe, she has to wake up,” I pleaded, squeezing her too cold hand tighter. 

“She doesn’t know that she is here though general,” Madja says calmly, like if she spoke any other way I would rip her to shreds, which was probably true. “She fell under thinking she would never see you again.”

“What can I do? I’ll do anything.” I plead with Madja. Hell I’d trade places with her if I could. Her people needed a princess more than they needed a general.

“I’m afraid there is nothing any of us can do. All we can do is wait and hope she comes back,” Madja says sadly. 

“I want you to take up quarters in the town house for the time being,” Rhys ordered.

“Of course my Lord, I will be checking on her constantly,” Madja nods, collecting her bag full of tonics and bandages.

“Is there anything I can do for you Cass?” Azriel asks, placing a hand on my back. 

“No,” I say solemnly, pressing my forehead to her hand. “Just leave us.” 

Neither one of my brothers protested. The only indication that they had left was the door closing and the silence that had followed. Their muffled voices went down the hall, no doubt to show Madja where she would be staying. I was sure that Rhys would be back to check on his little sister once he was done. 

I lifted my head from where I had it pressed against her hand to see her face again. Her skin was still pale but the frost had melted off her eyelashes and skin. Hickies littered her neck and a faint hand shaped bruise wrapped around her neck.

Gods what had he done to her? 

“Princess I don’t know if you can hear me but you have to open those pretty eyes for me okay?” I pleaded with her. “It wasn’t for nothing baby, I’m here now and I’m not going to let anyone take you away again. You were so strong and so brave but you don’t have to be anymore, you just need to wake up. Just wake up and I’ll take care of you okay?” 

I feel my tears starting to well up. I didn’t just want my girlfriend back, or even my mate. I wanted my best friend back. I thought about what a lonely world it would be without her. 

“We can go back to reading your silly books while I tickle your feet. And you can whoop my ass and drink me under the table when we play Marks again.” I laugh remembering the time I taught her how to play the ridiculous drinking game, it felt like so long ago now.

“You have to come back to me because we have to have the most ridiculous and ornate mating ceremony ever.” I chuckle through my tears picturing how much she would detest the idea of an over the top event. “And you gotta wake up because I wanna make you my wife baby.” 

I feel the lump in my throat form, remembering the brass ring I had left on my nightstand from this morning. I had almost wished that I had felt the same sadness I felt then now. For nothing could compare to the agony of the mating bond slipping out of my hands like sand falling through an hourglass. 

“But we can’t do any of those things until you wake up honey, so you gotta open your eyes for me okay?” I say trying to smile. 

Her eyes don’t open, I’m not even sure if her chest rises and falls to breathe.

“Please y/n wake up! Please don’t leave me, I can’t live without you.” I plead, my tears falling faster than ever now. 

 I let out a groan as I press my forehead to her little hand again. My chest caving in as I find the skin there still cold.  Fuck it, if she can’t hear me than I’ll beg to the gods who might. 

“Please don’t take her from me. Please don’t take her from me.  Please don’t take her from me…”

Rhysand’s pov: 

After I show Madja where she can set her things and take a load off, I slump into an armchair in my room and run my hands through my hair. For the first time today, I’m finally hit by the weight of what the past two hours have been.  

The images of what I saw when I reached into y/n’s mind were enough to make me shudder. I was so blind to her pain. So focused on my own mate, and my own trauma, I forgot that she went under that mountain with me. And what’s worse is that she felt like she owed me an army for saving her. I almost regret going so far back into her memories that I saw it all. The things Eris did to her, the way he spoke to her. The conflict she felt. 

But then there were moments of immense happiness. Each one of them featured Cassian in one way or another. Images of him lacing up her dresses and placing a kiss on her shoulder when he was done. Her laughing in the early hours of morning with him. I had never seen my brother smile so big or love so much. 

Oh gods Cassian. 

I thought to myself, remembering the look on his face when he saw her lying prone on that bed. His agony that practically filled and infected everything in the room. He needed me, and I needed to see my little sister. 

My tired body creaks as I stand from the chair with a groan, making my way next door to y/n’s room. The same one I used to sneak her out of when we were kids. Sometimes I miss those days and how simple everything was. 

I opened the door slowly to not disturb Cassian. The light from behind me illuminated the mostly dark room. The only other light source was the fire. Cassain was right where I left him, kneeling on by the edge of the bed, stroking her hair whispering sweet nothings to her that I couldn’t hear. 

I make my way inside and close the door to keep in the heat as I sit on the opposite side of the bed. It isn’t until the bed dips under my weight that Cassian’s eyes meet mine. In all the years I’ve known him I had never seen him this way. His eyes were bloodshot and weepy, and the bags under his eyes prevalent. It reminded me of when I thought Feyre had died under the mountain, and I supposed that made sense given this was the same thing.  

“Has she?” I asked, wondering if she had shown any signs of life. 

“No,” was the only answer the general could give me. 

My eyes fell to my sister once more, unable to take the sorrow that came from Cassian’s stare. The frost that once covered her face was now melted, and her lips were no longer blue. However, pink had not yet tinted her cheeks and I wondered if it ever would again. It raised the question, how could I have prevented her from meeting this fate, and prevented Cassain from having to feel this pain. I was the most powerful High Lord in History, but right now I had never felt so small. 

“Why didn’t you tell me she was your mate?” the question spilled out of me. “If I had known I would’ve stopped the wedding immediately.” 

Cassian lifted his head from where it was pressed against her hand and looked at me again, “For the same reason your mate is still in the Spring Court. She deserved to have a choice.” he said to me, and though his words held no anger, no resentment, they were a punch to the gut. 

“I’m a terrible brother,” I admit, my eyes falling to her. 

“No you’re not. She did what she did because you are a good brother. She wanted to help you in any way she could, at any cost.  That’s how much she loves you.” Cassian spoke, his voice quiet and even toned. “But things might’ve been different if you two hadn’t distanced yourselves when you got back from under the mountain. Whatever you guys saw down there? Whatever happened? You need to face it together, Rhys. If she wakes up, you need to be as close as you once were.” 

Gods, for a general my brother had a way with words. He was right about all of it. I had distanced myself from her after we came back. Thinking that I could spare her from the pain I felt, but I had forgotten that she had gone under that mountain with me. She had demons to battle as well, and I left her to fight them alone. 

“She will wake up Cass,” was all I could say. “She has to, because I have to make things right.”

y/n’s pov: 

Waking up was slow. 

First all I could hear was the crackling of a fire and slow steady breaths. Then I smelled the familiar scent of night blooming jasmine laced with cedar. Next was the immeasurable warmth that fanned my face, and last was the feeling of a strong calloused hand holding my own.

I squeezed that hand ever so slightly before finally opening my eyes. I looked up at the familiar ceiling of my childhood bedroom, the constellations that had been painstakingly painted there. To my left a roaring fire and to my right… Cassian. Kneeling at the edge of the bed his forehead pressed to my hand. His breaths rising and falling slowly, the way they always did when he was asleep. 

“Cass,” I rasped out, my voice still uneasy. 

His head flew up and his eyes were on me in an instant. I loosed a sob at finding that familiar hazel staring back at me. The face I thought I would never see before. 

“Oh my god baby,” he smiled, pressing his lips to my forehead. “You came back to me, thank the Mother.” 

“Cassian, I'm so sorry. I should’ve listened to you.  You were right about everything and I should’ve stayed and-” I began to ramble through  my tears. 

“Shhh, shhh,” he cooed, brushing a tear from my eye as a few of his own fell. “Don’t worry  about that now. You’re safe, no one’s going to hurt you know” 

The bond tugged at his promise and I was reminded of the blessing I had been given, “You’re my mate,” I smiled pressing a hand to his face. He winced at the cold but then laid one of his own hands over it, bringing it down to his lips to press a kiss to my palm. 

“Yeah I am,” he laughs. “And you’re mine.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked him as he continued pressing kisses into the palm of my hand. 

“You were already dealing with so much y/n,”  he said softly. “I couldn’t make things even more complicated or try to control your choices. Not when this alliance was the first thing you ever got to choose for yourself. But I should’ve told you and I’m so sorry.”

“Shhhh,” I soothed him like he had me moments ago. “We both made mistakes Cass, but none of that matters now that we’re together again.” 

“You’re right,” he smiled, kissing my forehead.

“The only thing we need to worry about now is Eris and whatever he does next,” I say, rubbing his cheek with my thumb, the stubble there telling me he hadn’t shaved in a while. 

His eyes hardened as he pulled my hand from his cheek, grasping it in both of his hands as if he was praying, “If he comes back for you y/n I will fucking kill him. I swear to the Gods I will invoke the blood duel-”

“You will do nothing of the sort Cassian. I just got you back. I won’t lose you again.” I say firmly. 

“Are you doubting your general?” He gave me a cocky smile.

“No, but I don’t trust Eris to play fair. If he comes back Rhys will deal with him.” I assure him.

“As your mate I have the right to defend you,” he reminds me. 

“You’re right, you do. But if we don’t handle things just right Eris could declare war on us. I won’t let my people be attacked by Hybern and the Autumn Court.” I explained to him. 

Cassain nodded. I could sense the disappointment in him, and I didn’t blame him for feeling that way. I would’ve paid good money to watch him kill Eris. It was scary enough when someone hurt another male's mate. Especially when the affected male is The Lord of Bloodshed. 

“And Cass?” I asked. 

“Yes?”

“You were wrong before, about my choices. The first thing I ever got to choose for myself wasn’t Eris, Cassian. It was you.” I smile looking at the best decision I had ever made. I would never come to regret asking him to kiss me after that ball. Not when it had brought me his love. The best thing I never knew I needed. 

Cassain smiled and then let out a hearty chuckle, as if he had finally realized that I was back, and we were together again, and we would be together until The Mother called us home. 

To be continued…

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[pit-and-the-pen]

I’ll Crawl Home to Her- Prologue

A/N: Prologue for a reader x Azriel fic I've started writing. The events from under the mountain are told from the readers' perspective. There is some dialogue from the actual book so all of that, and the characters of course, belong to Sarah J. Maas.

Quick Flip to Azriel's POV somewhere in the middle because I wanted to.

Warnings: Cannon Typical Violence.

Word Count: ~4k

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist for this series! I'm already working on the next part and have the rest of the series planned out!

Forty nine years. Forty nine years away from my court, from my friends. The only thing that has let me keep a semblance of my sanity was that I was here with my brother. Rhys. As selfish as it was, knowing he was here helped me from going out of my gods damned mind. 

I laid in the room I had been assigned, bandages wrapped around my chest covering the latest punishment from Amarantha for my backtalk. She had made some vile comment about Rhys and when apparently threatening to rip her tongue out and nail it to the wall had not been the right thing to say to her. Wincing as I rolled over onto my side, I would do it over again just to know that I got under her skin. There were very few ways to have any semblance of fun here and antagonizing that bitch, much to Rhys horror, was worth every cut and bruise I had received. 

A knock on my door interrupted my thoughts. All I could do was weakly call out for them to come in, anyone that bothered to knock was most likely safe. I pushed myself up into a sitting position and was met with Rhys’ violet eyes staring at me. 

“I thought we talked about this.” He all but growled at me. I shrugged, biting down the pain that flashed through me. 

“You should see the other guy.” Trying and failing at keeping the shake out of my voice. That earned me his signature glare. 

“Try that again when you can sit up on your own.” He sighed, walking over to the edge of my bed. He put his head in his hands. “You can’t keep doing this. She’s going to kill you one day over some stupid comment.” I had never heard him this scared before. Guilt sunk like a stone in my heart.

“I’ll try to be better. It’s just so hard when I hear her talk about you like that,” I sighed heavily, regretting it at the ache in my lungs. “She can do whatever she wants to me. But you. At least I can pretend I can protect you from her.” We both know that was the furthest from the truth. If she didn’t have the tendency to call for Rhys longer when I spoke back, I would fight back more. But I refuse to allow my brother to suffer more because I can’t control my temper.

We both just sat in silence. I could feel my back desperately fighting to heal itself. It would still be a few days until it healed fully with the bits of my powers Amarantha had stolen. But anything felt better at this point and it was enough for me to finally let my shoulders sag. 

Rhys stayed until I started to doze off. The adrenaline had finally worn off and I felt the tiredness in my bones. He pressed a small kiss to the top of my head as I curled up in the middle of the bed. I let my eyes flutter closed and drifted off to dreams of anywhere but where I was. 

✦✦✦

A gasp left my lips as the attor dumped the poor girl onto the floor before the dais. Still wearing a thin nightgown she must have fallen asleep in. 

“Bring him in.” Amarantha called wicked delight practically dancing around in the throne room. I felt the faint pressure of Rhys’ hand against my arm as they dragged Tamlin into the room kicking and screaming. As soon as I felt it the touch was gone. 

When he was situated beside the red head, she asked, “Is this her?” Tamlin froze as he surveyed the shaking figure in front of him. His shouts died in his throat and he didn’t respond to her question. At the lack of an answer she repeated the question to my brother. 

“Yes.” 

That was all it took for Amarantha to lash out her powers. My ears rang as the girl in front of us started to scream. Rhys’ whole body went tense besides me. The all too familiar feeling of his power pulsed around us and I didn’t even what to think about the torture she was being put through. Rhys’ powers in his own hands could be deadly but in hers they became something far worse. 

I tried to hold back the bile that raised in my throat. Tamlin didn’t so much as flinch, keeping that firm mask but there was something. Just a small tick in his right eye that hit me like a ton of bricks. Whoever this female was, this wasn’t the girl Rhys had seen in the spring court. Anger surged through me. Of course, a random human life wouldn’t be enough to get a reaction out of the High Lord. I wasn’t entirely sure how he would have reacted if it even was her. Maybe I was expecting just a glint of those claws, itching to sink them into the soft flesh of Amarantha, but he stood fae still. The rise and fall of his chest was the only indication he was anything more than a statue. 

The hours dragged on. If this went on any longer I knew I was going to puke, I already knew the moment I moved again it would happen. Slowly, the screams started to ebb and I knew Amarantha was reaching the end of whatever fun she was pulling from this. With the lack of reaction from Tamlin, I knew she was growing bored. I released a breath I didn’t even realize I was holding the moment the girl, Clare, had finally stopped screaming. My head was pounding at the tension in my shoulders. And I could feel the slow healing wounds in my back roaring in pain. 

“You’re all dismissed.” Amarantha called plainly. I didn’t need to be told twice. It took all my restraint to not run from the throne room. I felt Rhys walk behind me, stopping ahead of me as I paused behind a pillar. He didn’t look at me as I rose, just handing me a handkerchief as I went to wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. I muttered my small thanks as I took it from him. 

“Are you…” 

“Don’t even finish that sentence.” I groaned at him. I closed my eyes but quickly opened them when I realized that I could still see her sitting there on that dais, still smelling the coppery tang of her blood in the room. My stomach curled again but I swallowed the feeling down. 

“It’s over. Our one chance is gone.” Rhys said plainly. My eyes darted around at his bold words. It’s one thing to talk about this in private, in our minds where no one else could hear us. But in the halls, with everyone vying for the chance to earn Amarnatha’s favor. It was as good as a declaration of treason. He said nothing else as he started walking again and I was never so thankful to not hear my brother's voice 

✦✦✦

I had never felt horror like this in all my years under the mountain. My eyes grew to the size of saucers as I heard her speak those daming words, “I’ve come to claim Tamlin, High Lord of the Spring  Court.” 

My head snapped to Rhys, the horror frozen on his own face told me everything I needed to know. Panic surged through me. Selfishly not for the human in front of me but for my brother. She would not allow the action of lying to him to go unpunished. I reached out for his mind but he pushed me out so violently I almost gasped. 

My mind was racing so much that I missed most of the exchange that was happening in front of me. I caught bits and pieces but I couldn’t string together a coherent thought let alone try to follow along with Amarantha’s scheming. 

My heart was beating out of its chest as I caught up with the turn this conversation had taken. A riddle. You solve the riddle, and his curse will be broken. Instantaneously. I won’t even need to lift my finger and he’ll be free. 

I flinched when I heard her voice ring loud and clear in the room. “Give her a greeting worthy of my hall.” My hand went to hold back Rhys as we both heard the sickening crunch of bones echo in the silent room. 

✦✦✦

If I could have kissed Feyre on the mouth, I would have. As it was, I had to hold back the laughs that threatened to rack through my body as Amarantha stood stock- still in front of her. The bone Feyre had thrown at her feet sticking straight out of the ground. Pride racked through my chest because I knew if I was in her shoes I would have done the same thing. Except I wouldn’t have missed. Maybe if we managed to survive all of this, I would offer her training. I shook my head at the ridiculous thought. I knew that if she survived this, I would never see her again. I spoke into my brother's mind but he seemed far away when I risked a glance over to him. In perfect form, Feyre held Amarantha’s stare before she turned on her heel and walked out of the throne room. For the first time in a long time, I felt a kernel of hope. 

✦✦✦

Rhys had officially lost his damn mind. He must have. That was the only explanation for the sight currently in front of me. Feyre dressed in black glossimer, a dress that would have made me blush to wear. But it wasn’t the dress that held my attention, it was the swirling blue-black mark that now rested on her hand. A bargain. What had Rhys promised her in exchange for the position she was in currently. I started to walk over to my brother, having half a mind to pull him from the room by his ear and cursing him out for bringing her into this viper den before I saw her freeze in front of Tamlin. Much to credit, she didn’t let her chin dip once during Rhys’ and Amarantha’s exchange. I truly questioned both of their sanity before I heard Amarantha dismissing the two. I didn’t want to think how much this little stunt would cost Rhys in the long run. The pair slinked to the back of the room, everyone's eyes trailing over them. Watching to see what Rhys was up to. He handed her a goblet and after a few moments of what looked like a very heated discussion, Feyre downed the cup of faerie wine. 

Shit really hit the fan after her third glass. I watched the pink flood her cheeks and her eyes glass over. Rhys pulled her onto the dance floor and I decided I had enough. I walked out of the room. Refusing to watch her body move against my brothers. Realistically, I knew what state she had been in when she walked out of that last challenge. I knew what my brother had offered in return for her actions right now. And I knew from the way that the smirk didn’t reach his eyes that he was not enjoying himself at this moment. For whatever reason, he was protecting her from the consequences of healing her. 

Eventually, I heard the music from the night fading away and I knew that the party must be over. It would be another few hours before Rhys would slink into my room to lick his wounds. When he did show up, the berating words I had planned died in my throat. It could wait for later I decided as he sat down in the center of my bed. I never spoke first. I let him decompress as he needed to. Sometimes we would never say a single word and I was perfectly content to just let him sit in the room with me. I had long given up on reading books here. But he was sitting in my room, the sound of the crackling fire filling the quiet space. If  I closed my eyes hard enough, I could pretend we were both back in Velaris. The rest of our family loudly argued over some trivial joke. My mind wandered to what they were doing at this moment. 

✦✦✦ Azriel POV

Azriel still doesn’t know how he has lasted this long. Mor and Cassian sit with him, the silence that has lingered around the townhouse for the last 48 years sits even heavier today. Heavier because Mor had said Rhys’ name, had said your name. And he felt the hole in his chest stretch just a little further, ripping itself open again. He had long stopped trying to listen for the all too familiar voice in his head, a power you and your brother both shared. But he couldn’t help it as the pair next to him were talking once again about a plan to get the two of you back home. 

If he let himself think about it too much it was going to tear him apart. The terrified part of him that would spiral if he thought about how he might never get to hear your voice again. How he would never get to see Rhys smile. He longed for those stupid fights they would get into more than anything in the world right now. 

Azriel will never forgive himself for telling her where her brother was heading that day. What use was the spymaster when he couldn’t see that stoney determination on her face as she turned and walked away from the too?. He should have known from that one look what she was planning to do but he and Cas had both been called away later that day on separate missions. He didn’t even get to say goodbye to either of them. What hurt the most was the simple message he received later that day from Rhys. Don’t come after us, stay in Velaris. The reminder that if all of the inner circle left Velaris’ centuries-old protections would be lost was the only thing that kept any of them put. It didn’t stop the hope that there was a way out of this but as the years dragged on it was hard to think of new ways. 

As Azriel started to tune the now fighting pair around him out, he felt his shadows swirling around him. Letting the turmoil that was his mind show to his family. He nearly jumped out of his skin when Cassian placed a firm hand on his shoulder but knew better than to try to say any words of comfort, they had all been long spoken and neither of them believed them anymore. 

✦✦✦

Days passed, and every night Rhys would parade Feyre around the throne room for everyone to gawk at. And every night I would tuck away in the corner until I could sneak out early. 

The second challenge came and went. Feyre getting one step closer to breaking this curse. I kept the kernel of hope tight to my chest, refusing to truly accept it until it happened. Maybe not even then. I found myself dreaming more and more about life in Velaris once we got out from under the mountain. Hope wasn’t supposed to survive down here but in spite of myself, I trusted this human girl to be the thing to save all of us. It was an unfair burden to place on her shoulders. 

The night of the final task snuck up on all of us. Everyone was called to the throne room as usual but something was different. This was it. Feyre would either survive and it would all be over, or she would fail and it would be over anyways. Rhys and I had spent the night in silence, the only sound was me sobbing. I didn’t know whether it was out of fear or relief. 

Feyre was marched out, flanked on either side by attors. As if she would try to run now. 

“Two trials lie behind you,” Amarantha let her voice ring around the room. The room was so silent you could hear a pin drop. “And only one more awaits. I wonder if it will be worse to fail now- when you were so close.” I tried to steady my ragged breaths. I caught eyes with Rhys and saw my own horror reflected in those violet eyes. 

“I love you. No matter what she says about it, no matter if it’s only with my insignificant human heart. Even when they burn my body. I’ll love you.” And from her words, I knew she meant it. Somehow this brave, selfless girl managed to fall in love with Tamlin. The cruel words I once screamed at him flickered into my mind. The person who ever truly loves you will be the most miserable person to ever exist. I meant it but looking at Feyre, I know that could never extend to her. Not after all of this, not if she managed to pull this off. 

Tamlin didn’t respond to her declaration of love and I realized how angry I was for this girl. He couldn’t break that mask enough to say it back to her. She was looking death square in the face for him and he didn’t have the decency to say a word back. 

Movement in the corner of the room caught my eye and my eyes went wide as three faeries with bags covering their heads were marched in. My stomach lurched when I saw that ash dagger brought in behind them. She was going to have to kill them. A life for a life. When I looked back at Feyre, she looked truly horrified. Horrified at Amarantha’s reminder that they were all innocent. 

Slow as a fae, Feyre took a step on shaking legs in front of the first figure. I saw the tremor in her hand as she reached for the dagger. Her skin turned a ghostly white as the hood was ripped off of the male in front of her. I closed my eyes, turning my head away. I couldn’t watch, couldn’t listen to the pleas of the male in front of Feyre nor the members of his court as they now recognized him. I heard a loud sob from Feyre and the sickening crunch of something cracking through bone and I knew she had done it. Tears ran down my face. I had killed people before but doing it in this setting, for this reason. I could only imagine how much this would cost her. 

I couldn’t turn to look for the second death. I only muttered along with the desperate prayer I heard her whisper. Let me fear no evil. Let me feel no pain. Let me enter eternity. The most sacred prayer to our people. I fought the urge to reach out with what little of my power was left in my body to turn her pain off. To take her mind away from the death that was looming right in front of her but I couldn’t reach out. It was like my power was stuck in my body. Coward. It screamed at me when I reached for it again. When I heard the splatter of blood, I knew it was too late. One more. 

The words that were spoken by Feyre were enough for me to snap my eyes open. “Not…Not fair.” She choked out. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Rhys blanche. I felt like my own air had been ripped from my lungs as she just stared at Tamlin. She paused over the ash dagger. Freezing. I could see the gears turning in her head as she tried to find any way out of this. The whole room seemed to be holding their breath as she stood silent and still. 

I heard Tamlin suck in a breath as Feyre went to reach for that last dagger. Her whispering “I love you” was enough to bring more tears to my eyes and I couldn’t find it in myself to look away as she plunged the ash weapon into the center of his chest. 

