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thisblogisaboutabook · 2 months

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Rainy Season - Part 4

All You Ever

Azriel reflects on his past mistake including the night with Elain. Cassian makes a huge mistake.

A/N: Before reading this chapter please know that I am not condoning cheating or the actions of Azriel or Elain. I do not feel sorry for either of them in any way. I simply enjoy adding a little complexity to the story and selfishly love sprinkling in chaos. Also this is not proofread, I’m exhausted.

And for cauldron’s sake, please just trust the process before yelling at me!!! This is just one chapter from the two biggest idiots involved, not the whole story.

Part 3 Part 5

Warnings: Not proofread, Alcohol, Language, Unintentional ingestion of an aphrodisiac leading to sex

Azriel

He may have been a fucking idiot but Azriel’s self-awareness was painfully acute. His scar riddled hands were forever tainted with the essence of blood that even her plush lips couldn’t kiss away, his angel mate. What a cruel joke the cauldron had played the day that bond snapped between them. She was resplendent in sun shrouded glory and he was the devil who dragged her down. Just selfish enough to ignore the warning bells that he’d one day fuck it all up, just selfish enough to pull her away from her home and covet her within the walls of Velaris. In the beginning, he’d fought so hard to deserve her though she’d never asked him to. She wanted only him and knew he was unworthy of her, he always had been. It was exhausting - the mask. Constantly trying to hide from her that dark, sadistic side of him that was everything opposite of what she was.

She saw through it, of course. She always had. All she wanted was him, all of him. Begging him to show her beyond the good of him at surface level, she wanted all of his self-proclaimed bad too. She’d told him that dozens of times over the years but dropping that mask meant unpacking so much - so much more ugly than even he was prepared to reveal to himself.

At some point he began to resent her and he knew it wasn’t fair. He resented his perfect, pure, untainted mate. Wasn’t it ironic that she’d shown him everything beneath her own surface numerous times, unveiled that she herself was not the Angel he placed her on a pedestal as. She’d shown him everything and he still viewed her through that near-holy lense.

If only he could have put his stubbornness, his self-loathing aside and realized she would have done the same for him. It was too late for that now.

And now I'm without you, and it took distance to see that losing you, means losing everything

————

Something had been wrong for a while. He ignored it assuming that perhaps it was a mental blockade erected by a combination of fatigue and work tensions. He’d slowly distanced himself from his mate. He knew it hurt her, it hurt him too. His intentions were genuine, sparing her the pain of his own inner turmoil by distancing himself while he worked through it. He was simultaneously aware that he was a fucking bastard for doing so, she deserved an explanation but he couldn’t give it to her yet. He justified it as the lesser of two evils.

Unsurprisingly, the mating bond is a fickle thing. As he distanced himself, a chasm of emptiness opened within him that he’d desperately tried to fill with missions and various courtly duties. Training with the Valkyries helped, being there for Elain through her own struggles….

He took his duty to help her seriously, though it technically was not a duty even assigned to him. A distraction. It was a distraction. Ever the spymaster he spent their initial time together observing her, the things that brought a little bit of life back to those once bright eyes.

He’d sun his wings while she gardened and read across from her in the study, little things so she’d know she wasn’t alone. Eventually she began talking again. At first just a comment here or there but then there was communication, getting to know each other, small talk eventually becoming deeper topics. He learned of her resentment of the choice she felt was ripped from her, left with no time to mourn the loss of her mortal life or consider the implications on her relationship with Graysen because of it.

Not to mention the shock that one of the faces she blamed for being damned to the cauldron, one of the first faces she saw coming out of it was her mate and she was just supposed to accept it? Over time, Elain became a friend. A bright spot to the numbness created by the self-imposed gap between he and his mate. His mate….

It had taken some time to realize that he wasn’t feeling her through the bond, when was the last time he’d felt her? It was becoming fainter and fainter, more faint than it even should be with distance. He’d send feelings to her on occasion. A little spark of joy when he saw a lovely sunset or the moments when his desire for his mate heated his blood so thoroughly he had no choice but to excuse himself for relief by his hand.

He needed her to know he cared, he desired her, he loved her. A little time and space to collect everything he needed to bring to the surface, to give her all of him. He left her feeling like she wasn’t enough but she was everything. He just needed space.

Until she gave him space.

The devastation on her face the day she asked him to leave. Gods, damn him and the hurtful things he’d said. They’d be ingrained in his mind for the rest of his days along with the sound of her sobs as she fell apart before him. He’d done that to his mate. He was responsible for those tears. All because he’d been too selfish and prideful to share all of himself with her.

So, he left. She’d allowed him so much space, he could give her this.

I wish I could love you and make you believe it. It’s all you ever wanted from me

———-

The night with Elain

He couldn’t make it through dinner sober. Rhys insisted everyone get together at the River House for a friendly night of debauchery. Pouring himself a double shot of whiskey, he considered telling Cassian to send Rhys his regards and hole up in the house of wind for the remainder of the night. It was either, go to dinner and deal with all of the questions of “Where is y/n?” and “Why isn’t y/n here?” or deal with Cassian’s well-intentioned but annoying attempts of pressuring him into going, followed by a pout when he’d stand his ground on staying in, and then the inevitable intrusion from Rhys inquiring why he wouldn’t come to dinner.

He loved his chosen family dearly but they were busybodies through and through. All he wanted was to pass the time until he saw his mate tomorrow.

Begrudgingly he threw back his glass, poured another double, then headed to the River House.

Time moved slowly when all there was to do was dwell.

What had happened? He flew slowly to the River House. Going out of his way to circle far overhead of his true home, where his mate was. Was she waiting for him inside? Was she in town? Why couldn’t he feel her? Silence. Just as it had been for months. But the emotions he’d seen in her, they were so real. Shouldn’t they have sparked something in the bond?

As Azriel approached the River House he’d come to the conclusion that tonight he’d inform Elain he’d no longer be able to visit with her as he had been. He’d neglected his mate for far too long, this past week had given him the clarity needed to go home and give his mate his all. He could slowly open up to her, he could do it.

He just needed to make it through the night.

The night went by as usual. Good food, laughter, flowing liquor. He heavily indulged himself in the liquor anything to numb the impatience in waiting for tomorrow.

Feyre and Rhys sat closely together on a lounge, Feyre leaning into him, staring up at him like the stars in the sky.

Cassian and Nesta spent the entire time making bedroom eyes at one another, Cassian whispering dirty promises into Nesta’s ear that made even the queen of smut herself blush, Nesta taking any opportunity to brush her body against his in passing.

Gods, they were so in love it made him sick.

“Home.” He told himself.

“Soon.”

As the evening wound down, Cassian insisted everyone do shots to close out the evening. He was drunk enough that he stumbled carrying in the tray of shots and let out a battle cry of victory over the fact that he managed to not spill any of the liquor.

Azriel should have flown back to the House of Wind a while ago but he needed to talk to Elain.

Nuala and Cerridwen had been on duty with Nyx for the evening, compensated well to work overnight in case he awoke, giving Rhys and Feyre the now rare opportunity to go out to Rita’s. Mor, of course, drug Emerie along and went with them. Given that Amren would rather stick pins in her eyes than go out, she and Varian opted to go back to her place.

Azriel should have gone there, gone back to the River House, gone home and slept in the doorway until his mate let him in.

But he was so drunk. There was no way he was flying anywhere tonight.

Cassian and Nesta brought out a final round of shots. Elain winced, scrunching her nose as she threw it back. Azriel thought she’d be able to take her liquor better by now. Cassian and Nesta waggled their eyebrows suggestively at eachother before throwing theirs back. And damn, if Azriel didn’t wince when he took his shot too. That shit was awful. Had they drank through all of Rhysand’s good liquor? Did Cassian dig this out from the bottom shelf?

Once Cassian and Nesta left for the House of Wind, Azriel took the empty glasses to the kitchen, cleaning up a few of the remaining dishes throughout the seating area on the way. He barely made it into the kitchen before his head began spinning. That last shot had done him in. He couldn’t even remember the time last he’d been blackout drunk. Two centuries ago, maybe?

He still needed to find Elain.

The stairs felt longer and far less steady than usual, taking him more time than he cared to admit to make it up them. His hands felt tingly on the banister and damn, it was hot in the River House. No, he touched his face, flushed and hot to the touch. He was hot.

The tingling was simultaneously uncomfortable and pleasurable, spreading over his body with haste as he neared closer to Elain’s room.

He caught a glimpse of her and her scent hit him like a ton of bricks. Had she always smelled this good?

His breathing increased, nostrils flaring as he took in her scent and fuck - he was hard. It was too late to not say anything now as she stared at him expectantly. The stars in his vision cleared and all he could see was her, zeroed in on her fluttering pulse, those delicate features.

He needed to leave.

He just needed to - shit, what had he come here to say?

Azriel’s shadows whirled reminding him of his mate. His mate. He needed to go to his mate.

He needed to tell Elain something. He couldn’t think straight.

“Elain…”

And that was when she lunged at him.

Well is it too late, and are you too far to turn around and let me be

——————————

Elain

There was nothing the Cauldron loved more than Elain Archeron.

There was nothing the Cauldron hated more than Elain Archeron.

A thin line between the two, really.

She’d spend the rest of her life groveling for what conspired on that night. She never intended to sleep with him. She never, ever intended to hurt Y/N.

She remembered drinking more than usual.

She remembered Azriel finding her in the hallway.

She remembered a sudden rush of warmth, first from her chest, seeping outward through her extremities, low into her stomach and lower, lower.

She remembered Azriel having something important to tell her. She could feel nothing but heat. Her heart racing, breath becoming rapid.

Azriel’s pupils were blown wide, his nostrils flaring. Like every single sense was hyper aware of her state. His arousal wafted through the air, his irresistible cedar and chilled mist scent clinging to her like an expensive cologne.

They were so very intoxicated.

They couldn’t do this. If she’d been sober and unaffected by whatever was running through her veins, she would have left. Immediately.

She wasn’t one to wreck a home and Azriel loved his mate so, so much. The way he talked about her, it made Elain jealous. Not of them, not of her. Only jealous that Elain herself had struggled so hard to feel anything toward her own mate for so long. Lucien who played a role in her loss of humanity, Lucien who would do anything to make it up to her, Lucien who never meant for it to happen, who tried so hard to help her, to connect with her, who wanted nothing more than to love her. Lucien.

Then why was it Azriel? Azriel who was standing in front of her clearly affected by her, trying his damndest not to be. Why was she so drawn to him? A mated male.

Was she sweating? It was so hot. Her breasts ached and her blood thrummed through her veins so voraciously that she was certain she’d bleed out at any minute. And if Azriel could see beneath her gown right now, he’d see how tightly her thighs were squeezed together. How desperately she needed release and by the tightness in his pants - she knew he was in the same state.

“Elain…” Azriel spoke. His breath ragged.

And all it took was her name rolling off of his lips for her to close the distance. One kiss. She just needed one kiss to remind herself that this was wrong. To run the other way.

And it only took one kiss to remind her how much the cauldron loved her. How much it hated her.

The moment when she felt the mating bond snap between her and Azriel.

The alcohol, the liquor, the heat, the bond. A lethal combination leading to the biggest mistake of her life.

The night she’d fucked Azriel.

She could never let him know about the bond.

—————————-

Elain woke up with a brutal headache. She would have killed for some headache power. Her room was dark, shadows deepening the onyx black of night as slivers of moonlight lined the edges of her curtains. Still nighttime, then.

Her surroundings slowly came into focus, awareness sharpening as a soft sound caught her attention. Swiftly she turned her head to find Azriel asleep on the other side of her bed.

Oh no.

Oh no, no, no, no, no.

This couldn’t have happened.

What had she done?

She threw on her dress and tip-toed out of the room in a state of panic. She was a sensible female. She knew too well the pain of losing Graysen, a human male, not her spouse, not her mate. But still, his rejection had hurt like hell. Elain would never sleep with another woman- female’s mate. No.

She paced through the library, back and forth, back and forth, praying she didn’t wake anyone up. The walls were closing in on her. This couldn’t be real. It couldn’t be.

Oh gods.

And the mating bond. How?

Her chest was tight, she couldn’t catch a full breath. She needed out.

Before she could stop herself, Elain fled into the empty street with no destination in mind. Anywhere but here, anywhere but the bed where she’d likely obliterated a marriage. She’d certainly obliterated her dignity.

The starlight illuminated streets of Velaris were endless, winding through alleys and lanes. In her panicked state, Elain had no clue where her feet were taking her as she blindly followed her gut. It wasn’t until she was in front of the door that she realized her heart had made its choice. It knew exactly who to go to, she only prayed it wasn’t too late.

She took a shaky inhale and raised a hand to knock but the door flew open revealing a shirtless Lucien, his bare, muscled chest heaving. “I felt you coming.” He gasped. “Through the bond.”

—————-

Azriel

The sun’s rays illuminated the edge of the curtains. Azriel’s stomach was tight, nausea from the previous night’s alcohol overwhelming him. His bed felt colder than usual, more stiff.

He looked around to find that he’d never left the River House. He was…

He was in Elain’s room.

“Oh, fuck!” He sobbed to himself as the previous night came pouring back to him. Setting his face in his palms, he cried. What the fuck had he done?

