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michelleleewise · 10 months

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Can I have a story where reader has a huge crush on loki (reader won't admit they're inlove tho) and wants to be his in every aspect? She doesn't want to confess because she knows she'll get rejected and knows she's not his type. Though reader maybe sneaky, they forget that loki can sometimes read minds. They play this cat-and-mouse game it may or may not lead to smut 👀 I kind of had this idea by listening to "I Wanna Be Yours" by Arctic Monkeys. Thank you so much <3

Hiiiii!!! I'm sorry this took so long to get to!!!! But thank you so much for sending it to me!! I hope you like it!!! 💚💚💚

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Thinking of You

Pairing: Avenger Loki x female reader

Warnings: swearing, mild yelling, mind reading, self esteem issues, NSFW, masturbation, mildly rough sex (nothing graphic), if I missed anything let me know!! 💚

Summary: Everytime you see Loki your thoughts run wild....unbeknownst to you, he can hear them too...

A/n- sorry this took so long!!! It's probably terrible, I'm a bit rusty......sorry!!!!! 💚💚

"No the other way." You urged into the coms, swiping between screens on the computer screen like a maniac trying to guide the team to where they needed to be. "Y/n, where is it!?" Tony yelled into his earpiece making you wince "there is no need to yell Stark" You heard Loki's smooth voice sound in your ear making you sigh "that's easy for you to say Rudolph, you aren't surrounded by agents." Tony said when you heard an explosion echo into you ear. "Do stop complaining Stark." Loki said when you heard a grunt sound through Loki's coms "you are becoming rather insufferable." He continued making you giggle "I swear laufeyson, when we get back..." Tony started when you heard Thor's booming voice join the conversation "would you two please desist with this nonsense!" Thor yelled making you jump.

"Yes, please silence yourself stark....now darling which way do we go?" Loki asked into his earpiece, the low timbre of his voice sending a shiver up your spine "i...I...let me see" you said searching the map again "take your...umph...time darling, no rush." Loki purred into your ear as you heard a thud on his end. "Ok, everyone needs to get to Loki's location, that's where the serum is." You said pulling up everyone's position, "aaah, Right again I see." Loki laughed into his earpiece "shut up Loki." Thor bellowed into his coms "come now, jealousy does not suit you brother." Loki mocked making you laugh "something funny agent?" You heard Tony snark into the coms "no sir, sorry." You said looking down at your hands.

You listened as the team completed the mission, bickering the entire time. If you were honest you weren't sure how they didn't kill eachother everytime they went on a mission. "Alright, back to the jet everyone." Tony said. "I thank you for your assistance lady y/n." Loki purred into the earpiece making your cheeks heat up "y...you welcome Loki "Alright romeo let's go...shutting down coms, see you back at the tower." Tony said as the line went silent. You took a deep breath pulling your earpiece out when Nat walked over leaning on your desk "quite the sweet talker isn't he?" She asked making you giggle "well they do call him silvertongue." You said trying to not look at her "yeah, makes you wonder what else he can do with his tongue." She said as you stood up "Natasha!" You whisper yelled making her laugh "oh come on, we all know how you feel about him." She said as you grabbed a stack of files quickly turning "I don't know what your talking about." You said making your way to the filing cabinets.

"Y/n, why don't you just talk to him?" She asked following you "I do talk to him." You snapped hoping she would let it go "you know what I mean y/n." She scolded crossing her arms "because..." you sighed setting the files down "because there will never be a universe where he feels the same." You said opening the filing cabinet "you don't know that, the way he talks to you..." She started when you slammed the drawer shut "I'm not stupid nat, he's just being polite...letting his princely charm ooze out of him. I've seen I him do it at parties." You said closing your eyes "I'm not special, he doesn't like me and he never will...why would he?" You asked walking back towards your desk "um, your funny, smart, witty.." nat said continuing to follow you "plain, ordinary...boring." you huffed grabbing your bag "y/n seriously..." you cut her off lifting your hand "no, he doesn't know...he'll never know." You said walking towards the door, stopping in the doorway "I...I don't think I could handle that rejection." You said before walking out heading towards your apartment

You spent the next few days chained to your desk, stacks of mission reports to go through and file from the last mission. Looking up rubbing your eyes seeing you had worked past your lunch "I need a break." You sighed closing the file you were working on as you stood up. Grabbing your coffee mug you made your way to the break room and the espresso machine Tony had recently installed. After choosing what you wanted you leaned your head against the cabinet waiting for the machine to do its thing, praying it would hurry when what nat said the other day ran through your mind does everyone really know....am I that obvious? You thought when the loud beep pulled you from your thoughts. "Thank god." You breathed bringing the cup to your lips taking a small sip you closed your eyes feeling the caffeine touch your soul "mmmhhh." You moaned with a sigh.

"Now that is a sound I could get used to." A deep voice behind you said, your eyes shooting open as you turned seeing Loki leaning against the doorway his arms crossed, the buttons of his white shirt straining against his chest "l...loki w...what are you doing here?" You asked setting the cup down "oh, some nonsense of starks." He said pushing off the doorframe sliding his hands in the pockets of his tight black jeans "something about not completing my reports." He shrugged taking a step into the room "o..oh, um he didn't say anything to me." You said fidgeting with your fingers "well let's be honest, when have you known stark to be organized?" He asked making you laugh "so, naturally I came to you to see if there were any...discrepancies." He purred coming to stand in front of you, his cologne wafting between you making you sigh god he smells good you thought hearing loki laugh "do you like the cologne? I just purchased it." He asked smiling "oh...yeah! Your...rrr I mean it...it's good." You stuttered watching his smile widen

"well darling, if you wouldn't mind may I....come with you?" He asked, the baritone in his voice stirring something inside you I'll be coming later you thought remembering all the nights you touched yourself at the thought of his large hands roaming your body, his deep voice whispering how much he wanted you in your ear. You bit your lip seeing him raise an eyebrow at you "er...um sorry...what were you saying?" You asked wringing yours hands "Darling, i was asking if I could come and look at the reports." He said smiling again "oh! Right...yes absolutely!" You said shaking the impure thoughts from your head as you stepped around him and headed back towards your desk. You sat down, digging through the stack of files until you saw "Laufeyson" pulling it out "ah, here it is." You said freezing feeling a hand on your back "you forgot your coffee my dear." He purred setting your cup on the desk "oh, thank you Loki." You said feeling your cheeks heat up.

"Now, let's see shall we?" He asked, taking the file from you He sat it down on the desk in front of you, his one hand sliding to the back of your chair as he leaned his large lithe frame over you, feeling the heat from his chest against your arm. "Hmm..." he hummed flipping through the file page by page, his scent ingulphing you as your mind raced at his proximity to you, the way his forearms flexed with each page turn, your eyes tracing the veins running down to his... "I do not see any issue, do you darling?" He asked when you tilted your head up towards him, your nose almost touching his as he leaned closer "i...um...." your mind going blank as your eyes met his, you couldn't help stare into them. They always reminded you of a forest after a storm, the deep green and blue swirling in a maelstrom as powerful as the man they belonged to but at this closeness you could see specs of gold shining in them.

"Loki..." you whispered, your eyes shooting down to his lips they look so soft you thought when you felt him lean closer "y/n." He breathed when you looked back into his eyes "i..." you trailed off, feeling like your heart was going to beat out of your chest "tell me darling." He whispered as he hovered over you his eyes never leaving yours "i..." you tried again, your mouth going dry feeling his finger tuck your hair behind your ear "hmm?" He hummed expectantly the tip of his nose touching yours "agent y/l/n." You heard from across the room making Loki shoot straight up as you jumped "a..agent hill, morning...er afternoon." You stuttered watching Maria walk in "and what do we owe the pleasure Loki?" She asked nearing your desk "oh, I was only ensuring my report was accurate, I would hate to make miss y/n's job harder then it is." He explained, freezing feeling his finger slowly trail up your arm. "Well im sure the agent has it under control Mr. Laufeyson." Hill said coming to stand on your other side "yes, she does. So I will take my leave...perhaps I will see you later agent." He purred as you looked up at him seeing him smile "o...ok, bye Loki." You smiled back as he bowed slightly before walking to the door.