Tamlin cried out in pain and I heard the clatter of metal against the floor of the room. It was as if an earthquake cracked through the room. When I looked at the dagger, I saw the bent tip. A heart of stone. The words pulled themselves from some deep part of my mind. The final part of the curse that Amarantha wouldn’t have known about. Something even I had forgotten about until it was staring me in the face. Feyre must have figured it out.

“She won. Free them” I couldn’t stop the words as they tumbled out of my mouth. And my heart threatened to completely stop as she turned to face me.

“I’ll free them whenever I see fit.” 

Feyre seemed frozen to her spot when Amarantha turned back to her. You. I’m going to kill you. I didn’t stop the scream as I heard her bones crack. Time seemed to freeze around us as I was stuck, unable to look away and unable to move. I vaguely heard Rhys scream Feyre’s name over and over. Couldn’t process his movements as he went to collect the ash dagger and lunged at Amarantha himself. He went flying against the wall was what broke me from whatever had paralyzed me. I was over by his side before I even knew I was moving. I tensed my whole body, ready to protect Rhys with my life as she screeched at him, at Feyre. 

Feyre was dying. I could sense it in the air. Could feel her fading away. The world seemed to completely freeze as she whispered. Love. The answer to your riddle is love. Her final words before the sickening sound of her spine snapping filled the room. 

All hel broke loose in the throne room. The masks of spring court citizens fell to the ground and I felt my long- missing power flow back into my body. I stared down at my hands in disbelief. I could barely hear the cries of Amarantha as she pleaded for her life. I didn’t spare her another glance. She would be someone else's problem. I rushed over to the girls' side. Ignoring Lucien and the other High Lords that started to surround her. Each opened their palm to drop a small glittering substance onto Feyre. One by one, the high lords all repeated the action. Rhys placed a hand on my shoulder as he did the same. Tamlin was last. And we all held perfectly still as we stared down at the broken girl in front of us. When I looked up at Rhys the pain in his face was enough to make me start crying again. 

Feyre gasped as she sat up, blinking heavily. She looked down at her arms and I saw the realization crash over her face. High Fae. The points of her ears and slight shimmer of her skin would make it impossible to deny. That was all I needed to see. I pulled my brother into my arms and rushed us out of the room. I hugged my brother for the first time in as long as I could remember. I crushed him as tight as my arms would allow me. I sobbed as I realized what this meant for us. I reached out my powers. They practically purred as I was finally able to use them again. I reached into the minds of my family for the first time in almost fifty years. 

We’re coming home.

#azriel acotar #acotar #acomaf #acosf #acowar #rhysand #feyre archeron #cassian #azriel fluff #azriel spymaster #azriel #azriel angst #acotar fanfiction #acotar series #acotar x reader #sarah j maas

[lucienarcheron]

This Time, I'm Ready [ Elucien ]

Inspired by Long Story Short by TS. I was listening to it randomly and a scene of Elain started playing out in my head. Recommend listening to it while reading :)

Shout out to @ruhnnlidias for always being my beta reader ♥️

Rating: SFW Genre: Little angst/fluff

Tagging: @helion-ism | @zenkindoflove | @crazy-ache | @danaanruhn | @eudaimonia83 | @vanserrass | @elizascarlets | @climb-the-mountian

As she stood in the woods and took in her surroundings, Elain realized she had made a tragic mistake leaving the Spring Court alone.

Darkness was setting and she had no idea where she was or how she’d even be found. 

All she knew was that she had needed out of the Night Court. She had needed to get away. Even at the risk of her own safety. 

Because she was sick of it. Sick of doing nothing. Sick of being nothing.

Sick of the coddling. Coddling she had played a huge part in allowing. 

Because comfort had always been more important than worrying. Comfort had been more important than facing everything that had been taken from her. But at what cost? 

At what cost?

Elain whirled around at the sounds of twigs snapping behind her and that familiar sense of self-loathing she had developed in the last two years threatened to explode in her chest. 

She was an idiot. An absolute imbecile for thinking she could do this on her own.

But it was too late to change courses now.

Elain’s bottom lip trembled as her eyes darted around her. The fae eyesight she’d resented for so long didn’t fail her now as she took in the details of the tall trees. Her vision — that stupid vision was what had spurred her to make this move. A vision that promised the sun and flowers blooming, coming from a manor she had once planned to call home before it was ripped away from her and her dreams became shrouded in darkness.

And Elain had been desperate for the sun for two years. 

So she had fortified her mind, blocked it the way she knew how so they wouldn’t sense her lie, and had convinced Rhys that she needed to go to the Spring Court. She had nearly begged, demanding they respect her vision and though Feyre had been hesitant, her sister knew she couldn't stop her. 

And Mor had winnowed her in, waiting patiently with her as she explored, as they avoided the beast that still roamed while she tried to piece things together. Her vision was important, they had to inspect what it meant…even if she hadn’t told them what her vision had been about.

Or rather, who.

But the person she had been looking for hadn’t been there as she had predicted. Mor had only given her a sympathetic look that had Elain clenching her jaw and said, “We’ll wait until morning to see if anything else can be found.” 

Elain didn’t want to wait until morning and Mor hadn’t noticed the satchel she had hidden beneath her cloak. Though she wasn’t too surprised. No one really noticed anything about her. People only saw what they wanted to see when it came to her. 

And maybe Elain should feel guilty about the panic she would likely cause Mor, even with the note she left behind, but she knew she needed to find him alone. Elain needed to make sure he was alright and for once, didn’t want an audience.

Because telling them what she saw meant they’d get involved. And for once, Elain needed them all to mind their business. 

Her hand tightened around the hilt of the dagger she’d stolen from the ridiculous amount stashed in her sister’s home and Elain hated the feeling of it, hated having to hold it, and hated the idea of having to potentially use it. 

Stabbing one person had been enough for her in this lifetime.

Turning her body, she tried to gauge where exactly she was. She had been careful to ask careless questions, to pretend to stare at the map of the location with as much boredom as she could muster all those times they'd bothered to include her in things. Which wasn’t often, but Elain had tried.

And now, she was trying to find… Lucien. 

A shudder went through her body at the thought of his name. The mate she had been ignoring.

The sun she was seeking, that she had blatantly pretended wasn’t there. Because he could be hurt and the thought of not hearing his heartbeat made her sick. 

She hadn’t been ready before. 

This time, she was.

Ready to run certainly, at the sound of another twig snapping. If only there weren’t predators that were ecstatic at the opportunity to chase their prey — and Elain had forgotten just how many predators were out there. How easy prey she was at the moment. 

Alone. Vulnerable. Breathing so loudly she was positive they could hear her back in Velaris. 

Elain took a deep, shaky breath and exhaled it quietly. Licking her lips, she did the one thing she hadn’t expected herself to do. She called out to her mate.

Lucien?

She called out silently, licking her lips as she tested the waters of the mating bond she’d been shackled with. A mating bond that, try as she might, was never as dormant as she let the others believe. She heard his heartbeat all the time. Felt emotions flicker from him. Saw hazy memories. 

Elain bit her lip, and slowly as she moved forward, the panic began tingling through her body. Why would he be listening? It wasn’t like she’d called out to him before. It wasn’t like she had ever been particularly kind to him. 

Elain, who was kind to everyone. She was nice. Took out all her rage at the one person who didn’t really deserve it. But gods, being nice was exhausting when she hated everything about herself. He sensed how she felt. He saw too much. Just as she saw and felt too much of him. 

In that stupid vision, she saw him coming for her. And he was whole and healthy. She had felt relieved at the sight of him. 

She only left to find that relief. 

But all she was finding was panic.

“Lucien?” she whispered and then shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut. She was so stupid. How would he even hear her out here? Elain had no idea where she was or if she was on the right path.

All she had ever been useful for was being beautiful and nice. Maybe her mother had been right all along; she didn’t need to know how to use her brain when she had that face. Thinking she’d be good enough to try and venture out on her own had been so foolish of her.

No wonder no one included her in anything. She wasn’t smart. She wasn’t brave. She wasn’t useful. Elain was just there, a mistake, a sad sight no one even saw or paid attention to. 

Her hand flew to her mouth to hold in the sob threatening to escape. She had been so stupid to come out here. 

Another branch cracked and she whirled again at the sound, scanning the area around her. She couldn’t have ventured too far from the Spring Court. She had to still be close, right? 

But as she took a step, Elain felt a chill run down her spine that had her freezing in place.

She swallowed and then whispered into the trees, “Lucien?”

Elain was afraid to close her eyes to seek him out, to travel without moving as she had done once before. She bit her trembling lip and looked for that thread that he had tested out with her so long ago. She looked for that thread around her ribs and tugged. 

He had to find her. 

He had to be listening. Or at least she hoped. 

Her face fell as the feeling of unease flooded her senses. Why would he be listening? He certainly wasn’t obligated to give her any of his time. Just like she hadn’t been obligated to give him anything.

Except for a conversation. Maybe they could’ve been friends. Maybe more. Maybe less. 

Taking a shaky breath, Elain shook her head. She needed to focus. She needed to find him. Closing her eyes and letting her senses take over, letting that power she kept to herself surface as she looked for him. She traveled while standing, searching, rooting for him. She looked and tugged at that bond, she searched with a desperation she’d never, in all her years felt.

He needed to find her. He needed to be okay. 

And she needed to get out of this quickly darkening forest. 

There.

She saw him, seated at a desk alongside the Mad General she had only met once long ago, and felt herself tremble at the sight of him. She watched him suddenly straighten as if sensing her.

“Lucien.” she whispered and Elain wasn’t sure if she was saying it in her mind or out in the open air but he seemed to hear her. 

For Lucien shot out of his seat and Elain watched his eyes widen, scanning the room. “Elain?” 

“I’m in the forest outside of the Spring Court. I came looking for you but you weren’t there. I’m lost and I want you to find me.” she blurted quickly, fighting back a sob. “Please find me.”

“Elain —” was all she heard from him, his voice echoing the panic that was close to seizing her and before she could say anything else, she was ripped out of her connection.

Elain stumbled forward and whirled around quickly to find a creature of nightmares snarling a few feet away from her. 

The creature stood alone, covered in dark scales with powerful arms that ended in claws she knew would slice anyone into ribbons.

Elain could only stand in horror, staring at the creature that gave her a bone-chilling smile. 

She hadn’t seen this in her vision. 

“Pretty, pretty pet.” it rasped, its claws clicking together as it stalked towards her. “You smell so divine. I’m going to eat you right up.”

“N-no, thank you,” she whispered and the creature blinked at her and then chuckled in a way that made the hair on her arms raise.

“Ah, well. That’s not what I want to hear.”

And the air between them stilled. The predator and prey as Elain stared down the creature. She had come seeking her mate and instead, found herself alone and vulnerable, about to be eaten alive.

Is this what she would amount to? She had stabbed the King of Hybern once long ago. She could not die here, without facing her demons. She had seen what her life could look like and Elain had finally decided to do something about it. Her grip tightened on her blade and she swallowed hard as the creature tilted its head mockingly at her. 

Elain let herself take a deep calming breath then without warning, broke out into a run. Birds fluttered from the trees above her as she ran back, not away to – from – from the Spring Court? She wasn’t sure and the panic she had been trying to suppress bubbled back up to the surface as the sound of the creature stalking her followed.

“Find me. Find me. Find me.” she chanted desperately, a sob slipping from her lips as she rounded a corner, following a light that had to be the earlier path she had followed. The light had to lead back to safety.

But as she ran, her cloak caught on a branch and with a yelp, she fell. Quickly rolling over, she swallowed a scream as the creature hovered over her, closer than she had expected and nearly gagged at its foul breath. Grabbing her by the ankle, it dragged Elain closer and she could only stare in horror, frozen in place.

“I’m going to pick you apart piece by pretty piece.” it hissed.

With a desperate scream, she finally kicked it with her free leg and scrambled away but it grabbed her again and Elain fell once more, the dagger slipping from her hand.

“Let - go - of - me!” she shriek-sobbed, her hand desperately seeking the hilt of that dagger.

“Pretty pet has some claws.” The creature rasped once more as it yanked Elain forward, leaning over her and Elain tried not to gag again at its foul breath, her hand still seeking the dagger. “Lost little lamb with no one here to save her. Left to be gobbled up.” 

Her hand faltered for a breath. 

No one here to save her.

Would she always be this way? Always waiting to be saved? Always the victim? Never knowing how to defend herself? 

She had no desire to be a warrior but Elain was sick of being the prey. 

Anger she hadn’t felt in a long while flared in her chest as her fingers finally wrapped around the hilt of the dagger and with a cry, she forced himself forward and shoved the dagger into the creature’s throat and held. She let out a scream of rage, fighting the urge to vomit when it’s black blood sprayed across her face. But Elain held and held tight, even as her hands shook until the gurgling sounds stopped and the creature slumped over her.

Elain let herself lay there, breathing heavily as her body started to shake. She was okay. She was fine. She had been attacked by a horrible creature and had survived. She was alive. 

She would be —

The sound of running had the breath choked out of her. She couldn’t do this again — she couldn’t take another one. 

But Elain couldn’t move. Her body wouldn’t budge and as tears started to spill, she bit back another sob, trying with all her might to move the dead weight off her. Never mind, its blood was on her hands and dress and face – never mind that she was likely to be crushed beneath its weight if she didn’t move.

Panic seized her fully as she tried to scramble up, the footsteps coming closer. She could pretend to be dead. She could —

A violent snarl echoed through the forest as the dead creature was ripped off her and Elain nearly shrieked once more until she saw who stood above her.

“Elain.”

Elain’s eyes widened as Lucien fell to his knees next to her, breathing as hard as she was. He started at her and the sheer amount of relief that washed over her made her lips start to tremble. 

“Lucien.”

She watched as a slight shudder went through him at the sound of his name from her lips and her body trembled as she stared and stared and stared. He had come.

“Elain. Thank fuck, you’re – you’re alright,” he asked and his hands hovered over her for a moment, as if forgetting that they hadn’t touched casually before – as if remembering then, it would be the first time in over two years. She watched as he swallowed hard, his chest rising and falling before slowly, Lucien held out a hand to help her sit up and Elain dropped her gaze to his open palm. “Are you hurt? Can you sit up?”

She blinked, hoping the tremors coursing through her body would stop as she stared back up at him. 

“You — you came.” was all she could think to say, staring at him as she slid her shaky hands in his and slowly sat up, her eyes never leaving him, devouring the sight of him. 

“Of course, I came,” he said quietly. “You – you called.”

Tears welled up in her eyes at the words but she blinked them back and swallowed hard, trying to find the right words to say. He had come. He had listened.

“You found me,” she whispered, squeezing his hands and Lucien’s gaze softened. 

He swallowed before carefully answering, “As long as you want me to find you...the bond will remain a thread between us.” he said quietly and squeezed her hands in return. “I’ll always find you.”

Her raging heart seemed to beat faster and Elain finally took a moment to run her gaze over his body. He was still in the tunic and trousers she had seen him in except now a sword was strapped to his back – a sword he hadn’t even bothered to use when he pulled the creature off her.

Her mate had used his bare hands to save her. And he was safe and whole, not a scratch to be found on him. 

Elain met his gaze, finding him patiently watching her, his brows furrowed in concern, and suddenly remembered how she was covered in filth and flushed deeply, pulling her hands back to her lap.

The corner of his mouth twitched as he glanced down at his now empty palms and let them fall to his sides. “You want to tell me how you got here?”

“I – I had a vision.”

“Ah.”

“It was about you,” she whispered and his expression turned curious. “Something bad happened to you.”

Lucien seemed to be fighting to keep his expression carefully clear. “And that…worried you?”

Elain’s flush deepened and she swallowed before whispering, “Yes.”

The air between them seemed to go taut but Elain refused to break his gaze as a slight color bloomed on Lucien’s face.

This energy between them wasn’t like what Feyre and Rhys had. Or even what Nesta and Cassian had. This…this felt different. 

The bond between them seemed to hold its breath until Lucien cleared his throat and finally said, so softly, in the way he always seemed to speak to her, “I’m sorry to have caused you all this trouble.” 

Elain blinked and couldn’t help the huff of a small laugh that slipped from her lips, fisting her hands in her lap. “If anything, I’m the one to apologize for causing you trouble,” she said and bit her lip. “I dragged you all the way out here.”

Lucien chuckled and Elain felt it skate across her filthy skin. “You did give me quite the heart attack,” he said and the corner of his mouth curled up at her flush. “I thought I was hallucinating for a minute.” 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered and couldn’t look away from him, trying to blink back the embarrassed tears welling in her eyes. “I didn’t mean to – I just – “

Lucien shook his head then gently and so carefully, reached for her hand. “You have nothing to apologize for,” he said and offered her a small smile. “I’m thankful you did. I’m glad you did.” 

And Elain felt her heart swell. This man – male who owed her nothing was glad she had called on him in her time of trouble.

“Even after all this time? We’ve barely spoken.”

“I know.” he only said and Elain felt her bottom lip tremble as she squeezed his hand in hers.

“Why?”

And Lucien couldn’t seem to help the tilt of his head as he gave her a look that was too knowing. “Because you never fully closed that door between us,” he said and Elain swallowed. “I know you’re well aware of how a mating bond works. You could reject it – reject me and no one would bat an eyelash.” He glanced at their hands and turned her palm over, his thumb daring to rub soothingly. “With the nature of the mating bond, a rejection would’ve been hard for me but I would’ve made peace with whatever decision was made.” Lucien met her gaze again. “I am not a male who forces himself to be where he is not wanted, especially with females. But…you kept the door open.”

“I’m not – I wasn’t —” Elain began then forced herself to swallow hard again. “I wasn’t ready.”

“I know,” he said again and gave her a small, slightly sad smile and Elain couldn’t stop herself from tightening the grip of her hand in his again. 

She met his gaze and knew he could feel every jumbled emotion she felt, every complicated thought that flickered across her face. But he waited. Patiently. Kindly.  And it was like he sensed exactly how hard it was for her to say more, to express her desires. 

The corner of his mouth curled up. “I will say…it has been very bold of you to assume I would be obsessed with you,” he added and Elain flushed. “If anything, this situation goes to show you’re the one who can’t stop thinking about me. Getting all worried and running around in the woods alone.” He ended the statement with a tsk and Elain blinked.

Before she could stop herself, a snort slipped from her at his statement and the snort turned into a raspy laugh and before Elain could stop herself, she was laughing so hard she could barely breathe. 

She was sitting on the ground of an unknown forest, still covered in the blood of a creature she had killed and Elain couldn’t remember the last time she had laughed this hard. 

And he sat with her as she laughed, watching her with amusement until the last giggle left her mouth, and Lucien couldn’t help but answer with a chuckle of his own. 

She had found the sun. And it was smiling right back at her. 

When she finally let out a sigh, marking the end of her slight loss of sanity a moment ago, Elain felt a sense of calm wash over her as he watched her and it took a few heartbeats of silence before Lucien broke the quiet. 

“I take it you’re ready to move now?” he asked and Elain nodded as he looked around the woods. “How did you even manage to get here?”

He stood slowly and as Lucien pulled her up, Elain didn’t let go, staring up at him as she stood flush against his chest. She’d worry about how dirty she was later. “I sneaked away.” 

Lucien’s brows lifted and the color on Elain’s cheeks deepened at his smirk. “Sneaked away, did you?”

“Oh yes,” she confirmed and Elain wondered if she’d ever realized how delicious he smelled. “Mor winnowed me in and I - um, waited until she was distracted and sneaked away.” Elain licked her lips. “But then I um, got lost.” 

“Poor Elain, getting lost in the woods all alone,” he said in a tone with a teasing edge to it and Elain found her heart beating faster, forcing herself not to think about the tenor of his voice when he said her name, flushing lightly again. 

But then color flushed on his cheeks and the silence between them seemed to soften; Elain couldn’t quite read the expression on his face but he seemed to struggle to say his next words. 

“All this to find…me.” he said so very quietly and Elain seemed to hear the question without him asking it – that of all people, she had ventured out into the unknown for him? As if in disbelief that he would be worth the effort.

Then again, she hadn’t helped much in her avoidance of him. 

“Y-yes.”

Once more, that thread at her ribcage went taut as they shared a glance and Elain wondered what it would be like if she just kissed him. Judging by the way his eyes watched her, she wouldn’t be too surprised if he could see it written all over her face, especially when he licked his lips.

“At least I’m not the only person you tried to give a heart attack to today,” he said with that teasing tone again and Elain’s lips twitched. 

“Oh, Mor is definitely going to kill me.” she joked and her heart stuttered when his grip tightened on her slightly, watching him blink back a look of rage at the idea that someone might think to hurt her. 

“Well, it’s a good thing I found you first then,” he said casually and cleared his throat. “Lest you get into any more trouble.” 

“I think I’ve had enough trouble for one day,” Elain said and her eyes finally snagged on the creature, lying in a heap across the grounds. Her hands unintentionally tightened on Lucien as she eyed the dagger still stuck in the creature’s throat and once again, she couldn’t believe she had done it. 

Lucien’s gaze followed hers and she felt his own hand tighten on her before he went back to scanning her face. “It seems a stab in the neck is to become your signature move.” he said lightly and Elain’s face heated. 

“Twice is not enough to make it a signature move.”

“For someone who doesn’t fight often, twice is more than enough to become a signature move,” he said with a snort. “Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

“Considering you saved me today, I think you’re safe for now,” she said softly and Lucien seemed unable to help his chuckle. 

“I hardly did any saving, my lady,” he said with a small smile, his tone as soft as hers. “You did that all on your own.” 

And as Elain flushed deeply, she realized how long they’d been standing there, chest to chest just holding each other. The last time she had been held by him was that wretched day in Hybern and despite all the time and distance that had been between them, Elain seemed to feel nothing but ease to be held by him.

They stood for a few more heartbeats of silence, content to be just like this and Elain wondered if this was what the mating bond was always supposed to feel like. If she had been denying herself of this feeling she had always been craving.

She could hear the steady beat of his heart and while she was used to it being the lullaby that usually put her to sleep, Elain knew that wouldn’t be enough anymore. 

“Let’s get you out of here and get cleaned up.” Lucien finally said gently and Elain nodded, knowing she should pull away but found herself hesitating to do so. He seemed to feel the same way as his hand casually tightened. “We wouldn’t want anyone to worry about you.” 

At this moment, Elain didn’t really care who worried about her. Goodness knows how long had passed before they noticed she’d gone missing anyway. 

But he noticed her. He seemed to always notice her. 

So she couldn’t stop herself from asking, “Will you…stay with me?” 

Lucien tried to mask the hope that flashed across his face by clearing his throat but Elain saw it – felt it and knew she asked the right question. “If that’s what you’d like me to do,” he said.

“It is,” she replied, her voice more sure than she’d ever been. “I would like that very much.”

His answering smile had warmth spread through her chest. “Then I am happy to oblige,” he said. “I am at your service, my lady.” 

#elain archeron #lucien vanserra #elucien #elucien fanfiction #acotar fanfiction #gfics #I didn't tag anyone who liked the post because I didn't want to assume haha #I hope you all like it :) #fic: this time I'm ready

[lorcandidlucienwill]

Who pulls the most bitches?