Azriel bathed, desperately scrubbing Elain off of him. By the time he was through, his skin was an angry red. He snuck out of the River House, flying to a grassy knoll high above Velaris. The spot where he and Y/N had first made love, where the bond snapped, where he’d proposed. He shifted uncomfortably as he tried to get comfortable, the unease settling in. It was blasphemy to desecrate such a sacred spot with his shame.

“What do I do now?” He asked aloud, the only response the whipping of the wind around him. He didn’t understand what had overcome him. He’d never been so “effected” before, even in his drunkest moments. Once Elain’s lips met his, his brain had shut down, nothing else mattered but the feel of skin on skin. His body needed release and acted on pure primal instinct.

And now, he had a decision to make. He could go home and lay it all out, slightly easing the guilt of holding in his greatest sin while completely and utterly destroying his mate.

Or, he could go home. Show his mate all of the love that he had been withholding for too long now, sweep her off her feet, take care of her and start opening up. Give her his all, even the ugly parts that he kept so deeply hidden.

Gods, she’d given him so many chances and he’d let her down at every turn. There were no excuses for the way he had treated her.

All she’d ever wanted was him, all of him, including those sides he’d never wanted her to see.

Now he could only go home and love her. Love her with everything he had and pray she believed it.

———————-

6 months after Y/N left

Azriel looked in a hallway mirror on his way to Rhysand’s study. Dark circles hallowed out his under eyes. The drink he’d had prior to flying down here did nothing to numb the violent ache within his heart. Would it ever quell? Would this puncture wound ever heal?

It wouldn’t. And he didn’t know if he wanted it to. He was a bastard and deserved every ounce of this isolated misery. Trapped in a prison of his own making. The ache in his chest a constant reminder of the love he’d squandered. And for what? A meaningless night with a pretty female. Had he not had enough of those nights in his life?

Not that Elain would speak to him. Though she had apologized, countless times. It didn’t matter. As far as he was concerned, he was the only one to blame. Occasionally he’d catch Lucien’s assessing glare, an infuriating blend of contempt and pity etched into his features. Azriel didn’t know which he hated more, he didn’t deserve pity.

Azriel’s skin had sallowed. Had he ever been this pale before? And the bargain tattoo on his arm. Fuck, he hated it. After his third attempt to infiltrate the Summer Court, Rhysand gave Azriel the option of a cell in the Hewn City or a bargain.

Ironically the bargain served as a prison of its own. He was not allowed to go anywhere near the Summer Court or communicate with Y/N in any way. The only method of communication he was able to find a loophole with was the tugs on the bond. He’d pull and pull, nothing.

If only he could try to explain, apologize, anything.

Breaking his gaze from the shell of a male in the mirror, Azriel stepped toward the study.

Cassian’s booming laugh barreled through the cracked open door.

“Trust me, Feyre will love it. I’m sure you guys could use a little spark at the end of the day. You’ll be rolling in the sheets all night.”

Rhys only chuckled.

Cassian continued, “Tastes nasty as hell though. Here’s an extra vial, just in case. The first time Nes and I tried it, it didn’t work. Not sure why.”

Azriel let out a huff, stepping into the study. Cassian and Rhys ceasing their conversation in his presence. They’d been painstakingly obvious in not talking about their mates or anything relationship related in front of him since his mate had left. He refused to speak to anyone about why she left, too embarrassed to admit to this bed of his own making. They knew it was his fault and that was all that mattered.

Azriel scowled. “You don’t have to stop talking about your mates just because I’m around.”

Cassian awkwardly raised his arm, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry brother. We just don’t want to make things harder for you than they have been.”

“Considerate.” Azriel sneered, jerking his head toward the vials. “What are those anyway?”

Cassian smirked, “Oh, just some aphrodisiac potions from a new apothecary in Velaris. Really powerful shit. Nes and I-“ Rhys elbowed Cassian. A warning to not take the conversation too far. They could talk of their happy relationships without absolutely rubbing Azriel’s face in it.

Cassian quieted for a moment before continuing. “It tastes gods awful but the payoff is totally worth it. Remember those shots we took after everyone left dinner several months ago? We mixed it into Nes and I’s glasses and didn’t notice the taste. Didn’t work either though. Must’ve been a dud. Lady at the shop gave us a replacement vial the next time we were in and…. well, let’s just say we keep it in stock at the House of Wind now.”

Azriel went preternaturally still. His shadows growing angry as he ground out, “The night you two did a parting shot with me and Elain?”

“Uh…… yeah?” Cassian replied.

And before Cassian could realize what he’d done, Azriel pummeled him. Hauling him out the study doors and onto the lawn, not even making it to the sparring ring before his fists met Cassian’s face - the two Illyrians disappearing into a frenzy of fists and feet and glowing siphons.

The only sound over the impact of their hits and feral growls was Cassian’s confused, booming voice. “What the FUCK, Az!?”

————————————————

A/N: I am sorry for giving you an entire chapter of Azriel and Elain content but I will make it up to you with fluffy Eris and reader content in the next chapter!!!

@going-through-shit @kalulakunundrum @lisanna2000 @fxckmiup @sheblogs @emryb @one-big-fangirl @historygeekqueen @isa1b2h3 @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @theravenphoenix26 @sidthedollface2 @i-am-infinite @caraaaaugh @evergreenlark @darkbloodsly @piceous21 @anxious-study @chessebookgirl @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @crazylokonugget @mysticalfuncollectorus @starsinyourseyes @b0xerdancer-writes @inloveallthetime

#sarah j maas #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #azriel #a court of silver flames #a court of frost and starlight #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #eventual Eris x reader #Elain #Cassian #Nesta #nessian #acotar x hunter hayes #inspired by a Hunter hayes song #all you ever #rainy season

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elia-the-bibliophile · 11 days

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Illicit Affairs (Carlos Sainz Jr x Female Reader)

Genre: Angst

Word count: 1,3k

Intro: In the world of Formula 1, where every turn holds the promise of glory or heartbreak, she was just another face in the crowd. Against all odds, they find themselves drawn into an illicit affair that defies the constraints of their world where every stolen moment could lead to their downfall.

“Make sure nobody sees you leave

Hood over your head, keep your eyes down

Tell your friends you're out for a run

You'll be flushed when you return”

She slipped away from the bustling paddock, a hood shrouding her features as she navigated the labyrinthine corridors of Monte Carlo with practiced stealth.

With every step, her heart raced in tandem with the revving engines outside, a symphony of anticipation echoing in her ears. She dared not raise her eyes, afraid they would give away the clandestine mission she is doing.

“Just out for some fresh air," she muttered to herself repeatedly.

Rehearsing the lie she would feed her unsuspecting friends upon her return. Yet beneath the veil of secrecy, her cheeks burned with a flush of excitement, the thrill of their forbidden rendezvous moves her forward into the waiting embrace of dusk.

“Take the road less traveled by

Tell yourself you can always stop

What started in beautiful rooms

Ends with meetings in parking lots”

There he is, determination evident in the focused lines of his face, that you can't help but admire. In your mind, you envision him telling himself he can always stop, but you know he never will—not until he's crossed the finish line.

What started as a harmless fascination between a driver and his race engineer swiftly turned into something dangerous, all consuming. Both of them never intended it to go this far.

A voice interrupts your reverie, pulling you back from the depths of your thoughts. "Lost in your mind again, are we?" The familiar timbre of Carlos's voice sends a shiver down your spine, and you turn to face him, unable to suppress the warmth that floods your cheeks.

"It's hard not to get caught up in you," you reply, a playful twinkle dancing in your eyes as you meet his gaze.

Carlos chuckles, a sound that resonates like music in your ears. "Care to share those brilliant thought of yours, cariño?” he says, his smile lighting up his features.

“For you? Always”, you replied while caressing the stubble on his jaw.

On the paddock, in front of all those people they were nothing but mere acquaintance. But right here in this deserted parking lot, she can pretend all she wants. They can be anything they would like to be, away from prying eyes.

“And that's the thing about illicit affairs

And clandestine meetings and longing stares

It's born from just one single glance

But it dies, and it dies, and it dies

A million little times”

In the dimly lit corner of the Ferrari garage, you find yourselves locked in a yet another tryst, the air thick with tension and anticipation.

“This... this can't keep going on," Carlos murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, his gaze fixed on yours with a longing that mirrors your own. "We both know it's risky." Yet his actions don’t mirror his words, as his hands keep on embracing you, his chin settled on top of your head as he towers a good few inches above you.

You nod, your heart pounding in your chest as you struggle to find the right words. "I know… but I just can't help it," you confess, your voice tinged with regret.

Carlos reaches out, his fingers brushing against your lashes in a fleeting touch that sends a jolt of electricity coursing through your veins. "I feel it too," he admits, his voice heavy with resignation. "But we're playing with fire, tesoro, and sooner or later, someone’s going to get burned. I don’t want that to be you.”

You swallow hard, the weight of his words settling like a stone in the pit of your stomach. "I understand," you whisper, tears threatening to spill from your eyes.

For a moment, the world falls away, leaving only the two of you locked in a silent embrace, clinging to each other as if your lives depended on it.

But even as you cling to this fleeting moment of bliss, you both know that the flame of your affair is destined to flicker and fade, extinguished by the harsh reality of the world outside.

“And you wanna scream

Don't call me "kid"

Don't call me "baby"

Look at this godforsaken mess that you made me

You showed me colors

You know I can't see with anyone else”

“—Mi corazón…”

As the weight of reality threatens to crush the fragile sanctuary you've built, a surge of defiance rises within you, fueled by the intensity of your emotions.

"Don't…” you whisper fiercely, your voice trembling with determination. "Stop calling me that.”

Carlos's gaze softens, a hint of remorse flickering in his eyes as he realizes the extent of the turmoil he's brought upon you. "I'm sorry," he murmurs, his voice filled with regret. "I never meant to hurt you. Please believe me, Y/N.”

You take a step back, the sting of his words slicing through the haze of emotion that clouds your mind. "Look at this godforsaken mess that you made me," you exclaim, gesturing to yourself, trying to hold back the emotions that threatens to consume you whole. "I don’t even recognize myself anymore, this pathetic woman who’s constantly begging for scraps.”

For a moment, silence hangs heavy in the air, punctuated only by the rapid beat of your heart. And then, with a sense of finality, you turn away, your resolve hardening with each step you take. "I can't do this anymore," you whisper, your voice barely a breath against the tumultuous winds of change. "Not like this."

“Amor please… I beg you,” Your resolve wavers seeing him like this. This magnificent man almost drop to his knees for someone so ordinary. His chocolate orbs glinting with unshed tears.

Yet you managed to walk away.

“And you know damn well

For you, I would ruin myself

A million little times”

With each step away from Carlos, the weight of his absence bears down on you, a heavy burden you carry willingly despite the pain it inflicts. "I am doing this for him," you murmur, your voice cracking with emotion, "He’ll understand someday."

From the sidelines, you watch as the crowd erupts in cheers, celebrating Carlos's first-place win. His smile shines like a beacon of victory, his arms wrapped around Rebecca, in a tender embrace.

They're a vision of happiness, their laughter mingling with the sounds of celebration that fill the air. As they bask in the glow of the spotlight, you can't help but marvel at the undeniable image that they project—a golden couple through and through. A star driver and his model girlfriend. It's a scene straight out of the front cover of a magazine. Headline worthy.

Carlos's gaze suddenly finds yours amidst the sea of faces. For a moment, time seems to stand still as your eyes lock in a silent exchange, a spark of recognition igniting in the depths of his gaze. It's as if the world falls away, leaving only the two of you suspended in a moment of shared understanding—a fleeting connection that transcends the chaos of the celebration unfolding around you.

And then, just as quickly as it began, the moment is shattered by the resumption of the festivities. Carlos turns back to Rebecca, he plastered on another wide smile as he pulls her close once more. But for you, the memory of that fleeting glance lingers like a bittersweet echo, a reminder of the love that once burned oh so brightly between you—a love that now exists only in the recesses of your heart, a distant memory of what could have been.

You can't help but feel a twinge of bittersweet longing—back to just mere weeks ago, when he held the same sweet look in his eyes for only you. Or so that’s what you’d like to tell yourself.

That’s the thing about illicit affairs.

#formula 1 #f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 #ferrari x reader #carlos sainz jr #carlos sainz jr x you #carlos sainz jr imagine #carlos sainz jr x reader #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz x y/n #carlos sainz x female reader

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mononijikayu · 1 month

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night flower ─ ryomen sukuna.

Despite knowing the futility of his desires, The King of Curses couldn't suppress the ache in his heart. It was pathetic. When he thought he had long past any human desires, one thought of you shatters him whole. Everything of you was a ghost, a curse, his pain, his grief. All the things that should not be. Yet, he knew he was stuck with you. He can never bury you. Not even if he wanted to. Not even if he tried. And he hated it. He hated how this made him feel. And most of all, he hated you. He hated you, his untenable night flower.