You sat staring at the file Loki had been going through when you felt Hill nudge you "oh my God, what was that about?" She asked sitting on the edge of your desk, her stern demeanor vanishing "i...I don't know." You said looking up at her "well he looked like he was about to eat you." She laughed making you laugh with her "no, he just wanted to go through his report." You said setting it back on the pile "riiight, even though he's never had an issue with them before." She said crossing her arms. "I...well maybe he...umm." you stuttered trying to think of a reason "dude, just accept the man wanted to eat you like a cream filled donut." She said making you laugh "what!? No he doesn't!" You urged hearing her laugh "well apparently you didn't see the look on his face." She said hopping off the desk. "Look, all I'm saying is maybe he likes you too." She shrugged walking to the door "no he doesn't, he's just being nice." You said grabbing your cup "uh huh...whatever you say." She winked as she walked out.

You sat back sipping your coffee trying to process what had happened when you heard your name called, looking up seeing Tony "Hey kid, I just wanted to check and see how those are coming along." He said pointing at the reports "fury is down my throat about them." He laughed as you looked up at him "oh yeah, they're almost done." You said setting your cup down "oh, and Loki came by like you asked." You said grabbing his file "i didn't ask him to come by." Tony said crossing his arms "yes you did." You said looking back at him "no....I didn't." He argued making you sigh "you sent him down saying there was an issue with his reports." You argued back tossing the file down "I hate to break it to you, but I didn't send him down here, I haven't even talked to him in days." He said making your eyebrows furrow "just have them done by tonight ok?" Tony asked as you nodded looking back down at your desk. "If Tony didn't tell him to come down here.." your thoughts trailed off as you looked up at the clock seeing it was already almost three "shit.." you sighed pushing your thoughts aside grabbing the next file getting back to work.

It had been a couple weeks since your last interaction with Loki, but you couldn't get it out of your mind, it was beginning to drive you crazy. You were sat at your desk tapping your pen on a stack of files remembering the way his eyes stared into yours, how close he was to you, frowning remembering the lie he told you "Hey y/n, I need you to have Thor fix this." Maria said setting a piece of paper on your desk, seeing it was one of his mission reports "oh? What's wrong with it?" You asked picking it up "look at the description." She laughed as you looked down at that section seeing a simple "we won" written "I've told him that's not adequate but..." She sighed shaking her head. "Could you please have him actually write what happened?" She asked as you nodded "yeah, I just gotta find him." You said standing up "I believe he's in the training room, good luck." She smiled walking out. "Of course he is." You sighed walking towards the elevators.

You took a deep breath grabbing the handle of the door you pulled it open seeing Thor sparring with Steve as you walked in "Thor!" You yelled getting his attention seeing him smile at you as he walked over "Lady y/n, what can I do for you?" He asked setting his hammer down "you didn't fill out your report from the last mission." You said holding the paper out to him "you have to write a full description." You said holding your pen out to him "I do not see why, we won that's all that is important." He said grabbing the pen "just write something to make Hill happy." You laughed crossing your arms "very well, give me one moment." He said walking to the benches sitting down.

You looked out into the training room seeing Natasha on the treadmill, Steve had gone over to the punching bags, and then your eyes landed on Loki, dressed in black gym shorts that gave you full view of his muscular thighs, accompanied by a black tank top that was so tight you were surprised he could move, biting you lip watching as he sparred with Bucky. Your eyes traveled up seeing his long hair pulled back into a low bun, sweat making a few loose strands stick to his forehead as he pivoted and swayed, avoiding all of Bucky's attacks with the grace of a dancer. "Fuck...." you breathed, crossing your foot over the other clenching your thighs together trying to hide your arousal as bucky lunged at Loki when his large hand grabbed his throat, planting his foot behind bucky he threw him to the mat on his back kneeling next to him with his hand still on his throat god he could choke me anytime you thought biting your lip when Loki's eyes suddenly met yours making you jump.

His eyes didn't leave yours as he stood up, extending his hand to bucky pulling him up you watched his bicep flex, the veins in his arms bulging as Bucky got to his feet goood...I want trace them with my tongue you thought feeling your face heat up, arousal pooling in your stomach as your eyes met his again seeing a darkness in them you never had before "Lady y/n." Thor suddenly said next to you making you jump "apologies, I didn't mean to startle you." He said as you clutched your chest "no, it's ok." You said taking a deep breath "I have finished your report." He smiled holding out the paper "oh, thank you thor." You said quickly grabbing the paper "are you ok? You look a little flushed." He said as you ripped your pen out of his hand "yes! I'm fine." You said glancing over seeing Loki still watching you "i...I gotta go, see you later." You said quickly turning and walking towards the door, one last look back seeing Loki's eyes still on you making you shiver as you walked out.

You made your way back downstairs gripping the pen and paper in your hand, walking into Maria's office you slapped it on her desk "there." You said turning around "you ok? You seem...off." She said making you turn back to her "yeah! Totally fine!" You rushed out "I'm gonna call it a day, I'll see you tomorrow." You smiled before walking to your desk shutting everything off heading back upstairs to your apartment. Walking in you closed the door behind you leaning your back against it "Dammit Loki." You sighed closing your eyes, the friction of your clothing against your core making you moan "bath...a bath sounds good." You said rushing into the bathroom you turned the water on adding the bubbles as you pulled your clothes off before easing into the hot water.

You leaned back, closing your eyes you pictured the broody God, his eyes....his smile...."loki.." you whispered sliding your hand down your stomach, you gripped the side of the tub as your fingers slowly slid over your folds, biting your lip as you slowly moved your fingers down to your entrance dipping them inside you rocked your hand back and forth, imagining they were Loki's. "God...Loki..." you moaned moving your fingers faster, feeling that familiar tightening in your stomach "mmm....haaaarder...." you breathed picturing Loki's eyes staring into yours, his hand wrapped around your throat "fuuuck..Loki." you cried out feeling orgasm wash over you, squeezing your thighs together you slowly slid your fingers out.

You took a deep breath still feeling unsatisfied "ugh, that usually works." You sighed sitting up rubbing your temples. You groaned, grabbing your body wash you cleaned yourself up before getting out of the tub, the ache still very present in your core. Looking up seeing it was almost ten "Maybe I'll make some tea." You said to yourself slipping on your sleep shorts and a bright green tank top pulling your hair back before opening your door and making your way down to the kitchen. You slowly walked in releasing a breath seeing it empty and dark "good, everyone must be busy." You said walking in grabbing the kettle filling it before setting it on the stove.

You opened the cabinet seeing all the coffee mugs on the top shelf "freaking giants" you mumbled lifting you knee onto the counter pulling yourself up freezing hearing someone clear their throat. You slowly leaned back, peeking out from behind the cabinet door seeing Loki standing next to the counter by the door, wearing the white shirt that would cause your death, his hand in his pocket as he tilted his head "h...hey Loki." You said smiling nervously "evening y/n, may I ask what it is your doing up there?" He asked when the kettle screamed. You cleared your throat watching him move it and turn the burner off. "Well, you see....I couldn't sleep so...tea." you laughed as he looked back over to you "and all the mugs are up there." You said pointing to the top of the cabinet "ah, I see." You heard him say as you reached up grabbing a cup.

You went to put your foot down on the floor when your other knee slipped causing you to drop the cup as you fell back off the counter when an arm wrapped around your middle pulling you backwards, you back hitting solid muscle looking to the side seeing Loki smiling down at you. "Your cup my lady." He said lifting his other hand you looked at it seeing your cup dangling from his finger "t..thank you." You stuttered lifting the cup from his finger. "You really must be more careful my dear." He purred when you felt his thumb sliding up and down by your rib, slowly moving up towards your breast "i...I should finish the tea." You said pulling away from him walking to the stove. Stop it y/n, he's just being nice you thought shaking your head when the cabinet door slammed making you jump, turning to see Loki's hand on it.

"Loki...are you ok?" You asked as he turned around "no y/n, I'm afraid I'm not." He said taking a step towards you. "I...I can get bruce...or thor?" You asked stepping back as he came closer "I'm afraid neither of them can assist me." He growled continuing his advance as you walked backwards through the kitchen, loki right on top of you "um..well I could.." you trailed as your back hit the table "these games have exhausted me y/n." He said coming to stand in front of you his chest inches from yours "I don't know..." you started when he leaned forward planting his palms on either side of you caging you in "do not lie to me y/n," He said sternly making you shiver "l..loki i..." you sighed looking down fidgeting with your hands when he leaned forward freezing feeling his breath on your ear.