So I saw someone do something like this and I kind of wanted to do my own version with sjm characters. They get no bitches (besides that one girl who's a sucker for losers): Tamlin, Hunt, Ithan, Declan (only bc he's gay not for lack of game; he pulls ALL the men), Tarquin They get more than none but less bitches than you'd expect: Fenrys (bc he's with Maeve, poor boyo), Tharion (bc he's stuck with the river queen's daughter, oof), Aedion, Mor (because she has to hide her sexuality, rip) Now let's rank the remaining: Rhysand: for the supposedly most powerful fae guy to ever exist, he gets a surprisingly low amount of bitches. Perhaps it is due to his creepy evil reputation and the hatred for him within his own court: turns out a pretty face a male does NOT make. Even gold-diggers have standards! Cassian: I turned this over in my mind many times, but I realized Cassian pulls less bitches than Azriel after the line "I don't need to resort to poetry." He gets plenty of bitches because he's a bigass dude with muscles, but his shitty poetry is a turn-off to most eligible ladies. Azriel: he doesn't need to resort to poetry; he's a pretty boy with a cut body, but points have to be deducted for lack of game and pining over Mor for 500 years and being obsessed with having a mate (yuck). Dorian Havilliard: Come on, guys! He's a hot prince! Of course, he gets all the bitches. He's a little immature but he grows out of it! I mean he pulled the fucking man-eater, for God's sake. Points deducted for falling for Celaena wayyyy too fast (and getting rejected) and for his healer girl getting decapitated (rip Sorscha). Rowan: we KNOW this guy gets aaaaaaaalllll the bitches. Come on, he's Rowan-rutting-Whitethorn! Points were deducted for the whole Lyria thing AND serving Maeve for so long. Lorcan Salvaterre: He gets even more bitches than Rowan because... "Battles, riches, females- Lorcan always won, at any cost." And it's even said Rowan often allowed him to win. So yeah, he pulls a lot of bitches and participates in crazy orgies with his homie Rowan. Points deducted for being Stockholmed by Maeve (poor Lolo). Ruhn Danaan: I mean we already know the man's got game (evidence: CC2 chapter 3 plus all ruhnlidia chapters). He's also a young (by Fae standards) prince who lives in a fucking frat-boy house. And that sad-boy thing he's got going on? Girls love that. Eat it up. All the bitches wanna sit on him to take away his sorrow. Points deducted for crushing on a lesbian (oops). Tristan Flynn: Man gets even more bitches than Ruhn because he's just hornier and he's obsessed with his hair. Also, did you see the fire sprites becoming his cheerleaders? King shit. Points deducted for failing to rizz up Ariadne. Eris Vanserra: Come on, he's an Autumn Court male. Plus he's a Vanserra! It's practically in his blood! Points deducted for being rejected by Mor and Nesta tho. Chaol Westfall: Man gets a shockingly high number of bitches despite being a human character who until Dorian became king had a pretty lowly position. I mean, there was a literal PRINCE and his cousin hanging out and the girls were all drooling over Chaol. When he had a disability (which unfortunately due to prejudices that exist, often make you "undesirable" in the eyes of many) and he rizzed all those women, including Yrene, harder than Kashin. EVERY. GIRL. CHOSE. CHAOL. OVER. A. LITERAL. PRINCE. Both in Adarlan AND the southern continent. You're telling me he doesn't have the rizz??? A half a point deducted for being too hung up over Celaena (I don't blame him but still). But still, he pulls sooooo many bitches. Lucien (Vanserra? Spell-Cleaver? Cunt-Server?): Come on. Is there anyone else fitting to be number 1???? Man's got EVERYTHING Chaol has, PLUS he's the son of a High Lord and he's got that Vanserra rizz. Fuck it, he wouldn't stop at bitches. He'll pull every mfer to ever exist. If it breathes, it's into Lucien Vanserra. He is THAT guy.

#tamlin #ithan holstrom #tharion ketos #tarquin #declan emmet #hunt athalar #fenrys moonbeam #morrigan #aedion ashryver #rhysand #cassian #azriel #dorian havilliard #rowan whitethorn #lorcan salvaterre #ruhn danaan #tristan flynn #eris vanserra #chaol westfall #lucien vanserra

[munsons-hellfire]

The Power of Emotions Part 2 | Eris Vanserra

SUMMARY: You’ve been taken and Eris doesn’t know where you are. His father isn’t budging. Eris does the last thing he’d ever expect to do. But he'll do anything to get his mate back.

PAIRINGS: Eris Vanserra x Archeron!Reader

CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI, mature themes, description of torture, descriptions of death.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Here is part 2, I will be back with a part 3. Apparently there is so much I can still do with this so I'm excited to share it. The next chapter will definitely explore what happened during the 4 months. I hope you enjoy this, and if you wish to be added to future taglist for this series please let me know in the comments.

WORD COUNT: 4.0K

Eris made it outside, he stopped where you were supposed to be. The only trace that you were there was your smell. He turned around in a circle looking trying to figure out where you’d gone. Suddenly he was thrown back against the wall with a knife to his throat again.

“Where is she, what did you do with her?” Azriel’s voice was stone cold as he held his blade to Eris’s throat. The rest of the Night Court was now outside looking between the two males.

“Azriel, let go of him.” Rhys commanded.

He struggled but he eventually did pull back from Eris. The male felt his side of the bond, it was glowing and strong, but there was nothing from your side of the bond. He wondered if it was because you and him hadn’t quite accepted the bond in a traditional way.

“What’s wrong?” Feyre asked, taking the look of fear on his face.

“I can’t feel her.” Eris cried out.

“What do you mean?” Rhys proceeded to ask.

“I can’t feel my mate, I can’t feel her through the bond.” Then he paused, he knew what had happened. He collapsed to the ground. “My father. He took Y/N.” The words struck each member of the Night Court. Eris then looked up at Rhys. “I think it’s time I call in for some help.”

───── ❝ ◂ ❚ ⊱ꕥ⊰ ❚ ▸ ❞ ─────

Four long months had passed, you weren’t in the Autumn Court. That much was clear. You were on land that he owned, you wanted to believe that you were in the human lands. You knew that was a lie. You knew exactly where you were because while you had access to your power you couldn’t do anything else.

You couldn’t feel the bond to Eris, if there even was something you could hold on to. Beron had spent the last four months forcing you to torture people against your own will. If you failed to do so it was a beating, or a burning, or worse. He’d have one of his guards cut your body. That was worse than the burns and the beating.

Currently you were lying on the floor, some of the cuts on your body were fresh and still bleeding. You were in the same outfit you’d been in the day that Beron had taken you away from everyone. The dress had been ripped in certain places but the touch of a knife. The door’s opened and you slowly looked up to see Beron staring down at you.

“Get up, Empath.” His voice was stern. You followed, fearing what might happen today if you didn’t listen to him. You kept your eyes down, your arms to your side as you followed him down the hallway to another room. The door opened and Beron looked at you.

“What do I need to do?” You asked in a quiet voice.

“You're going to find out the same thing you’ve been searching for the last 4 months. I need to find that stone.” Beron told you.

You gave him a nod and walked into the room. Beron had been searching for a stone that would allow him to further gain the power that he was losing. His son was itching to take over his throne; he could feel it. He needed access to that stone, though from what you’d gathered the stone wasn’t for him it was for you.

The stone would allow you to amplify your powers as an Empath. You weren’t sure what it would do to you or for you but you knew it wouldn’t do Beron any good. The door was closed and Beron disappeared leaving to do the thing you hated most right now.

───── ❝ ◂ ❚ ⊱ꕥ⊰ ❚ ▸ ❞ ─────

Azriel landed outside Tamlin’s mansion. The High Lords and Ladies had been here coming up with a game plan trying to figure out where Beron had taken you. Azriel had discovered where you were, and he was going to deliver the news to your sisters and your mate. He as well as Nesta and the others had learned to put what happened aside.

Eris couldn’t sleep much less have the energy to argue with any of the Inner Circle about his almost non existent relationship with you. But the second he had you in his arms he’d take you away from them. He hoped that you wanted to accept the bond, because he was itching to do so. Azriel walked into the mansion and headed towards Tamlin’s war room. Eye’s found him when he opened the doors and stood there searching for Eris.

“I know where Y/N is.” Azriel said, speaking to Eris.

“Where?” Eris asked.

“He’s taken her to Hybern. He’s looking for a stone.” Azriel walked to the edge of the table.

“Why? What stone?” Tarquin asked.

“According to legend there is a stone out there that can heighten any power. Except when we were learning more about Empaths we discovered that this stone is solely for an Empath.” Feyre explained looking around the room.

“So, Y/N can heighten her power?” Lucien asked, looking at his friend.

“Apparently.”

“We won’t let that happen.” Eris said, looking at Feyre. “She won’t touch that stone, I won’t let her.”

“What happens if she gets a hold of the stone?” Helion went on to ask.

“She could kill everyone.” Rhys said calmly.

“Let’s go then, before she finds out where the stone is.” Nesta spoke. Eris was the first to winnow away. The others followed behind him.

───── ❝ ◂ ❚ ⊱ꕥ⊰ ❚ ▸ ❞ ─────

You stood next to Beron in the middle of the horrid wasteland in the human realm. You had located the stone and you were going to dig it up and use it against Beron before he could figure out that he couldn’t use it. Then you were going to find out how to get back to your mate. Four months was too long for you to be away from him.

You were itching to accept the bond now more than ever. The two of you stood in the woods in the dead of night. You could feel the stone calling out to you. Beron had a few members of his guard with him as well just in case someone might attack.

“Come find me my darling Empath.” The voice called out to you. It was such a beautiful voice you wanted to follow it but not with Beron still by your side. He started talking to his guards, sending them off, all except two.

“One goes with you, the other stays here with me. You will find that stone and bring it back.” You didn’t answer him so Beron warmed his hand and grabbed a hold of your bare arm. Pain ran through your body as you looked down at where his hand was.

“Ow.” You cried out, and that only made his grip tighter on your arm. Then another warmed hand reached your other arm. The pain was getting worse and you tried to pull away. You couldn’t handle it anymore, you let everything out. The male fell to the ground along with the others, then you took your chance and ran.

The stone was humming as you ran closer and closer. You were gasping for air, your lungs on fire. The pain from Beron’s touch still hurting and rushing through your body. You were feeling dizzy and needed to get to that stone so you could use it to kill Beron and his men. Suddenly a body collided with yours. You hit your head on a rock when you made an impact with the ground.

A male pushed your shoulders down, reached for a knife and held it to your skin by your chest. A wicked smile brushed his lips as he stared down at you. The moonlight was bright and shining down on the two of you.

“I’ve been waiting so long to do this.” He leaned down closer to you, the blade touched your skin that wasn’t covered by the dress. He started to pull the blade back, cutting into your skin.

“Ah.” You cried out, closing your eyes as tears started to spring free.

“Such pretty cries.” He pulled the blade up to your neck and cut again, blood was falling from the freshly cut wounds. Then he moved to your right arm just above the handprint. The blade touched your skin, you had enough. You reached for something, anything that would help get this male. You mostly felt dirt underneath your hands, but then, a rock.

You weren’t sure if it was the one that you’d fallen on but you grabbed it and swung it into the head of the male. He fell off you with a scream dropping the knife next to your body. With a groan you picked yourself up from the ground reaching for the knife and held it tightly. The male was stopped by a tree. He started to pick himself up so you followed behind picking yourself up and running towards him.

The knife made contact with his chest and he stared straight at you. A groan left his mouth, the last sound he’d make. “Such pretty cries.” You remarked pulling the blade out and stabbing him again. He slumped forward and fell to the ground. You turned from the male and continued running through the woods until you felt a sense of relief.

The stone was glowing bright underneath the ground but you didn’t need to see it to know where it was. Falling to your knees you used your hands to dig the dirt up. As you got closer to the stone the glow started to show. Finally you were looking at it entirely. Your hand reached out for it.

“You’ve found me, Empath.” The voice said, happiness evident.

You could feel your power coursing through you, so strong, so powerful. “Give it here, Empath.” You stood deathly still hearing Beron’s voice. You turned slightly to look back at the High Lord.

“No.” You breathed out softly. “It doesn’t belong to you.”

He grunted, and started to move closer to you. You wanted to panic, you hadn’t trained with Cassian and Azriel, and your sister and friends for four months. You knew everything was still in there but you knew what you needed to do. You stepped forward, and took off running into the male knocking him back slightly.

He smirked at you. “Is that the best you can do, Empath?” He was starting to get on your nerves.

“Stop calling me Empath. I have a name.” You moved closer and punched him in the face. Then you pulled your hand back again and did the same thing over and over dropping the stone in the process. You didn’t know where the energy had come from but it was there. You felt Beron reaching for something, you grabbed a hold of his wrist and snatched what he had gone for.

It was another knife in your hands, you looked up at Beron to see the fear and panic in his eyes as he looked at you. A smirk graced your lips as you pulled your hand back and held it in the air but didn’t make a step to do anything.

“I’ve heard so much about you from my family. The rumors were true considering everything you’ve done to me in the span of four months. But I’ll make this very clear, High Lord. You will never ever harm another soul again, and you will never hurt your wife, or your sons again.”

You brought the knife down into his chest. You didn’t stop, tears streamed down your face, cries leaving your mouth. Suddenly hands wrapped around you, panic covered your body and you screamed at the top of your lungs. You were pulled away from Beron’s lifeless body.

“I’m here my love.” His voice, his handsome voice ran through your ears. You opened your eyes and saw Eris. His amber eyes, his red hair, his beautiful face. His hands were on your face. “It’s okay.” He told you. You could feel the gold bond singing so brightly. You hugged him tightly and cried into his chest.

The others stood around, they watched the scene unfold. Rhysand had seen you kill Beron. He was with Eris when you’d done it. He watched the power transfer over to Eris now that Beron was no longer alive. In just this moment alone, seeing Eris hold onto you in the middle of the woods, in the middle of the night, he knew that the Mother had blessed you with the right mate. Eris pulled back to look down at you.

“I want to accept the bond.” You whispered, but it was loud enough that not only had he heard it but everyone else that was there had heard it too.

“We will, but right now I want to take you home and clean you up. Can I do that, Little Fox?” He asked. You only nodded. Eris looked up at Rhys, he gave a nod and the two of you disappeared. He took you back to your home, not his.

“Why?” You asked, as you looked around in the familiar room. Your room.

“I thought you’d be more comfortable here than at my home. When you’ve healed I will take you, don't worry.” You gave a nod. He walked out of your room and into the bathroom while you sat down on the bed.

It felt uncomfortable to be on the bed so you stood back up and stood in the center of the room. Four months was too long for you, everything felt too comfy for you. A knock on the door indicated that someone was outside. You still stood there, Eris entered your bedroom briefly glancing at you and taking notice of your posture. He opened the door, Rhys and Feyre were there with their healer.

He stepped aside and the three walked in. Madja walked over to you while Rhys and Feyre stood with Eris. They were huddled in a circle while Madja was taking a look over you. Feyre placed her eyes on Eris.

“Has she said anything?” The High Lady questioned, concerned running from her voice.

“No, not really. She was confused why I brought her here and not to Autumn.” Eris explained.

“Do you mind if I go talk to her?” Rhys asked the male that would be his brother-in-law soon enough. Eris gave a nod of his head and Rhys walked away from them. He moved over to Madja who was still examining you. Your eyes found Rhys as he stepped near you.

“Can you show me everything that happened, Y/N?” He asked in your mind.

“Why? I-I can’t.” You whispered back to him, eyes pleading with him.

“I need to know what happened, Y/N. I need to know what Beron did to you.” His voice wasn’t cold but concerned. It had been so long since you’d seen Rhys show this side to you. It was almost like he was angry with what had happened to you. “It’s because I am. I told Feyre that I would keep you safe from that male. That I wouldn’t let him take you away from her again. It broke me to see Feyre cry herself to sleep because you were missing. I failed you, and I can never take that back. But I can learn from what Beron did, and Eris and I can find a way to prevent someone from taking you away from all of us again.”

You looked at him, your mouth gaping as the words came out. So you nodded your head, you let your mental shield down and allowed Rhys to enter. You showed him everything that happened after you had fallen out of the window. Tears fell down your face by the time he left your mind. Madja was almost finished, he walked over to Feyre and Eris and shared everything with them.

You stood still in the middle of the room as Madja left you and walked over to the High Lord and Lady and the newly appointed High Lord. All eyes were on her as she looked around at the three of them.

“I was able to heal the cuts left on her body, the recent ones,” Eris looked at you, a pained look on his face. “I was able to heal the recent burn marks as well. From what I could tell she had no broken bones. However, there is a lot of trauma she will have to work through. I think it's best that she stays here in the Night Court until she’s healed enough from the trauma.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Madja.” Rhys mentioned. The female healer looked at her High Lord. “Eris, will have to go back to his Court eventually, she won’t do good with the separation. She spent four months locked away from Eris.”

“Very well. But she will still need a support system in Autumn. Whoever she’s close with, excluding her mate, she needs them there at least every other day in order to heal.”

Feyre gave a nod of her head. “We’ll set up a schedule. We’ll make sure someone is with her every other day.” Eris gave a nod in agreement. Madja smiled then excused herself. Feyre and Rhys eyed Eris as he stared at you.

“We’ll let you take care of her, if you need anything just let us know.” Rhys said, as he and Feyre walked over to the door. Eris moved over to you, he placed a gentle hand on your elbow. He didn’t miss the way you jumped at the touch.

“It’s just me, I promise you’ll be safe.” His voice echoed through your ears. You forced a smile to your lips but Eris noticed that it wasn’t reaching your eyes. “Do you want me to help you clean up?” He asked tenderly. You only gave a nod of your head, you were finding words hard to speak.

Eris gently walked you into the bathroom. He helped you undress, helped you climb into the tub. Once you were in you pulled your knees to your chest. Eris rolled his sleeves up, he sat on his knees and started to clean your body.

“Do you want to talk about what happened?” Eris questioned, breaking the silence that had been filling the room.

“When can we go to your home? I mean, is that… Who is taking over his Court?” Finally you had spoken, it was slightly chipped and broken but Eris only wanted you to talk. At least then you wouldn’t be stuck in your head.

“I am.” He had said it with so much pride, and it made your heart beat faster. Without realizing it you had sent a wave of love down the bond. Eris felt it as he brought a brush to your hair to get the knots out.

“How?”

“Rhys and I, we were in the woods. We got there when you killed him, his power transferred over to me. I was shocked, but I didn’t have time to register what had happened because you needed me. I needed you to know that I was here, that I had found you.”

Finally you turned in the tub and stared up at your mate. “I’m sorry you saw that, me killing your father.”

“Don’t be, Little Fox. He was going to die anyway, Rhys and I had been working together the last 6 years to come up with a plan to overthrow the male. While I hate that he’s brought so much trauma to you, I am so beyond grateful that you were able to take a piece from him by killing him.”

A soft smile graced your lips, and this time it reached your eyes. Eris released a small breath, he knew that these next few months were going to be long. When you were finished in the bath Eris helped you out, dried your body and put clothes on. He carried you over to the bed and climbed in with you. Eris held you close to his body, his heat radiating off him and onto you.

At some point you and Eris had fallen asleep, Eris still held tightly on you. Nightmares were plaguing your mind. The pain that Beron had caused you, the pain that his men inflicted when Beron was to bored to torture you himself. You were shaking, sweat falling down your body. But worst of all you couldn’t escape the never ending nightmare.

Eris woke up to your screams echoing the room. He grabbed a hold of your body, warming his hands hoping it might help. That move only made you panic internally, you didn’t know how to control the new strength of your powers. Eris could feel the pain you were inflicting on him. He groaned trying to get past it so he could help you. He pulled his hands back from your skin, moved away from your body.

The pain was still there but the further away he was the better he got. “Rhys.” He called out, hoping the Daemati would hear his call. Moments later the door opened, Feyre and Rhys ran into the room with Azriel right behind him.

“What’s happening?” Feyre asked, walking towards her sister.

“No. Don’t get closer to her.” He whispered as he moved around the room and pulled Feyre back from you.

“What? Why?” The panic was evident in the High Lady’s voice as she looked at Eris.

“I believe that she can push her emotions out and use them as a weapon.” He paused, glancing around the room before his eyes finally landed on your body. You were still shaking, soft echoes of screams leaving your throat. He pulled his amber eyes away from you and looked at Rhys. “She touched that stone and amplified her powers. I tried to wake her up, but she was shielding herself against me and it hurt.”

“Well, that’s new.” Rhys remarked, staring at his sister in-law.

“What are we going to do then?” Azriel questioned.

“You have to go into her mind. I’m starting to wonder if she actually showed you everything that happened.”

“What are you saying?” Rhys asked, concerned in his voice.

“I’m saying that whatever is causing this, it’s worse than what she showed us, which means she didn’t show you everything.”

“I will put her to sleep. In the morning we’ll come up with a plan.”

Everyone agreed with the idea. Rhys moved as close as he could. He slipped into your mind, it was utter chaos and didn’t know where to go. Eris watched as Rhys stood still doing what his power allowed him to do. Finally Rhys pulled back and looked at them.

“She’s asleep. Her mind, it was chaos, all over the place.” Rhys paused, violet eyes landing on Feyre as he said his next words. “It looks like they tortured her with the memories of the Cauldron. All that work we did with her, to help heal her it’s gone. All gone.” Rhys wanted to fall to the ground, he truly felt that he had failed you.

“That’s not possible.” Feyre said.

“Beron, he knew how to break through any trauma and use it against them. That’s probably what he did with her. He somehow made her believe that she’d probably go back into the Cauldron if she failed.”

“This is a lot worse than we thought.” Rhys whispered. He looked to his brother. “Your only mission is to find out what exactly Beron did to Y/N. I will talk to Helion and see if there's anything further that might help. We will figure this out.”

Feyre and Eris gave a nod of their heads, but they had their eyes on you. You were calm now, you looked so peaceful. Eris walked away from them, climbed into the bed and pulled you close to his body. He wrapped his arms around you and rested his chin on top of your head.

“We’re going to figure this out, Little Fox. I promise.” He whispered, not sure if you could truly hear him. The others took that as a sign and stepped out of the room leaving you with your mate. Tomorrow would be another day, and soon enough everything would be figured out.

TAGLIST: @fabulouslyflamboyant5 @lo0oserlex @thena101 @glaciuswduo @melsunshine @awkardnerd @glitterypirateduck @mariahoedt @acourtofbatboydreams @fuzzy6306 @impossibelle

#reader insert #x reader #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra #eris vanserra x archeron reader #feyre archeron #nesta archeron #helion #azriel #a court of thorns and roses #beron vanserra

[ravencoloredroses]

Experiment

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Az is gone on a mission and two people from the past decide to pay the reader a visit to do some experiments…..

Warnings: fire, blood, swearing

Word Count: 4,258

A/N: Here’s my first Az fic! This one’s really angsty with a hint of fluff. Thanks for reading!!! I hope you like it! <3

—————————————————————————

The morning sunshine wakes me up before my alarm. I roll over to my mate's side of bed to snuggle into his warmth, but I only find a cold and empty spot. He’s gone. Well, not gone, he’s out on a mission. Has been for a while.

Something about making sure the Autumn Court is sticking to our agreement, at least that’s what I remember him telling me. That was 2 weeks ago, Az has been gone for 2 whole weeks.

I know not to worry, he’s literally the spymaster of the Night Court. But he’s also my best friend, my mate, and every second he’s not with me I don’t feel like myself.

Our family has been trying to cheer me up, it’s not really working but I still appreciate it. Feyre took me to a painting class, which I was actually really excited for! That was before the instructor told us to paint what we envision our future to look like, then I wasn’t so excited.

He’s never been away this long before, and if he was sent on a longer mission, he took me with him. This one I wasn’t allowed to come along, Azriel said so himself. I tried not to feel upset that he didn’t want me there, because I know he’s doing it to protect me. The Autumn Court is not exactly the safest place right now, especially for the mate of the Night Court’s spymaster.

With a grunt I roll out of bed, not interested in facing this day at all. I stumble over to the bathroom and try not to look at myself in the mirror. I know I look awful. It’s hard enough to get out of bed most days, let alone take care of myself.

Turning on the water in the bathtub, I let it burn my skin before turning it colder. Washing myself with his soaps has always been a comfort for me. Surrounding myself with things that smell of him is the only reason I survive when he’s gone. The bond between us has been gray since he left. I know that he has to close it when he leaves, but it still hurts every time I look at it.

Once the water has gone cold and my fingers start to prune is when I decide to get out. I reach over and grab his robe, it drags on the floor as I wrap it around myself. Getting dressed in our closet, I pick out an actual outfit instead of just something of Azriel’s to sleep in. The plan today is to try to leave the house and go grocery shopping. I’ve been struggling to make things to eat with whatever scraps we have lying around.