GENRE: Heian Era to Cursed Womb Arc, 2018;

WARNING/s: Alternate Universe ─ Canon Divergence, Romance, Emotional Hurt, Mentions of Character Death, Mention of Grief, Mention of Mourning, Depiction of Physical Touch, Mild Angst, Heavy Angst, Heavy Pining;

masterlist

kayu's playlist, side 400;

listen: night flower by ahn ye eun

note: i ended up changing the song, this was so emotional!!! this sukuna story blurb is an introduction to an upcoming chapter of us and them, which i will be writing soon!!! i had to write them because they're in my brain, having an angst life. anyway, i hope you're having a good day!!! please hydrate and take care of yourself, i love you!!! <3

HE DIDN’T THINK IT WOULD EVER BE POSSIBLE FOR HIM TO BE SO NOSTALGIC. Ryomen Sukuna moved with deliberate caution through the expansive compound, his steps measured and precise, as if treading on eggshells to avoid disturbing the slumbering inhabitants. In a place where every sound was magnified, he couldn't afford to make even the slightest noise.In the recesses of memory, Sukuna was haunted by the austere edicts of the Ryomen clan, their enforcement a testament to the severity of tradition. The memory of bamboo striking palm under curfew's shadow lingered, its echo dancing through the corridors of time.

Amidst the shroud of darkness and hushed whispers, Sukuna traversed the once-familiar paths of his ancestry. Each step carried the weight of disdain for the new moniker donned by his once-proud lineage. The rise of the Mikoto, descendants turned usurpers, cast a pall over the legacy of the Ryomen.

To Sukuna, this renaming was a grievous wound upon the honor of his clan, a desecration of their noble lineage. The Mikoto, in his eyes, were but pale imitations, lacking the fortitude and majesty that once defined the Ryomen's grandeur.

Yet, amidst his scorn, Sukuna was forced to confront his own culpability in the clan's decline. His defiance of tradition, his embrace of cursed power, had kindled a flame that consumed the Ryomen's glory. Now, as he treaded the silent halls of his forebears, the burden of his transgressions weighed heavily upon his spirit.

In the hallowed halls of the clan manor, Sukuna moved with the silent grace of a feline predator stalking its prey. Each step he took echoed with a quiet intensity, as if the very shadows themselves yielded to his presence. His senses, finely attuned to the symphony of the night, allowed him to discern the subtlest of sounds and movements in the darkness.

Like a nocturnal hunter, Sukuna prowled through the labyrinthine pathways of the manor, his movements fluid and deliberate. Every corner turned, every corridor traversed, was a testament to his instinctual prowess. The air around him seemed to hum with anticipation, as if the very walls whispered secrets only he could comprehend.

In this clandestine ballet of shadows and whispers, Sukuna was the undisputed master. His senses, sharpened by centuries of existence, guided him through the darkness with unwavering precision. And as he moved with silent purpose, a sense of primal satisfaction coursed through his veins, reminding him of the ancient power that pulsed within his being.

The body he inhabited belonged to a weary traveler, half-asleep and oblivious to the ancient being residing within. Itadori Yuuji was barely able to keep a hold of him, even in his slumber. And yet he supposed, it was the only reason he was alive. He scoffed. It was better than nothing. Better than being without a body. He’ll figure it out, he was certain. But until then, Sukuna's consciousness coexisted with the boy's, a symbiotic relationship born out of necessity rather than choice. He had seized control of the boy's form, driven by his insatiable hunger for power and dominance.

As he moved silently through the moonlit courtyard, Sukuna couldn't help but scoff at the mention of Kyoto, once known as Heian-kyo. Such trivialities held no significance to him; his existence transcended the petty concerns of mortals. He cared little for the names of cities or the passing of time—it was power and conquest that consumed his thoughts, driving him ever forward in his relentless pursuit of supremacy.

In the quiet of the night, amidst the ancient stones and whispering winds, Ryomen Sukuna found himself standing once more in the hallowed grounds of his past. The air was heavy with memories, echoes of a time long gone yet ever present in the recesses of his mind.

He had always known, deep down, that he would return to this place, his spirit inexorably drawn back to the land of the living with each cycle of rebirth. But to behold the familiar sights of his once-beloved home, to feel the earth beneath his feet and the cool night air against his skin—it stirred something within him that he could not name.

The landscape of his former home unfolded before him like a tapestry woven with threads of memory, each detail etched into the very fabric of his being. The ancient structures, weathered by the passage of time, stood as silent sentinels of a bygone era, their stone walls bearing witness to the centuries that had slipped away like grains of sand in an hourglass.

The air was heavy with the scent of jasmine and cherry blossoms, mingling with the faint aroma of incense that wafted through the narrow streets. Lanterns adorned with intricate patterns cast soft pools of light upon the cobblestone pathways, illuminating the way with a warm, inviting glow.

As Sukuna ventured deeper into the heart of his former domain, he passed by familiar landmarks that stirred memories long buried beneath the sands of time. The towering pagoda, its wooden beams weathered and worn, rose majestically against the night sky, a silent testament to the enduring legacy of his clan.

The sound of running water filled the air as Sukuna approached the tranquil gardens that had once been his sanctuary, a haven of peace amidst the chaos of the world. Koi fish swam lazily in the moonlit ponds, their graceful movements a reflection of the timeless tranquility that pervaded the sacred space.

But amidst the beauty and serenity of his former home, Sukuna felt an undeniable sense of melancholy tugging at his heartstrings. The memories of days long past weighed heavily upon him, a reminder of the fleeting nature of existence and the inevitability of change.

And yet, for all the pain and longing that his return had evoked, Ryomen Sukuna could not deny the undeniable pull of nostalgia, the bittersweet symphony of emotions that danced upon the winds of time. For in revisiting the echoes of his past, he found solace in the knowledge that some things remained unchanged, eternal in their immutable beauty.

In the ethereal glow of the moonlight, Ryomen Sukuna traversed the path of his past, each step a testament to the tumult raging within his immortal soul. The air was thick with the weight of centuries, bearing witness to the ebb and flow of time itself.

As Ryomen Sukuna wandered through the familiar alleyways of his former home, his steps faltered, caught in the delicate web of memories that enveloped his mind like a gentle breeze. Amidst the labyrinthine paths, he found himself transported back to moments shared with you, like fragile petals dancing upon the winds of his thoughts.

Pausing amidst the hushed stillness of the courtyard, Sukuna's gaze fell upon the scene before him. Though the landscape had changed, the essence of the place remained etched in his memory with crystalline clarity. Each stone, each flower, held echoes of the past, stirring dormant recollections within his soul.

In the tranquility of the courtyard, Sukuna's mind drifted back to a time long gone, a time when laughter filled the air and joy knew no bounds. He remembered the sound of your laughter, like music to his ears, as you danced with abandon in the gentle patter of raindrops. Your laughter, so pure and infectious, had once been the melody that accompanied his existence.

Yet, amidst the fleeting moments of happiness, Sukuna couldn't escape the shadows that loomed on the horizon, casting a pall over the memories of days gone by. Despite the passage of time and the trials they had faced, the memory of your laughter remained etched in his heart, a beacon of light amidst the darkness that threatened to consume him.

As you gazed at him with those tender, doe-like eyes, a spark of excitement dancing within their depths, Sukuna found himself ensnared in the magnetic pull of your enthusiasm. Your invitation to dance in the rain stirred something within him, a flicker of longing amidst the depths of his stoicism.

Despite his usually composed exterior, Sukuna felt a ripple of uncertainty course through him at the thought of indulging in such carefree revelry. The notion of abandoning the constraints of propriety and embracing spontaneity tugged at the edges of his resolve, threatening to unravel the carefully constructed facade he wore.

With a hesitant brush of his free hand through his hair, Sukuna wrestled with conflicting emotions, torn between the allure of your infectious enthusiasm and the weight of his own reservations. In that moment, suspended between reluctance and desire, he grappled with the choice before him, unsure of which path to tread.

"Come on, Sukuna, let's dance in the rain!" You called to him, the pitch of your voice boisterous with excitement. Rain hadn’t come in a few days. You and the other priestesses in the shrine had been begging the heavens for rain water, for the harvest. And you were gladdened, the gods had listened. And you now want to celebrate. You grinned. “Come!”

Your mischievous smile and playful insistence proved to be irresistible, gradually eroding Sukuna's resolve as he found himself drawn deeper into the whirlwind of your enthusiasm. Despite the furrow of his brows and the sheen of sweat upon his brow, he couldn't deny the tug of your infectious energy.

With each hesitant step forward, Sukuna's internal conflict became more palpable, his movements marked by a hesitant dance between desire and duty. His concern for your safety and reputation weighed heavily upon him, casting a shadow over the impulsive joy of the moment.

As you reveled in the downpour, heedless of the consequences to your brightly colored kimono or the mud that clung to your delicate attire, Sukuna felt a pang of guilt gnaw at his conscience. Your father's expectations loomed large in his mind, a constant reminder of the responsibility entrusted to him to safeguard your well-being.

Watching you frolic amidst the puddles, your laughter echoing through the air, Sukuna's heart clenched with a mixture of apprehension and admiration. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was failing in his duty, his anxiety mounting with each daring leap you took.

"I don't know about this, my lady.” He whispers back to you, as audible as he can. The rain fall was as loud as a drum beat. “You would get sick! And what if someone sees us? Without chaperones? My lady, your reputation–”

Your words resonated with a sense of spontaneity and freedom that he couldn't ignore, stirring something deep within him. You laughed and giggled, and then smiled ever so mischievously back at him. He looked at you as though you were mad, but you did not mind him very much, spinning about the puddles. He calls you, concerned about lacing his words. You look back at him, laughing once again.

"Who cares about what they’ll say, Sukuna? My reputation? I do not care! Let's live a little! Besides, when was the last time you did something spontaneous? There’s nothing to do today. We ought to enjoy today! Drop all you’re carrying, go on. Join me!”

Reluctantly, Sukuna allowed himself to be led into the open courtyard, his footsteps heavy with apprehension as he followed your lead. The cold rain pelted down upon him, each droplet a testament to the sky's tears, but he couldn't tear his gaze away from you. Your hand, heavy with the chill of the rain, tugged gently at his, pulling him further into the heart of the storm.

Despite his reservations, Sukuna found himself captivated by the warmth of your smile, a beacon of light amidst the darkness of the rain-soaked courtyard. He stumbled slightly, his footing uncertain on the slick pavement, but his eyes remained fixed on you, unable to resist the magnetic pull of your presence.

As you twirled and danced with abandon, your laughter ringing out like music in the night, Sukuna felt a sense of wonder wash over him. Your smile, radiant and full of life, seemed to illuminate the world around him, transforming the dreary landscape into a kaleidoscope of color and light.

At that moment, as the rain fell around them, Ryomen Sukuna felt as though he were standing beneath a canopy of stars, each one shining brightly in the vast expanse of the night sky. And in your smile, he found a warmth and brightness that eclipsed even the most brilliant of constellations, filling him with a sense of wonder and awe.

"Trust me, you won't regret it!" You tell him, as you two are cast into the expanse of the bright grayish skies. You stand in front of him, your kimono wrapping itself deeper into you as you smile at him. You looked up into the sky and felt the rain pour. Enjoying what little tranquility you have born into the rainy day.

As the rain continued to pour down upon him, each droplet a reminder of the world's relentless judgment, Sukuna felt a sense of vulnerability wash over him. Towering over your figure, the rain seemed to amplify his feelings of unease, magnifying his fears of being seen as inferior.

Despite his usual stoic demeanor, Sukuna's sullen expression softened into a tender gaze as he watched you, his heart stirring with emotions he could scarcely comprehend. In these quiet moments, when the world seemed to fade away and it was just the two of you, he allowed himself to entertain the fleeting hope that perhaps, just perhaps, there could be a place for him in your heart.

But the reality of their disparate stations in life weighed heavily on Sukuna's mind, reminding him of the vast chasm that separated them. He was but a servant, bound by duty and obligation, while you were the epitome of grace and privilege. He knew that he could never bridge that divide, never dare to speak the words of longing that echoed in the depths of his soul.

And so, Sukuna resigned himself to silence, keeping his feelings hidden behind a mask of stoicism and restraint. In the quiet moments between them, he found solace in the unspoken bond they shared, cherishing the fleeting moments of connection even as he kept his true desires locked away in the depths of his heart.

"This is ridiculous..." He mumbles under his breath, clutching his chest. He takes a deep breath.

As you twirled and danced in the rain, your laughter resonating through the empty courtyard, Sukuna found himself mesmerized by your infectious energy. Despite his initial reluctance, he couldn't help but be captivated by the joy that radiated from you with each movement.

Watching you laugh and dance, each step more carefree and uninhibited than the last, Sukuna couldn't help but marvel at your ability to enchant him time and time again. There was something inexplicably magnetic about you, something that drew him in and held him spellbound.

In that moment, as the rain continued to fall around them, Ryomen Sukuna found himself caught in the gravitational pull of your laughter and movement, unable to tear his gaze away. It was as if the world had faded into the background, leaving only the two of you and the symphony of raindrops as you danced beneath the stormy sky.

You laughed as you twirled and nearly fell into a puddle, catching Sukuna off guard as he rushed to you. You continued to laugh as he helped you up, his face contorted in concern. “Come on, Sukuna, let go of your worries and just enjoy the moment! This won’t last forever, now!”

With a reluctant sigh, Sukuna felt himself succumbing to the irresistible allure of the moment. Despite his initial reservations and the weight of his concerns, he found himself swept up in the joy and spontaneity that surrounded him.

As he allowed himself to be drawn further into the dance, a rare smile began to tug at the corners of his lips, betraying the stoic facade he often wore. It was a small, hesitant expression, but one that spoke volumes about the emotions stirring within him.