"I love your eyes as well." He whispered making your head jerk back looking at him "i...you..." you stuttered as the realization hit you "yes dear, there are times i can read your thoughts." He said as your eyes widened "h...how much is sometimes?" You panicked seeing him smile "well, it comes and goes, but depending on how...hard your thinking they make it through." He purred as you looked down, embarrassment flooding through you "y/n look at me...please." He whispered as you took a deep breath "Loki i..." you were cut off by his lips gently touching yours before he quickly pulled back checking gauging your reaction as you stood speechless. You must have taken too long to respond as panic flashed in his eyes as he slowly stood up "i...I have over stepped, I apologize." He said taking a step back, the loss of contact kicking your brain into gear.

"Wait." You rushed out fisting the front of his shirt you pulled him back to you, rising up on your toes your lips crashed into his, your other hand sliding across his side to his back pulling him closer moaning feeling his tongue slide along your bottom lip, his hand cupping the back of your head as you parted your lips hearing him groan as his tongue slipped inside tangling with yours. God his lips are soft you thought when you felt his hands slide across your sides to your back moving down his palms cupping your ass squeezing making you moan into his mouth as he lifted you up setting you on the table. Stepping between your parted legs he pulled back slightly as he kissed along your jaw, tilting your head back feeling his lips wrap around your earlobe "l..loki..." you moaned when his hand moved to the small of your back, pulling you towards him groaning feeling his erection press against your thigh.

God, fuck me..please fuck me you thought screwing your eyes shut feeling his teeth nip at your pulse point "say it." He growled, the husky tone of his voice making you shiver "w..what." you breathed when he pulled back looking into you eyes, his hand gently gripping your chin "I want to hear you say it." He growled his jaw clenching as he watched you with an intensity that sent electricity up your spine "i..I want..." you stuttered seeing his eyes darken "yes..." he encouraged rubbing his thumb across your lips "i...want you Loki." You whispered seeing him smile as he leaned down to your ear "do you want me to fuck you y/n?" He breathed as you gripped the table screwing your eyes shut "y..yes...please." You said, opening your eyes meeting his "norns..." he whispered as he lunged forward his lips crashing onto to yours, his hand going to the back of your head as he guided you down onto your back.

Arching your back feeling the cold wood through your thin tank top "I need to feel you...now." loki growled against your lips as his other hand slid up your side to the bottom of your shirt "as much as I love seeing you in my colors..." he trailed off standing up his hand slipped out from under your head joining the other, hearing a loud rip you gasped feeling the cold air hit your bare skin, looking down seeing your shirt ripped in half "gorgeous." Loki purred placing a large hand on your stomach, his finger tips ghosting over your skin as he slowly slid it up to the valley of your breasts gently pushing you back down. "One more thing." He smiled when you heard another rip, feeling your shorts and panties pulled from you. "Norns....you truly are magnificent." He purred as he wrapped his hands around your thighs sliding you to the edge.

"Loki...." you moaned feeling his clothed cock press against your core "I know my dear, be patient for me." He groaned lifting his hand a green light swept down across him, shivering feeling the tip of his cock at your entrance "are you ready love?" He asked making you look up, his smile melting your insides as his thumbs rubbed small circles on your thighs "y..yes....please loki." You whined laying back stretching your arms above your head "mmm....we'll have to look into that." He growled as he leaned over, his large body hovering over yours as he pushed his hips forward, stretching you slowly as he entered you. "Gods your...mmm tight." He groaned, bucking his hips forward making you gasp as he bottomed out.

"Holy fuck." You cried out digging your nails into the table as he leaned further over you, his eyes meeting yours "are you ok dear? Do you wish to stop?" He asked, concern lacing his tone as you stared up at him "God no!" You rushed out wrapping your legs around his middle, a deep rumble coming from his chest as he laughed "loki?" You asked wrapping your fingers around the end of the table "move...now" you demanded shifting your hips "as you wish." He growled as he planted one large hand next to your head, the other gripping your hip as he slowly pulled out, leaving only the tip in before slowly pushing back in.

"H...holy...." you moaned as he set a steady pace, burying his cock further inside you then anyone ever had God, he's ruined me you thought when he suddenly snapped his hips hard against yours jolting you up the table "that was the idea my dear." He growled "my cock will be the only one that can satisfy you." He said gritting his teeth as he slammed into you "Loki!!" You cried out gripping the edge of the table "the only pleasure you will find is impaled upon me as I bury myself in your perfect cunt." He said, his fingers digging into your flesh as he set a brutal pace, the table shifting under his thrusts as he consumed you. "F...fuck! Loki...ahhh....i.....im...." you cried out as his tip hit that soft spot deep inside you "are you going to come my dear?" He groaned, sliding his hand under your shoulder pulling you to him as his pelvis hit yours "y...yes....God Loki!" You yelled feeling the familiar tingle in your abdomen.

"Come y/n...come on my cock." Loki gritted as he thrust hard into you as your orgasm slammed into you screaming his name as he continued his unforgiving pace "w..whose cunt is this?" He growled digging his fingers nails into your shoulder "y..yours..." you moaned feeling another building "who....n...norns...who do you belong to?" He moaned screwing his eyes shut as you squeezed your legs around him "y...you Loki...only you!" You cried out as he bottomed out, holding himself there you felt him release deep inside you triggering a second orgasm as he slumped on top of you laying his forehead on your shoulder, his warm breath fanning your skin as you let go of the table, a hand going to the back of his head running your fingers through his hair, freezing feeling him stiffen.

Why did i do that...I shouldn't have done that you thought as you pulled your hand away "y/n?" You heard Loki ask but your thoughts drowned him out i....I should go...this was probably a one time thing... "y/n look at me." Loki's voice rang out again as you tried to slip out from under him what am I going to cover up with....I need to get back to my.... "y/n!" Loki yelled making jump, your eyes shooting to his "apologies, I did not mean to yell but you were lost." He said as he grabbed your hand helping you sit up "now, let me make one thing perfectly clear." He said raising his hand again, the same green light traveling across your skin as your clothes reappeared "you...are mine now." He said leaning forward "you are not a one night stand, you never were...you deserve much more then that." He said as you looked down fidgeting with your fingers "you deserved to be treated as a queen, a goddess...my goddess." He said brushing a loose strand of hair away from your face

"so y/n, will you alow me to take you out?" He asked as you looked up at him "m...me? You want to date me?" You asked laughing but seeing Loki looking more serious then you ever had "I um...I'd like that Loki, very much." You said seeing him smile "how about we go to my chambers and you put on one of your midgaridian films and we can talk more hm?" He asked making you smile "that sounds nice." You said sliding off the table as he held his hand out, placing your hand in his He linked your fingers together as he guided you down the hallway to his room "loki, does that mean your my...boyfriend?" You asked as he smiled down at you opening his door "you may call me whatever you wish, as long as you are mine." He said as he waved you ahead of him "I'll always be yours....my king." You said walking through the doorway "mmm....now that will get you more then you bargained for." He growled following you "oh, I'm counting on it." You smiled closing the door behind him.

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queers-gambit · 6 months

Text

Tell Me Every Terrible Thing

[ part one of two ]

prompt: you embark on a secret but passionate affair with the Rogue Prince, and when his wife, Rhea Royce, passes away, he chooses you to wed next - a decision that angers his niece and changes history.

pairing: Daemon Targaryen x female!Hightower!reader only description given: red hair

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

word count: 5.6k+

note: what the fuck is this, Cherry? also two parts 'cause author gets carried away!

warnings: show spoilers, cursing, author has small bouts of feministic ideas, author also really likes the "little birds" storyline (let her live!), wonky brain is wonky, i think hurt and comfort, angst, very mild NSFW (brief female receiving oral), technically alternative timeline 'cause this goofy-ass author has an overactive imagination, #icanmakehimworse, another reader-episode-insert (this warning is for the fucking losers in my inbox).

part two: "Tell me every terrible thing you ever did, And Let Me Love You Anyway," - Edgar Allan Poe

"How angry do you think he'll be with me?"