Azriel and I live on the outskirts of Velaris, away from most people. We picked this house for privacy, but that also means that most stores are like 20 miles away. That’s fine when you have an Illyrian mate with huge wings, but when he’s not here I have to walk into town.

Finally picking out a decent outfit, black leggings and a huge oversized cream sweater. It was a gift Azriel got from Mor a couple Starfall’s ago, but she bought it without looking for wing holes, now it’s mine. It doesn’t smell like him though, so I walk over to our dresser, grab his cologne and spritz a little of it on me.

Next I move onto my hair, or should I say rats nest. Ripping out a few chunks as I struggle to brush it, I quickly braid it back out of my face. Once I’m satisfied with my appearance, I head out of the house to finally find something to eat.

About 20 minutes into my walk I hear a pair of footsteps behind me. Trying to nonchalantly look and see who it is, I see a hooded figure about 10 feet behind me. I break out into a jog, attempting to put some distance between us and I hear their footsteps pick up the pace with me.

As I’m rounding a corner, another hooded figure comes out in front of me. I stop dead in my tracks, nowhere to go. “Don’t try anything stupid.” The one in front of me says. “This will all be over soon.”

I’m about to respond when a white powder is thrown over me. Faebane. Screaming out to Rhys in my mind, hoping, praying, that he can hear me. The last thing I remember was being picked up in someone’s arms and them saying, “Not so strong without your spymaster, aren’t you?”

Then everything went black.

— —

I’m jolted awake by a bucket of water splashing on me. I try to move my arms, but soon realize that they are tied together so tight I can’t move a muscle. “Thank you for joining us, my dear.” My captor says. I pry my eyes open and look at my surroundings.

I’m in some kind of basement, a cell, the only door I see is behind a wall of metal bars. My hair is yanked to force my head up, and I see the person's face for the first time.

“Well aren’t you pretty, looks like our step brother has done something right for once.” Step brother? Are these… Azriel’s step brothers?

“What do you want?” I spit out trying not to show how scared I am. These are the people who put Azriel in the most excruciating pain he’s ever been in, the people who caused the scars on his hands.

Out of the corner of my eye I see another person walk into the light. When I can finally see both faces, the one gripping my hair throws me back down on the ground. ”What do we want?” The one in the back laughs. “We want to do a little experiment.” With every word they speak I can feel my heartbeat growing faster. I’m realizing that there’s no getting out of this situation without being hurt.

“You see, when we found out our little brother had a mate, we wanted to put that bond between you to the test. So we came up with a plan: wait for Azriel to leave for a mission, capture you, and then do our experiment here. Only problem was that your special Highlord placed wards on your house so we had to wait until you left the house. And for whatever reason, you decided to stay inside for two weeks, only leaving while accompanied by your Highlady.”

“Today is finally the day brother,” He says, looking over to the other one. “Let’s say that step one is completed, and move on to step two.” He looks at me again while the other brother leaves the room.

“Now, here’s where you come in. I’m sure Azriel has told you of our first experiment with him about 500 years or so ago.” He brings over a chair and sits down in front of me. “Well we’re going to recreate that today, but with a twist.” The other brother comes back with a bucket and a book of matches.

I swallow the lump in my throat and try once again to call out to Rhys for help, but the faebane must not be out of my system yet. With Az gone they rarely check on me, so they won’t notice I’m missing. Fabulous.

“Oh sweetie, don’t be scared! Your precious mate went through this exact same thing. Now, we could make this quick, but we really don’t want to. I understand you’re not fully High Fae, so I am interested to see how your healing properties work. Let’s begin shall we?” He gestures over to the brother holding the bucket to come over.

My heart is now beating so loud, I bet they can hear it. Running out of options, I try the only thing I can think of. Begging. “Please. You don’t want to do this. If- if I die, Azriel will hunt you down and torture you for years before he kills you.”

They both laugh. The one with the bucket sets it down in front of me and I can smell what’s in it. Gasoline. He grabs my chin so I look up at him. “That’s a lot of confidence you have in him. Who’s to say he’ll ever find your body? We plan on keeping you here for our… uses… for a while, my dear.” He lets go of my chin roughly and reaches behind him to grab his knife.

“First thing to go is gonna be these awful clothes.” He says as he uses his knife to cut away at my sweater, leaving me in just a bra from the waist up. I can feel cuts on my chest drip with blood, he wasn’t careful with cutting it off. “Alright, now that that’s taken care of, let’s get started.”

Now I’m terrified. I never got to say goodbye to my family, never got to say goodbye to Az. “Wh-what kind of experiment are you gonna do?” I try stalling.

“We wanna see if your mating bond will transfer your pain over to Azriel. And then if he has the power to figure out your location from the bond as well. Since Azriel has been through our first experiment, he should recognize the pain you feel.” He stays standing up and pushing his chair away.

“W-well with the faebane in my system, the b-bond won’t feel anything. N-not until it w-wears off.” I struggle to get out, shaking because of the freezing temperatures. The brothers look at each other.

“I thought you didn’t use that much?”

“I didn’t!”

“I can still smell it on her! Now we have to wait even longer!” They argue back and forth. “Okay, we’ll be back in about an hour. Let’s hope it wears off by then.” He says as they both leave, locking the door behind them.

I feel tears start to pool in my eyes, and as they fall down my face they freeze on my cold skin. Trying to think of what Az would do in this situation, I realize he was in this situation. Granted he was a boy, but still, he’s been tortured by these same people and couldn’t escape. So why should I even bother trying. I’m still thinking of a plan as I feel my eyes grow heavy and my heart beat unnaturally slow. Then everything goes black, again.

— —

Azriel’s POV

Finally finished with my mission, I make a mental note to beat the shit out of Rhys. ‘It’s a simple mission, shouldn’t take too long’ he said to me, what a lie that was. What should have only been 3 to 4 days turned into 2 weeks. Flying back home from Autumn I only want one thing, my mate. She’s all I could think about while I was gone.

I reach the front steps of our house and open up my end of our bond. Normally, she would feel me and come running down to meet me outside. Maybe she’s asleep.

I unlock the door and my shadows go searching the house. They come flying back informing me that she’s not here.

Deciding that she must be out with Feyre, I head over to the House of Wind to debrief with Rhys and Cassian. Walking in I see Feyre, Nesta and Mor playing with Nyx on the floor in the living room. “Hey Az! You’re back!” Feyre jumps up to greet me. “Where’s y/n?” She asks.

“I thought she was with you?” I replied. “I was just at our house and she wasn’t there. I figured she’d be here.”

“Oh, I’m sorry Az, but I haven’t seen her since last week.” Mor says standing up.

“Last week? Have any of you seen her since then?” I ask the room. Just then Rhys and Cassian come walking in.

“Hey brother, welcome back. Wanna head to the office to debrief with us?”

“Have you guys seen y/n recently?” Feyre asks her mate.

“No. I haven’t seen her in a while actually. Why? Is everything okay?”

“She wasn’t at our house just now and I came here because this is where I thought she would be. I opened up my end of the bond again but hers is still closed.” I say, now pacing the room.

“Az, I’m sure she’s fine. Maybe she’s just out shopping or something. Why don’t we come to the office, I’m sure she’ll turn up before we’re done.” Rhys stops my pacing with a hand on my shoulder. “Come on brother, let’s go discuss your mission.”

Deciding that he’s probably right and that she’s probably just shopping, I follow my brothers into Rhys’ office to debrief them on my mission.

— —

Reader’s POV

Once again I’m woken up by water thrown on my face. It stings when it gets into the cuts littering my body which have somehow multiplied since I was last awake. “Welcome back, darling.” One of the brothers says. “Hopefully your system is all clear of faebane, so we can begin our experiment.” The second brother comes up behind him holding the bucket and match book again. He stands in front of me with an evil grin on his face. “This may hurt a little.” He laughs and then pours the bucket of gasoline all over my hands. My heart rate picks up as he now holds up a match.

“Please. Please don’t do this. I’ll do anything.” I plead. They don’t even respond, they just light the match.

I’ve felt pain before in my life, but nothing has ever compared to this. I watch the match fall onto my hands in slow motion and the only thing I can do is scream. I try to put out the fire, but I’m fully strapped to a chair now and I can’t move anywhere. The pain is getting so unbearable, I feel my skin melting away. I hear the metal bars slam shut as the brothers move to the other side of the cage to watch. I’m crying out for mercy, for Azriel, for Rhys, for anybody.

“No one’s gonna help you honey!”

“Looks like your mating bond doesn’t do shit!”

They laugh as I scream louder and louder. Praying to anyone who will listen, wishing that this ends soon.

— —

Azriel’s POV

Sitting in Rhys’ office, I get a weird feeling in my chest. I try my best to ignore it, but a few moments later I feel an excruciating pain in my hands. Screaming out for it to stop, Rhys and Cassian both come rushing over.

“Az! Az! What is it? What’s wrong?” Rhys asks, standing over me.

“My- my hands!” I cry out. I lift up my hands to show them and see that there’s nothing on them, nothing causing the pain.

“What? What’s wrong with your hands??” Cassian tries to keep me from collapsing. I can’t respond because another wave of pain courses through me, this time in my chest. I feel y/n’s side of the mating bond open and I immediately fall down on the ground. The familiar pain in my hands tells me everything I need to know. Somehow, someway, someone is hurting my mate in the same way I was. And I know exactly who that someone is.

“Az, she’s reaching out to me! I don’t think she can hear me, but she’s talking to me.” Rhys says, leaning over beside me. “Can you tell where she is? All I can see is a cell, I- I can’t see anything else.”

The only thing I can do is nod my head in response as I shoot up and fly out the open window. Not caring if my brothers are following me, although I’m sure they are. My only thought is to get to my y/n, now.

— —

Reader’s POV

Just as the fire is about to die out, one of the brothers comes back in the room and dumps more gasoline on my hands, igniting the fire once again. He retreats back behind the bars as I scream my head off. Any hope of being saved has gone out the window. No one probably even knows I’m missing, let alone looking to find me. I’ve opened my end of our bond in hopes Az can feel me, but I can’t even tell if his side is open or not.

Just when I’m about to give into the urge to let go, I hear a blast against the wall of the cell. I struggle to see through my tears, but I can see 3 winged figures coming in from the hole in the wall. I feel a cooling presence creep up to my hands and extinguish the flame. When I can finally look up again, I see two of the new winged males taking away my captors and the third winged male comes over to me slowly.

“Please, help me.” I whisper to the mystery male. “I don’t wanna die.” He comes closer and unties the straps holding me down then lifts me into his arms. As he holds me I immediately know who it is. “Az? I-Is that you?”

“It’s me little dove, just hold on, okay? I’m gonna get you out of here, just don’t close your eyes. Keep looking at me, don’t stop looking at me.” He says while soothing my hair back. I didn’t even realize we started flying until I felt the wind against my burns. “Az, I-It hurts so bad.”

“I know, I know it does. You’re gonna be alright, love. You just gotta hold on a little while longer, okay? We’re almost there.” His voice sounds hoarse like he’s been screaming as well. He picks up speed and the gust of wind makes my hands burn even worse. It gets harder and harder to keep my eyes open.

“I love you, Azriel.” I say, as the world goes black.

— —

“She should be awake by now, something’s wrong.”

“Az, she’s fine, just give her some time. She’ll wake up soon”

I hear muffled voices say around me. Without even opening my eyes, I know where I am. Home. I can feel my hands are in bandages, so tight I can’t move them. I hear a door close and then somebody sits down next to me.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry, I-I’ll never be able to forgive myself. I promised to keep you safe and then this happens. I just want you to be okay, please just be okay.” Azriel whispers. I can tell he’s crying now and all I want to do is hold him. I realize that his end of the bond is now wide open, so I send a rush of the love I feel for him down. I hear him gasp. “Y/N? Y/N can you hear me?” He asks.

I struggle to open my eyes, but I finally do. It takes a second for my eyes to adjust to the lighting, and then I see him. My mate, looking like he hasn’t left my side since I’ve been here. “Hey.” I managed to say. He places my face between his hands and presses a kiss to my forehead.

“I love you so fucking much.” He whispers. “I’m so, so, so sorry that this happened to you, my love. I will do everything I can to make it right.” He leans back and looks into my eyes.

“I love you so fucking much too. I’m sorry that I gave up-“

“No. Do not say you’re sorry. Never say you’re sorry. Never.” He cuts me off.

“How long was I out?” I change the subject, arguing right now doesn’t feel like the best idea.

“Five days. I’ve been here the whole time.” He says. I move over a little bit to make room for him to be on the bed next to me. “Sweetheart, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Please. I just need you to hold me.” I plead.

He slowly leans over to lay down beside me. “You know I can’t say no when you look at me like that.” He laughs as he pulls me into his arms. I bring my bandaged hands between us so I can snuggle into his chest more. He gently grabs one and places a kiss on my bandaged knuckles.

I bury my head into his neck and he places his chin on the crown of my head. “Madja says that she may be able to remove some of the scars with a tonic.” I take a second to think.

“Do you want me to try it? I know how you feel about your hands, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable…”

“Look at me.” He pulls back and lifts my chin up so our eyes meet. “You could never make me uncomfortable. I will always be here for you, for as long as you want me around.” He gently presses his lips to mine in a loving and tender kiss. After we pull away, I sink back down into his chest and fall asleep. I’m finally right where I belong.

— —

I walk into Madja’s clinic with Az right behind me. It’s been about 3 days since I woke up and I’m tired of these bandages.

“Hello!” Madja greets us. “Okay, let’s take a look at those hands.”

Az helps me hop up onto the counter and then stands next to me. He places a hand on my knee and comfortingly smooths my skin with his thumb. As she cuts away the wrapping, Azriel freezes. I look over at him to avoid seeing my hands. When all the bandages are off, his eyes start welling with tears.

“Well my dear, it looks a little worse than I would have hoped. It should be mostly healed by now.” Madja examines my hands.

My eyes widen at her words and I slowly look down. I can barely even recognize my own hands. The skin has been completely melted off and has been taken down to the muscle. Pus and blood are oozing out and even my fingerprints are gone. Gasping, I look back up to Azriel and find him already looking at me.

“Is there anything you can do?” He asks Madja. She gives a sigh and rummages around in the cabinets behind her. I didn’t even realize I was crying until Az wiped my tears away. He places a kiss into my hair and wraps an arm around my waist.

Madja returns with a glass bottle in her hand. “The only thing I can think of is this.” She says holding up the bottle. “It’s a little strong so it will be painful to apply, but it will help it heal faster.”

I swallow the lump in my throat and look up to Az. “Whatever you wanna do, little dove. Whatever you wanna do.” He says rubbing circles on my back.

I sigh heavily and nod to Madja. She gives me a sympathetic smile back and gently grabs my wrist to pull it closer to her. I squeeze my eyes shut as I anticipate the pain. The first drop onto my hands causes me to flinch away and scream.

“Y/N, I need you to stay still for me to be able to do this. Azriel you might have to hold her down.” Madja looks up at him. He places a kiss on my forehead and reaches over to grasp my wrists.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He cries. I bite down on my scream when she pours the liquid again. I put my head down on Az’s arm that stretched in front of me.

“Make it stop! Please stop! I-I can’t take it anymore!” I cry out.

“I know, I’m so sorry. She’s almost done. You can do this.”

After what feels like a lifetime, Madja finishes and wraps my hands back up. When she leaves, Az pulls me into a hug.

“Thank you, Az. I-I don’t know what I would do without you.” I move to kiss his cheek, but he backs up.

“This happened to you because of me. You’re in pain because of me!”

“Hey, don’t say that. That’s not true-“

“It is y/n. It is true. This only happened because of us, because of who you are to me.” He yells.

“Azriel. Come over here.” He slowly walks to stand between my knees. I put my arms around his waist and he does the same. “I love you. This is not your fault. It’s not my fault, it’s not Rhys’ fault. Your step brothers are at fault. This happened because of them, because of their sick and twisted minds. Don’t you ever blame yourself for this. Ever.”

He sighs and kisses my head. After a while of silently embracing each other, I ask the question that’s been on my mind since I woke up. “What happened to them?” I feel him stiffen around me.

“They’re still alive, for now. Rhys and Cas put them in my chamber in Hewn City. I wanted to wait to see what you wanted me to do.” He starts to smooth a comforting hand up and down my back. I place a kiss onto his collarbone in thanks and pull back to see his face.

“Well, I told them that you would ‘torture them for years before you kill them’ so… make them suffer… for as long as possible.”

He smirks down at me and places his lips on mine.

“That’s my mate.”

#a court of thorns and roses #acotar #azriel #cassian #feyre #mor #nesta #nyx #rhys #rhysand #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #shadowsinger #shadowsinger x reader

[andrewminyardapologist]

TW: Food Trauma

Thinking about how it's probably really healing for the Foxes to have "family dinners" at Abby's because so of them most likely have some sort of trauma surrounding food.

Dan: Had to support her family, struggling to put food on the table, having to work to keep herself and her family fed. So much food insecurity that she doesn't have to worry about anymore. (I'm sure she still does, it doesn't just go away, but she now doesn't have to worry about making enough to afford her next meal.)

Allison: In recovery from an eating disorder, learning to have genuinely happy experiences revolving around meals, praised for her strength on the court and not just her beauty, learning that food is nourishment.

Neil: I mean... This one is obvious. He's been on the run close to a decade, and now has sit down meals regularly with people he cares about. Food doesn't just mean stuff you can steal from a grocery store or scrounge up at a gas station vending machine. It's part of home. It's Abby's kitchen, warm and bright, surrounded by his chosen family all helping to cook and set the table. It's smiling and laughing over a big plate of lasagna.

Kevin: He's obsessed with health to the point it's disordered. In the Nest, food was not about enjoyment. It was about being perfect. Everything he ate was chosen for him. At Abby's, he gets to pick his portion size, which foods he wants to eat, probably learns what he likes and dislikes genuinely because of taste and not nutritional content. I would bet eventually Abby catches on and makes his favorites pretty often, helps him try new foods and actually enjoy them, regardless of nutritional content.

Andrew: Andrew grew up in foster care, and he says none of his placements were good. He seems to have a lot of sensory issues surrounding food (rips it into tiny pieces, likes really intense flavors like spicy or sweet, etc.) I'm willing to bet he was often underfed and did not often get much say in what he ate. If he wanted to eat, it would have to be whatever he could. I think that while he might never admit it, having Abby's dinners (eventually) start to feel safe for him, the routine of it, the fact that no one would judge his eating there or force him to eat things he didn't like, would be something that helps him feel more comfortable around food. I think being allowed seconds, or thirds, would help him feel some security surrounding food. Similar to Kevin, I think Abby would pick up on the things he likes and make those meals more often. I think Bee helps with this too, what with the hot chocolate and everything.

Aaron: Tilda was abusive and neglectful. I think it is safe to assume Aaron had to worry about keeping himself fed for most of his life, and had to learn to cook for himself. Probably he had to figure out his own way to make sure he stayed fed without much help from Tilda. It's probable she punished him by withholding meals as well. I think similar to Andrew, having some consistency in the routine of dinner at Abby's helps him feel more secure. Additionally, I think he probably likes not having to bear the full weight of cooking for himself, and learns to enjoy it as something he does with his family instead of something done out of necessity. I imagine Abby teaches him some recipes that are fun and not just basic stuff thrown together in an attempt to make something edible.

Nicky: Nicky was 18 when he took in the twins. He had to work HARD to keep the three of them fed. It was probably difficult as well considering Andrew and Aaron already had issues surrounding food. I think he would find comfort in seeing that the twins were not only getting fed, but we're starting to let go of some of that insecurity about food. I think he would also find relief in not having to worry about feeding two kids when he was basically still a kid himself.

#aftg #all for the game #neil josten #andrew minyard #aftg andrew #aftg fandom #aftg neil #the foxhole court #the kings men #the raven king #food mention #nicky hemmick #dan wilds #aaron minyard #kevin day #abby winfield #aftg allison

[deicidis]

I Have Trembled My Way Deep

Morpheus x Naiad!Reader

Summary: The God of Dreams assists you in escaping Poseidon's obsession.

status: Completed One-shot

wordcount: 15.9k 

warnings: Implied non-con (not Morpheus), slow burn ish? 

18+ only, your media consumption is your own responsibilities. Warnings have been given. Do not proceed if these matters upset you.  

 I have trembled my way deep into surrender

I have stretched my aching body across the world

I have stood at the threshold of your wonder

Bid me enter, Lord, allow me to unfold

—

You remember

that it was a game for Poseidon. A sport. Something to fill his spare time in his eternal life. For you? Your ruin. 

The god of the sea appeared one day, at a beautiful dusk, where you had lain in your lake and watched Astraeus paint the sky. He declared his love so casually, smiling wide with his sharp teeth. Claimed he fell at the moment when you had visited the shore of his domain, and offered you a place to sit amongst his many mistresses of court.

But you never met him, and you were put off by his leery eyes on your skin. You heard the way he loves, cruel and unnatural and impetuous. He‘d confirmed the rumour himself when he seized you by the arms then forcefully attempted to take you to the sea after you refused. But your nails were sharp, and it had sunk into his cheek. You recognize the disbelief written all over his face, that a lesser being dared lay his hands on him. Then he grinned as he saw the blue blood running from the wound. Your stomach coiled in fear as you ran, but he ripped a lock of your hair first, then he’d let you go. Because he likes toying with his food. 

In fear, you came to your mother for help in any way she could. To look into the future. But your mother only gave her tears and a sole advice; run far from here, if all else fails invoke the name of dream god, Morpheus. Pray to him and he shall ease your suffering. 

Of course she would not risk an open war with the Pantheon and the death of her other children for you. She was not as young, as short-tempered as you remembered. This fact left bruises on your heart, even though you understood. 

What good does a dream do, mother? You asked incredulously. 

Everything, my sweet. She answered. 

It was an absurd notion. Since when does a god give their kindness so easily without expecting something in return? But your mother had never given you false counsel before, so you kept her advice close to your heart. 

You kissed her cheek and kissed her hands, then gave her your tears. She, in turn, steadied your hands that trembled in anger and sorrow. Kissed your forehead for a very long time as she held you close you almost couldn’t breathe. Her tears overflowing, her rivers and streams are hissing. 

This felt like the tragedies you used to watch when you went into the city with your sisters.  

Go. I will buy you time. Remember, call upon his name should all else fails.  

It was a heartache to leave your Lake, your friends, and your sisters without so much as a farewell. Always moving during the night, sleeping during the day between the ravines, under the river, inside dark caves. Your cheeks are always raw, streaked with tears. Your heart never rests from beating in wariness. There was never a moment of respite. You ran until your feet hurt, your soles blistered. Your mind was a beehive, its queen in fear that infects the colony.  

For every single day that passed, your resentment brewed towards the pantheons. They surely watched this misery caused by their blood. The Olympians were silent, the Olympians let it all happen. 

Only sleep was the moment of peace to be had. It didn't come easily at first; you were always startled awake by the smallest sound, the snapping of a twig.The splash of a fish. Sprinted from your hiding spot at every little noise. You almost grew mad from the lack of sleep, the dark under your eyes increased by the day. So you swallowed your pride and you finally prayed to the god of dreams to give you a swift fall. A sweet dream where you are home among your sisters and friends free from your tormentor. He never fails to grant you one. Your mother was always right, you admitted bitterly. 

You tried to prolong his blessings, but you had nothing to offer except feathers from some birds, little carvings you whittled with your small knife, ripe fruits you picked from the tree, your thanks and prayer every time you wake. For you are always awake at the right time. Strangely refreshed and fulfilled. Never a second too late for Poseidon to sink his teeth into your skin. 

You thought Poseidon would grow weary of his chase. But a day turned into weeks, into months. A year turns into three, then four. And five. You weaved between cities and forests, found love but had to leave them, hiding in other Nymphs' habitats, betrayed by some. Somehow, you are always at the right time to move. Knew when something wasn’t right, when the air started to brine with salt. Mostly your dreams inspired your caution. And you thank your benevolent god for his omens. 

But fleeing alone is not enough. Though your calves are stronger, your lungs endured, you were exhausted beyond what your heart could take. You want Poseidon to stop, to rot where he stood.