"Fine, but just this once," Sukuna conceded, his voice laced with a mixture of reluctance and amusement. In that fleeting moment, as he surrendered to the whims of the rain and your infectious enthusiasm, Sukuna felt a sense of liberation wash over him, freeing him from the constraints of his own reservations.

As the rain continued to pour down, its rhythmic patter merging with the sounds of your laughter and the soft rustle of leaves, Sukuna felt the weight of the world slowly lifting from his shoulders. With each step he took, each twirl you shared, the barriers he had erected around his heart began to crumble, giving way to a newfound sense of freedom and joy.

Gone was the stoic demeanor he had worn like armor, replaced instead by an openness and vulnerability he had rarely allowed himself to display. In this moment, surrounded by the gentle embrace of the rain and the warmth of your presence, Sukuna felt truly alive.

Together, you danced amidst the droplets, your movements fluid and graceful, as if you were choreographing a dance with the elements themselves. The world around you faded into obscurity, the worries and cares of the outside world melting away in the face of the simple pleasure of the moment.

For Sukuna, who had known only the harshness of battle and the weight of his own past, this moment of respite was nothing short of a revelation. In your company, he found solace and peace, a fleeting glimpse of the happiness he had long believed to be beyond his reach. And as you danced together in the rain, lost in the beauty of the moment, Sukuna knew that he had found something truly precious: a connection that transcended time and circumstance, and a bond that would endure long after the rain had stopped falling.

In those fleeting moments, when the weight of his burdens momentarily lifted, Sukuna found himself immersed in a world of wonder and awe, captivated by the beauty unfolding before him. That night, when his village burned and he was left with nothing, you stood before him like a beacon of light in the darkness, offering him solace and sanctuary. Behind your eyes, he glimpsed the entire universe, and in that moment, you became his home.

You bestowed upon him a name, a sense of identity that he had never known before. With you, he found happiness, a fleeting but profound sense of joy that made him feel truly alive. Despite the tumultuous journey that followed, and the eventual rift that formed between them, Sukuna couldn't deny the impact you had on his life.

Even now, as he stood amidst the shadows of his past, Sukuna reflected on the world he had burned and subsequently rebirthed. Amidst all the chaos and destruction, he found purpose and beauty in the memories of his time with you. For Sukuna, life had meaning when you were by his side, and that truth remained etched in his heart, even as the sands of time continued to shift and change.

Despite the passage of centuries, the memory of your warm smile remained etched in Sukuna's mind like a sacred mantra, a beacon of light in the darkness of his existence. In those stolen moments of tranquility, he found solace in the knowledge that even in the midst of chaos and turmoil, there existed moments of fleeting happiness, like delicate blossoms scattered upon the winds of time.

As Sukuna stood amidst the haunting walls of his former home, the echoes of your laughter still reverberating in his mind, he couldn't shake the overwhelming sense of longing for the simplicity of days gone by. In those moments, when his obsession hadn't yet consumed him, life was free from the suffocating confines of power and strength—they were everything to the monster he once was.

In a world consumed by darkness, you had been his guiding light, a beacon of hope amidst the chaos of his existence. Your presence reminded him of the beauty that still existed, even in the bleakest of times. But now, you were beyond his reach, lost to the depths of time and memory. Your soul had vanished, leaving only ashes in its wake.

As he paused before the ancestral resting place, his pulse quickened with a familiar intensity. This building, standing defiant against the passage of centuries, held the remnants of your existence. He knew you were here, a silent witness to the ebb and flow of history.

But even as he yearned for your return, Ryomen Sukuna couldn't deny the bitter truth: you were gone, forever beyond his grasp. The Gojo clan, in their final act of defiance, had reclaimed your body, leaving Sukuna to mourn the loss of his beloved once more. And overtime, your soul, which he had siphoned to keep forever, had gone and disappeared. His gaze narrowed.

If Sukuna was being honest with himself, he had no right to be here. Not after what he had done to the clan, not after what he had done to you. But it was fate. You both were marked by fate. You had said so yourself. There was none of you, without him. There was no soul at all, without the other half. He belonged to you as much as you belonged to him.

As Sukuna's words hung heavy in the air, you struggled to comprehend the weight of his confession. The revelation that he intended to leave, to abandon the safety of your clan and the familiarity of home, sent a shiver down your spine. Clutching your silk sleeve to your chest, you couldn't suppress the rising sense of panic that threatened to overwhelm you.

"Why?" you implored, your voice trembling with a mixture of disbelief and desperation. "What do you mean you intend to leave?"

Sukuna met your gaze with an intensity that mirrored the turmoil within his soul, his own eyes reflecting the conflict raging within. "I cannot stay," he confessed, his voice heavy with resignation. "This is not where I belong. This is not our clan. This is not home."

Your heart sank at his words, the gravity of his decision weighing heavily upon you. "But Sukuna, the Fujiwara are still a threat," you protested, shaking your head in disbelief. "They still have a bounty on your head. You cannot leave now, not when danger lurks at every turn."

"I cannot stay here... under the Gojo," Sukuna murmured, bitterness lacing his words like venom. The mere mention of the rival clan sent a chill down your spine. "What if they sell us to the Kamo? Or to the Zenin?"

The thought of falling into the hands of their enemies sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn't deny the validity of Sukuna's concerns. Yet, the idea of him leaving, of facing the dangers of the world alone, filled you with a profound sense of dread.

As Sukuna's words cut through the air with a sharpness that stunned you, a sense of disbelief washed over you. His declaration, delivered with an intensity that left no room for argument, left you reeling, struggling to comprehend the depth of his mistrust.

"My husband would never do that—" you began, your voice faltering as you tried to reason with him, to bridge the chasm that seemed to widen between you with each passing moment.

"I do not trust him!" Sukuna's retort was swift, his voice tinged with an edge of desperation that startled both you and him. The realization of his own words seemed to hang heavy in the air, his breath catching in his throat as he lowered his head in a rare display of vulnerability. "I never will... You cannot force me to."

The weight of his refusal echoed in the silence that followed, leaving you grappling with the reality of his steadfast determination. As the head of your household, you had hoped your authority would carry weight, but Sukuna's unwavering resolve proved to be an immovable barrier.

"Not even as..." you trailed off, the words catching in your throat as you searched for a way to sway him, to appeal to the bond that once united you both.

"No." Sukuna's response was resolute, his head held high as he met your gaze with a steely determination that sent a shiver down your spine. In his eyes, you saw a reflection of emotions too complex to decipher, a glimpse into a soul that had been irrevocably changed by the passage of time and the weight of his own burdens.

This was not the Sukuna you once knew, you realized with a pang of sorrow. He was someone else entirely, a stranger to the depths of your heart. As the realization settled over you like a heavy blanket, you couldn't help but mourn the loss of the man you once loved, the man who had long since slipped away, leaving only a shadow of his former self behind. No, you think, there is only a curse. One that you carved into his soul. Revenge, that’s all that there is to him now.

The weight of Sukuna's plea hung heavy in the air, mingling with the bittersweet ache that tugged at your heartstrings. His offer of freedom and escape stirred a longing within you, igniting a spark of desire for a life unbound by duty and expectation.

"But where will you go?" you whispered, your voice barely audible over the tumult of emotions swirling within you. The thought of Sukuna leaving, of embarking on a journey without you by his side, filled you with a sense of unease that threatened to consume you whole. "Where will you—"

As Sukuna's hand gently cupped your cheek, his touch a fleeting caress against your skin, you felt a rush of warmth spread through you. His eyes, filled with a tender sadness that mirrored your own, searched your face as if seeking solace in the depths of your gaze.

"Come with me," he pleaded, his voice a soft whisper that reverberated in the quiet space between you. "We could roam the world together, free from the burdens of our past. We could carve out a new path, forge our own destiny."

Your heart constricted at his words, torn between the allure of adventure and the ties that bound you to this place. The image of a life lived on the road, hand in hand with Sukuna, danced tantalizingly at the edge of your consciousness, tempting you with its promise of liberation.

Tears welled in your eyes at Sukuna's completion of your unspoken words, his understanding piercing through the turmoil of emotions that churned within you. "I'm sorry... I..." Your voice faltered, unable to find the words to express the depths of your conflicted heart.

"I... I can't," you confessed, the words heavy with regret as you struggled to articulate the depth of your conflicting emotions. "I have a family now, Sukuna. My children... I cannot abandon them. Not even if I..." Your voice trailed off, unable to voice the unspoken truth that lingered between you—that even if you yearned to follow him, to lose yourself in the vast expanse of the world by his side, your responsibilities tethered you to this place, anchoring you to a life you had built from the ashes of your past.

"Not even if you want to."

As Sukuna's hand fell away from your cheek, a heavy silence settled between you, thick with the weight of unspoken truths and unfulfilled desires. His eyes, filled with a mixture of resignation and sorrow, bore into yours, conveying a silent understanding of the complexities of your situation.

"I see," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, heavy with the weight of unspoken regrets. "Forgive me for asking."

With a heavy heart, Sukuna turned to leave, his departure casting a shadow over the sacred space between you. The air seemed to grow heavier in his absence, the lingering echo of his presence haunting you like a ghost.

In the wake of his departure, you were left grappling with a tumult of conflicting emotions. Part of you yearned to chase after him, to throw caution to the wind and follow him into the unknown. The allure of adventure and the promise of a life unfettered by the constraints of the mundane world beckoned to you, tempting you to abandon all else in pursuit of the elusive freedom he offered.

As the echoes of Sukuna's footsteps faded into the distance, reality came crashing back in full force, grounding you in the present moment. The weight of your responsibilities and the bonds of love that tied you to your home and family became palpable, reminding you of the life you had chosen and the commitments you held dear.

Though the allure of adventure and the promise of a life untethered from the constraints of the mundane world may have whispered tantalizingly in your ear, you knew that your true happiness lay in the simple joys of everyday life. Surrounded by the familiar comforts of home and the warmth of your loved ones, you found solace and contentment that transcended the call of the unknown.

In the end, it was the love and responsibilities that anchored you to this place, guiding your footsteps and shaping your destiny. While the world beyond may have held its allure, you found fulfillment in the bonds you shared and the life you had built.

But as the sun rose on the new day, casting its golden rays upon the world, news of the massacre of the Fujiwara clan reached your ears. A shiver ran down your spine as you realized the implications. Ryomen Sukuna's journey was far from over—it had only just begun. And with a heavy heart, you knew that the world would never be the same again. He was not your Sukuna anymore. He was the King of Curses. And you cannot love a curse, not even if you wanted to.

The mere thought of standing before your final resting place, the solemn marker of your absence, sent a shiver down Sukuna's spine, a cold sensation that seemed to penetrate to the very core of his being. It was a stark reminder of the transient nature of life, a sobering confrontation with mortality that left him feeling strangely vulnerable.

For Sukuna, who had lived once more after thousands of years had passed, the encounter with your memory was a poignant reminder of the relentless march of time. Reborn into a vessel that barely contained his ancient power, he found himself grappling with the weight of his own existence and the echoes of his past.

Despite his attempts to distance himself from his human origins, to shed the vestiges of his former humanity, Sukuna couldn't help but feel the lingering connection to you. You, who had been his anchor in a world of chaos and darkness, remained a constant presence in his thoughts, a reminder of the humanity he had long abandoned.

Even as he stood on the precipice of oblivion, Sukuna found it impossible to consign your memory to the annals of history. In your absence, you remained etched in his mind, an indelible part of his being that refused to be forgotten, no matter how hard he tried.

As Sukuna stepped into the solemn confines of the ancestral shrine, a rush of memories flooded his mind, transporting him back to a time long past. The faces of those he once knew flickered in the dim light, each visage a testament to the passage of time and the inevitability of mortality.

His footsteps echoed softly against the polished stone floors as he made his way deeper into the shrine, the weight of his presence seeming to hang heavy in the air. Memories intertwined with the shadows, painting a vivid tapestry of days gone by.

Pausing before the grave of your father, Sukuna's gaze lingered, a mixture of reverence and regret coloring his expression. Your father had been a pillar of strength in the clan, a figure revered by all who knew him. And yet, even in death, his presence loomed large, a silent testament to the legacy he had left behind.

But it was when Sukuna's eyes fell upon your grave that time seemed to stand still. There, at the heart of the shrine, stood a full-life statue of you, radiant and eternal in its silent vigil. It was as if you had been frozen in time, your likeness preserved for eternity in marble and stone.

For Sukuna, gazing upon your statue was like confronting a ghost from his past, a haunting reminder of all that he had lost and all that he could never regain. There you stood, unchanged by the passage of centuries, a symbol of everything he could never be.

In that moment, Sukuna couldn't help but feel a pang of longing for the life he had left behind, for the warmth of your smile and the comfort of your presence. But as he stood in the shadow of your statue, he knew that his fate was sealed, bound by the chains of his own making.

Your grave stood alone at the center of the shrine, a solitary figure in a sea of memories, worshiped for being all that Sukuna could not be. And as he marveled in the silence, he couldn't help but wonder what might have been if he had chosen a different path, if he had chosen you over power and immortality. But it was too late for regrets now, too late to undo the choices that had brought him to this moment. All he could do was honor your memory and carry the weight of his sins for eternity.