You offered your best friend, The Realm's Delight, Crowned Heir to the Iron Throne, Princess Rhaenyra, a unamused, stale look. Sarcastically, you replied, "Oh, come now, Nyrie, why would your father be angry? It couldn't be because you rejected every suitor His Grace put before you, or even how you abruptly ended the tour with two months remaining. What father would be angry after that?"

She groaned, "I know, I know, you don't have to be so right all the bloody time. I just... I couldn't do it anymore, you saw what it was like," her head bowed and you knew the girl was truly overwhelmed by her 'job' picking a suitor.

"This was no easy feat to arrange, Princess," you spoke diplomatically, aware of the ship's crew dotting around the royal ship. "Our fathers went through much difficulty to ensure this tour's success, Princess, and I'd imagine neither will be thrilled by our early arrival."

"But it's just - "

"I know," you soothed with a knowing, sympathetic smile. Your arm extended around her, her head dropping to your shoulder for comfort. "In an ideal world, women would have a real say in their futures. Perhaps, that is what you're meant to do, Nyrie... Perhaps you're meant to break this wheel, give the other half of humanity a fighting chance against the men who have long suppressed us. Being heir is a monumental stereotype to shatter, but most women are not born into royalty and have nobody protecting or defending them."

She picked her head up to stare at you for a single moment, then nodded slowly, "That's a lot of pressure."

"Less if you pick a respectable man to help you lead," you advised softly, reaching to caress her cheek briefly. "You're to be Queen, Nyra, which means you need a King Consort that the common folk will respect, who will play his part in the courts to come. I know it's not ideal, my friend, but it's not meant to be - it's meant to be strategic." You paused, adding, "Similar to Ali marrying your father, yes? That was a strategic move on my father's end. Now it's up to you to chose your own match, to plot your own strategy."

"Who would you see me marry?"

"In truth? I'm unsure if anyone would fit the bill perfectly, so, I don't know who I could see you with. Definitely someone smart, though."

She only hummed, sighing deeply and making you frown. Before another word could be said, there came a distant screech that sounded all too familiar - though you refused to let it show that you knew this particular dragon's sound.

Nyra moved away from the ship's railing to stare longingly up into the sky, and about a minute later, without visible sight of any threat, Ser Criston Cole was shouting, "Take cover!"

And then, like a bird swooping to snatch a fish, a crimson dragon descended from the cover of clouds - seemingly materializing from nowhere. The large, long, slithery beast with wings knocked into the ship's main mast; jolting everyone on board enough to topple over.

You tried to stabilize the Princess, but you lost balance and dropped to your knees as Cole rushed to help Rhaenyra to her feet. When able, you looked to the sky; grinning to yourself as you recognized the retreating Blood Wyrm. Seeing the distinct form of Caraxes made you giddy with anticipation, however, that was short lived as you clocked Rhaenyra's gaze of awe and wonder.

It seems she was excited for her uncle's return, too. Though, it won't be till later that you learn the extent of her adoration.

Less than an hour later, the ship was docking and you escorted Princess Rhaenyra from aboard; her guards surrounding you both as you trekked to the Red Keep. "Just... Perhaps try to stay invisible," you advised your friend, arm-in-arm. "The King won't be pleased if you interrupt court, even just by being there. With luck, we won't be noticed."

She agreed softly, continuing on. She started fiddling with her necklace, the piece of Valyrian Steel jewelry that her uncle, Daemon, had gifted her years ago before Queen Aemma passed away. Your lover had told you the Princess was owed a piece of her Valyrian history, and since he could not gift a sword to a young lady, the necklace was chosen, crafted, and gifted.

When you returned to the Red Keep, it was just in time for court to be called to session and your friend was all too eager to join. "Nyra," you warned, hand in hers.

"It's all right," she assured, "come, it must be Daemon - "

"No, I should return to my chamber. Don't piss your father off too much," you warned her with a smirk, watching her grin in response, squeeze your hand, and then file into the Throne Room with the other members of court.

You retreated to your old room, sighing in relief when you discovered nothing was disturbed. "My Lady!" A voice gasped at the open door. You glanced over, smiling at Milah, your usual handmaiden, and opening your arms when she rushed forward. "You're not supposed to be back yet! Oh!" She tutted, looking you over. "I'll get your bed made and - "

"No, it's fine - "

"Nonsense, let me do this," she insisted, already busying around the room. "I was wondering why they were bringing things into the foyer - must be all the Princess' luggage, hmm?"

"Yeah," you sighed, helping her strip the bed and change the sheets. "It was strange," you admitted, "the men, I mean, and the way they all competed for her hand in marriage."

"Did you expect anything else?"

"I did not think they'd honestly kill one another. Though it was more so their pride than the Princess they fought over."

Milah smirked, "Sounds about right. Well, what of you? Anyone catch your eye?"

"Of course not," you sighed a little sadly.

"Still hung on the Prince, aren't you, my Lady?"

"Perhaps," you mused.

You spent the better part of an hour gossiping with Milah before she had to go grab a few things, but promised she'd send your belongings up as soon as possible. You thanked her, walked her out, assuring you were just going to get a bath or something, and just as you shut and locked your chamber door, gasped when a pair of hands seized your waist.

"Daemon!" You hissed when you saw the short, white locks of your surprise guest. "The bloody fuck is wrong with you?" You demanded, turning in his grip to shove your hands into his chest. "What're you doing here? Want to get us caught?"

"Three years," he grit, gathering you in his arms to heave upward and force your legs around his waist if you wanted to keep balance, "three fucking years I've been gone - away - missing you, do not deprive me a moment more."

"Someone will come looking," you whispered, caressing his face as your forehead met his. "And perhaps I want a moment to just look at you, 's been years," you breathed. "You cut your hair," you commented, running your hands through the short strands.

"I cut my hair," he agreed softly, just holding you close and tight.

"I like it... But I'll miss braiding it."

"I will, too," he admitted. He nuzzled closer, inhaling your neck sharply, boldly licking a flat tongue up your pulse point to make you shudder lightly.

"Daemon," you whispered, pulling his head back so you could look in his eyes, beaming, "I missed you, too."

"Viserys is arranging a lunch for my return," he informed, turning so he could approach your newly-made four-poster bed; dropping you flat on your back with a grin. "Which roughly translates into only allotting a few minutes to make up for lost time."

"We will have time later - "

"I overheard Viserys saying he and Otto intend to take evening tea with you regarding the Princess' return from tour," he eased, reaching to spread your legs, bunching your skirts. "But I will call upon you tomorrow? Yes? Officially?"

"If you insist," you teased, letting him finally descend to smash his lips against yours. In truth, you were used to his empty promises of 'calling on you officially' because of his marriage to Lady Royce, but it was his way of telling you without words that he wished it was you instead of Rhea.

Daemon groaned, melting into your form; breathing heavily. "I've missed you past words," he whispered, nuzzling your nose with his. "But for now, I just need a taste - "

"We don't have time - "

"We'll be fast. Tell me, love," he nipped your pouting lips, soothing his tongue over the puckered skin, "have you taken another in my absence?"

"Of course not," you hissed in offense.

"Good," he nodded, kissing you sweetly.

"Need I ask?"

"There were no concubines," he mused, "though, they were offered, I did not accept. So, we'll be quick - faster than quick," he promised, pawing at your undergarments and exposing your dampening cunt to his sight. "I'll take my time with you later, but for now, I need this," he all but seethed before diving tongue-first into your core.

His spit mixed with your arousal, creating a slippery mess.

"Shit," you hissed, grabbing his shorter hair as his tongue flattened to lap at your entrance, dripping in your essence. One of his hands held your thighs apart for his access, the other releasing his cock from the pair of breeches he wore. Daemon groaned at the taste of you, lapping wildly like a man starved, and stroking his bare cock in rhythm with his ministrations.

It truly took no time at all once he found your clit and sucked mercilessly, the hand holding your thighs now extended up to paw roughly at your tits. Alternating his tongue around your sloppy cunt added to your heightening pleasure, swirling his tongue as he bobbed and shook his head - making an absolute mess, and causing your climax to shatter your mind and soul.