You want him to suffer and tremble just as much as you did, you want to plunge your pocket knife into his eyes and see his blue blood in his cracked open skull leaking into the ground. 

So was the reason why you sat at the edge of a river bank and watched the twilight sky instead of running when you could sense that he was growing closer and closer. You were ready to end it all, and you will let it end on your terms, fresh water always feels like home. Let it be fresh water the last thing you see. Not one formed with salt. 

"I know you’re here, little Nymph." His rancid voice bellowed out in the distance, Your resolve crumbled by the second. The knife you held to your throat trembled as your tears warmed your cheeks, and you feared it would be etched like a mark. Your body shivered instantly as you closed your eyes. Despite having nothing to lose, despite convincing yourself that meeting Thanatos is a better choice, there is a part of you that still clings to life and its abundance of delight to be found. Mother to be seen again. Sisters to hold once more. You realised you were never ready to toss the Obol in your pocket for Charon. So you dreamt of a better future as you did one last desperate attempt. You prayed to your God.

"My benevolent god, lord Morpheus, if you could hear me, I beg of you. Help me. Take me far where he couldn’t find me and you will always have my service." you whispered. It was a foolish attempt. Poseidon would’ve found you to the edge of the living world. Moreover you were no one, minor spirit of no import. No Olympian nor a daughter of one. Why should a god such as Dream meddle in your affairs? Still, the god of dreams was a salve to your burden, more than any other gods. Perhaps the only god. 

"Your prayer is heard." Your eyes jolted open at a voice that was not Poseidon’s. You snapped your head to find the Dream God beside you, behind you, but he was nowhere to be found. Your heart palpated twice as fast. The hairs on your neck stretched upwards.

"Return from whence you came." He continued, and your body instinctively leaned into the water, finding the river had turned as black as the night, as still as one. 

"Reach into me, and you shall hide no more." Once more, Dream God’s deep and quiet voice enticed and you paused, digesting his words that felt too good to be true. You turned to see how close your oppressor was and you could see the outline of his form between the trees. Your heartbeat was a hummingbird trapped in your ribcage, you felt like vomiting all over the water. There might be a greater sacrifice to be made by exchanging with Dream god.

But you would give Dream god your limb for that opportunity.

So you took a deep breath, steeled yourself, and plunged into the cold, dark water. Then unfastened the Peplos around your skin weighing you down. You swam deeper, deeper and deeper. It was a Sisyphean effort. There is no direction, no life could be sensed, no surface to return to, only a bottomless river. Your arms ached from carving the water in the endless dark, there was no way of knowing where it is above or below. Like swimming into the bowels of the earth where there is only Kronos, waiting for you with his primaeval emptiness. 

It was hours. The darkness was suffocating and you were terrified beyond your mind, afraid of making an irreversible mistake.  

Then, a speck of light can be seen. Pale blue, glimmering like a star. 

You swam into it, almost in a frenzy, desperate for something tangible. It expanded as you swam, blinding and comforting, and when your body had passed its threshold, you had fallen wet onto the earth that was not from whence you came, but the homeland of a god.

 —

You lay flat on your chest on the wooden plank of a bridge that stretched into the far distance, its foundation stood in the middle of blackened water. Your body limped, bare, devoid of energy. Your arms pulsated with shooting ache. But all of that was eclipsed by your silent wonder, for you are greeted with a night sky sprawling with  billions of star clusters, its light shining pale blue layered with an iridescent sheen. 

Is this where Dream God resides? So close to the stars and the very heavens.  

As you drank all the splendour of Dream god’s domain, the dots in your field of vision expanded, until you realised it was not dust, but figures coming your way.  

When they had reached where you laid, you met a beautiful pointy-eared woman, with black and white clothes you had never seen before. Behind her, a figure with unruly black hair wore a black chiton draped over one of his pale shoulders and the other fastened under his arm. 

He bears that otherworldly beauty that seems to be reserved only for Primordial gods. A paradox of youth and antiquity.  

"Here, let me help you." The woman said as she helped you to sit, she had taken a black fabric from the figure’s pale hand, which you swore was not there mere seconds ago, then wrapped you with it. The fabric was so warm. You sighed, melted into the cloth. 

"It’s alright, you’re safe now. He can’t follow you anymore, the wretched beast." she said, mumbling the last part. Her eyes bore an irreplaceable warmth and kindness. As if she had known of your misfortune and suffering, familiar with it.   

While he watched you silently with his bright eyes. His gaze was sharp and rigid.  

As you clutched the blanket over you, he stepped closer, and you gazed upon him. 

"(y/n), daughter of Nemea, blood of Potamoi, for as long as you are in the Dreaming none shall harm you and none shall enter my realm with the intention of one." he declared to you, his voice dark and low. But you think he mostly declared it to his realm, binding his words into the Dreaming.

And his words bind you.

Words that made you safe and secure. You felt it in your lungs, the air tasted light in the back of your tongue. You felt it in your blood, hummed gently and numbed your fingertips, all encompassing.  

Your eyes stung and your lips trembled. It was a relief like no other and you could not contain your tears, murked by bone-deep exhaustion, 5 years of anguish and unchanneled rage. At the same time, you felt like sleeping for the rest of your life, never to wake to wash away this engraved weariness. You sobbed so hard, madly. You must have looked pitiful in their eyes. But you reckoned they won’t care what you looked like anyway. 

 —

The first week, you asked Lucienne where you should put the offerings for the God of Dreams. Wreaths of sweet-smelling flowers to scent his chamber and your best carving of Acanthus were in the basket you weaved. Lucienne informed you that Dream God desires no more offerings. You frowned at that. You admit that your offerings were modest, but you had always given him your best. Did he always detest your craft? Although you did not pry. You would only follow what he bid you, as his faithful servant.  

In your spare time, you visit other dreams and nightmares, assist Lucienne with her books, and in exchange, she teaches you to read and write in a variety of other languages. She was pleasantly surprised by your new-found talent in linguistics. You absorbed everything remarkably fast.  

Then you read. So many cultures with so many religions and gods you had learned, to find that Dream god and his family are beings older than the Olympians, even the Primordials. Consorting themselves not only to the gods of Hellas, but all over the world, was biting into a forbidden fruit.

Your entire life you thought the gods of Hellas were the only true gods. And it has left you in some form of existential dread. 

Moreover, walking in the Dreaming and taking everything around you made you heave occasionally. Its infinite and ever-changing nature spins your head. But you are a highly adaptable being, and you adapted quickly, for survival's sake.  

The Dream god was seldom seen, the first year of your stay your few glimpses of him were scarce, the number of times you see him when you were helping Lucienne in the library can

practically be counted with your fingers. The quiet flutter of his Chiton swept the floor. Often he didn’t even realise you were there, you didn’t make yourself be seen either.

When he saw you, you considered exchanging pleasantries, but you seemed to clam up whenever you mustered the courage. In truth, you wanted to be invisible. You wanted him to forget your existence so you could always be at the brunt of his indifference. You don’t know if he is as volatile as the other gods of Hellas, and should his wrath descend upon the Dreaming, let him forget that you exist. 

So you stayed silent and arranged the books as he read quietly on one of the many intricate wooden chairs placed at the long table. You scattered all over the library except where he sat. When you truly needed to work where he resided, you waited as long as you could before he departed. Or silently arranged the books. You’d bow your head to him before leaving. He acknowledged you with a flick of his gaze.  

 —

 It’s hard to keep track of time in the Dreaming when there is new splendour to be found every day. Like the Sirens you befriended in the frozen sea, the desert Golems you met on the barren wasteland, flora and fauna that do not exist in the waking world, or how one of Dreaming’s many meadows is filled with herbs grown from babies’ first tears. Not to mention Fiddler’s Green, where mirth is eternal and beauty is in its core nature. 

Yet the dull ache inside you persisted. Stubborn and sore. There is no splendour in the Dreaming as comforting as your home. Your Lake. 

A Naiad neglecting their habitat is not a Naiad. Do not ever forsake all-mother Gaea’s gift . Your mother used to remind you when you were but a tadpole of a water spirit. 

When you closed your eyes, you could still feel its connection in the Waking World.Tranquil, one bank shaded by a great Willow tree, its tendrils leaning over the water, protecting your domain. Vast and wedged deep in the forest.

But you adapted, for survival’s sake. 

So you trudged to the Dreaming’s many forests, trying to find a pattern in nature that resembles your Lake, even just a little. After days of searching, you found it in a clearing with a willow tree, taller and grander than yours back home. 

You couldn't tell which was your luck or the kindness of the Dreaming. You were grateful all the same. When you touched its coarse bark, you breathed in deep. It reminded you too much of what was. Then you watch over the clearing for days, waiting for it to change at the necessity of the Dreaming, but it never did. 

So you laid there to sleep under its overreaching branches every night. In a week, you had moved in completely there to live. Carved many woods from the branches that would fall whenever you wanted them to fall. Slept under the glimmering pale blue stars. 

Like a blink, your second year passed.  

You stretched like a cat on the grass after you had just woken up. The pink trickled in the sky, and soon the bright pale blue would follow. The Dreaming was pleasantly cold at that hour, and one of your favourite things is to watch Fenghuangs flying past the sky. They too like to stretch their wings when the sun is coming.  

But your morning was interrupted by the stir of the wind, and you noticed the branches of the Willow slouching by inches. You did not know then that they were anticipating the coming of the Dream God, who had apparated silently into the clearing.

You stood abruptly—almost knocking yourself—and approached him, then bowed your head. 

"My lord." You greeted him. Your heartbeat paced a little faster. 

He regarded you with his bright, cold eyes. His black chiton swept the dewy grass.   

"Is there anything I could do for you, my lord?" 

"The question is, is there anything I could do for you ?" His voice was sharp. 

"My lord?"  

"Your mother reminded me to fulfil my end of the bargain. Have I not done that?"  

"Bargain?" you still can’t understand his meaning.  

"The bargain we made on the spring equinox. Of my Dream." he sounded somewhat impatient. Irritation laced the edge of his voice. 

"My lord, I'm afraid I don't follow." you almost stuttered out your answer. Utterly lost. Your mother? Bargain? His Dream? You look at Dream God as if he grew a second head. Which is not that impossible in the Dreaming, you remembered. 

For a moment, silence has passed as he scrutinised you. In that span of time you dug your nail into your thumb. And you focused on the bridge of his nose instead of his eyes because you couldn’t stand the pressure of his gaze. 

"Do you know why you’re here, (y/n)?"

"Because of your kindness, my lord." you answer with a thought you used to have before he approached you with this business. Now, you’re not entirely sure. 

  Since when does a god give their kindness so easily without expecting something in return?

He sighed quietly. Closed his eyes for a second.

"Your mother did not tell you." 

"If there was something to be said, she couldn’t. We- I was running out of time." There was a sharp prick in your chest. Your body remembered the fear of that day. You steadied your breath.

"Would you kindly tell me what it is, my lord?" you pressed further. 

He ambled then stood beside you, his eyes swept around the clearing. You followed his line of vision. 

"It was centuries ago, a rogue Dream had found their way into your family’s domain. Made themself a part of one. Fell in love with one her blood. By now you must have learned that the waking world is no place to inhabit for Dreams or Nightmares." he said, and you latch on to his every word. 

"Nemea claimed that I could never have Basalt back without her blessing."

"She bound them." you murmured. Recognise your mother’s magic all too well.

"If I forcefully transport them into the Dreaming, Basalt would cease to exist if she didn’t sever the ties." he continued. 

He had made her sound uncharacteristically cruel to you. She was not as young, as short-tempered. You reminded yourself. 

"What did she want, lord? What did she bargain for?"

"Aid for her kin, should one ask for it. I granted her a life for a life. A Dream for a Naiad. Whatever aid they prayed for."

How convenient. You thought. 

"She is a seer, lord." there is something bitter at the back of your tongue. Has the Dreaming always been exactly where you belong? Until when?

"Thank you, Dream Lord, For telling me. I would never know otherwise."

He pursed his shapely lips, the edge twitched slightly.

"I had assumed you inherited her abilities. That you passed your words once you settled here." 

Blood rose to your face. Not for a lack of trying, the Dreaming is, thankfully, impregnable. But you have always been the runt of the litter, not entirely talented in magic or sorcery. The best you could do was cultivate your domain to the best of your abilities and heal injuries of the body. Nothing more, nothing less.

"No lord. Her talent did not pass to me." 

His reply was silent acknowledgement, then his eyes travelled around the clearing, finding some of your carvings resting on the tree. 

"What are you doing here?" he rasped.

"Oh this-this is where i sleep." 

He looked at you with a slight pinch of his eyebrows.

"The city’s room is extraordinary my lord but-i feel closer to home in the open air." you continued.

Only silence follows, and you wait for him to depart. 

But he lifted his hand instead, his fingers clawed and the Dreaming gave a subliminal sigh. 

The wind that tasted familiar beckoned to you. At the same time, the clearing that was small, filled with only grass and a single tree, had turned into a perfect replica of your home. From every blade of grass, the Willow that stretched over the side of the Lake and its hanging leaves gently brushed the clear water, to the patches of Hellebore and Crocus around the bank, the water lilies dotting the water’s surface. Your heart squeezed at the sight. 

"My subjects should feel at home in my realm." he claimed. 

"Thank you, my lord." You said, barely able to contain the tears brimming in your eyes. 

He only stared at you with an expression you could not recognise. Then left, leaving traces of sand behind.

You took off your ivory Peplos with a roaring sense of urgency. Then you ran, jumped into the water that caused a tall splash, swam and glided all over the Lake until your arms ached.

 —

 When you met Dream God in the library again, you didn’t hesitate to greet him. You don’t know how much he would tolerate you, but you found it quite liberating to know you didn’t have to cautiously tiptoe around him, relying on his kindness alone. Surely a simple greeting wouldn’t hurt. 

Sometimes he approached you. You have become an efficient staff in the library, able to memorise all sorts of books from your new found love of reading, and Lucienne referred to your good work. Perhaps you spoke to him more than the last 2 years combined. After all, the number of times can be counted with your fingers. 

And now, 

The sun has set, the hush descends upon the Dreaming. You chew on Saffron from the many Crocus dotted around the lake as you sit bare on the shore. Day by day you wonder what your mother saw in the tendrils of your many futures. Tears have found their way burning your eyes. An underlying fear of the Moirae almost chokes you. The Fates spun, measured, and cut, pushed you into the Dreaming, pushed Eros to strike Poseidon with his arrows, and it was all too much for you to bear. You almost die because of it. 

What could possibly be the fates weaved for your imminent future, you hope that it is an easy one. Your tears land on your thigh as you decide to whittle into dusk. You manage to convince yourself that this is a temporary solution, a temporary home. You will count the days until you can return. 

 —

 Abel had invited you for cheese and sweets, and you had invited Lucienne to come with you. It was a Herculean effort to convince her because the royal librarian never seemed to take a day off for herself. But she finally relented because she couldn’t stand hearing your incessant whining about how much you would be heartbroken if she didn’t come.

What Abel didn’t mention was that he had wine, and all three of you drank the jugs empty, an ice breaker of some sort that made for an absolutely wonderful time with the two of them. You exchanged stories between the alcohol and laughed until you gasped for air. Moreover, you had never eaten such foreign delicacies before and you were pleasantly surprised by the explosions of flavour melting in your mouth. 

"You must let me teach you! Let’s do it weekly so we can spend more time with each other!" Abel had kindly offered. 

"I’d love to." was your answer, you’re genuinely excited to learn.

When you say your goodbyes to Abel and wave to Cain, it is already night. Even in your drunken state, the sight of the stars tumbling down at intervals astounds you. Falling towards the mountains, the forest, one finding its way in Abel and Cain’s residence. You notice dark grey clouds hanging around the moon. The Dreaming temperature is plunging cold and it mists your breath. There’s a lot of things that you can’t make sense of in the Dreaming and most of the time you ignore it, you’re positive you’d go mad if you try to keep up with each and every event. But these stars, on this particular day, feel menacing, ominous. As if it could scourge the Dreaming into ruin. 

You wonder why at this exact time of the year this keeps happening. So you asked Lucienne. 

"At this time of the year the lord will be in his chamber the entire day, mourning the day Maenads tore apart his child." 

"No... Orpheus was his son?"

"He was." Lucienne said, staring into the sky. 

"I can't-can’t imagine his pain." 

"Nor i. One of these days reminds you that the Dream Lord is not unfeeling."

"Who can be unfeeling when you lose a child in such a way." You murmured. 

Your train of thought screeches to a halt when you hear Abel screamed from inside the greenhouse. When you try to make sure he’s alright, Lucienne blocks your way. And explains that it is a very normal thing for Abel to scream. 

The Dreaming belongs to hers and you always trust her words. Thus, you reluctantly choose to go home at her bidding.

"Can you walk?" Lucienne’s endearing concern warms you. 

"Ha! Can I walk?"

Can i?

"Can you?"

"It’s very hard for me to get drunk." Lucienne clarifies.

"That’s… luck and a curse." You chuckle, and she gives you her sweet smile. 

As it turns out, one has found their way in the shallow water of your lake. Drifting on the surface of the water. Pulsating with raw power, angry. Bright and beautiful. The tranquillity of your dwelling shattered by its motion.

And it pulls you, a clarity between your overlapping visions. Causes you to descend carefully into the water to collect them. 

"Leave it." His dark, rigid voice stops you in your tracks. Dream God appears silently. 

"Apologies lord." your speech almost slurs as you retract your hand and take a step back, rippling the water. You can barely see the outline of his form, but his eyes glimmer bright in the dark. 

Like cats. You mused.

He does not acknowledge you, merely brushes past to wade in and gather the stars. Then disappear in a blink.

You fall to the shore and retch violently on the earth. Then, to rid of the bitter aftertaste of the vomit left on your tongue, you pick some Crocus and chew on some Saffrons.

 __

 The Dreaming has taken you in completely. Quieten your anger and despair, lulled you into complacency. Despite time refusing to blunt the edge of your bouts of melancholy, you don’t cry as much. The Dreaming turns time a little faster. Keeps you dancing to its tune until you are too tired to think. Sways you into your 13th year with ease.

You have waited long enough, and you muster enough courage to ask for news of the waking world, if it’s possible at all to return. Whether your tormentor’s dark shadow looming over your consciousness wanes and forgets. 

You ask Lucienne if she has any information pertaining. But her mouth holds a shadow of a frown as she pulls you to sit beside her on the palace steps. Both of you just finished with your work. 

"Lord Morpheus does keep an eye on the Olympian, and he bade me to watch over this situation’s development. He even tried to... inspire him away. But the Olympians are powerful. And your hair would make it so easy once you step into the waking world. I'm afraid not yet my friend." 

You nod. Swallows thickly. 

"Just a little longer." she whispers as she enfolds your hand gently in hers. You closed your eyes before she could see your tears, and held her fingers tight. You don’t know what you would do without her. 

Just a little longer. 

For every decade you set yourself up for disappointment. For every decade you ask Lucienne. And her answer is always the same.

I’m afraid not yet.

Just a little longer, my friend.

By the fifth decade, you stopped asking altogether. You no longer have the stomach to face those four simple words. 

You choose to wait for as long as you could. 

__

On a bright sunny afternoon, under the Willow, you are whittling the likeness of a rabbit you met at the bridge leading to the palace. Frida, she had introduced herself. The bunny with a perpetual childlike soul and voice. Whenever and wherever you think about her, a smile will find its way to you, a precious little grey furball tumbling about the Dreaming. So you’re trying your best to capture her likeness. So absorbed by your craft you don’t even realise the coming of Dream god. 

"My Lord." You stand as you dust off your Peplos from wood shavings. The other holding tight to your Frida.

"Anything you need my lord?" you offer. 

"Your mother pleaded that I deliver her message."

Pleaded. her longing represented in those 3 syllables and it pierces you. 

"What is the message?" your voice almost whispers. Quickly you find your chest getting tighter and you dig your nail into the unfinished carving.

"That she begs forgiveness for her lack of action in the waking world."

You can’t exactly pinpoint when your tears were falling. Your mother is not an intense occurrence like it was for the first years of your stay. Shortly, Poseidon’s cruel visage wormed his way into your head and your heart feels heavier, faster. Breathing is becoming harder. With a violence your state of mind is thrown into those years. Your legs become as limp as the days you ran through the years of evading the Olympian and you lean against the oak tree, sliding down. Gasping for air. The last time this terror occurred was 419 days ago. You remember because you counted them. 

The terror persists even for decades. 

The dream god paces to your side, kneeling before you and clutching your free hand tightly in his.

"He can’t follow you anymore. Never as long as you're in the Dreaming." he said calmly. Kindly. 

You swallow thickly, breath stutters in and out. Your tears leaking down your chin as you focus on the way his tight grasp steadily anchors you down, it’s strange because he is the very Dream and you had expected his hands to feel hazy and washed, merely a blur. A memory of a dying Magpie in your arms when you were a child.

But his hands are as vivid as your tears, as warm as your breath. Flesh–like as your own. 

He holds your hand until you feel too tired to feel anything, until you unclench your jaws and steady your breath.

"Thankyou, for delivering her words." something passes on Dream God’s face.

"The guilt torments her." 

"You’ve seen it?" formed her dreams too?

He gives you a nod. 

Silence hangs in the air as you gently remove your hand from his. Not quite uneasy, not quite comfortable either. 

Dream God flicks his gaze to the carving on your other hand. 

"Who’s that supposed to be?" 

"Frida, my lord."

"May I see?" You hand him the almost finished carving. Frida's imprint can be seen on your palm, indenting your skin, almost bleeding. You didn’t realise that your grip had been iron tight. 

You notice that he observed your injured skin for a moment, then to Frida. 

"You have a way with your hands." he murmurs. 

So why did you turn it away?

"My lord? Can I ask you something... callous?" 

"Ask, then." his eyes still on the miniature.

"Why do you reject my offerings?"

He ruminates on the carving, runs his thumb on the wood, then returns his gaze back to you.  

"You are not here because of your devotion, but a pact from a very long time ago. There is no need for it"

"But I would still like to give you offerings." You confess. In truth, you feel the need to do something for him. He let you stay in his Dreaming, made you a perfect home. Never forced you into labour or harmful endeavours, even if he could. You almost feel like a parasite, gorging yourself on the Dreaming’s splendour and refuge. 

"You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to." he replies quietly. 

"What makes you think I don't want to, lord?"

He contemplates for a moment. 

"Know that none of my subjects have any obligation for that."

He returns Frida back to your palm, then stands as he bids his farewell. Before he leaves, you plead for a favour.

"Please tell her… tell her I love her. Tell her I understand."

__

You try to be as silent as possible as you walk to the throne room, holding a recently carved statue close to your chest. You placed the wood carving at the front of his doors on top of freshly weaved flowers, hoping he would accept the likeness of beautiful Jessamy. 

You don’t know if it’s an offering or a way of saying thankyou for his help amidst your bouts of terror. You hope he can see that it’s both.

 __

"I suppose you are the one who made little Jessamy." 

You almost drop the book in your hand as you swallow your scream. Sometimes the Dream god is silent to a fault.

 "Yes, my lord. Do you like it?" your heartbeat races. 

"It is beautiful." He said appreciatively. You let out an imperceptible sigh. The mere thought of his displeasure towards something that came from your craft—practically an extension of your being—would eat you alive. 

"Do you need anything, my lord?" You offer him a smile you’re trying to contain.   

"No, it’s fine." He says as he settles into his usual reading seat. You continue to busy yourself with shelving the rest of the books.

 —

 Once every couple of weeks, you whittle and weave more for the dream god. Most of the time he would show up the next day at the library. He would remark on your carving here and there, but he always comes to read on the long table, occasionally asking you to bring him the books he needs, or the many ledgers dusting on the shelves. 

At one point, when his eyes are no longer on the book in his hand, lost in his thoughts as he sits on the long table, he ropes you into a conversation. 

"How did you learn how to carve?" he asks out of the blue and it stuns you. He never asked anything about you before.  

"Oh, well, one of my sisters taught me." 