As he gazes at the statue, the resemblance to your visage is striking, almost intimidating. You had a way of lingering in his thoughts, even after two thousand years had passed, remaining a haunting presence he couldn't shake. Strangely, he finds comfort in your ghostly presence; he doesn't want to escape you, if he's honest with himself. His hands reach out tentatively, mirroring the tenderness you once possessed as they brush against the cold stone.

It lacks your warmth, yet he tries to conjure the memory of it, knowing your warmth was synonymous with life itself. It's a challenge to forget you; you were unforgettable. He acknowledges that as a man like him, he has no right to mourn—he's no longer truly human. But with you, it's different; you transcended mere humanity. You were his world, his curse, and the ache of longing for you remains.

As Sukuna stands in the solemn presence of the statue, his mind becomes a battlefield of swirling emotions, each thought a tempest threatening to consume him. Amidst the stillness of the shrine, a whisper of a thought passes through his consciousness like a fleeting breeze, stirring the depths of his soul.

He wonders, with a heavy heart, if you would ever grant him the chance to speak to you again, even if only in the ethereal realm of dreams. The weight of his transgressions hangs heavy upon him, a burden he bears with aching regret and remorse.

His thoughts drift to the possibility of forgiveness, a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness that threatens to engulf him. Would you, he wonders, find it in your heart to forgive him for all he had done? Could you look past the sins of his past and see the man he longs to become?

And then, in the quiet recesses of his mind, another question emerges, tentative yet hopeful: Would you meet him in another life, in another time, and love him again? The notion fills him with both trepidation and longing, a desire for redemption intertwined with the fear of repeating past mistakes.

As the King of Curses stands before the imposing statue, its silent gaze casting a solemn shadow over the shrine, he grapples with the weight of his own existence. In the hallowed stillness of the sacred space, amidst the echoes of his tumultuous thoughts, he seeks solace, a fleeting respite from the ceaseless turmoil that churns within him.

Fickle hope flickers like a distant flame in the darkness of his heart, as he silently pleads for a chance at redemption, a glimmer of forgiveness in the face of his countless transgressions. But even as he yearns for reconciliation, a bitter truth gnaws at the edges of his consciousness: he knows he will never humble himself, never stoop to beg for your mercy. A king does not bend his knees. It was all too late. And you would never hope for it from him. You knew him too well.

For the King of Curses, pride is both his armor and his downfall, a barrier that shields him from the vulnerability of human emotion, yet also isolates him in his eternal solitude. He knows he can never be with you, not in this life or any other, for curses are not meant to know the warmth of love or the tender embrace of redemption.

In the depths of his despair, he acknowledges the irreparable chasm that separates him from you, an insurmountable divide between the angelic purity of your soul and the infernal darkness that consumes his own. He resigns himself to the harsh reality of his existence: a flower in the night, destined to yearn for the unreachable glow of the moon, while knowing that his true salvation lies forever beyond his grasp, bathed in the radiant light of the distant sun.

"Sukuna..." The sound of your voice, soft and gentle, echoes in his mind, stirring something deep within him. “Sukuna….”

As Sukuna stands in the sacred confines of the shrine, grappling with the weight of his emotions, he feels the gravity of his words hanging heavy in the air like incense smoke, swirling around him in ethereal wisps. The question lingers, a delicate thread woven into the fabric of his thoughts, as he waits with bated breath for a response that may never come.

"Would you ever let me speak to you again?" His voice is a mere whisper, barely audible above the hallowed silence of the shrine. The words escape his lips like a prayer, a desperate plea for absolution in the face of his tumultuous past. "Will you, my little night flower?"

The stillness of the shrine remains unbroken, the only sound the soft echo of his own voice reverberating off the ancient stone walls. Yet, despite the absence of a tangible answer, Sukuna can't help but sense a presence, a ghostly whisper of your essence lingering in the sacred space.

Closing his eyes, Ryomen Sukuna offers a silent prayer to the heavens knowing full well that the gods would never accept the prayer of an infidel. He could care less about their judgments. Yet, in the depths of his heart, he harbors the belief that if his words were to reach anywhere, it would be in your arms, wherever you may be. In the quiet sanctuary of the shrine, surrounded by the echoes of his own longing, he clings to the fragile hope that perhaps, somewhere in the depths of eternity, you're listening, ready to grant him the solace and redemption he so desperately seeks.

As the moon wanes overhead, casting its ethereal glow upon the shrine, Sukuna remains, allowing your memory to haunt him. If it means just one more night with you, he is willing to endure the torment of your ghostly presence. Though weary from his journey, he finds solace in the thought of being in your presence once more, even if only in his dreams.

As he kneels before you, the lilac crystal adorning the shrine gleams softly in the moonlight, casting a delicate hue upon the scene. In this moment, Ryomen Sukuna finds a semblance of peace, a fleeting respite from the turmoil of his immortal existence. Perhaps, he muses, this is all there is to be—an eternal dance between curses and prayers, between love and longing.

When the sun rose, he let the boy have control.

Ryomen Sukuna let himself stand within his realm.

Loneliness seeping in, the night drifting away with you.

For you only belong in the wide sky, his night flower.

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gloriium · 9 months

Text

NRC's First Years 📸

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rose-tea-and-strawberries · 24 days

Text

To Catch A Falling Star (Idia Shroud x Reader)

Inspired by a scene from Criminal Minds

Masterlist

Reader is intended to be female

If Idia had to describe you in one word it was unexpected.

He still remembers the day he met the magicless prefect who appeared out of nowhere in a fiery blaze of glory like some leveled up shounen protagonist about to fight the final boss, how Ortho had directed you into his room before he could stop him. And instead of being repulsed by the many, many posters, figurines and merch he had scattered around his room, you were in fact…elated?

“You’re an otaku as well?” you beamed at him, your starry-eyed gaze of awe rendering him speechless before he flinches as you yell, pumping your fists in the air, “Finally! A worthy opponent! Our battle will be legendary!”

Yeah, he does not have the energy to unpack that.

Anyway, he never expected you to appear in his world, and he never expected to find himself comfortable with you, his new gaming buddy and fellow animanga enthusiast. You never judge him for his tastes or his behaviour or less than ideal personality. You were someone he could genuinely call a friend andabsolutelynothingmoreOrthoIloveyoubutpleasebequiet.

And having you around a lot, both because of you just barging into his room or by Ortho’s multitude of invites, just felt natural, your chatter being something that he could call soothing. Which is how he found himself absolutely dominating his current multiplayer playthrough with you doing your own thing by his side.

After his team had won the game, he turned to you, ready to receive your subsequent praise, only to find that your attention was diverted towards a wooden toy thing, your face scrunched up in concentration as your fingers fiddled with its many vertices.

“What are you doing?” he asked and you paused your twiddling, looking up at him.

“Oh I got this star puzzle in Sam’s shop earlier. It reminded me a lot of this thing we have back in my world so I thought that I’d try it out,” you look back down and resume playing with it, “it’s practically impossible to figure out. You’ve got to put all of these pieces together to form a perfect star. It’s a bit of a headache really but it’s got a really sweet backstory.”

“So that thing’s got lore?” Idia raised his eyebrows and held out his hand. You gently toss it into his open palm.

“Well, you see it’s this romantic story where a young prince wanted to win the heart of the fairest maiden in the land, so he climbed up to the top of the tallest tower in the kingdom and caught a falling star for her. But, since he was so excited to give it to her, he dropped it and it smashed into all of these small pieces. So he frantically put it back together again to prove his undying love to her and he succeeded and they lived happily ever after.”

“What a load of normie nonsense,” Idia scoffed.

“Excuse me?!”

“You can’t catch a falling star,” he deadpanned, “it would burn up in the atmosphere.”

“Really?” you ask, unimpressed, “you live in a world that has flying broomsticks and magic mirrors and plants that can yell loud enough to kill someone - I really don’t think you can argue about the concept of reality when there are children here who are capable of breaking the laws of physics on the regular.”

“But still, it’s stupid,” he grumbles, “why does catching a star make you a shoujo manga male lead.”

“It’s romantic,” you argue, “he loves her so much that he would do the impossible for her. Besides, the point is that it’s impossible to do because you have to take all of these pieces and fit them exactly into the shape of a -”

You trail off, dumbfounded, when Idia smugly presents to you the completed puzzle, a small brown star sitting idly in his hand.

“You were saying,” he smirked at your flabbergasted expression, preening slightly when it shifted to annoyed, “it doesn’t seem all that hard to me.”

“Why do you have to be like this,” you lamented, pouting as you grumbled about ‘high and mighty otakus who think they’re so cool just because they’ve beaten you in every one-v-one you’ve played’.

“Just take the L,” he said, not without a hint of condescension, as he turned back to his screen. Thankfully you were too busy wallowing to notice the magenta glowing along the edges of his hair. Why do you have to be so cute? You’re dangerous, you know.

Yeah, you’re a pretty unpredictable person. But that doesn’t mean that he can’t pull any epic gamer moves of his own.

#twst #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #idia shroud x reader #fem reader

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hisui-dreamer · 27 days

Note

Okay I spent a while thinking of flowers and decided that I'd rather be simple, and give Jamil a bouquet of Gladiolus and Morning Glory based on our birth months ^^ (also, a thought- there's no reason for these same flowers from our world to exist in TW, maybe similar looking ones, but not the same. So imagine prefect cultivating flowers to look like flowers they know, specifically for their beloved 😭💕)

clandestine meetings and longing stares

Pairing: Jamil Viper x gn!reader

Synopsis: your love for each other was never allowed, but that never stopped your feelings for each other

Tags: secrets relationship, pining, fluff, reader is not yuu

Word count: 1k+

Notes: so sorry this took so long kirexa!! my assignments put me in an a really bad slump,,, i hope you'll like the direction i took for the flowers hehe <3

Masterlist

flowers of choice:

gladiolus: secret meeting

morning glory: reunion of lovers

The gardens of the Asim estate hold secrets woven into their very essence, secrets that only unveiled themselves beneath the soft shroud of night.

Tonight, like many nights before, you tread the familiar path, the same path you’ve always walked with your heart pounding with anticipation. With bare feet, you move briskly, aware of each step, careful not to disrupt the delicate silence of the night.

Anticipation and adrenaline run through your veins like wildfire, fuelling your steps as you ventured deeper into the heart of the gardens. The moon casts its ethereal glow upon the landscape, painting everything in shades of silver and shadow. Each rustle of leaves, each whisper of the wind, seems to beckon you forward, urging you to hasten your pace.

Arriving at the secluded alcove, your heart soars with elation as you behold Jamil standing amidst the ethereal glow of the moon. His silhouette seems sculpted by the soft radiance, a vision of serenity amidst the night's embrace.

"Jamil," you breathe his name like a prayer, relief flooding through you at the sight of him.

"Ya amar," his voice, soft as a breeze, wraps around you like a comforting embrace.

In mere moments, you find yourselves entwined once again. You melt into his embrace, his touch enveloping you in a comforting warmth, a sensation that instantly makes you feel at home.

Your lips meet in a tender kiss, a silent symphony of emotions cascading between you, conveying depths of love that words could never adequately express. In the stolen moment, you allow yourself to forget the rigid boundaries imposed by your stations in life, the weight of your familial expectations, and simply exist in the blissful sanctuary of Jamil's arms.

All the weariness of weeks spent apart dissipates like mist under the morning sun, replaced by a sense of wholeness that only his presence can provide. As you reluctantly pull back, your breaths mingling in the cool night air, your foreheads pressed together in a silent affirmation of your connection.

"I've missed you," Jamil confesses, his words a balm to the ache in your own heart.

"And I, you," you reply, reaching out to cup his face, your fingertips tracing the contours of his features as if committing them to memory. With a soft smile, you pull back slightly from his embrace, gazing into his charcoal-grey eyes with tender curiosity. "Tell me," you urge gently, your voice barely more than a whisper in the tranquil night air. "How has school been? Are you adjusting well to the second year?"

Jamil's expression softens as he meets your gaze, a flicker of warmth dancing in his eyes. "It's been... challenging," he admits, his voice tinged with a hint of wistfulness.

Each word he utters is painted with the hues of his experiences, drawing you into the vivid tapestry of his school life. He begins to weave intricate tales of his persistent classmate, the one who incessantly seeks his assistance in his business ventures, caring for your older brother, ensuring his well-being and academic progress, and many other intriguing classmates.

You listen intently, a soft chuckle escaping your lips from time to time as you find yourself captivated by his tales. His voice, smooth as silk, washes over you like a gentle caress, wrapping you in a cocoon of comfort and familiarity. It's a voice you've always cherished, one that resonates deep within your soul, and in this moment, no recording could ever compare to the warmth of having him speak softly into your ears.

“I feel a lot better now, being back home, with you..." He trails off, a fond smile gracing his lips as he squeezes your hand gently.

In response, you tighten your grip on his hand, leaning in to nuzzle your face into the curve of his neck. "I'm so glad you're back," you murmur softly, your words a whispered prayer of gratitude.

Oh, how you ache for the freedom to love him openly, to cast aside the heavy cloak of secrecy and fear that weighs upon your shoulders. To intertwine your fingers with his in broad daylight, to lose yourself in the depths of his gaze without the lurking shadows of doubt. To bask in the radiant glow of his affection beneath the sun's golden rays, unencumbered by judgment or retribution.