Your legs twitched, spine curled, stomach contracted as your arms quivered from the rush of adrenaline; hand slapped over your mouth to keep your moans to a minimum. You grabbed his hair so tightly, he groaned in mock pain; legs then contracting to a suffocating grip around his ears and head while Daemon met his own end, spending in his hand whilst milking you for all you had.

He panted with satisfaction when he pulled back, grinning at you in mischief when you released your hold on him. "Good fuckin' girl," he praised, standing to his feet only to slither over top of you. "Like not a day's gone by, huh?" He whispered, kissing you messily, smearing your cum on your tongue; grinding his bare cock into your recovering core to make you shudder. "Take a moment, then get ready," he whispered. "I expect to see you at the celebrations... Wear that dress I got you for your fifth-and-twentieth nameday," he smirked, adding, "if you'd so please, my darling."

You chuckled, "You magically learned manners during the war?"

"Perhaps," he mused, pecking your lips again.

"Hey, Daemon?"

"What is it, my sweet one?" He asked, seeing the sincerity in your eyes and hearing the seriousness in your voice - something in his heart jumping.

"Would you tell me about it all later? The war, I mean? Would you tell me what you've endured?"

"I do not think it's a tale befitting a lady's ears."

"Please? I wish to know..."

"Then I will tell you," he promised, "but only if you wear that dress."

Your eyes rolled in humor as Daemon stood. You watched him wipe his cum on a spare rag, tossing it away, and after one last kiss, was leaving out of the secret passageway's door. Taking another moment, you finally stood on weak legs and unlocked the main door, preparing how you could for your day before Milah returned.

After arriving at the luncheon, you made a beeline for your father, greeting him happily before explaining your surprise reappearance. He filled you in on that day's court, explaining that Prince Daemon was back; and you felt almost guilty for the way your skin was still set ablaze from your lover's earlier visit.

For all Otto's faults, he was still your father, and you felt guilty for sneaking around with Daemon behind his back. Your father ushered you off to mingle, insisting he was only there for the King; and no, he wasn't hungry. So, you parted ways with a chaste peck to your forehead; the feeling of his scratchy beard lingering on your guilt-riddled flesh.

"Sister, what a surprise!" Alicent happily distracted by greeting you with a bright grin. You adjusted course to approach the Queen, King, and newly-returned Prince. "Oh, what a lovely dress you've chosen," she complimented with ease, reaching for your hand. "You always do have the best eye for clothes, I feel as if need you to live in my wardrobe, tell me what to wear everyday."

"Thank you, Your Grace, I'd be honored," You smiled at her, holding her hand, looking to the others. "My King," you curtsied to Viserys, glancing at Daemon and bowing your head respectfully, "my Prince, how nice to see you, again. Welcome home."

"Thank you, my Lady," he smirked. "Might I welcome you home as well? I hear you've been gone from the Capital."

You hummed with a nod, "I was on tour with the Princess, my Prince. I've only arrived home today, as well - though not by dragonback."

He eyed you up and down, offering, "I must agree with the Queen, my Lady, that is a lovely dress you've chosen."

You pet the black material, smiling genuinely, "Thank you, my Prince. It's one of my favorites."

"I can see why, given how beautiful you look," he flirted, and from behind you and Alicent, you could hear your father scoff.

"Thank you," you whispered. "What conversation did I rudely interrupt before?"

"Oh, nothing of importance," Daemon told you, looking to his brother and your sister.

"Because we spoke of how Daemon, here, was always Mother's favorite," Viserys grinned. "Do you want to know, my Lady? About how much Mother adored Daemon?" He asked you, his little brother trying to drone over him - but Viserys was determined to tell you the examples he could think of regarding his brother's favoritism.

You giggled from both Viserys' stories and Daemon's evident embarrassment.

However, almost awkwardly, on Alicent's other side, Princess Rhaenyra approached the group and stood amongst you. You knew the King must be unhappy with his daughter, but did not voice any opinion since you were not the source of disappointment at the moment. Instead, you listened to the King's complimenting words to his brother; thinking it was interesting that Daemon was so egotistical and yet, flushed under his brother's praise. Princess Rhaenyra waited until a natural lull to tell Daemon, "Congratulations on your victory."

It was awkward as Viserys just glared at her, Rhaenyra's expression falling short. Daemon covered smoothly, "Thank you, Princess."

Trying to save the tension, your sweet sister offered, "Perhaps Prince Daemon would care for a tour of the gallery? He hasn't yet seen the new tapestries gifted to you by Norvos and Qohor."

Viserys nodded and whispered, "Oh, oh," mockingly. He asked his brother, "Would you like to see the tapestries?" But by the end, he broke character and laughed with his brother; the latter who whom you knew spat on trivial things - such as tapestries and such. Through their laughter, Viserys proclaimed to his wife, "He has no interest in such things!"

"But thank you for the offer, sister," you smiled at her, trying to reassure her when her husband laughed in her face. "The tapestries are very beautiful, you've chosen a grand place to display them. I saw them on my way here."

"I'd like to see them," Rhaenyra jumped in, seemingly to Alicent's aid - something she'd not done in an age considering the tension between them. You just smiled politely, seeing the way Viserys dropped his grin when he looked at his daughter with distain while the rest of you looked away sheepishly.

"Then you should not deprive yourself."

Rhaenyra offered a pained, pursed smile, "I shall enjoy them alone."

You, Alicent, and Daemon all stared after Rhaenyra with varying degrees of pity as she walked away to sit solemnly by herself on a distant bench while Viserys went on about his and Daemon's youth; over Daemon being their mother's favorite. However, Alicent excused herself to follow the saddened Rhaenyra, perhaps to offer the Princess comfort in her father's anger. The King looked ready to protest, but instead just shook his head in disappointment.

Viserys turned you and Daemon away from the sight of the girls, showing off the Godswood in bloom; your father approaching you three stiffly. "Your Grace," he bowed to Viserys, then nodded in resepct, "my Prince. Daughter," he smiled, trying to instigate, "how was tour with Princess Rhaenyra?"

"Oh, as eventful as a Royal Tour can be," you smiled, deflecting, "though I must admit, while seemingly exciting at some parts, I'm sure it pales terribly in comparison to the Prince's adventures in the Stepstones." Viserys smirking broadly at your redirection. "I do wonder, what brought the war to an end? We've heard rumor, but surely the Prince might know for sure what brought the Triarchy down?"

"Surely," The King nodded, looking to Daemon expectedly.

The Rogue Prince smirked and readjusted his stance, deflecting, "Perhaps a conversation for later."

"Oh, come now, brother!"

"Your Grace," Otto interrupted, "I do apologize, but there are matters at hand that require your attention. The Tully's still - "

He sighed and waved your father off, "Yes, yes... Well," Viserys nodded, "I'll call upon you both later."

"Your Grace," you instantly curtsied.

"Your Grace," Daemon bowed right after. Viserys smiled and nodded back at you both, patted his brother's shoulder, turned, and when he walked away, Otto followed with a single look to you and Daemon.

"Daughter," he bid curtly - and you read between the lines. He really wanted to say, "Do not linger around the Prince."

When the King moved, his usual procession of advisors, guards, and entourage followed right after. You sighed as almost all of the Godswood cleared out, Daemon eyeing you as he readjusted his stance; subtly reaching out to pet your hand with his fingers.

"Daemon," you warned quietly.

"Nobody is watching us," he smirked. "You look beautiful, love. I'll have to buy you more dresses, you wear them so well."

"I cannot believe I will not see you tonight," you whispered with a pout.

"I will call on you tomorrow," he reminded.

You opened your mouth, but another voice answered. "Sister," Alicent called, you looking over and smiling innocently. You caught sight of Princess Rhaenyra glaring at her uncle, but didn't think much of it.

"I look forward to your tales from the Stepstones," you told him calmly, offering a curtesy.

He took your hand, pressing a soft kiss to the back, "I look forward to any time spect together, my Lady."

You hummed in contentment before stepping away, instantly taking Alicent's arm when close enough. "What was that about? Daemon looks so smitten!" She whispered with a growing grin.

"He was being polite," you whispered back, "and simply being Daemon - you know how he is. He's got three years of mischief to make up for."