You realise he’s expecting you to continue. 

"She’s much much older than me, wiser too. Photine is a delight." You explain. Thumbing the edge of a leather-bound book in your hand. A sharp tug at your heart has you breathing in deep. 

"The Naiad with the brown hair." he follows, and you nod. 

"I guess you know of her dreams too."

"Including you, once." He notes.

Oh, well, in that case...

"My Lord, what was the inspiration for giving me a dream where I was getting chased by a giant mango with serpent legs?"

He huffs a small laugh. An unfamiliar sight. The first time you’ve seen him and it almost feels odd. Like looking at a featherless bird you guess. A strangely beautiful featherless bird.

"My nightmares are imaginative creatures, but it wasn’t me who made it so."

"I see." you nod. Appreciating his candour.

 __ 

 You didn’t hear the dream god enter the library, but you’re getting better at noticing his presence. You can feel him nearer and nearer, his magic shifts the air wherever he is. Light and rife with something indescribable. It has a burning wood scent to it, which reminds you of a ceremonial pyre humans usually throw for your great cousin in her domain.

Your work is finished, but you are so used to seeing Dream God after your offering that you find yourself waiting for him. Passing the time by watching the glory of the Dreaming through one of the many window panes. Almost lost in its beauty and restlessness.  

"Your craftsmanship is very beautiful too." You profess to him, who stands behind you, following your line of vision. 

"Aeons of practice." He answers, his voice light and low. 

"Do you see it as I do, your own creation? Or do you notice every little mistake you’ve made?" 

He tilts his head slightly, digesting your words.

"The Dreaming is what I am, all of its flaws and beauty. But my dreams and nightmares are the progeny I wrought that can only be reared instead of control. They breathe into their own life. There is a marvel at the way they flourish to become their purpose." 

Him and his boundless abilities, it’s hard to digest that he would even look in your direction, a thought you contemplate many times over. You inhale deep of that smell of embers, swirling pleasantly in your lungs.

"Why do you help me?" As you turned to face him, the words left your tongue before you could fully process them.

"Because it is a pact." He tips his head down at you. 

"But you could just-ignore my pleas and she would never know, she could do nothing."

"And risk the fury of one of the first Naiades? Mother of the whole Pegaeae in southern Hellas?" His lips tugged upward. "There is no need for conflict, is there? It is a good-natured wish, and I am a being of my words." 

You blink, did he just humour you? 53 years in the Dreaming and you barely scratch the full capabilities of Dream God. You know, not even your mother’s full wrath from the death of her hundred daughters would rival a speck of dust of his power. 

"She knows what I am. Knew the extent of my abilities. Your mother is a clever Naiad. A capable seer in her own right."

"I don’t understand, why did you even bargain with her in the first place?" 

He goes silent for a moment. "Maybe I was intrigued to see where the pact would go." 

"I never thought that anthropomorphic beings could get bored." You deduced. 

A moment of silence passes over him. 

 "Perhaps." was his only answer.

You close your eyes. Trying to recall the face of your mother but it was so long ago, you almost forgot what she looked like. 

"How is she, Dream Lord? What dreams does she have?"

"She dreams of nursing her heart from the pain of losing you. Even in the waking world, she did only that." 

 __

  "Is my mother in the Dreaming, lord?" you ask Dream God the next time you see him. Sitting at his usual seat. 

"She is." His voice is careful, a brush inquisitive.

"Where is she?" you press further. 

"Her dreams are turmoil over you and memories of her days as a sorcerer and a warrior. Or nightmares, precisely. This part of the Dreaming is a much calmer place. You won’t find her here."

"The edge of the Dreaming then? The part with the rusty black gates?"

"Yes." 

A silence crawls its way. Concocting hundreds of scenarios for you to see your mother.

"I-can i-"

"No. The only thing you will find there is pain and suffering. Not who your mother really is. You will only harm yourself." his low voice warns you. 

You nod. 

"I understand." 

 __

 You did not try to find your mother, but a kind Nightmare with dark rounded glasses informs you where Photine’s dream usually takes place. On the construct of Athens, in the heart of the city, toiling away in a workshop with her many carvings and chisels under the supervision of the masters. 

"It’s the one with the blue door. You won’t miss it." he smiles a charming smile that almost puts you under some sort of spell. But the more you observe his smile, the more you realise it is more akin to a grin. 

"Thank you, you don’t know how much this means to me." you return his smile.

"Don’t worry about it. It’s my pleasure, really ." 

It takes days of walking and navigating through the Dreaming’s ever changing state. You have to pass the hanging gardens of Babylon and swim across the frozen sea. But you are determined to see her again, and the Sirens of the frozen sea have kindly accompanied you on your journey. Some of them even confess that they’re bored to tears in the barren region of ice and have nothing better to do. 

When you finally reach the city, and find the woodworkers' workshop, the blue door is ajar. The sight of her long brown curls is enough to mist your eyes, tremble your lips. Suppresses your breath. 

She is carving .

Always her biggest dream to become the very best. Some men and women are pointing at the statue she is sculpting, guiding her. Advising her to do better, she absorbs it all without so much as a complaint. 

There’s a thin layer of iridescent sheen before the door, almost passing your notice. And the realisation of it makes you nervous. Somehow you know that it serves as a threshold. For what, you don’t exactly know, except your intuition is screaming you shouldn’t disturb its peace. 

Your longing trumps your common sense. 

"Photine." you call once you are inside the building. The men and women wouldn’t stop speaking, but Photine dropped her chisel onto the floor. Then turn to face you.

She reaches for your face, holding you between her palms, as if sampling you to see how much of you is real. Drinking in all your features. You struggle to hold back your tears. But Photine fails to do so. Her tears are leaking down her chin. Then her wail is the next thing that comes. Followed by her stuttering sobs. You try to contain her in your arms as her hands are holding on to you. 

For a moment you think it was just a shock of seeing you after so long, and you try to tell her that you are safe and you will always be here. But her crying never ceases, even as you try to comfort her. The advice from the men and women becomes a little too loud, merging with Photine’s lament, her hold becoming a vice-like grip. Bruising. Everything leaps in magnitudes until all becomes too much, louder, deafening, spins you and the room is tipping over like the statue she carved minutes ago. Crashing to the ground and splinters into ashes. 

A gust of wind swirls into the room, and before you know a vortex of sand swallows you whole. 

You land on the shore of your Lake, on your knees as you cough your lungs out. Your throat feels scratchy, parched and painful. You drown your face and drink until you can hear the sloshing of water in your stomach. Then you lay on the shore, on your back, and found the crescent moon already hanging in the sky. A stubborn pulse slithers toward your eye, 

You count the days until you can return to the waking world. You hope the end of the path will come soon. 

You cried yourself to sleep that night. Didn’t even manage to slip into the water. 

 __

 The coming of the dream god can be sensed. By the leaves, by the pattern of the wind, that approaching smell of embers, you know what he is coming for. So you offer the dream lord to sit beside you to enjoy the cool breeze of twilight, to watch the setting sun of the Dreaming. He surprises you when he silently sits next to you, and rests his forearm on his knees. 

The dark purple had swallowed the blue in the sky and you watched silently. The Cicadas wheeze somewhere deep in the forest.

You don’t know what to say, except apologise for your insolence. 

"There is an order of things even in the Dreaming." he reprimands kindly.

"I think… I think I turned her dream into a nightmare." you murmur. 

"The Dreaming is a volatile place, you are not a Dream nor a Nightmare, and you went into a dream unstable."

You nodded. That doesn’t make any sense, yet it does. His dreams and nightmares are the purpose, the order of it, and you went past the threshold without so much as a permission. Disturbing procession. Oh, you hope they don’t hate you for it. 

"I just miss her…" Your voice merely whispers, more to yourself than to him. There’s an annoying pulse on the right side of your temples, and you close your eyes.  

"Am I to be banished, lord?" you ask the inevitable. 

"I understand your affliction. It was a mistake that I'm sure you will not repeat." 

You nod because he is right. That is a feat you will not repeat again. You have no intention of being a ghost that would terrorize your family. 

The dream lord does not leave for a little while, but enjoys the cool breeze beside you in comfortable silence as he leans his other hand behind him. Both of you are lost in your own thoughts. 

The twilight seems to go on forever. It seems the Dream God has willed it so. 

The pain you will always carry. But this time, the ache in your heart ebbs away just a little more, and you feel a little less restless as the wind takes your worries away. 

 —

 When you look at your reflection in the water, you wonder why you have not gained a wrinkle for the past two centuries. It’s true that Naiades live extremely long lives, direct descendants of Thetis and Okeanos are immortal due to the blood of their predecessors, whose blood is intimate to human devotion and beliefs. But your blood has been sorely diluted. A distant relative. 

A minor spirit of no import.

You expect your appearance to change by this time. 

You asked Dream God about this once you stepped foot in the library. A habit of some sort, seeing him there once every few days, his presence no longer hinges on your offerings. And you appreciate the comforting routine. In the way he comes almost weekly and takes place in his usual seat, in the scratching sound of the quill made from your hand filling in Lucienne’s ledger drifting between you. How easy he is to talk to once you know how to navigate his moods. Even his silence is an essential part of it.

But this time is one of many where you plague him with incessant questions. 

"The Dreaming exists in between the universe. Every organism here is bound to a standstill. Time makes an exception for me." 

"How is that even possible?" You couldn’t fill the gap between his words and your brain. Your quill lay forgotten on the long table. 

"Because I have willed it so. Father Time has agreed." He turns a page of the book on the wooden surface, his eyes never straying from the written words. 

"Father Time? Is... is that your father?"

"Correct."

The idea makes your head spin. The Endless are the children of Time himself? Observing the Dream God powers, that is proper. 

"Is that the reason why in the Dreaming feels much faster and yet simultaneously slower?"

"Yes. Just like sleep feels brief and a dream lasts an eternity." 

"Then I will never age as long as I am the dreaming lord?" 

"As long as you’re here." he echoes. 

You don’t know how to feel about your new found youthful immortality. You don’t even know how long you could stay in the Dreaming. When exactly is it safe for you to return? Does Poseidon even remember you? Would he pursue you still, from his unfulfilled demented inclination? Or you’re just one of many items long forgotten in his growing list of unfortunate victims. 

You willed yourself to ask one more thing. Irrespective of how unprepared you are for the answer.

"Do you know if I can return to the waking world now?"

You see the way his hand shifts slightly on the arm chair, he lifts his gaze to you.  

"No, (y/n). It is unfortunate that it’s still not." a trace of sympathy tinges his voice. 

Your brows knitted together. Your nails dig into your sweaty palm. 

"What, after all these years? Centuries later, he is still... still that? " you whisper. Needles stung the back of your eyes. 

"In a way, you are the unattainable myth. You disappear in front of his very eyes, and seer after seer, oracle after oracle, he cannot locate you. Even the lock of your hair is ineffective. It is an obsession for him at this point, and as cruel as this sounds, it is a treasure hunt for him." A slight frown works his mouth. A hint of revulsion in the way he speaks of the ruler of the sea. 

You grit your teeth until your temples ache. Your nose flares in anger as you try to calm your breath. 

The dream lord scrutinises you with his sharp eyes. 

"Thank you for telling me." you nod and finish your work as fast as you can. Then excuse yourself to return to your lake. Where you drown yourself to cool your burning face, your rage consumes you in bondage.

 __

The Dream god’s revelation haunts you. Plagues you from falling into sleep. You twist and turn inside the water, rubbing your eyes. Biting your nails. And in the end, you return to the surface. Drape your Peplos and make your way into the forest. Weaving between the trees in the night. The grass damp beneath the droplets of your wet feet.

There’s that helplessness again. Your fate slipping away from your grasp as you feel the unbearable resentment simmering, threatening to spill. A dull shooting pain creeps in behind the back of your eye, seeping into your temple. You think you know where the pain comes from, that all the seconds and the minutes and the years of waiting feel pointless and small. That your centuries are nothing compared to the gods' eternal boredom. The end of the line has always been inconceivable. A myth you recite and recite and recite in pretence of a prayer.

That truth has always resided in your head, inside your skull. Becoming an infection that would never kill but torment. The unscratchable itch.  

When is it going to end? When is it going to fucking end?

If there is a purpose behind all this, you don’t want it. You would spit on Moirae’s faces if you could. Carve out Poseidon’s heart if he has one. 

Fine, fine . You will become a myth. You will make sure he will never find you again for the rest of his wretched eternal life.  

The next time you find Dream God in the library, you ask him how long you are permitted to stay in the Dreaming. 

The dream lord studies you with his sharp eyes. There is an underlying suspicion within you that he understands your meaning, knows what you are about to do. 

"However long you want it to be, even for eternity." he answers. 

 __

 The baby lamb with eyes as pale as the sky bleats gently in your arms. Walking through one of the Dreaming’s many meadows, you’re heading to the brother’s greenhouse. A basket slung on your elbow has been filled with figs you have gathered and you can’t wait to dip it in honey and enjoy them with Lucienne, Abel, Cain and Mervyn this evening, along with your favourite berry pie and tea in the midst of your weekly game of Senet.

When you reach the stony gates of the brother’s residence, you can see a familiar Chiton and pale shoulders, Dream God is conversing with Abel and Cain. Mervyn is already there too. Leaning against Abel’s greenhouse a good few paces from the other three. Puffing on his cigars, waiting for Dream God to leave so you all could start the game.

When the baby lamb bleats once more, Dream God turns in your direction. 

"Good afternoon, lovely to see you all here." you greet them.

The turnip head smiles, waves at you and the brothers greet you back.

"(y/n)" there’s amusement in Dream God’s smile when he sees the lamb in your arms. 

"What do you have there?" he asks. 

"Oh, I think she’s lost. I couldn’t find her mother around. Do you know where she is?"

His smile widens, and you should’ve known that was not a good sign. 

"That, is not a lamb, (y/n)"

"What-"

A scream leapt from your lungs as the lamb jerks and turns into a changeling in a flash at the flick of Dream god’s fingers, scurrying away into Abel’s House of Secrets. The little thing has a boar for a head and a baby for a body. Thankfully, your basket still dangles safe on your elbow.

"What just happened?" you ask, bewildered, heartbeat racing fast. You saw Mervin cackling with his hands on his knees while Cain wheezed his laugh. Only Abel asks if you’re alright, but even his mouth curls upwards. 

And then there's the Dream God, chuckling lightly. You stare at him with widened eyes, incredulously, as you realise he is enjoying this. 

"Oh, well, I'm glad that was amusing to you, lord." you feign annoyance. 

He merely gives you a pretty smirk that makes you roll your eyes in defeat, but you can’t help your own smile too. 

"Are you staying, lord?" you say as you hand Abel the basket. 

"No. My affair has concluded."

"Abel and Cain are hosting a lunch. Would you care to join us? Lucienne will come too." 

Abel stares at you approvingly, but Cain and Mervyn, well, their eyes are bulging out of their sockets, if Mervyn had one at least. They’re just begging for you to retract your question. 

Dream God ponders for a moment, stares at you, and there is a consideration behind his thoughtfulness. Until he sees your friends turn still as stone, blanching, anticipating his answer, that he makes his decision. 

"I have matters to attend to." Then he walks away, disappearing in a vortex of sand.

"Goodness (y/n) if you do that again you’re not coming to the next game." Cain hisses at you.

"Oh come on Cain, it was harmless." 

"Yeah, I'm sure Lord Morpheus would be a wonderful guest." Abel, who sees the bright spot in everything, defends you.

"Kid, we all know he’d ruin the mood." Mervin chimes between his puffs. 

Disappointment crawls its way at your friend’s reaction. Perhaps because you wanted Dream God to say yes and enjoy the wine that would make you drunk as the third round of the Senet begins. Or when the jugs of wine are empty the game would be long forgotten and everyone would try to outdo each other with the funniest stories. Sometimes the most dramatic, or the scariest. 

It pains you that there’s a barrier between him and his own subjects, formed by each partisan through centuries of detachment from one another. Not all of his subjects could come to him on a daily basis and talk his ear off and annoy him with trifling questions, you realise.  

Reasons within reasons. Most of all you just want to spend more time with the Dream God.

 __

"Would you like to join me for lunch tomorrow afternoon, lord? Under my Willow. There’d be honeyed Figs and Berry Pie and Olive relish." you ask in the library. It was really spur of the moment question. One that’s been brewed by your constant prognostications, strings of what ifs.

A slight crease forms between his eyebrows. 

"There will be only me, no one else." you add, still remembering how he immediately withdrew when he noticed your friends’ reaction. Your palms grow moist from anxiousness.  

He was silent still, returning to the book in his hand. 

Oh gods, i’ve embarrassed myself… oh gods-

"I will be there." he rasps. His throat bobbed slightly as his eyes never left his book. You almost sigh in relief, smiling widely. Your delight overflowing. 

 __

 It’s too awkward. This is the part you didn’t think through. You don’t exactly know what to say to him, and he seems to be at a loss for words himself. Sitting under the Willow and the food spread out on the grass, you don’t know how to start the conversation as you offer him the honeyed figs. You know some things about the Dream God, but watching him chew and swallow is something so surreal. Like a turtle out of its shell.

Determined not to ruin this event, you opt to say whatever comes to your head first. 

"To be honest I didn't know that the Endless ate at all." You almost stutter over your words.

"There is hunger, but we won’t die without eating." 

"Does it get painful?"

"Not exactly." 

"How long did you go without eating?"

He contemplates for a moment. "A year."

"Gods, you must’ve been busy."

"In a way. It was a time of war. Food is the last thing on my mind."

shit.

"I'm... sorry."

"It was a long time ago." 

"Well-I never know what to do without food. Naiades require very little sustenance as long as our habitat is healthy and humanity tends to us with their beliefs, but I get hungry all the time." you ramble as you stuff your mouth full of honeyed figs. 

It has always been that way between humans and your kind. You feed on their beliefs, bask in your power with it, and in return you would protect Great Mother Gaia’s gift for them. 

"Then it is a good thing the crocus around here is never ending." he remarks.

"The best part is that it blooms every single day! I nearly forgot to thank you for that, I get to eat all the Saffrons in the world. Well, I probably already did."

There’s an easy smile creeping its way into the lord’s mouth again. How you adore his unencumbered countenance as he is now. His usual cloud over his brow and the thin line of his mouth dissolving with the cool, gentle wind gliding along the areas of your lake.

After that, the conversation goes as well as you could’ve hoped for. Better even. He lulls you with stories of his time in the waking world, of other gods and even their dreams, visions of all the creatures that dream. Their subconscious hopes and beliefs, innovations and endless imagination.

"Even some of my Dreams and Nightmares are inspired by them."

"Is this a secret lord?" 

"Don’t jeopardise my integrity." He smirks.

"Never." you press your fingers to your mouth. Biting a smile.

And you tell him the stories of your languid days as a Naiad. The way humans would find their way into your lake if you permitted it, for comfort with various injuries. How you’d grant their prayers with Hornworts and water lilies to soothe their ailing. 

"You’re a healer?" he asks.

"Only for the body. If one consumes something from my habitat, then it will mend their wounds." 

"Was it a gift from your mother?"

"No. But I learned it from her. You’d be surprised by the number of injured people wandering in the woods."

He hums in understanding.

"You’re a healer too, you know." you add and he only answers with a quirk of his brow.

"When it’s hopeless, all creatures that dream, well, dream. Of better things. You’re a balm for all living beings' pain. I’m grateful you’re here for all of us. I'm glad you exist." It was a sentence less eloquent than something you've strung together inside your head. But you appreciate the simplicity of what came out of your mouth, and a smile forms on your lips for him. 

But you must have said something wrong, because there is a pinch between his brow and his lips are pursed thin. His gaze sharp, staring into your eyes. You’re afraid it might bore holes into your skull. 

Your smile falters. 

He stands just as you are going to inquire as to whether anything is wrong, avoiding your eyes, then walks a good few paces away from you as he disappears in a vortex of sand. 

 __

You were hoping you would find him at the library as usual the next week. But his absence is sorely felt when you wait for hours, almost the whole day, and he doesn’t appear. You ask Lucienne where he could be and she informs you that he is in the Waking World. 

"For how long?" 

Lucienne looks at you from behind her glasses, leans back as she clasps her hands on her desk.

"I don’t know. Lord Morpheus doesn’t make it a habit of telling me how long he is leaving."

"Right, of course." you nod. Biting your lip.

"Want me to pass a message once he’s back?" 

"No! It's fine. Thank you, Lucie. Is there any work I could do?" 

She hands you a ledger, then you scurry away before she can ask more questions, avoiding her inquisitive gaze. 

You wait until next week. Then the next week, and then the next. He is nowhere to be found. You don’t want to flatter yourself and think you’re somewhat important for him to purposely avoid you. But it feels that way. You want to apologise for whatever offence you have caused but how can you do so when you can’t even find the traces of his sand. 

Have you been too forward? Have you misread the situation before? Have you misread him?

"You’re out of the loop, kid. Come on. It’s your turn."  The Turnip’s cigar plumes. 

"Oh, sorry Merv." you took your pawn and placed it on one of many squares of the Senet. 

"You behaved like this too at the last game. Getting sick of us?" Cain continues as he examines the board. 

"She is sick for someone else." Lucienne quips, hiding her cheeky smile behind her cup. Nothing gets to pass Lucienne in the Dreaming and you know she noticed your growing agitation by the Dream God’s absence. It was only a matter of time before your friend’s confrontation. 

"Don’t even start, Lucie."

"Now hold on a minute. (Y/n), what’s this about?" Merv chimes in, curious, suddenly intrigued. 

"It’s nothing!"

"You know you can trust us, If you’re in trouble, we will help, (y/n)." Abel chirps.

"To an extent." Cain mumbles.

"Thank you very much, my dear friends. But I am not in trouble."

"Aren’t you?" Lucienne retorts. Her curiosity seeps through her teasing smile. 

"Alright, maybe a little."

"Come on, kid. Spit it out" 

You sigh loudly. Rest your hands on the round table for a moment. Then you start to recount the event. Pouring your concern amidst the blue smoke and yellow candles. 

There’s a knowing look shared between your friends, when you whip your head to Lucienne, she avoids your eyes. 

Oh no…

"What is it? What?"

"Eer… he’ll return. Just give him time." Mervyn scratches his Turnip cheek. Cain busies himself with the board and for the first time in a long while, Abel is silent, watching his own pawn. 

"Oh no. I’ve done something awful, haven't i. Oh gods, he’s going to banish me!" you almost wailed. 

"I can assure you it’s not that. If he wanted to banish you, you wouldn’t still be here." Lucienne laughs and chastises at the same time. Despite her smile, you know her enough to know that she despises the idea of you leaving the Dreaming unwillingly. 

"You know, like I said, just give the big man’s time, kid. It’s fine. It’s not that. You’ll be fine. Now, are we gonna finish this or what?"

Abel suddenly slumps backwards and falls into the ground. Mervyn heaves a loud sigh and Lucienne only stares at Cain vacantly as he drops the knife in his hand.

"Last week, didn’t you promise you wouldn’t kill Abel in our next session?" you remind Cain pointedly.

"He took my place! I was about to take the second row!"

"That’s because it’s his turn, Cain." Lucienne retorts.

 —

 Enjoying the colourful Fenhuangs in the morning sky, you sit on the shore of your Lake, chewing on Saffron mindlessly, squeezing the purple flower in your hands as you memorise its velvet-like texture.

Like a deer wary of the faintest sounds, you feel it when a gust of wind comes your way and the hanging leaves dip gently into the water, the coming of Dream God. 

Your heartbeat races, you feel like throwing up, but you take a few deep breaths, stand and grasp your Peplos hanging on the branch to drape it on your body. 

It’s impossible to calm your pulse when the swirl of sand exhales Dream god into apparition. His black Chiton flutters gently in the whirlwind of sand. His comely face does not sport the furrow of his brow, or the thin sharp line on his shapely lips like the last time you saw him. 

"My lord." you greet him and bow your head. 

"(y/n)."

"Are you well, lord? I-i haven’t seen you in a while."

Steady. Don’t rush the apology just yet. You remind yourself.