But how could you? Your families, entrenched in generations of tradition, would recoil at the mere suggestion of your union. To reveal your love openly would be to invite catastrophe, risking the fragile harmony of their world. You know all too well they would send Jamil away, far, far away to somewhere you could never reach, before marrying you off to someone else they deem suitable to fully extinguish the flame of your love.

And yet, you still find yourself yearning for more – for the liberation to proclaim your love from the highest rooftops, to unveil the depth of your devotion to the world without hesitation or constraint. It’s not lost on you how attractive your lover is, his captivating dark features that could ensnare anyone’s heart, and his perfect competence in all facets of life. He would make a brilliant husband.

Just the thought of him marrying another, belonging to someone else, ignites a fierce flame within your soul. The thought of him caring for another sets your heart ablaze with an intensity you cannot ignore. You find yourself holding him tighter, as if by sheer force of will, you could keep him tethered to you.

“Jamil?”

"Hm?" he paused, placing tender kisses into your hair.

"How much longer?" you murmured into his neck, the words carrying the weight of your shared longing, your shared struggle.

He didn't need you to elaborate. Jamil understood the depth of your question, the ache that echoed through every syllable. How much longer must your love remain hidden, relegated to stolen moments beneath the cloak of night, until he could proudly declare to the world that you belonged to him?

"... I don't know, ya amar," he replied, his arms tightening around you.

Masterlist

if you liked this post, don't forget to reblog!

#✧2k! blossoming bouquets✦#twstnexus #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #disney twisted wonderland #twst wonderland #twisted wonderland jamil #jamil viper #jamil viper x reader #jamil viper x mc #twst jamil viper #twst jamil viper x reader #twst jamil #twst jamil x reader

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sterlinggalaxy13 · 6 months

Text

Shroud, Glory, and Lucy

#chibi #Shroud #Glory #Fable oc #Lucy #this have been inspired by space dandy welcome to x dimension artstyle #Fable au #fable fanart #Fable Legends

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mothmanavenue · 7 months

Text

In conjuntion with this art piece here

...

The war doesn’t end with a crash or a bang. Nothing explodes in a fiery shower the way he’d read about in books as a kid. There's no rocking of the ground as the world shifts under their feet, and a curling anxiety in his gut as he desperately reaches out in the link for a glimmer of one just one of his teammates, his family, his lover.

There’s just the dead drop of a falling lion as a ceasefire is called. It’s just the feeling of his fingers relaxing from a white knuckled grip on Red’s controls and his head falling back with a dull thud against the headrest of the pilot’s chair. It’s the unwinding of his spine as he slumps, all his strength and exhaustion collapsing in on him as he surrenders flight back to his lion, her battle roar softening to a gentle rumble in the back of his mind. It’s the gasps of relief and whispered gratitude of his family echoing in his ears, letting him know they’re safe, they’ve made it, it’s finally done.

Keith is completely unsurprised to note which one he prefers.

Red’s purr is a constant source of comfort in his mind as he curls his legs toward his chest, eyes squinted in lazy, bone deep weariness, brain barely processing Shiro and Allura from their respective command stations outlining the conditions of ceasefire. He can barely think about anything outside the cramping in his fingers and the bleariness of his eyes from entire successive days spent raising Voltron’s sword, pouring his energy and willpower into convincing the strongest weapons in the universe to bend to his will.

It’s ok if he misses something. The team will catch him up. They always have, when the tiredness consumes him, and he checks out of conversations and discussion, slumping against the nearest comforting shoulder.

Allura’s voice is as sharp and clear as the crown that adorns her head; the queen of Altea in all her glory commands her troops from the midst of battle. Keith’s attention had been laser focused on ensuring Voltron’s continued presence, but nothing in the world could keep him from watching for Allura’s flashing blue light as she approached Haggar, now withered and raging, and knelt in front of her. Keith missed what was said, the words exchanged. But he saw the tightening of his Queen, his sister’s, shoulders, and the hand wrapping tight around the witch’s neck.

It’s been a long eight days on this earth of his.

His brain clocks out in that moment, and he rides the warm haze he’s in, letting the satisfaction of success settle into his bones. It’s not time for celebration just yet. It will come later once the dead is counted and the shrouds are laid. Keith knows better than most the toll of war, and he dreads the time that will come when the lists of the dead will be handed to them, and he will need hours, days, weeks, to grieve people he did and didn’t know and names he’s cherished and ones he’s never heard, and each loss will still hit like a blow to the ribs. After that, the celebration will come. The ballrooms of the castle will glow with life and Hunk will dress in gold, Shiro’s white hair will gleam in the light, and Pidge will protest that she just won a war, she deserves a drink. Allura will stand regal at their side, and her shoulders will be light, free from the burden of an avenger, and she will turn to them with a gleaming grin and they won’t have any choice but to smile back at her.

And lance.

Lance will be so handsome in his blue suit, golden and silver threaded in painstaking embroidery in the bed of deep sky. His hair will fall loose and natural in his eyes, heavenly blues, and earthy brown under the string set of his eyebrows, and he’ll gleam like a freshly lit candle.

He’ll take Keith’s breath away and Keith will never want it back.

But that comes after.

Right now, here, Red lands on dusty earth and grumbles in his head about doing all the work. He’s sure none of the other lions give their other halves this much shit. He loves her so fiercely it burns his throat and eyes. He can’t believe he ever spent a day outside of her. Can’t believe he wasn’t raised alongside this wonderful, temperamental, protective, grouchy cat, who bossed him and fussed him, and purred and cooed when he screamed in his dreams. Can’t believe there ever was a time he resigned himself to not having this. What a fool he was.

The wave of emotion fills the cockpit in a lilting hum, and she lights up around him, Voltron blue piercing through the chunks in his armour. Red is as alive as a blaze and warm as a hearth in his head.

Her mouth drops open with one final swell of affection, as she releases her paladin to his home ground.

Keith murmurs a breathy thank you i love you you’re everything to me, as he stumbles out, hand grasping the cool metal as he comes to a rest on the shifting sands. The sand is warm from fire and fighting and it hits him all at one.

He crouches down, head hanging as he pants and gasps for breath. The emotion of the past few days shutter his eyesight till all he sees in the grains of sand sticking to his gauntlets. His head spins and his hair is falling out of the ponytail he’d tied it back in, and his breath is coming hard now.

Something is missing. Somethings not quite right.

The swords have fallen, the helmets tossed to the side, red looms protective behind him. The shields are down the guards are dropped and he can feel the press of the Voltron bond that lets him know his team is landing nearby, drawn together with a gravitational pull.

He draws in breath, cool and refreshing and tinged with the scent of burning. Around him the sand is interspersed with freshly formed glass.

He raises his head, expecting to see the heavens above him. He wants to take in the freshly healed scar of the newly collapsed Rigel star system. Wants to know how the blazing lights of thousands of planets worth of warfare look set against the familiar earth sky. He think he might look at the constellations, like he did not far from here a hundred years ago, tucked into his dad's strong, solid arms, the scratch of a stubbly chin accompanying a moving mouth as it named Orion, Cassiopeia, Gemini.

He looks up expecting to see stars, and instead, he sees the sun.

Lance's smile is crooked, and his breath comes fast, like he ran, as he hovers over him. Their faces are so close he can count each individual freckle on this boy’s face, as precious to him as the gleam of moonlight cutting paths across the castle hallways. Oh this boy, this absolute death of him.

“Hey lover,” the words leave Lance’s mouth with ease and anticipation, years of pent-up adoration spilling out with every vowel, “we did it.”

Keith feels his own smile steal across his face, “yeah, we did.”

If possible, Lance's smile grows wider, crinkling the already forming smile lines at his eyes. Keith thinks of the products that line the counter of his bathroom sink, just waiting for a pretty bronzed hand to pick them up when the separation hits, and their resolves are softened by the press of late hours and long silence.

A silly waste. Keith likes this look on Lance.

Aging.

What a wonderful thing he never thought he’d get to have.

“You know what that means?”

Lance's voice is smooth, the tremble that only a practiced ear could pick out masked by the sincerity and anticipation that has dogged their every conversation since that night on the dais.

“We’ll wait.”

“Until when, Keith?”

“Until it’s done. When it’s done then we can have this. We can’t lose everyone for each other.”

“I’m yours?”

“When it’s done then. And when it’s done, I’m bringing you home with me. I’m putting a ring on your finger and I’m never letting you go. You’re it for me, Keith.”

“I’m not asking you to wait, that’s not fair-“

“I followed you into space Keith. I followed you to the point of no return. You aren’t asking me anything and that’s a damn shame. I’d give you anything you asked for.”

“When it’s done lance, when it’s done, I’ll ask you anything you want me to. I’ll come home with you, I’ll share a bed with you. I’ll be yours as long as you’ll have me.”

“Don’t joke, honey,”

“I’m not. You’re mine, lance”

“And-“

“you’re mine.”

The words reverberate in his head, and oh. This is what it was. The smooth slot of this thing that’s been so long coming.

Lance drops to his knees in front of him, one warm hand coming to rest on his cheek. Keith leans his head into it. He’s too tired for restraint, or shame, or any other useless emotion that would’ve held a younger him back. He’s got nothing to lose. He’s won. There’s no reason left to hold back. What a novel idea. It coats him and leaves him shivering at the feel of a gloved thumb running gently over his cheekbones.

His eyes fall back open from their unconscious close, and Lance is so close.

Honest, sweet, honourable lance. The sandpaper to all his rough edges. The iron that absorbed his burning heat. The shore that meets his rocking tide.

Keith can hear the thunder of Pidge’s feet as they run across the uneven terrain. Hunk is following after her, his voice a cacophony of relief and joy. Shiro’s laughter is warm and thick as honey, coming easier than it has since aliens were a late-night story. Allura is giggling, high and bright, and a little hysterical. It’s ok. She’ll pull herself back together and they’ll be there to fill the cracks with liquid gold.

(Or glitter. She’d like glitter.)

Lance is watching him, and Keith’s eyes drift back to him. Lance hasn’t looked away in years. Something, some last resistance hidden away so deep he didn’t even know to search for a cure, falls away.

He leans in and closes the gap.

...

posted on ao3 here

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ohmyeyesmyeyes · 1 year

Text

cold nights & a sunday morning

nico hischier x f!reader one shot

warnings: swearing, (no specific opposing team), fluff, smuttish themes

You were weary, eyes blinking slowly under the curtain of exhaustion that had seemingly enveloped you – encouraged by the thick duvet you’d pulled up to your chin to keep out the chill; the dull lighting you’d left on on the other side of the bed helped shroud your pocket of the bed in darkness, and the TV was on, a movie playing at the foot of your bed, the volume turned down so you could only just make out the muttering of the characters.

You’d been half-trying to sleep, half-trying to keep yourself awake, and it seemed the internal conflict waged a battle in your mind and kept your body balancing constantly on the edge of sleep. You’d been yawning for at least half an hour, but for whatever reason, you just couldn’t find it within yourself to go to sleep.

You’d read an article a couple of days ago, about how people tend to fall asleep around people they love. It had something to do with safety and comfortability, and lately you’d been finding that particular theory to be true. Take now, for instance, you didn’t know if it was because you acknowledged that study and were thinking about it that was the reason you couldn’t sleep, or if it was an unconscious and intrinsic need to actually not be alone when you went to sleep.

It had to have been another ten minutes before you gave up on the idea of sleeping entirely, and you’d rolled over onto your back, eyes bleary and dry from attempting to sleep, and tried to focus on the TV screen at the bottom of your bed. You’d seen the film before; once when you were younger and your parents had put it on, not realising exactly how rude or explicit it had been for an impressionable nine year old.

The Rebound.

It was only around half way through, but it didn’t take much to get back into it – especially considering you’d been half listening to it the entire time, and it made you smile, it really did.

If anything, the bright colours and moving pictures only seemed to lull you into an even deeper exhaustion, so much so that by the time the front door had shut – it was a gentle sound, and you knew that he’d tried to be as quiet about it, but the door on this house always seemed to rattle the walls – you’d nestled back down under the covers, eyes heavy and constantly yawning.

And by the time you heard the telltale padded footsteps traipse up the stairs and head to your bedroom – slowly and carefully, as though he expected you to be asleep and was trying his hardest not to make a sound – you’d perked up a little, anticipation and excitement taking away a hint of exhaustion. You pushed down the covers a little, so you could peek over the duvet and wait for the door handle to turn.

When it did, you knew that it would be virtually impossible for his eyes to adjust to the darkness in time to see if you were asleep, so you took a moment to appreciate him in all his shuited glory.

He must have been wearing a beanie at some point, because his hair looked a little windswept, the ends poking up in an unnatural way – one that made him look effortlessly beautiful, even in the glow of the TV light. He walked through the door on his tiptoes, blinking a little as he adjusted to the darkness, a duffel bag in his hand and a waistcoat draped over his other arm. He’d undone his tie and unbuttoned the first few on his shirt – probably as soon as he’d gotten back into his car, and through your squinted eyes, you could make out his grimace as he knocked his bag against the doorframe, his eyes immediately going to you curled up in the bed.

He waited a few seconds, expecting you to move at the kerfuffle, before continuing his journey, gently placing his bag on the ground and his waistcoat and tie on the back of the chair next to his side of his bed – the opposite side to the one you were on. This time, however, you had to shut your eyes fully because his bedside light meant he’d get a full view of your face, and you were thankful that the duvet covered your smile as he turned around to face you, his fingers working to unbutton his shirt.