"I see," she giggled. "He's quite handsome with the short hair, isn't he? It suits him well."

"I have to agree," you gossiped. "I can see why the ladies of court have missed him so."

Your younger sister giggled, smiling at you, offering, "I've missed you greatly. Come... I wish to hear of your time away."

"Oh, sister, please, I've only just returned."

"But... Wouldn't you tell me before the King?" She whispered.

You paused, then nodded, "Got me there, sister-dearest."

"We'll take tea together," she decided, leading you around the Keep until she saw a familiar face she knew. "Talya, my sister and I wish to take tea in the gardens, please. Privately, of course, so do not announce it," she directed the handmaiden. "We'll be in the gazebo in the rose gardens, bring tea, sandwiches, and my sister's always loved those peach crumbles?"

"I know the dessert," she nodded, smiling at you. "Can I interest you, Your Grace, in anything specific?"

"No, but bring enough for us both. Come, sister."

You three parted ways, Alicent leading you to the gardens as promised. She dismissed anyone in the area, even telling her guards to wait at the front hedges to give you ideal privacy while deeper in the roses at the gazebo. While sitting, you exchanged gossip about what happened while you were away, Alicent happy to catch you up because she was happy to finally have a friend, even if it were a sister, back in her corner.

You were happy, too.

While you loved Rhaenyra, the tension between her and Ali made you feel in the middle despite both parties assuring you "you weren't". Nyra was a good friend, your best, even! But it was something about your sister that was calming and assuring. She was trustworthy to a fault, but she was still your strongest pillar.

As Talya dressed your table with tea, lemon water, sandwiches, fruits, and other foods (including the peach crumbles), you giggled at Ali's retelling of whatever failed proposals occurred this past season you were away. When alone, at last, Ali turned to you in her padded chair and asked, "Tell me in truth, how was the tour? Why did you return early?"

"In truth, sister, vying men made the Princess uncomfortable. She did not need the two months more, she knew she was unhappy with the men so far presented to her."

Alicent sighed, "So, who does she intend to marry?"

"Yes," a new voice agreed, you both jumping in shock and looking up to see Viserys approaching with your father behind him. "Who does my daughter intend to wed, Lady Hightower?"

"Your Grace," you uttered, both you and Alicent standing in respect to bow your heads.

"Please, please," he permitted you both to sit, taking the lone chair across the table as your father remained standing. "I only wish for the unfiltered truth. I know what is said, I know what is reported, I know..." He sighed, "I know what my daughter might say, but please, Lady Hightower, what is the truth of it?"

"The truth, Your Grace, is that Rhaenyra was overwhelmed. Perhaps it was too long for her that she eventually, I'm not sure, shut down? She did not care towards the end which men was presented, she was overwhelmed with the options and pace at which everything moved."

"Kings and Princes before her have done the same, many Queens and Princesses embarking on their tours to find proper suitors," Otto reminded. "Why was this different, my Lady?"

"Because she is the first," you reminded. "Never before has a woman been named heir - she holds a different responsibility. Perhaps having everything thrown at her was too much, she has to filter through lesser men that would be King Consort. Nobody stood out, she became discouraged, and honestly, Your Grace?" You spoke earnestly, "I think it just made her sad. She did not want to disappoint you by choosing a man not worthy of being her King, so, she would rather face your anger in coming home early."

Alicent frowned but nodded to herself.

Otto adverted his eyes.

Viserys looked dejected, but sighed, "I see... Thank you for your words, my Lady, truly, you've always been a trustworthy advisor to the Queen, Princess, and I."

"It's the least I can do, Your Grace, since you and Queen Aemma - you - you were so kind to me when Mother passed. And Rhaenyra - to both Alicent and I - she was a true friend. I am in debt to you, Your Grace, and whatever I can do, be it just a simple different perspective, I am happy to provide."

"Well," he considered, "in the spirit of your unfiltered perspective, who would you see Rhaenyra marry?"

You blinked in shock, "Oh, Your Grace, I-I am not qualified to say."

"You serve as my Master of Whispers, do you not?" He smirked. "Speak, please."

You sighed deeply. With a small gulp, you blinked twice, then admitted, "I do not think my opinion matters, but... It would make sense to marry her to Ser Laenor Velaryon, would it not? He's a warrior who survived the Stepstones, is of Valyrian stock and blood, rides the dragon, Seasmoke. He's kind, brave, true, unmarried, heir to Driftmark. I think when it comes to filling the position of King Consort, Ser Laenor Velaryon would make a fine candidate."

Apparently, this was all Viserys needed to hear.

You could not sleep that night. You could not explain why, but something foul was in the air and prevented you from drifting off. So, you chose to browse your private library, select a literary favorite, and stroll the deadened halls of the Red Keep; reading by flickering torch light.

Good thing you were up and out, because one of your Little Birds chirped at you from the shadows. You looked around to see nobody in the hall, but another chirp directed your attention to a darkened alcove. "Hmm, oh, Kaela," you hummed, approaching her slowly and bending at the waist. "What is it, child?"

"I came as fast as I could."

"What's wrong?"

"I've seen something - something you'll want to know," she glanced up and down the hall, "but not anyone else."

"Come," you whispered, pushing her further back into the dark and sheltering yourselves safely. Once knelt before her, you asked the child, "All right. What is it you have seen, little one?"

"Do not get angry, my Lady..."

"I promise I won't," you spoke softly, confused - you never got angry at your Little Birds... Why start now?

"I-I saw... I saw the Prince Daemon and... Princess Rhaenyra."

You nodded slowly, asking quietly, "Where?"

"In the city, in a pleasure house."

You blinked, "And what were they doing?"

"What grown-ups do."

"I see. They were coupling?"

She shrugged, "No, just kissing, but it stopped fast. He left her there."

"He left her there? In the pleasure house?"

The little girl nodded. "The Prince looked sad... When the Princess tried to kiss him again, he pulled away... Then he left."

"Where did he go? After?"

She blinked, frowning, "My brother, Grenn, said he saw him at the pubs - but he was always on the move, very drunk. I came here right away."

"Good girl," you smiled, offering her whatever Gold Dragons from the pouch you usually kept on your person under your robe for times like this. "Where will you be tomorrow evening? I will bring you and Grenn supper."

She smiled, "We can meet you at the dock!"

"The dock?"

"He likes watching the boats."

"The docks, then. By the Fisherman's Pier?"

"No, Grenn like the Harper's Pier. They're not there around supper, they're still out at sea."

"Harper's Pier for supper," you agreed. "Go on."

The little girl looked around before scampering off down a different passageway and you stood from your knelt position with a stony look of tentative contemplation on your face. With a deep breath, you did the only thing you thought you could... You went to your father.

With a rapid knock at his chamber door, it took a moment or two before he was opening it - still dressed. "What is it, daughter?" He asked gruffly. "It's late, this should wait till morning."

"The castle is about to wake - "

"I know and I've much to attend to - "

"Father," you hissed, glancing up the hall.

He sighed and let you in, "What is it?"

"I carry scandalous news," you muttered, his door's lock echoing around you. "About the Princess Rhaenyra."

He turned to you sharply, you taking a step back in surprise. "You... Know?"

"About her sneaking around in a pleasure house?"

Otto frowned, "Do you know with who?"

You could not tell him, so you answered, "No, just that she was seen in disguise."

"Who told you this?"

"One of my Birdies."

"All right," he decided, nodding to himself, "thank you, daughter, for reporting this. I will... I will figure out what to say to the King."

"Should you say anything?"

"I'll figure it out - but now we both know."

You nodded, "So you knew before I came?"

"I was awoken an hour ago to hear this news."

You nodded slowly, "Then I will leave you to it."

"Thank you," he whispered, letting you peck his cheek in parting before slipping out of his chambers. With nothing left to do or anything else to say, you went back to your chambers as to limit your exposure to the castle's tenants.

The less that could say they saw you this night, the better.

Once safe in your chambers with a locked main door, you could do nothing else but (over)think, wishing to all the Seven Gods you didn't know what you knew. Information and knowledge was vital to maintain power, this is true, but it also made you dangerous - also a target. The more you knew, the bigger the target.