"Yes I am." he replied courteously. 

"I’m happy to hear that." You try not to reveal the panic that is practically strangling your chest by smiling.

Then he opens his mouth. Oh dear. Here it comes. You're going to get flogged. 

"My apologies for leaving so abruptly, per our last conversation."

Oh. What?

There’s hesitation when he’s about to speak again. 

"I…" he trails off, mulling over his next words. You feel your brows scrunching together, your mouth part just a slightest, as if you could taste his answer on the edge of your tongue.

You what?! You feel like screaming and shaking him by the shoulders when his eyes flicker to your mouth, back to your eyes, suspending his answer.

"There are matters that need to be tended to." 

Goodnes. Is that it? 

You nod along his words, unable to conceal your relief as you lean against the Willow. It seems your legs have forgotten their function. 

Abruptly Dream God rushes towards you.

"Are you alright?" he asks with a worry. His hands are hanging midair, unsure where to place them. 

But all you could do is laugh. At your folly and irrational augury. It seems to bewilder him all the more.

"(y/n)?" 

"Forgive me, lord. I’ve been, oh I don't know. Foolish." You manage to say between your giggles.

"In what way?" 

"I thought, I thought I said something wrong. And angered you, and then you’d banished me."

He blinks. Then grab your shoulders as his eyes latch wide onto yours.

"That is foolish." he admonishes, as if it is completely unthinkable for him to do so. You could only laugh more, placing your hand on top of his. Once your restlessness subsides you just realise how much you miss his presence in the Dreaming. The library. Next to you. 

And that easy smile again makes its way to his mouth. His low and light chuckle follows not too long. 

"Then, perhaps we should continue where we left off. Dust off the misunderstanding." 

You sigh a smile. 

"I’d love to, my lord."

That morning, he conjured Honeyed figs, Berry pies, Olive relish and many more. You talk and laugh and share silence into the evening. He willed the twilight to pass a little longer as you shared ripe peaches you sliced in half. 

When a few weeks have passed, he seeks to do the same thing. You seek to do the same thing when a few weeks after that have passed. 

 —

 You decide to take in the Dreaming completely. And it has taken you. Coddles and loves you, soothes your heartache and pain. You begin to call it home, in return, it mends your longing for the waking world. Changing your life at a steady, comforting pace. 

The need to return to the waking world dissipates by degrees as the days passed, days you passed with your dear friends, your dear Dream god. Your dearest Dreaming. 

 —

  Your smile is wide as you see Dream God approaching your home. But quickly falls when you notice that he does not return it with his usual smile of greeting, but rather with a pinch of his brow.

"Dream lord." You greeted him. Heart beating loudly. Something’s not right.

"Sit with me." He said. 

You sat under the ever-expanding Willow. He sits on the opposite side of you.

"There is no easy way to say this, but your mother has passed, (y/n)." 

It takes you a couple heartbeats to properly digest his words. You have almost forgotten what your mother looked like, but you think of her and your sisters often. And the love you bear for her, as she does for you, is still strangely familiar, burrowing under your heart. 

"How?"

"In her sleep."

You sigh. Relieved. It has been more than 1100 years since the last time you saw her, and you thank those who protected her so she could die a natural death. 

But her death was unexpected. You always expect your mother to be immortal. She may not be a direct descendant of Okeanos and Thetis, but she shared their blood more than her daughters. 

That could only mean… 

"The humans have forgotten her, don’t they?"

"The waking world changes fast." Dream God concurs.

You nodded. Your tears blur your vision as you clear your throat. 

"Was she alone?"

"Her daughters are with her when it happened."

"Did she dream?" You asked with a broken voice.

"Yes."

"What did she dream about?" Your tears fall one by one. Your chest grows heavier. 

"She dreamt of a different death. Holding Poseidon’s head in her hand, her sword in the other." Sobs leave your mouth. Your head feels a little dizzy, lighter. You grip the grass on the earth, feel as if you could faint and fall into the ground, but Dream God is inching closer to you, cradles your face delicately in his silken hands, then wipes your tears with his thumbs. Anchoring you down. 

 —

  The dead must die forever. The dead are dead are dead are dead are dead. Returning to the pool of Atoms. 

There’s a cruel thought, a line from one of many plays you watched with Photine in the city. It is a terrible reminder that grief and love are so closely interlinked. Vast and merciless and divorcing . You feel so small in the face of it. 

You were hoping you could see her one day. You don’t know if you’re mourning the hope of seeing your mother once more or your mother herself. Both. You never thought it was possible to feel this much grief over someone you haven’t met in millenia. 

After the news of her passing, days are spent under the Lake. Watching the sun raze down the moon in their routine as their light ripples on the water’s surface. You need to be in the water. Feel safest in it, closer to your kin. The generations of embrace of your mother and sisters are beholden in this very element of nature. It swallows your tears, takes it all and disperses it to embody your sorrow. It holds you there so peacefully for weeks that you forsake touching the surface. 

Sometimes you feel the presence of the Dream God, but you don’t move a muscle to greet him. And he doesn’t disturb you in your fragile state as you contemplate your malady. He simply comes to see if you exist, then quietly departs.

On the 20th day, Lucienne stops by in the afternoon, calling you out, stirring the peace of the Lake. You begrudgingly rise and trudge to where she is, feel the water purposefully weighing you down as you sloppily lift your feet step by step. Begging you to come back with its droplets clinging to your skin.

Though you can’t lie to yourself, it’s good to see her warm smile and the slight pinch of her eyebrows. 

"Haven’t seen you in a while." 

You nod as you drape your Peplos over your unclothed body. Eyeing the basket in her hands that wafts a sweet smell, your stomach growls loudly.

"I know you haven’t eaten in weeks, so i won’t leave until you finish this loaf and tea Abel has so kindly made for you."

You smile for the first time in weeks. She did not mention your mother, and you are grateful for it. So you sit beside her under the great Willow tree.

It’s happening again. The dark in the sky, the unnatural stillness in the forest. The greyish clouds hanging over the sun. Even your Lake looks a little bleak, a little too tranquil. The lily pads wilted by inches. 

The rain of stars would be in a matter of hours.

"I’m afraid we won’t see him until tomorrow." Lucienne says, as if reading your thoughts.

"Do you miss him?" She asks. Your lips are tight. You do. You do miss him.

"He misses you. Don’t know what to do with himself in the evening. He’s fussy when he can’t spend time with you and makes my job a little tedious instead." There’s a knowing smile on Lucienne’s mouth.

"Sorry Lucie." you mumble, and Lucienne drapes her arm over your shoulders.

"It’s alright, (y/n)." she assures with her gentle voice. Before you know it you’re crying again. This time in her arms, and she wordlessly let you clings to her coat and warm presence. 

Once your tears have dried, she helps you clean the streak of tears and snot with a napkin. Then hands you the rest of the unfinished bread. 

"I’m not joking when I said I’m not going to leave until you finish this loaf." Lucienne reminds and a laugh bubbles from you. You notice the relief written on Lucienne’s smile. 

You don’t know what to make of it as you continue to chew on the sweet bread. You Know Dream God enjoys your company, but you didn’t know that it's at a point where he is capable of missing you. Especially one such as him, who could have any company he wants, one that is far more interesting than you. What does that say about you in his life? 

Hopefully a friend. You mull over.

On that dusk, when Lucienne had left, when the waters of your lake reflected an even deeper grey from the sky, the first starfall landed on the shallow part of your water. You glide into it, then gather them in your hand, and it burns you, scalding and brandishing your skin with jagged edges. You quickly dip it inside the lake, cooling the diamond-like object with sharp points, clutch tight in your hand. You teeth clench from the burning pain. Searing through your flesh.

Why are you holding on to it? Why does it tastes so familiar?

In an instant, Dream God arrives on your domain, you are not at all surprised by his sudden presence. You felt it in the wind, the imperceptible stir of your Willow. 

He looks tired. The edge of his Chiton seems to melt into his shadow that grows darker. The corners of his mouth are a little steeper. Eyes hooded with melancholy. 

He strides towards you, waist deep in the water as he takes your wrist that clenches his star. 

"Open it." he demands harshly.

You unfold your shaking palm and the star glows in anger, his eyes digest the burning skin on your hand. His brows stitch together.

"Look at what you’ve done." He scolds you as he takes his star from your burnt skin, hangs it back in the sky. Then his fingers hover over your wound, his fingers quiver slightly. 

You don’t miss the hollow in his eyes. His youthful face emanates aeons of history and an antique lifespan he usually conceals. He looks… drained and exhausted.  

Dream God has given so much to you, even by pact doesn’t lessen his actions and kindness. Seeing him like this is somewhat heartbreaking. Dispiriting. 

You don’t know how his pain truly feels, you reckon it is much more painful than your experience of losing your mother, a natural progression of life, unlike the premature loss of one's child. But grief is grief. Perhaps there’s no need to measure it in order to understand its purpose. So you take his hand. Despite his confusion, he doesn’t raise his concern. You are leading him into the only comfort you know how to give him, trudging with him hand in hand until both of you are completely submerged in the water. Until your feet touch the earthy floor. 

He seems to glow pale blue, hair as dark as the night, gently dancing in the water. He looks the part of a perfect Naiad, who could easily lure any man into his own demise with his bright eyes. Eyes that are always on you, when you tilt your head, when you remove the lush Hornwort from his face. Your unbrandished hand tight around him as you mused the frown on his mouth.

It’s true the water connects you to your mother and your sisters, but he created your Lake and its water. 

He does not need words to say how distinctly sick he is at the desolation growing by the year on this particular day for you feel its destruction in the very water inside your lungs, infecting your bloodstream. How suffocating that looming shadow of despair thriving on this day, for he is every blade of grass and the very wine you imbibed, the very Hornwort you pushed a moment ago.

And he realises, you can feel it—see it in his eyes--that you know . In which he grasps your insides with all you consume, all you inhale to taste how much you are familiar with his grief by mourning your own. 

You put a thousand wishes of consolation into one simple gesture. You slither your hands under his arms and wrap around his chest because you are not good with words. 

You try to hold him just like how he consoles you under the Willow, and hope that it reflects his kindness even just a fraction. 

Take the serenity you’ve given me and savour it for yourself. 

You’re not entirely sure if it’s a pure altruistic reason for your Dream God, perhaps one of them is selfish. That you need someone to anchor you down before you slip away in madness. To prevent feeling alone in your sorrow under the surface of your Lake. His Lake.

But the water and the dreaming tremble imperceptibly. It’s hard to pay it mind when the Dream God circles his arms around yours, envelopes your back and buries his eyes on your shoulder in return. His fingers cling to your skin, almost desperate. 

You and Dream god stay that way until your eyes fall heavy, your head droops on the hollow of his neck, until you are as still as the water surrounding you, as he does. His arms are a sense of comfort you haven’t truly felt in your long life.

When you woke up, it was dusk. Dream God is nowhere to be found, but the sky is greeting you with his dusk in a periwinkle shade. 

  —

 For living almost 1900th years in the Dreaming, you learned one more language that no one can really teach you except for you and Dream God himself. 

You can read Dream God as easily now, as he reads you. But that knowledge comes with the same cost he has paid to you, as you paid him, by baring your psyches to one another. 

A mutual trade of need to be by each other's side. You choose to take meaning when he comes to you requesting for a stroll in the Dreaming’s many meadows, the bright sun would purposefully land soft on your skin. To his presence under your willow, passing away the day together with an evening meal that consists of fruits, pies, and laughter, current delicacies of the Waking World he would conjure. To the way he consoles you with his embrace when tears gather in your eyes at the thought of your mother.

He takes equal meaning when you remain in the library, waiting until the late hours for him to return when his responsibilities keep him long and away from the Dreaming. When you pass the plate of figs with drizzled honey for him and lick the excess sweetener remaining on your finger. When your presence can be felt beside him, lost in the volumes of books devouring the secrets of the universe, as he is lost in his own process of shaping Dreams and Nightmares.

And when the rain of stars comes, at the end of the day you trail beside him to collect his falling stars. The little jewels no longer scalds your skin. But the Dream God always mournfully apologises for the one that has, now merely jagged scars on your palm. To which you take his face between your hands and assure him you love the shapes it has left on you. 

For each and every moment both of you have learned inches by inches. Accumulating language by centuries of communion. 

It is a peaceful coexistence you and him affectionately clings to. 

 —

"I should like to think that we’re past titles, (y/n)." 

Dream God demands as he’s helping you cinch the golden brooches on your shoulders to hold your Peplos together. One of his many gifts he had kindly bestowed upon you. Your hair still damp from the Lake, your skin barely dries because he conjures the afternoon meal before you even rose from the water. Impatient as ever. 

"And what does that mean, Dream God?" you turn to him once he cinched all of the golden jewellery. 

"That you should no longer address me as such." 

You don’t understand why you are perplexed by the notion. You have become his friend, as he yours. It is only natural to call each other by names. 

…that was partly a lie. You think you understand.

Perhaps, in a sense, some part of you silently worships him. For all your notions involving gods, you quietly revere the comforting hands that were on your shoulders a moment ago. And you uncover devotion when his skin touches yours, attain unyielding faith when you gaze into his eyes. In each and every title is in lieu of a prayer.

For you to call his name is somewhat akin to heresy, changing your carefully crafted divine custom, one that you’re unsure you’re ready for. 

It places you on the same pedestal as him. You understand that he demands for this very thing. To be on the narrow and tall pedestal with him. 

You sigh heavily as you try to cover your face, but he takes your wrists, gently pushes them down. His thumb lovingly runs over the scars on your palm. A flare of devotion stirs. 

"Morpheus." He demands once more. His bright beguiling eyes search for yours, but you avoid them by focusing on the pooling darkness on the edge of his black Chiton. 

"It feels wrong my-" 

"Morpheus." he urges firmly. Lean down to find your eyes. 

You bite the inside of your lip, The last time you spoke of his name was millennia ago. Aeons.

And you brace yourself for what feels like a blasphemy. 

"Morpheus." you finally muster. The name is strange on your tongue and you swallow, swallow the name too. 

A satisfied smile graces his lips.

"Morpheus." you repeat. Familiarising yourself with it. A rush of exhilaration spurs. His smile grows wider.

"Morpheus." Once more and a giggle slips from your mouth. His name tastes light and new and familiar.

The act did not take but gave you everything, no matter how unprepared you are for things to change within you, between him, you always found yourself embracing the uncertain future wherever he resides. 

"Yes, (y/n)?" he answers and you laugh heartily. He follows. Dark and low and mirthful. Tickles and burns your skin and shoots arrows at your stomach. 

 —

 The waking world has abandoned your former life. Morpheus explains that in your kind and your gods are no more than grand mythologies to lull children to sleep, for men to study. Other religions have replaced old beliefs, old deities and old ways of worship. Mankind does not believe the ancient ones anymore, and some creatures went extinct; the only legacy for your species.

Now, mankind cultivates their own nature, ravaging it themselves. 

The news of your sisters’ death came one by one as the world discarded them. The death of Photine strikes you with overwhelming violence. 

Devoid of power and human faith, she was forgotten, limped into obscurity and caved in on herself, met Death in her very own water. 

The dead must die forever. The dead are dead are dead are dead are dead. Returning to the pool of Atoms. 

You feel the ripples of the water, Morpheus wading to where you float in the shallow part of your Lake. 

"Will I die like them?" you question, to him who blocks the sun, but mostly to yourself. Your tears trace the sides of your temples. Your sorrow is his too, you can see it in his glistening eyes. He takes your hand and enveloped tightly, almost desperate. 

"No. I will not let that happen. My faith will always sustain you." He gently caresses your forehead, and kisses you there, featherlike and gentle, as if you could break from all your agony by the daintiest pressure.

 —

Morpheus stands at a crossroad he plucked from the dream of  a man longing to see his former lover on the street where they first met. The crescent moon and the decaying fields of Wheat came from a farmer asleep at her porch on witching hour, her rake in her hand long forgotten as she dreamt of ploughing her fields. Content with the life she had wrought of her own. 

Yet it was not enough, the fates would always require more. His surrender and acceptance was found in the last night of a starved circus Lion, dreaming of her faraway home, for tomorrow she would meet his sister, Death. 

And the iron sword in his coat, a symbol of righteous indignation, the boon, was a little harder to find. But one pierced through a monstrous serpent. It was found on the hand of a man fighting in the name of Jesus Christ. He was accused of murder in his smalltown home. 

All is set and complete. 

He steels himself by recalling his treasured one, his heart and friend, his darling Naiad's face, then sends gentle wind for her in the Dreaming. 

And now he invokes their name.

"I, Morpheus, Dream of the Endless, hereby summon the Fates."  

A thunder strikes the air.

"The three who are one."

The wheat surrounding droops lower.

"The one who is three."

The black chiffon of theirs dances in the wind.

"The Hecateae."

The Fates stand before him, and he bows his head as customary. 

"Morpheus, my, what a lovely surprise." the mother greets.

"Is it really such a surprise, sister-self?" the maiden taunts.

"It is only a matter of when." the crone scorns. 

"Is this a social call, Dream king?" 

"Unfortunately not, my ladies." 

"Of course it’s not. We know what he wants." the crone spat.

"Think again Morpheus, there is no turning back. Are you sure about this, Dove?" the mother cautions kindly, ever attentive.

"I do." Morpheus says with stubborn conviction as he pulls the sword from his star–sewn coat, and the Fates unclench their jaws to swallow it whole. 

"You will bind her to your fate just like that?" the maiden questions with her mischievous smile, she expects no answer from him.

"The Dream king has always been selfish." the crone sneers.

"three questions, one answer, love."  the mother croons.

He clenches his fist, braces himself. 

"My first question, the tool I need, where is it?"

"In the heart of Tartarus, where Chronos once fell." the maiden responds. 

"My second question, will the deed be possible to enact?"

"Yes, but first you will toil for a long time, and after." the mother croons.

He nods, unflinching. 

"My last question, the scale of the change. How much?" 

The fates glare at him in a way they never did before. As if they too, revealing his answer, are passing the threshold that can’t be returned. 

"An upheaval of the highest order. But nothing you and her could not overcome." For once, the crone's voice is faintly tinged with favor. If it meant something, he chose not to see it. 

—

 "Does my Lake still exist?" you question Morpheus as you sit beside him under the Willow, both of you leaning against the tree after you share ripe Peaches you cut in half. His black Chiton pools at the grass. Now watching the twilight sky of the Dreaming that stretches for hours. 

"Fortunately, yes. Humans do not dare to venture in that part of the forest. A curse is said to surround it.

Your lips tugged upwards as you turned towards his profile. "Curse, or a nightmare?"

"Both, perhaps." a sly smile forms his lips. 

A breeze and silence are blowing your way. You swallow thickly before asking the next question, one that has not been asked for millenia. 

"And... and him?"

He straightens his body towards you. 

"He’s wandering helplessly at the bottom of the sea. The sea belongs to humanity now, his power has abated. Most remember him only as a vessel for their own stories."

You don’t know what to say. Your hatred overshadows your relief that borne a spite for the olympian. You take joy in this news. And you hope that he will suffer more from something that is beyond his power to contain. 

"He no longer has the ability to hurt you. I made sure of that." he claims with a conviction that leaves no room for any doubt to bloom within you. 

"I really miss the waking world." was all you could say after quite some time, smothering the grass in your hand.

Morpheus gently takes your hand in his. 

"Do you want to visit the Waking World?" he offers. 

You missed a second. 

"I don’t… I don't know if I can." It's been so long. Too long. The Dreaming has become a part of you so thoroughly. You become apprehensive at the prospect of leaving it, even for a temporary moment. Would the earth of the Waking World even feel the same in your hands? The air and its water? 

Morpheus senses your agitation. He tips your chin to look upon him.

"I will come with you if you wish. Just think it over." 

Your nod. Comforted by his bright, kind eyes. You watch the last traces of light in the horizon. 

"Tomorrow I must return Corinthian back to the Dreaming. When I return–should you wish it–just tell me, I shall take you to the waking world. There is much I want you to see." he offers. 

You are reminded once more of his kindness. Of his endless thoughtfulness for you. When you look upon his comely face, has it always been like this? Has your heart been filled and overflowing with so much love that has moved past the threshold of friendship? Since when did you have this urge to press your lips against his? Wondering what kind of divine blessing resides there. 

You can’t help but caress his cheek and lean towards his lips, in which he captures yours so readily. As if he had been waiting for this moment for a long, arduous time. 

Yes, you can see everything so clear then, the fog and the ache and every uncertainty clears away, the small pieces pulling together at the centre of the universe to create a larger picture, to make sense in your erratic fate. That you are merely borrowed parts that needed to be returned, from the drops of the rain, from the dirt of the earth, from the rays of the sky and the water in the lake. Here wherever he is, the centre of your universe, your future slowly and kindly enough to unravel before your eyes, returning home under his heart, returning home to him. 

Morpheus pulls away reluctantly, and your eyes flutter open at the loss of his lips. 

He caresses your jaw. You feel his perpetual love and devotion pulsing through his fingertips, tracing your skin. His eyes drink in your features fondly, consuming you whole. You desire nothing more than to be consumed over and over again. 

"Do you want me to kill him?" Morpheus rasps.

The Dreaming turns still. Holding its breath in anticipation, awaiting your response.

Morpheus finds the answer in your eyes. Feel it in your lungs. And he nods in understanding as he kisses you once more.

#morpheus x reader #sandman x reader #dream x reader #the sandman #this one is the longest thig i #i've ever written adbodawbobfaafw

[wheres-mylove]

my heart, truly yours | nikolai lantsov x fem!reader

Summary: They were never meant to have a future together. Nikolai’s responsibilty draws him away from the love of his life.

Disclaimer: English isn’t my first language!

Word count: 0.5k, short little angsty baby 

It was honestly a shame that a Heartrender, a woman who held such power over other people’s hearts, was never going to be able to gain power over her own. It belonged to someone else. Nikolai Lantsov could bend it to his will, break it, toss it away. And she was helpless. Because no matter how much she tried, she couldn’t rip the longing feeling from the depth of her soul.

She used to be certain that she had known her place very well. A Grisha. Not a royalty. Baghra would definitely call her a stupid, stupid girl now. And she deserved that title. The stupid little girl who let a prince conquer her heart.

He could kiss and cherish her when his hair was bright red. Those were the times for being reckless. For allowing your feelings to guide you.

And now she was attending the engagement party of the man she loved. But she wasn’t betrothed to him. Alina Starkov was.

“Someone’s looking a bit pale. Aren’t you delighted that our beloved prince is going to marry the famous Sun Summoner?” a voice sneered behind her back. Vasily Lantsov. Always so sweet.

“Of course I am, moi tsarevich. How could I not be? It’s a great day for Ravka,” she managed to choke out, twirling the glass filled with champagne in her hand.

“Interesting,” he commented, smirking in a way that made her sick. “Everyone knows, darling. And everyone in this room is pitying you.”

She took a deep breath to compose herself. Talking back wasn’t an option. Giving him a heart attack neither. So she remained silent.

Vasily scoffed and left her in the middle of the crowd. She was searching for a familiar face of Mal Oretsev, but she couldn’t find him among the guests. The one person who could understand her pain. Maybe he was a bit wiser than her, and saved himself the trouble of showing up. Smart boy.

Nikolai asked her to come there. Not very considerate of him.

The door opened, revealing a Lantsov prince and the most famous Grisha in the world by his side. They slowly entered, hand in hand.

Oh, dear heart. This palace was never a good place for you. Now you are being walked on. Broken with such ease. But still his to break.

Nikolai locked eyes with her. Glossy eyes. The ones she gazed into many times. Filled with love. And pleading for forgiveness.

She silently begged him to look away. To pretend not to know her. Royal court is observant. And he’s acting scandalous.

Alina seemed to notice, giving him a subtle reprimand. She thanks her for it by nodding her head. Starkov’s eyes were suddenly asking for forgiveness as well.

Heartrender couldn’t blame the girl on his arm. She could only blame herself for allowing Nikolai Lantsov to get so dangerously close.