You only opened your eyes hesitantly, one eye at a time, when you heard his footsteps recede towards the en-suite on the other side of the room. He had his back to you, and you didn’t know when it had happened, but he must have picked up his pyjamas from underneath his pillow (did you fall asleep?), because he was wearing his sleeping shirt and a pair of shorts.

Just before he went to shut the bathroom door, however, he sent a glance in your direction and your eyes flew shut – eliciting silent laughs from underneath the duvet on your end – and after a couple of seconds you heard the mumble of the TV cut out and the light diminish entirely – the light behind your eyes blacking out. Then, when you thought he’d make his way to the back of the bathroom, you heard footsteps heading in your direction.

You froze. You held your breath and used all of your willpower to mute said laughing and neutralise your facial expression. You felt him pause at the side of the bed, and your resolve almost crumbled entirely when you felt a warm breath hover over your cheek for a second too long. It briefly crossed your mind that you’d been caught at lying, and that thrill sent a shot of adrenalin through your veins – but it all halted when he dropped a soft kiss on your cheek.

This time you had to stop yourself from smiling for entirely different reasons.

He honestly and completely melted you everytime he showed you some affection when he thought you weren’t awake – a simple kiss on the cheek or forehead was the most common gesture, but there had also been the occasional hand on your hair when he’d walk past the sofa and you’d fallen asleep.

You had once thought that men like that were only limited to pages of a book or movies, but Nico had quickly demolished that view when he waltzed into your life with nothing but soft touches and sweet nothings.

He was so fucking gentle you had to stop yourself from screaming sometimes.

You only opened your eyes when you heard the bathroom door click shut, and from then on out you spent the next four and a half minutes hanging off every sound in the bathroom – the whir of the toothbrush, the tap switching on and off.

You had neglected to move from your position, but before he came back into the room, you made sure to let loose on your laughing, a hand securely clamped over your mouth at the hilarity of it all. You never really had the opportunity to get back at Nico with his silly teasing, but now you were kind of excited at the opportunity to get one for yourself.

You heard the light switch off and the door click open, and you shut your eyes, heart thrumming with the inevitable anticipation of knowing he’d climb into the bed and shuffle himself as close to you as he could without trying to wake you.

He did just that; gently lifting up the duvet and sliding under the covers as efficiently as he could so as to not let too much cold air draft inside. And when he’d made himself comfortable, switching off the light at the side of the bed, you felt him shuffle closer. You knew he’d be watching your face, anxious not to wake you, and you took the opportunity to open your eyes.

It was almost instantaneous, the way he reacted. He seemed to pass through multiple stages of grief, his eyes widening as he recoiled, before sighing and rolling onto his back, hands over his eyes as he laughed softly.

“You should have seen your face.” You whispered, unable to help yourself from smiling as you took his wrist in your hand to peel his own away from his face.

He let you take his wrist, and his other hand flopped onto his stomach as he twisted his head to look at you, just as you used his wrist to lift his arm over your shoulders as you rested your head against his shoulder.

“You made me jump.” He replied, rolling his eyes but moving impossibly closer to you anyway. You both knew neither of you would end up waking up in this position, but it was always nice to have a quick game debrief in bed when you didn’t go to the odd match.

They’d won tonight, and Nico had played an insane amount of minutes on the ice so you knew tonight’s debrief would be short.

“It can’t have been that scary.” You defended, lifting the duvet back over both of you.

“Believe it or not, you’re very good at pretending to be asleep.”

“Thank you for that information–”

“Don’t get any ideas.”

“I’m not promising anything.” You shrugged, unashamed to find that not a single part of you felt guilty for giving him such a fright. If anything, you guessed it probably woke him up a bit.

There was a slight lull to the conversation, and you felt a sudden onslaught of exhaustion hit you, the adrenaline wearing off as the giddiness and anticipation from your previous trick began to dwindle. You yawned just as Nico took a deep breath, a curious leg swiping over to your side of the bed.

You practically felt his confusion and the way he furrowed his brow as he moved slightly underneath you, “Is there a problem?” You muttered, knowing exactly what the issue was.

You didn’t know if it was a Nico thing, but whenever he climbed into bed and noticed the searing heat coming from the heated blanket, he always had something to say – usually it was a grumble about the warmth contaminating the cold sheets on his side of the mattress, but this time he said nothing against it.

Instead, he tightened his hold on you and somehow manoeuvred the both of you so you were laying completely on your half of the bed, you surprisingly finding yourself almost entirely on top of him, save for one leg that had found its way out of his hold.

You pushed yourself up with your arms caging his head in and tilted your head in an inquisitive manner. Nico copied you, and through the film of darkness you could just make out a sheepish glint in his eyes as he crossed his arms behind his head, seemingly pleased at the position he’d managed to get you in.

You rolled your eyes, unimpressed with his behaviour.

He shrugged, “I was cold, and you’ve been on this thing for hours now, so what better way to warm up than to have one side pressed to the heated blanket and the other to my equally hot girlfriend?”

You arched a brow, half bothering to smother a smile at the double meaning he’d implied, “You’re despicable, honestly.”

“Despicably handsome, no?” He yawned, running a hand through his hair, before smirking at you shaking your head.

You didn’t have the heart to deny him his good looks, but instead you pressed a kiss on his lips. It was short, and you peeled back almost immediately after – as though you were testing the waters, but Nico seemed to have been expecting you to pull such a move, because a hand on the back of your head prevented you from recoiling too far before you’d practically collided with him in a mess, only just managing to catch yourself on your elbows. It was a searing kiss, one that took you by surprise with his eagerness and sudden burst of energy, and then before you could control yourself, you were laughing against his mouth.

“I mean, I was going to say you’re despicably good at hockey, but I guess that’s also true.” You were a little breathless, and your cheeks were burning under his scrutiny, “That goal you scored was–”

“Sexy?” He asked, and you could feel his chest heaving a little from underneath you, so you slid off him, only keeping one leg draped across his torso after he caught it with his hand. You still propped yourself up on your elbow, but welcomed the heat from the electric blanket.

“Sexy.” You repeated, “It was from a mile out and went through three pairs of legs, an honest miracle.”

You could see him grin excitedly as he squeezed your leg in response, “Always happy for your support.”

“Oh, but let’s not forget that assist, either–” Your fist landed on his chest, and you could tell he was laughing to some extent, thoroughly amused at the spectacle you were making of his performance, “because that was incredible as well.”

“Keep talking dirty to me.” He bit his lip, and you swore you melted when he literally giggled. You couldn’t make out much in the dark, but you swore the light from the shut bathroom door caught the glint of mischief that seemed to have a permanent residence nowadays.

Of course he’d relate hockey talk to more suggestive themes, but if you were being completely honest, it was probably one of the things you loved most about him. He did seem to have a rather talented knack of making you laugh at the cheesiest of lines.

“You shoulder-barged number seventeen into tomorrow and gave Jack the chance to score, that was impressive – your tackle, I guess the goal was alright, but it wasn’t you–” you stopped, holding up a finger, “let me get my notes.” You pretended to roll over to root through the drawer on your bedside table but a firm hand curled around your waist and pulled you back against a rather solid chest, eliciting a groan from you as the wind was knocked out of your lungs for a brief moment in time.

“You don’t need your notes.” He breathed a laugh, stifling an awkward yawn at the same time.

“No, I don’t.” You admitted, reaching a hand up to brush the strands of hair that had fallen into his face and were tickling his nose uncomfortably.

“Please can you turn off the electric blanket?” He mumbled, and from the tone of his voice alone you could deduct that his drowsiness was beginning to take effect, so you nodded, twisting over to reach down the side of your bed and flicking the switch off.

“I’ll be cold.” You let the unspoken question lingering behind you words hang in the air for a few moments before readjusting yourself so you had your head back on the pillow, and it barely took a second for the words to register in Nico’s head before he was wrapping an arm around you, tugging your body closer to his.

He draped a leg in between yours and placed his forehead against the back of your shoulder blade.

“I won’t move, promise.” You felt his lips press a delicate kiss on your back.

“Thank you.”

___

You woke up earlier than usual. You could tell it was earlier because the light peeking out from behind the blinds was dimmer than it usually was – but it wasn’t that that was your main concern.

Your main concern was that you were uncomfortably hot. The duvet was pulled up over your forehead, and tightly, which meant the air was stiflingly hot, and you could feel the repercussions of it burning your entire body. It also didn’t help matters when you could feel an even warmer body curled around your back – like how a koala hugs a tree. Nico had his chest pressed against you, his head resting on your pillow (because it felt as though neither of you had moved much in the night), but an arm tightly slung across your waist and a leg snaked between yours.

The tangle of limbs and sharing of body heat certainly had added a little more intricate difficulty to the predicament.

He kept his promise, then.

You laid there for a few more minutes, knowing that you’d eventually have to remove yourself before you ended up suffocating – either from the weight of his body on top of yours, or the heat that was putting you on the edge of sweating.

You were fine until you weren’t – until the desire to get out and until that magnetic force emanating from downstairs compelled you to the point you just couldn’t spend another freaking minute in that pit of…ew.

You were close to the edge of your side of the bed; so close that you could stick a leg out and touch the floor with your feet and slide out. When you’d planted both on the floor, you slowly grabbed Nico’s arm, careful not to disrupt the covers too much or startle him awake. It was no easy feat, trying to wrestle yourself from his grip whilst also trying not to let him roll over onto your side of the bed too quickly; you had to turn awkwardly, a hand going up to catch the shoulder that had been resting on your back and gently lowering him onto the mattress.

You slipped out yourself, turning around momentarily to make sure he didn’t fully wake up: he threw an arm out onto the space you’d previously occupied, and shoved his other arm under your pillow. Apart from that he didn’t stir one bit.

You shrugged on a jumper, and took a pair of socks out of the drawer, putting your slippers on over the top. It was still chilly, but the heating had clicked on a while ago, and you could feel the warmth from the radiators whenever you walked past one on your way to the kitchen.

Quiet Sunday mornings were rare, even more so this particular morning, because Nico didn’t have an early skating session. Sure, he had practice after lunch, but it was only nine.

Breakfast in bed was almost tradition at this point.

By the time you’d made it back upstairs, a tray full of food and drink, Nico was awake. He was sitting up (on his side of the bed this time), an arm dropped across the top of his head and he was lazily flicking through the TV channels.

When he saw you push your way through the bedroom door, however, he threw the covers off himself and took the tray from you, pressing a quick kiss on your cheek.

“Good morning.” He smiled sweetly, moving over to place the tray in the middle of the bed.

You followed him, careful not to nudge the tray as you climbed back in, kicking your slippers off before doing so.

“Morning.” You replied, taking your half of what was on the tray and placing it on your bedside table, taking an eager gulp of coffee as you did so.

_ _ _

It didn’t take long for either of you to scarf down your breakfasts, and for some reason you’d found yourself at the foot of the bed – still under the covers – and leant against the small endboard, a pillow cushioning the sharp edge.

You cradled a miraculously still-hot cup of coffee, but it was Nico your attention was on. He wasn’t doing anything anyone else would deem particularly interesting, simply put, he was just being. You were deep into a conversation about your plans for the next week or so, but he was so deeply ethereal with his morning messed up hair, pyjamas, and that stupid smile on his face when he talked your ear off that it practically took your breath away.

Three years of this gig and you never once weren’t insanely head over heels for him. Sometimes it scared you, but times like this cancelled out any fears you’d ever had.

You had to duck your face into your hoodie to hide the dopey grin that had made its way onto your face because you couldn’t keep the adoration off your face. And the more you thought about it, the less control you had over how absolutely crazy you looked trying to hide it from him.

He stopped talking, a secretive smile curling at his lips when he caught your eye. He raised a brow, and you felt your cheeks redden at getting caught – what for, you didn’t exactly know, because it wasn’t like you had any reason to hide from him. You rolled your eyes, feeling your cheeks redden as he nudged your leg with his.

“How long have you not been listening?” He asked, tilting his head in amusement.

He wasn’t annoyed by any means, not if the smirk now gracing his features had anything to say, if anything he was teasing you. There was a sparkle of cheek in his eyes, and you could tell he was a little confused at your staring.

Your heart was pounding a little in your chest, and you swallowed somewhat anxiously, “I was listening, you were just talking about the game on Tuesday.”

He blinked, the smirk dipping a little, “Then why were you looking at me like that?”

You shrugged, tucking your hoodie back down so he could see your face. You were tempted to deny his accusation – that you weren’t looking at him in any particular way, so you negotiated with yourself.

“And what did it look like?”

He paused, “Like you were thinking really hard about something, but you looked almost happy about it – and it was a soft kind of look.”

You nodded, “I guess that’s accurate.”

“What were you thinking about?” His voice was gentle, and you could feel the piercing weight of his brown eyes boring into you when you looked down at your mug, unable to look him straight in the eye.

You were thinking about him, truthfully. It was a topic you’d both discussed multiple times before, and one that both of you felt easy and comfortable approaching, but there was something about this specific train of thought that had you getting suddenly flustered. You felt heat crawl up your neck, and you tapped your fingers against the mug.

“Don’t get shy on me now.” He breathed an awkward laugh, and when you looked up at him you could see the slight red flush on his own cheeks.