It was only a few hours after dawn when the secret passage doors to your chamber opened. You were braiding your hair, ignoring the man you knew to have the only balls to use that door - especially now.

"I've always wondered, if we had children, would they have white hair or waves of fire, like you? Perhaps something between?"

"Fuck off, Daemon."

"So, you've heard," he sighed deeply. "Won't you even look at me?"

"I can't stand the very thought of you right now, nor the actual sound, I'll lose my stomach if I have to look at you."

"Let me tell you the truth," he begged, "before I have to leave the Keep, let me tell you the truth. Let Viserys and everyone have their ideas and opinions, their lies and slander, but let me tell you!"

"Excuse me?" You asked, whirling around in your seat to glare at him fully. "Viserys banished you, again?"

"He did... Back to the Vale."

You scoffed, "Good... Your Lady wife awaits you."

"Viserys thinks I've sullied Rhaenyra's virtue. I do not need you thinking the same, so, please, let me tell you what happened - no matter how uncomfortable, please, let me tell you the truth."

"What difference does it make?"

"I can't have you thinking something more occurred. Was I tempted? Yes, but I refrained. Did I touch her? A little - but not how you think."

You sighed, shaking your head, "I don't care, you're returning to your wife in the Vale, and I will be rid of you. No matter for how long this time, you will be gone - "

"For a time, yes, but I intend to return for you."

"No, I think I'll let Father make me a match. I despised the North, it was too cold, so the handsome Cregan Stark is out. I don't mind Dorne, perhaps a Martel to marry? Or even a Tully of Riverrun?"

"Do not speak such atrocities to me."

"You're one to talk! Your niece, Daemon? The girl I consider my closest friend? You couldn't just find that whore you like and be satisfied with her? Couldn't wait a single day, could you? Huh? How fucking pathetic!"

"Perhaps you are not as close with Rhaenyra as you thought," he tisked, making you feel disarmed. He spent the next hour and a half explaining to you what happened the previous night, and despite your disgust, you just listened.

Knowledge was power.

"I will return," he sighed at the end, "and in that time, you can make your own decisions if you want me or not. But I will return and I will have you, if you will have me, and this foolishness will be behind us."

"I'll give you a single year. I will not wait for you longer than that," you whispered, tears streaming down your face. "I can't stand that you've done this, but I will wait one single year for you to find a way out of your marriage and back to me. Any longer than that, and I will simply move on. I do not want to live my whole life in the Red Keep, and the truth of it is, I cannot live in the Princess' shadow any longer. One year, Daemon."

"One year," he nodded, stepping closer. "My love, please - "

"Do not assume to touch me. Not after you've touched her," you snapped, stepping away. "Get out, I need to be alone, you have been banished - you need to go, you cannot be seen here." Your eyes rolled, muttering, "Probably have to go collect your whore for this banishment, too."

"Not this time," he smirked, "this time, I leave with my promise that I will return for you, my sweet Lady Hightower."

"Fuck off, you perverted Prince Daemon," you sassed, watching him slip out the door; shutting you in an echoing silence. Your heart ripped itself apart, making you wonder what the fuck you had done to deserve getting caught in such a scandalous affair. But you knew, in your heart, you'd do anything for Daemon - the thought sickening your stomach as you pondered how far this would all go.

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lovverletters · 10 months

Text

Yandere! Male Lead

Note that this is a reupload from my previous blog @hyerinrose

A/N : this took so many hours to finish Aghhh. Reblogs, notes and Feedback are appreciated!

T/W : death, yandere behaviour, etc

•┈••✦ 🎀✦••┈•💌•┈••✦ 🎀 ✦••┈•

💌 You woke up in an unfamiliar place. It wasn't the bedroom of your friend whom you had fell asleep in. The only memory you had of last night was falling asleep next to your friend's laptop while they were playing the new visual novel 'Flightless Dove'.

🎀 You couldn't have possibly experiencing those 'transmigration' thing in one of those isekai manwha/manga! Those aren't real! At least that's what you thought..

💌 Looking at the full body mirror across from the bed, you let out a sigh of relief. You still have your own features and body. However the picture frames on the bedside table reveals your identity in this new world you have been thrown into,

(Name) (Last Name), best friend of the protagonist and the heir to (Last Name) Corporation.

🎀 With this information, you recount that despite them being a side character, their story is unnecessarily tragic.

You were determined to change their fate.

Routes under the cut!

💌 Choose your route :

🍓The Fiancé 🍓

❣️Yandere! Fiancé whom you were incredibly wary of when you first met him. He was a terrible partner towards the original host, neglectful and rude towards them. Later, falling in love with Celine, the female lead and killing them to be with her.

❣️Yandere! Fiancé who you approached with caution, intending to be acquainted with him in order to hopefully guide him into becoming a normal human being. He was distant and closed off at first, shooing you off but eventually somewhat enjoys your presence.

❣️Yandere! Fiancé who finally begun opening up to you, sharing his troubles and worries with you, how angry he was at his parents for setting up this engagement without his knowledge. It's almost as if the two of you were actually lovers :)

❣️Yandere! Fiancé who falls in love with you, hard. The previous cold hearted man now replaced with a lovesick puppy who follows you around at any chance given. Always gifting you things he came across while on a business trips as a show of his affection. It's to also serve as his claim over you, that you belong to him, that you are his fiancé.

❣️Yandere! Fiancé who completely ignores the female lead numerous attempts at mingling with him. He's a faithful man, he had promised himself to you, so why should he tolerate this woman's presence any longer? Should he just kill her already? She's pissing him off greatly.

❣️Yandere! Fiancé who were envious of your friends, he wanted to be the only one you look at, the only one who you'd smile at and laugh with. Why are you giving away what's rightfully his to nobodies??

❣️"Promise me you'll never leave me, cause if you do, I wouldn't know what I'd do.."

•┈••✦ 🎀✦••┈•💌•┈••✦ 🎀 ✦••┈•

🍒The Childhood Friend🍒

❣️Yandere! Childhood Friend who's the only person you liked in the game as he's only one who stuck by the original host's side through thick and thin. Even attempting to avenge them after their death.

❣️Yandere! Childhood Friend who were surprised by your attitude towards him- not that he was against it- you were more animated and affectionate with him, it made his heart flutters everytime you complimented or gave him a hug. Have you finally reciprocate his feelings for you?

❣️Yandere! Childhood Friend who were in love with you ever since the two of you were kids. He was a loner that nobody wanted to befriend until you came along, suddenly there was a crowd of kids wanting to be friends with him. They don't matter to him though, in his eyes, you're the only friend he needed.

❣️Yandere! Childhood Friend who were incredibly jealous and resentful towards your fiancé! He was such a lucky man to be engage to you yet stupid enough to not see your worth. Can't he sees how beautiful and intelligent you are? How amazing you are compare to him??

❣️Yandere! Childhood Friend who were aware that he wasn't your only admirer. While he had been successful in scaring away your other suitors, the protagonist and even your fiancé weren't as easy. They too share the same strong feelings he have for you. And they weren't going to back down anytime soon.

❣️Though just like them, he too wouldn't be giving up on you. He was tired of seeing you with someone who's undeserving of you, who doesn't know how to treat you right.

❣️"You're the sunshine to my lonely self you know that, (Name)? I love you :)"

•┈••✦ 🎀✦••┈•💌•┈••✦ 🎀 ✦••┈•

⚘️The Protagonist⚘️

❣️Yandere! Protagonist who were the original host's best friend besides their childhood friend. He was your stereotypical main character, he was charming, attractive and powerful. Despite that, he still stuck around them until Celine came along.

❣️Yandere! Protagonist who you were determined to keep as an ally. After all the downfall of the original (Name) was because of a falling out between them and the protagonist. By having him as your friend, your chances of surviving this mad world is increased!

❣️Yandere! Protagonist who just like your childhood friend was surprised at your change of attitude towards him. He was used to your stoic and closed off self but was happy with your positive changes!

❣️Yandere! Protagonist who's feelings for you grow rapidly as days went by. He can't put a finger to what exactly it was about you that pulled him in. Was it your infectious laughter? Or your odd sense of humour that he can't help but adore you for? Your intelligence that never fails to amaze him?