In the chaos that came next, he was screaming her name. Praying in a frantic way to all known Saints. Keep her safe. Nikolai’s heart prayed for it.

Not a king’s heart. A lover’s heart. The one that always belonged to her.

#nikolai lantsov #nikolai lanstov x reader #nikolai lantsov x you #nikolai lantsov fanfiction #nikolai lantsov fanfic #shadow and bone #shadow and bone fanfiction

[synnamonroll666]

Intoxicating Scent

Prompt 27: Breeding Pairing: Syzoth X Fem!Reader Description: Being in heat was difficult for Syzoth. Every three months, he would struggle to keep himself from tackling you 24/7. But he always managed to refrain from doing so. However, when you end up in heat at the exact same time, he loses all control... Warnings: HUGE Breeding Kink, Pregnancy Kink, Syzoth In Heat, Dirty Talk, P In V, Creampie, Talk Of Oviposition... Word Count: 1.2k Main MasterList: 🖤 Kinktober MasterList: 🖤 Synny's Angels: @lorebite, @mornandil, @queenkhepri, @bihansthot, and @mmeerraa.

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When I wake from my slumber, I am drenched in sweat and my heart is racing. I swallow a few times, discovering that my throat is feeling sore and dry, like it hadn't seen water in days. It roars within me—my Zaterran instinct—demanding that I succumb to my desires.

Usually, this voice was redundant, constantly reminding me of the purpose of my reproductive system when I was in heat. But today, its whispers have become screams. Being in heat was hell, but this was something else—I had never experienced a feeling like this before. And when I am breathing deeply to catch my breath, I smell something—something that makes my blood boil with need.

I look to my side to see my lover lying naked between the sheets. She is fast asleep, exhausted from our activities earlier this night. She looks so pretty—the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. I always found my mate attractive, but something about the way she looks now is just too addicting to pull my eyes away. I lean over her and inhale deeply to take in her scent, and it hits me: she's in heat too. She is at her most fertile at this moment, and my body is going absolutely crazy for it.

Both of us are in heat at the same time; the poor girl doesn't stand a chance.

My reptilian instincts kick in, and I nudge her neck with my nose—a small courting ritual Zaterrans do before breeding. I bury it just under her jawline and take a big sniff, letting her scent fill my lungs and intoxicate every corner of my feral mind. She wakes, her pretty eyes glancing up at me as the corners of her lips curl into a sweet and loving smile.

Luckily, it doesn't take long for her to figure out what I want, and I am relieved when she lays flat on her back and spreads her legs.

A low growl emits from somewhere within as I stare at her willing form. The rest was a blur. I don't remember ripping the bedsheets from her body or how they ended up in a torn-up mess on the floor—I don't remember how I ended up bending her so she was ass up in the air and her face was buried within our pillows.

All I remember is sinking my twitching, aching member into her core and sighing as her warmth finally cured the agony I had suffered from. But that moment of peace was merely the calm before the storm, because that primal voice within screams at me, ordering me to stuff her full of my seed. I have to get her pregnant.

I NEED to!

I pull out quickly, earning a soft whine of disappointment from her. But soon, those displeased sounds would be turned into moans of ecstasy when I would reenter with brutal force, my tip instantly bruising her cervix. I hold her down by the shoulders with one hand and hold her hips up against me with the other. I pound into her over and over, allowing her tight walls to milk me of everything I have.

I press my chest against her back, enjoying how her form trembles beneath me as I trap her between me and the mattress. She has no room to move—barely any room to even squirm like her body naturally desires to do in this state. I croon her name as the heat radiates off of her feverish flesh and warms me like a fire. I could stay buried within her for hours, siphoning that heat from her and basking in its company.

She whines and begs as I claim her—as my nails dig deeply into her flesh as my hips hastily snap back and forth furiously on a mission. Though her words fall on deaf ears, since I am too in my wild Zaterran nature to comprehend them. My throat grows more torrid by the second, and my tongue intuitively lashes out to lave her throat, flickering against her rapidly fluttering pulse to collect the droplets of sweat upon my pallet.

I can't hold back my moans, as it tastes sweeter than any drink I have ever consumed. It is like I have been stranded in a dry desert—dehydrated and dying from thirst—and she was the oasis that saved me from my fate. She is not only my goddess but also my savior.

Her trobbing core embraces my length tightly, suctioning on to it and pulling me back each time I begin to pull out. That is the only language I understand now. This shows me that she needs me just as much as I need her in this moment, and I am more than willing to provide for her what she so badly craves.

However, I am unable to fully focus on what she wants now, as my nature has me wanting one thing and one thing only—that one thing that I'll do anything to get, which is fill her with my children. I am already leaking within her, but it is not nearly enough. No, I won't be satisfied until her little belly expands with my seed, pearls of it dripping down her legs since she is too stuffed to contain it all. But I would make sure that she would take as much as she could.

"I'm going to fill you to the brim with my seed and make your stomach swell with my kin! I'm going to put a whole clutch within you and make you the mother of my children!" I growled deeply, my voice growing daunting as it now sounds more animalistic than anything, much like the voice I hear inside my head.

With each pump of my member into her soothing heat, that bubble of arousal grows larger, threatening to pop at any moment. And when it does, a feral roar tears from my throat as I release all of my semen into her gentle womb to coat its walls. I place my hand on her stomach, feeling it finally swell with my seed as I stuff her full. After my member showers her womb thoroughly, she collapses on the bed, rolling slightly onto her side since she is unable to lay face down now. Soon, I see why

As I rest on top of her, I look down at her now-inflated stomach. I gently brush a hand over the rounded flesh, and knowing it will soon grow even more as my seed develops into my offspring makes me smile. I feel my heart flutter as I imagine them fresh from their eggs—my little hatchlings will look so adorable. And their mother—she looks so beautiful right now, my heart can barely handle it. But... Something is still wrong.

She is not nearly swollen enough—she needs more. Instinctively, my hips retract and push back against hers once again. She responds with a tired whimper, but I ignore it, too distracted by my yearning desire to release yet another load into her already-overflowing womb to focus on anything else. I will not stop until I have emptied myself fully in her—I won't stop until she is filled completely with my young.

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#mortal kombat 1 #mk1 #mortal kombat reptile #mk reptile #reptile #reptile x reader #mortal kombat syzoth #mk syzoth #syzoth #syzoth x reader #kinktober 2023 #SinnamonsSpicyFics

[mcuamerica]

The Shadowsinger: One

Warnings: 18+. Minors DNI. loss of family, gore, canon level mention of violence, Tamlin, heavy spoilers for ACOTAR series. If I forgot anything, please let me know!

Pairings: (Eventual) Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary: After you were claimed as Amarantha's Shadowsinger, you meet the High Lord of the Night Court.

Disclaimer: I do not own SJM’s characters, only the ones I create for the purpose of this story. This is a work of fiction. I do not give permission to repost my work on any other platform or medium. Please be respectful.

My graphics are my own. If you wish to use them, please give credit!

Series Masterlist

Prologue

Just 6 months before everyone was trapped Under the Mountain is when she raided your small northern Illyria village. And it was all because of that male you slept with. When you thought he was sleeping and allowed your shadows to come out, he saw. And he knew. He ran back and told his camp Lord, who told Amarantha the second he could. The Lord had sworn allegiance to her before a few others did as well.

Every single villager was taken to one of the camps she had. Sirona, Igna, and Oran included. Every single one of them but you. At first, she threatened you with their lives, and you begged her to spare them. You begged her harder when she threatened to rip off your wings. So, she made you a bargain. One she didn’t make with anyone else.

So long as you would be her personal Shadowsinger, her spy, and told her nothing but what you thought to be the truth, your friends and your wings would remain intact. You foolishly agreed. Not aware of the loopholes that she would find ways around in the coming years.

You were there when she trapped everyone Under the Mountain. You were responsible for her having bargaining power over certain High Lords. How she was able to put a leash on everyone’s powers. You were trapped with everyone else. But you were her spy, and she still needed information from the outside. So she allowed you out, but only when she deemed it necessary.

And you met Rhysand. The High Lord of the Night Court. The High Lord of your home. Or what used to be. And not just a High Lord, but a Carynthian, the highest ranking form of an Illyrian that you knew. And he was Amarantha’s whore.

Rhysand had a familiar feeling the moment he laid eyes on you. Not only because you reminded him of his Shadowsinger brother, but something deeper. Something he hadn’t been able to place for the 50 years Under the Mountain.

When you first told him of your bargain with Amarantha, he was wary to tell you anything. He definitely wasn’t going to tell you about Velaris. Not when you had a bargain to tell her the truth about anything you learned. And lying to her would only get you killed.

Then he learned why you’d done it. How you bargained to keep your friends, your family (albeit not blood related), safe. To keep your wings unharmed. At least unharmed by her. So he decided he would do everything he could to keep his secrets from you. Not because he didn’t want you to know, but because he didn’t want you hurt. Or your family hurt.

You had learned to lean on each other during those 50 years. Amarantha would often send you out together. Even though she trusted you and Rhysand to bring her valuable information alone, she also knew that you couldn’t lie about the information that he told her. 

But Rhys had learned to keep you in the dark, away from conversations, when he knew you didn’t want her to know what was going on. You couldn’t lie about something if you didn’t hear it. If your shadows didn’t tell you.

And then Feyre came. The 19 year old girl, human, professing her love for Tamlin. One of the first things that your shadows whispered to you about her was that she indeed did love him. Something Amarantha forced out of you once they took Feyre to her cell. After they beat her, of course.

You remembered when Rhys went out for Calanmai, even if he didn’t tell you what happened. You remember him coming back from Tamlin’s manor and telling you about Clare. You were on the mission to go retrieve her, just to conceal Amarantha’s soldiers enough so they could do their worst. Thankfully you weren’t asked to question Clare… Thankfully for Prythian, not Clare. You didn’t know you were retrieving the wrong woman.

What Amarantha did to Clare, how she displayed her decaying body in the throne room, you could barely watch. You knew Rhys had taken her mind. He wouldn’t let innocents suffer. It didn’t help, either way. Knowing that Amarantha would use it against you if you looked away or left the room. Especially because she may need use of your shadows to scare the poor girl even more.

You watched as Feyre defeated the Wyrm, as she miraculously survived the second task. You knew she couldn’t read. Your shadows told you the second the spikes started descending on her and Lucien. You thought they were going to die. But somehow, after hovering over the second lever for so long, she chose the third. It was like someone told her to do it.

Rhys didn’t mention he was sending Nuala and Cerridwen down to retrieve Feyre on those nights after their own bargain. Or what their bargain even entailed. He didn’t want you knowing the secrets. Not when it would ruin the plan he had in place.

So you stood by as Feyre held the fate of Prythian in her hands, with the dagger as she plunged it into Tamlin’s stone solid heart.

It wasn’t easy, watching Amarantha as she killed Feyre for it. As Rhys roared for her, fought for her. All while Tamlin did nothing but beg. Granted, he was injured, but he didn’t do anything. Didn’t even fight as Feyre’s neck snapped. You even tried to send your shadows towards Amarantha to blind her for Rhys, but she shot out a string of magic and knocked you on the floor and held you there. 

But Feyre solved the riddle. She freed you all. And you took a deep breath as you felt more magic swell in you than you noticed before. Maybe it was from it being gone for 50 years. Or restrained, at least.

And Tamlin killed her. He did what every person Under the Mountain was wishing, any sane person at least. Amarantha was dead and you were free. Free to keep secrets from whomever you wanted. Free to see your family without fear that you would endanger them.

That final night roaming about in the upper floors of the Mountain changed your life even more. When you approached Rhys to say goodbye. To go to the camp your family was being held at and take them back to the village. If anything was left. It was then that he gave you an offer that was hard to refuse.

“Come with me,” he whispered. “To Velaris.” He said and you tilted your head, not understanding what that was. Without even reading your mind, he continued. “It’s my Court that isn’t known to anyone. I’ve kept it hidden from everyone. From her… but I want you there. I want you to meet my family. I want my family to meet the female who helped me through these years…” he said. “I want you to meet another Shadowsinger.” He said.

You stood there, blinking for a few moments. “Rhys…” you muttered. “I have my family-“

“They can come. I’ll get you set up in a townhouse with them. And if you’d like, we could see about you working as part of my Court.” He said. “Think about it. I’ll ask your decision by tonight. Once you’re with your family.”

You took a deep, shaky breath. You bounded over to him and wrapped your arms around him. “Thank you. For everything you’ve done here.” You whispered. The only response from him was a small hum followed by a tight squeeze.

You stepped back and thanked him again before disappearing with your shadows to the camp your family was in. Where you would finally get to see Sirona, Igna, and Oran. Even if they weren’t blood, they had taken care of you and seen you mature all those years. You may have failed them the day Amarantha came, but you hoped they knew that what you did, you did for them.

Only, you made it too late. The camp had been burned down hours ago. There had been a spell on it, tied with Amarantha’s blood. If she was to die, all of the buildings were to burn with anyone inside. Her foot soldiers or not. And only this camp. As if that last final blow would finally break you. It almost did.

Your knees buckled as you made it to your family’s building, shadows wrapping around you as you fell to the ground. The building was still simmering with fire. But you could smell it. Burnt flesh, blood, and soot mixed together. It caused you to vomit right in front of the small room Igna and Oran shared together. As you staggered inside, you knew they were gone. You were alone again. The only people who loved you were gone.

But you still had Rhys. So when he went into your mind, gently scraping a talon on the walls he taught you to build up, you said yes. In despair. He knew something was wrong. So he winnowed to the camp. He spotted you outside your family’s building, holding onto a small book as you trembled. And he held you as you sobbed. Just as he had sobbed when he reached his family in Velaris. Only you weren’t as lucky as him. Your family was dead, and his was healthy and happy to see him.

Series Masterlist

A/N: A reminder, this is a story about the reader more than it is a love story. It's quite a slow burn for a while. I started it immediately after I finished reading the ACOTAR series. I'm reading TOG now, no spoilers please.

Chapter 2 will be posted April 23rd.

Taglist: @cherry-cin @cleverzonkwombatsludge @nickishadowsinger139

Join taglist here

#acotar fic #acotar fanfiction #acotar #azriel x reader #the shadowsinger #katie writes #acotar spoilers #minors dni

[letaliabane]

Quiet Love

Ser Harwin Strong x reader

genre: very romantic, fluffy, yearning, I mean i squealed while writing it so must be exciting

a/n: Harwin Strong has taken all my attention, not only because its Ryan Corr my childhood crush, also because we got so little of such an eye capturing performance! I have no idea where this came from but I think we all deserve some loving don’t you? Enjoy!

Your heels clicked against the pavement as you took a leisurely stroll through the beautiful gardens of Kings Landing, members of the court addressing you with a nod while servants bowed as you passed. 

You were a Targaryen, first daughter of King Viserys and Aemma. Yet it felt like you were second to everything these days since your Mother and baby brother's passing. With your sister Rhaenyra being announced as the heir to the throne and hostilities within court growing worse by the day, it wasn't difficult as to why. 

You were extremely proud and happy for your younger sister, she was truly a force to be reckoned with and meant to rule. But without her and your father, it had become increasingly lonely within the walls you called home.

You missed the simpler times; you and and your father horse riding alongside each other breaking out into laughter as it became a race, Rhaenyra dragging you to the library where she would lay and listen to your voice as you read to her. All of it seemed nothing but a distant memory.

You didn't have many friends apart from a few of the servants. Those who did try to gain your favour at court you came to realise was for their own personal gain, to get closer to your sister or father. And that hurt more than anything. Which is why you denied any affection given to you by any suitor. 

However, you always seemed to feel like someone was watching you. When you sat within the council, dancing at one of the many events, even now as you walked through the rows of blooming rose bushes. 

In the corner of your eyes, the flash of sunlight against armour caught your attention, a silhouette with a mane of wild curls stood at the entrance of the maze.

Ser Harwin Strong, you recognised. Captain of the City Watch and your personal guard. His features rugged, handsome you dare say, like he had been ripped straight out of one of the great paintings that hung within the castle walls. 

He was a man men and women fawned over at dances and the hunts, hoping to gain his favour. And yet his attention seemed drawn only to you. But that was because he was there to protect you, nothing more. Yet it still warmed the depths of your belly that he kept an ever watchful eye over you. 

You paused mid step, anxiety gripping you, screaming at you to continue onwards. But you changed trajectory, walking towards the maze and marched right towards him. A gentle smile overtook his features you noticed as you grew closer, greeting you with a bow of his head. 

‘Morning Princess.’

‘Good morning Ser Harwin! I hope you are faring well this morning?’ 

‘Besides training the new blood who seem worse than the last batch, I am my lady, thank you.’ 

You chuckled softly, nodding towards the maze. ‘I was wondering if you would take a walk with me? Seems like a good day for it.’ 

Harwin couldn’t help but smile briefly before allowing you to walk onwards first, following close at your side. The pavement changed to pebbles, the sound resonating in the silence that lay between the two of you. 

‘And you, my lady?’ 

You looked to him as the deep rumble of his voice caught your attention, dazed by his brilliant brown eyes, almost amber in the sunlight. ‘I’m sorry?’

He chuckled, armour clinking as he ducked his head before looking towards you. ‘How are you? It’s only courteous of me to ask in return for your kindness.’ 

There were so many things you wanted to say. You wanted to tell him everything and yet nothing all at once. The lump in your throat grew, and yet the words left quicker than you expected. 

‘I won’t lie Ser Harwin I feel I'm at a standstill. People seem to be moving in and out of my life sooner than I’d like. I feel the role of a spinster will do me well better than a princess with the way I’m going.’ 

Harwin’s brow furrowed, faltering ever so slightly in his step. ‘You don’t mean that.’ 

‘But I do!’ You started, jumping at the sound of your own voice raising, glancing towards the knight who remained unchanged, however halting in his place. ‘‘I-I’m sorry I didn’t-’

‘Do not apologise,’ He said as he stepped closer, but he kept his distance. He didn’t want to overwhelm you. ‘What truly troubles you my lady?’ 

You wanted to weep. No one had ever asked how you felt. 

‘As feeble as it may sound I’m afraid of being left behind. My sister, heavy is her head that will wear the crown, is blessed and loved by all, but busy with the duties of being a leader. My father is enraptured by his newfound family while I’m left to the wolves to fend for myself. Every person at court comes to my side with wishes and hopes, for my love and attention, only to want to gain favour with my family, not me! And it hurts it-’

The words died on your lips, taking in the worry that was etched upon Harwin’s face. He pitied you, like everyone else he probably did. 

‘I’ve spoken out of turn,’ You muttered as if you hadn’t been on the verge of crying almost moments ago. All emotion had left your voice, you wouldn’t show weakness, you couldn’t. ‘You must be sick of having to watch over me.’ 

‘Princess-’

'I'm sure Rhaenyra would be happy to have you as her personal guard-'

'I did not ask for her, Y/N. I asked to protect you,' He said. You froze, mouth seamlessly moving without making a sound. Though his tone had been firm, his eyes spoke only gentle reassurance. The way your name slipped from his lips sent chills down your spine. 

‘Wh-What did you say?’

Harwin sighed, his heart pounding against his chest. ‘When I was given the honour of Captain of the Watch, I asked-no, requested that I was put to your side.’

‘But why-’ 

‘You must know there is something there between us, do you not princess?’

You knew what he was talking about. 

Longing looks you both exchanged from across the room, the way he watched you as you danced with other men, while you watched him mingle with the ladies of the court. Brief touches of his hand against yours when he passed by or on the small of your back as he led you through the castle. 

There was a fire between the two of you, and it grew every more fierce as the days passed. And you couldn’t help but deny it. 

‘No I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ 

Harwin stepped forward and you couldn't help but stray away, only to find your back pressed against the hedge. His hand found purchase firmly on your hip, the weight and heat almost soothing, thumb stroking gently against the fabric of your dress. Your eyes looked anywhere but his, breathing deeply, the scent of pine wood invaded your senses. 

You gasped as his fingertips slipped between yours, his palm engulfing yours as he gave it a gentle squeeze. He ducked his head, looking into your eyes. 

‘I care for you Y/N. I know it may not be correct to say it but I will not deny it. And I know that you feel the same way.’

No he couldn’t. Ser Harwin Strong could never be in love with you. Maybe an infatuation but no, not love. 

Hearing the crunch of pebbles beneath boot, you glanced back towards Harwin now watching as you walked away, his golden cape billowing in the wind. And as he stood there, he promised himself he would make sure you knew how loved your were. 

You pulled away, shaking your head as your chest heaved. As you dashed through the garden you couldn’t help but glance around. There were eyes everywhere, one could never be too careful. 

Part Two

a/n: let me know if you want another part to this story! Some spicy smut coming very soon in a separate story as well so stay tuned! 

tagged (if your tag isn't working DM me and we'll try and fix it up!): @thesithdiaries​ @dazecrea @ppeuppeuppeu @a-sunflower-in-bloom @siren-of-the-deep-sea @ccallistata @agoldin @vivilingme-blog @my-dark-prince @derzauberermitlilabademantel @blooomsstuff @starxdame @alexslittlegirl  @budugu @piper570 @noisyinfluencerstrawberry @words-way-of-life ​ @rosemalachi @m1tzifa1ry @gibbsgirl7 @b0xfullofdarkness

#house of the dragon #house of the dragon fic #house of the dragon fanfiction #ser harwin #ser harwin strong #ser harwin strong x reader #harwin strong #harwin strong x reader #rhaenyra x harwin #rhaenyra targaryen x reader #rhaewin #ryan corr #harwin strong imagines #house of the dragon imagines #rhaenyra targaryen #daemon targaryen

[atopvisenyashill]

my favorite targaryens are the women who have bastards. i am obsessed with the similarities and differences in circumstances and how they related to motherhood, because every goddamn lord in westeros has a bastard but NOBLE MOTHERS OF ILLEGITIMATE CHILDREN. oooh hell yeah. see my love for

saera, my jaehaerys hating teen idle icon who never married and didn’t want the iron throne (bc she’s smarter than the rest of her family) but definitely told her 3 sons to call themselves targaryens just to fuck with her dad

gael, all we know is that she literally slept in her mother’s bed bc alysanne was so clingy, fucked a singer, had a stillbirth, then killed herself but i’m obsessed with her for having pre marital sex in known prude bitch jaehaerys’ court, i find her so iconic and tragic i want to know more

rhaenyra, my precious meow meow who really stuck to her guns by getting her husband AND his daddy on her side only to fumble last minute by letting corlys name alyn and not joffrey as heir to driftmark or pushing for baela's inheritance. rip to a queen tho.

elaena not only manages to have THREE bastards from TWO DIFFERENT BABY DADDIES but she set all three of them up nicely by being insanely good at politics and math so everyone just ignored the fact that viserys plumm was obviously aegon’s and the waters twins established their own lil house without starting a civil war or succession crisis, something these people are famously bad at! elaena did that shit!!

daena the defiant, we do not know when she died but i keep imagining her raising daemon in the maiden vault and living vicariously through him, encouraging him to make these dodgy alliances with these dodgy lords because despite a lot of the blackfyre supporters being incredibly socially regressive, it's only through them she's ever been allowed even the dream of freedom and power, just imagining all the mommy issues daemon has gives me life

visenya since i feel her having a baby thru blood magic was probably like half of why aegon never showed an interest in maegor lmao he knew that baby was as visenya’s and the goat she sacrificed to make him, that’s why maegor has daddy issues, but also he has mommy issues bc she loved him but also made him with her witchy powers.

daella or rhae, whatever one of egg’s sisters that fucks dunk and passes the baby off as the evenstar’s kid, if that theory is what actually happened you’re an icon and i will stan you until the day i die for successfully pulling what rhaenyra, elaena, AND cersei all tried but couldn’t succeed and that’s your bastard inheriting the seat of your husband who is NOT the baby daddy and not causing a huge scandal over it, well done baby girl

#i also only like the men who have extreme mommy issues. #valyrianscrolls #visenya targaryen #elaena targaryen #daena targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen #gael targaryen #saera targaryen #rhae targaryen #daena the defiant #getting on my soap box #house targaryen #daela targaryen