Was he afraid of what you were going to say? You’d been silent for a while, and nearly dodged almost every question he’d thrown at you, so it would make sense for him to look a little tenser. Or was it out of anticipation - the way he seemed to push himself further up against the headboard? Did he know what you were thinking about?

“I was thinking about you.” You admitted quietly, knowing you needed to throw something out there before the tension in the room became too awkward to bear. You knew he could tell you were holding back, but you wanted to keep some cards close to your chest for the time being.

Perhaps if he asked the right questions…

You knew the insecurity that had rooted itself in your mind was irrational – you guys had openly talked about it before, and agreed with each other on the matter, but now you were really considering doing it, there was a whole new wave of apprehension you were drowning in when you even thought about spitting the words out.

He seemed to perk up, however, when you spoke. His eyebrows shot up, as though he was surprised, but you had an inkling he was just curious about what exactly you were thinking about him. And judging from the smile on his face and the way his ears burned redder, you could tell he was flattered by the attention and the admission.

“What about me?” He maintained eye contact, but you could see his throat bob and hear the tightness in his voice.

He was fidgeting – you could see him playing with his fingers on top of the covers.

You shrugged, trying to play it off as more casual. The last thing you wanted was to put him on edge.

“Just…the future, I guess. Us.”

Something flickered across his face, and you could tell immediately that saying that was the wrong thing to do. It sent warning signals blaring in his mind, and his smile faltered momentarily.

“Nothing bad.” You corrected, eyes flicking to his chest when he took a shaky breath.

“What constitutes as ‘nothing bad’?”

You shrugged, hesitating, “Like, where would we be in a year's time?”

The question caught him off guard. He turned his eyes away from you, and you watched as his gaze danced around the room for a brief moment. His brows pulled together and his lips parted before he returned back to you again, “Together, for sure. Maybe not in this house, though.”

You swallowed, unable to help feeling a hint of disappointment in his answer. Moving house wasn’t the issue, it was more of the fact that he didn’t talk about what you wanted him to talk about.

Still, you were curious as to what he meant; this house was amazing. It was big enough for the both of you, and maybe even a dog or something, there was a spare room and you guys had an ensuite. It was also slap bang in the middle of a nice enough neighbourhood. In other words, you didn’t see how it could get much better than this – it was almost perfect, and you knew even if you stayed here you’d be happy. So, understandably, you couldn’t help but be a little confused at his words.

“What’s wrong with this house?” You asked.

He was the one that chose it – you just moved in with him, so you couldn’t really see the issue.

He shrugged nonchalantly, “Nothing really. It was just an idea that’s been in the back of my mind for a while now.”

You were even more confused now.

“Why?” You couldn’t help yourself, but by not giving you a reason, you were even more intrigued that you had been initially, and judging from the way Nico stuttered in spitting out his words, you gathered that maybe he wasn’t telling you something either.

“Just that it’s quite small. I mean, we could only ever have one person sleep in the spare room at a time, and we’ve got a fair amount of friends and family members that might want to stay at the same time as each other. I thought we might just need to upgrade a little.”

Fair enough.

“So, in a year’s time, you might want to have moved out of here?” You clarified, and he nodded.

You took a gulp of coffee to buy yourself time.

“And what do you see us as?” You worded the question a little differently, hoping that he’d somehow catch onto the insinuation. You’d figured you probably wouldn’t get very far into what you wanted to actually talk about if you kept dancing around the subject and getting distracted with his wordings of things.

Nico gulped, the colour reappearing in his cheeks as he once again resumed fidgeting with his fingers. You wanted to sit next to him and pull his hands apart, get him to mess around with yours instead, but the anticipation of what he’d say next had you on the edge of your seat; frozen into place at the end of the bed as the potential weight of your future relationship hung in the balance.

You knew if he didn’t give you the answer you wanted to hear that you’d just have to take matters into your own hands (and it wouldn’t be for the first time, either), but from the way he’d seemingly blanched and turned nervous on you made you think maybe you’d hit the nail on the head and finally gotten through to him.

“Don’t be getting all shy on me now.” You echoed his earlier words, and he shook his head, pushing himself back up against the headboard with an anxious laugh.

Even the fact that he couldn’t look at you gave something away. Nico usually never shied away from eye contact – even in the worst of times, like when you’d be at some sort of conference and he’d catch your eye and you’d spend the rest of the night trying to ignore him for fear of making a fool of yourself – he was incredibly good at breaking you with a simple glance. He was wicked like that.

But now, he seemed to be the complete opposite.

He looked as nervous as you felt.

“Honestly, I kind of hope that in a year from now we’d be engaged – at the very least.” He admitted, and almost instantaneously his eyes shot to yours – seeking reassurance that you felt the same, that there might be some form of an answer written in the contours of your face.

He attempted a smile, but you were so stuck in your own head – because that was exactly what you’d wanted to hear – that you’d been struck dumb and completely speechless, your face a frozen picture of subdued shock.

Your mouth had parted slightly and your brows had furrowed, not in a way that suggested disapproval, but one that had your eyes widening.

You were only shaken out of your reverie when you let his words really sink in.

At the very least.

This time it was your turn to move – still clasping the lukewarm cup of coffee you sat up and moved across the mattress to sit by his side, still ensuring you were facing him. At your flurry of movement, the nervousness on his face melted away, and in its place was a rather relieved smile. The tension had dropped from his shoulders – this time it was his turn to suffer the anticipation of getting an answer.

“When you said ‘the very least’, did you mean–”

“–That I’d also like to be married in a year's time?” He interrupted, an eyebrow quirking up in amusement.

“Yes.”

“I did mean that, yes.” He nodded.

Your heart damn well fell out of your chest at that confession. So you had been on the same page.

That Tiffany’s box you’d found hidden at the back of his bedside table was intended for what you’d initially assumed.

“Okay, that’s good.” You sighed in relief, this time giving into your urges and tearing his hands apart from where he was tapping. You took one of his hands in his, not meeting his eyes despite every single morsel of will in your body compelling you to.

“Is it?” He lowered his head, trying to encourage you to look at him as he squeezed your hand.

You met his eyes, a spark of confidence shooting through you. You knew it would be momentary – a passing feeling, but you grasped the opportunity anyway, “It is. I was actually wondering if today would be an appropriate day to ask if you wanted to get engaged?”

Silence.

His expression didn’t waver in the slightest, and you gave him the benefit of the doubt in that he was just taking his time processing what you’d just asked him. The only sign you knew he’d heard you was the widening of his eyes and tighter grip on your hand.

“Did you just ask me to marry–”

“Yes.”

Your heart was hammering so hard against your sternum you wouldn’t be surprised if it jumped through your ribs and landed on the bed between you both. It was almost painful. Asking him to marry you wasn’t exactly on the agenda when you’d woken up this morning, and by putting the question out there, you’d practically bared your entire heart to him anyway. To you, this was as intimate as it got, and somehow you felt even more vulnerable knowing he had the power to break your heart with a simple syllable.

He seemed to jump into action before you could ask him if he needed some time to actually consider your proposal, because he was suddenly digging a hand in the pocket of his pyjama bottoms, until he took your other free hand and opened the palm.

You felt something drop into your hand, and you didn’t even need to look at it to know what it was.

“No fucking way.” You breathed, incredulous at the timing, “You had that in your pocket? So you–”

“I was gonna propose when I made you breakfast, but you woke up before me, so I couldn’t.” He grinned, excitement thrumming through his entire body.

“I ruined your proposal?” You asked meekly, feeling a little bit of guilt at the realisation.

Nico laughed, “No. If anything, I prefer this proposal to what I was gonna do.”

You swallowed, too stunned to really say or do anything but to turn your attention to the magnificent ring in your hand. It had a divine weight to it. It was silver, and even before you’d held it up to the light you could see the diamonds sparkling; they were dotted along the entire band, and the main diamond was encased in a delicate halo of them.

Emerald cut.

You’d only mentioned that kind of cut once in your entire three years of being together, but he’d listened, and most importantly, he’d remembered.

“Fuck, this is stunning.” You breathed, not even thinking twice about it before sliding it onto your left finger and holding it up to the light.

It was gorgeous, and even then you didn’t think the beauty of it lived up to simply just being ‘gorgeous’. You couldn’t find the words to even begin describing it, and the only way you could even express anything was to kiss Nico with absolutely everything you had.

It was messy, so messy. Teeth clashed, hands seemed to be everywhere and nowhere, and when you both pulled away, your hair was a complete mess, and you were almost heaving to recover some oxygen. Nico’s cheeks were flushed and his lips were red; his chest was also moving up and down at a rapid rate – even to say he was a professional athlete – and his pupils were blown so wide you almost had to do a double take.

“Was that a yes?” He breathed, gulping and trying to smooth some of your hair down from where he’d raked his fingers through it in a mad haze.

“Definitely.” You nodded, rolling over to your side of the bed.

A body followed your movements, and you were plastered to the bed, your front pressed into the mattress as Nico took your hair in his hands, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses on the back of your neck and succeeding in distracting you immensely from the task at hand.

“What are you doing?” He mumbled, goosebumps rising on your skin as he continued his path, hands sneaking under your jumper.

You sighed contentedly, pleasant shivers rolling down your spine as he squeezed your waist and used his newfound grip to flip you over. Your hand remained fixed in its goal to open the small cupboard door underneath your drawer in your bedside table, and you purposefully turned your cheek and pressed it into the pillow. You knew you’d be completely fucked if you even so much as looked at him right now.

Out of the corner of your eye you could see his hair fall into curtains in front of his face, and you had to restrain yourself from fixing it yourself, trying to ignore the burning desire that seemed to drip slowly from your head right to your toes. Your nerves were on fire, as though they’d been exposed to something, and that delicious warmth of craving only seemed to accumulate – made even worse when Nico used one of his hands to lift his shirt over his head.

You pressed your cheek further into the pillow and turned your eyes to your bedside table, trying your absolute best to ignore the trails of desire his touch left in its wake.

“I’m trying to get you your ring.” You whispered, and he froze, arms stabilising him as he secured his fists against your pillow.

You looked at him, eyes briefly flickering down to his exposed torso; broad, toned and nothing short of delicious. Your gaze trailed down, and before you let yourself get carried away, you turned your attention back to the cupboard.

“My ring?” He echoed, ripping his focus away from your face to your hand, of which was doing an incredibly poor job at trying to locate a simple box.

“Yes, your ring.” You replied, sighing in frustration of more than one type, and twisting your torso out from his cage of arms so you were half dangling off the bed, looking at the cupboard upside down.

“Careful.” Nico exclaimed, his hands reaching out to grab your torso to prevent you from falling to the ground. His concern was short lived, however, because after only a few seconds, you could feel him get distracted at the exposed skin bared to him. It started with soft touches that had your muscles jerking away from him, and upon seeing how you unconsciously reacted to his touch, you felt him adjust himself. Before you knew it, his hair was tickling your exposed skin, and the exact same hot, open-mouthed kisses that had previously been decorated against the skin of your neck were being dutifully pressed to your navel – in an even more distracting area.

You groaned, reaching one hand from the back of the cupboard to try and shove his head away, but he must have predicted your movements because a warm hand clamped down on your wrist before you could even touch him.

“Do you want me to find that ring or what?” You muttered, and you felt his breath halt against your skin.

“Yes.” Was his answer, and before he could even continue speaking, your fingers made contact with the soft surface of exactly what you were looking for.

You took it in your hand, and without even needing to say anything to Nico, he helped pull you back onto the bed.

You flicked the latch, and spun the box around to face him. He was sitting back on his heels, legs straddling yours, but as soon as his eyes landed on the silver ring with a strip of diamonds in the centre he pushed himself up slightly.

“Holy shit.” Was his reaction.

You smirked, feeling a little smug. “See, I actually put it somewhere you wouldn’t have accidentally found it, say, if you were looking for the TV remote.”

He took the ring out of the box, and wasted no time in slipping it onto his finger, “What do you mean?”

“I mean you took a while working up the courage to propose, didn’t you? You’ve had this ring,” you lifted your hand, placing it next to his and admired them both as a pair. You’d gone out of your way to pick one for him that was similar to the one you’d found in his drawer a few months ago, and quite frankly, you were beginning to lose some patience, “for at least a couple of months.”

Nico turned his head, raising his brows, “How did you know that?”

“I found it when I was looking for the TV remote a while ago.”

“So you knew I was planning to propose this entire time?”

You nodded, this time your eyes unashamedly raking his torso.

God, you were so lucky.

Then, “Can we get married in Switzerland?”

His eyes shot to yours, a hopeful grin on his face – excitement practically oozing from his pores, “Really?”

“Yeah. I just figured it’s about time we went to your folks instead of them coming to us.”

It was a partial truth, and Nico seemed to light up from the inside, sunshine emanating from his features.

“I knew I wanted to marry you for a reason.” He joked, and you rolled your eyes, scoffing lightly.

“Switzerland is way prettier than New Jersey anyway–”

“Not from where I’m sitting.”

Your jaw dropped, and before you could say something about how smooth and how quickly he’d responded with that comment, Nico had shut you up by winding his hands in your hair and pressing his mouth to yours in a frenzy of desire.

#nico hischier oneshot #nico hischier x reader #nhl imagine #nico hischier imagine #nhl fic #hockey fic #hockey imagine

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