❣️Yandere! Protagonist who were absolutely smitten by you that he ignores practically everyone including the female lead whom he's supposed to fall in love with. Nobody else is as important as you are to him. So why should he bother be around them when he can be with you instead? :)

❣️Yandere! Protagonist who despite his reputation as being kind and charming to others, would not hesitate to murder for you. Though he hasn't committed any, he is guilty of sending threats towards your other admirers. Unfortunately, your fiancé and childhood friend aren't as easy to rid of unlike like your other suitors.

❣️Too bad for them, he's not one to give up once he sets his eyes on something. He'll do whatever it takes if it meant that you'll be in his arms at the end of the day.

❣️"(Name), I hope you know how important you are to me. I love you now and forever"

•┈••✦ 🎀✦••┈•💌•┈••✦ 🎀 ✦••┈•

Part 2 coming soon?

#yandere x reader #yandere male x reader #tw: yandere #yandere male #yandere oc #yandere #gender neutral reader #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #yandere x y/n #yandere x you #yandere x darling

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Text

Rainy Season - Part 7

Final Chapter and Epilogue

Everybody’s Got Somebody but Me

Azriel Eris x Reader

Azriel pleads his case to his mate before the Inner Circle, an unexpected interruption sheds additional light on the situation, Y/N makes a decision.

Part 5 Part 6

Warnings: Language

The room thrummed with erratic energy as everyone awaited the arrival of the Shadowsinger. Eris watched intently as Y/N kept a collected facade before the present group, but behind her eyes a tumultuous storm raged. She hadn’t seen her mate since she’d left - since he’d betrayed her - and maybe she was a coward for facing him before an audience of his loved ones but she was done tip-toeing the line, done praying that the words falling from her mate’s lips were truth when he’d done nothing but spin ugly lies from that beautiful mouth. She wanted the real story, the whole story, and Truth Teller itself couldn’t extract it better than the audience before them.

Her gut-wrenched with his nearing presence, the doors would open any moment as guards would bring him in, before her, before his family, before Eris and her sister.

The only missing parties in the space were Amren who had stayed behind in Velaris to keep a presence in place and Nesta who had other matters to attend to. Mor’s attendance was welcome but not required, given the obvious histories between she and Eris - her mate.

Eris kept an amused facade beneath his own surface, though he was anything but. Y/N looked resplendent seated at the lone chair at the head of his table. Seated to her right, he kept a respectful distance, fighting the overwhelming urge to reach out and warm her shaking hand under the table.

And Eris couldn’t be certain by the flat expression on his face, but he could have sworn the slightest gleam of amusement glimmered in Lucien’s eye as the mechanical one focused in on a clearly unimpressed Camila who was unabashedly taking stock of the middle Archeron sister at his side.

The door unlatched, all traces of civility falling from Rhys’ face as Azriel stepped into the now darkened room.

Azriel looked terrible, the purple bruises and dark circles under his eyes draining the remaining life from his sallowed skin, eyes red and puffy.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, burying down the instinct doing its damndest to get her to run to her dejected mate.

Azriel looked straight past every single person at the table, not even sparing a glance to the seething High Lord staring daggers in his direction. His hazel eyes blew wide as they honed in on his mate. His perfect fucking mate. He truly had drained so much from her, hadn’t he? Never once stopping to notice the signs.

Now, before him was a divine female - full in all the places he’d once gripped so fervently, her complexion radiant, hair lustrous, lips so delectable he wanted to bite them. There was no broken female here, this was a female who has been living a life of love and joy. The only thing missing was her bright smile, now absent in his presence.

Another thing he’d taken from her.

“Y/N”, Azriel mouthed, no sound coming out as the guards kept the cuffed hands he tried to outstretch in her direction restrained.

Her pointed silence and the clunk of the guards boots filled the room as Azriel was lead toward his space between Cassian and Rhys at the table. Y/N now noting the correlation between the bruises on Azriel’s face and a few scattered on Cassian’s.

Rhys’ voice entered her mind. “Azriel started a fight with Cassian that led to us finding out about he and Elain. When Cassian realized, he went feral on him. It’s been centuries since I’ve seen those two fight like that. By the time Cassian was done with him, I couldn’t in good conscience lay a hand on him.”

“They shouldn’t have fought over this. But I bet you not laying a hand on him though he knew you wanted to hurt his ego more than any punches would have.”

Feyre joined in the mental conversation, adding “He’s just lucky Nesta wasn’t there when they found out.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, assuming that Nesta would have remained neutral in the ordeal. Not out of cruelty, but given her love and protective tendencies toward Elain as well as her friendship with Azriel and their Valkyrie training.

Azriel looked to his mate, once again wordlessly mouthing. “Y/N, please.” Finally taking in the crowd before him, he paled further.

“Cat got your tongue, Shadowsinger?” Eris mused. Fury lined Azriel’s features at the smug tone. Rhys only let out a bitter chuckle though he found nothing funny about the predicament they’d found themselves in, his violet gaze narrowed in on his brother. “You found a work around with our bargain by finding your mate outside of the Summer Court, but couldn’t find a work around on the matter of being barred from communicating with her? Just how did you expect this whole plan to work out?” He didn’t wait for a response to the question as he waved to the bargain tattoo. “I rescind the bargain tattoo, you may speak to her for as long as she’ll allow it.”

Azriel paid no mind to Rhys, his chest heaved as he frantically spouted out, “Can we speak in private, my love? Just you and me.”

Eris bristled internally at the pet name but Y/N didn’t falter as she replied “You lost the right to call me that the moment you took another female to bed.”

Elain fidgeted in her seat, eyes downcast. Camila bouncing her murderous gaze back and forth between she and Azriel.

To his credit, Azriel took the blow. This was a bed of his own making and he knew it, they all knew it. There was no sense in trying to deny it.

His mate’s head remained held high as she continued, “By the grace of the High Lord of the Autumn Court, the consequences of your attempted infiltration of this keep have been resigned to your own High Lord.“

Shame flooded Azriel’s face but he let her continue.

“As for me? All I ever wanted was your love and commitment. I gave so many chances and when it finally seemed like you might get it - you’d squandered that opportunity as well. I am before you right now because I want to know why. And because you have not given me a reason to trust you, I have brought this council of individuals who have somehow found themselves so intertwined with our relationship when it should have only been you and me.”

Azriel spat the bitter words before he could stop them from leaving his mouth. “If Eris is not issuing consequence, there is no need for him to be here.”

Despite his exceptional ability to bait, Eris remained silent. A show of respect to the female at the head of his table.

“I was a guest in his keep when you decided to make our separation everybody’s problem and breached the wards.”

Azriel, damn him, couldn’t stop the next hateful words either. “I hardly call emissary business the equivalent of being a guest.”

Eris forwent anger over the blatant disrespect already rolling off of Azriel’s tongue when she didn’t owe him a second of her time, he knew this force of a female by his side well enough by now - biting the inside of his lip to hold back the involuntary smirk creeping its way up to the corners of his mouth as he sensed the words before she spoke them.

“You’re right, Azriel. But I am not here on emissary business, I am here as a personal guest of Eris, who has found himself intertwined in this relationship.” She then looked to her sister “Along with Camila, as they BOTH found themselves putting in considerable time and effort helping piece back together the parts of me that I couldn’t quite place myself. Do you have further question on the members in attendance today that you’d like for me to elaborate on?”

Camila, seated to the other side of Y/N, gave her sister a reassuring squeeze of the hand under the table. Silence once again filling the room, Azriel’s shadows in conjunction with Rhys’ raging darkness rendered him barely visible.

Perhaps her words to her mate were harsh but they were far kinder than the venomous “I’m here on the business of fucking the brains out of the Autumn Court High Lord who, by the way, is just as well endowed and far more bendy than you.” that she wanted to spit back at him.

As if Eris read her thoughts, he loosened the reign on that wicked smirk he’d held back.

“Now that the matter of why we’re all here is settled,” Y/N continued, “I will hear you out, Azriel. If at any point I do not wish to continue this discussion, you will leave immediately. Do you understand?”

Her stoic mate, the revered Spymaster, simpered at the words, giving a slight nod. “Yes.” Eris thought to himself in that moment, heart filled with pride, “She would make a fine High Lady.”

“Great. We have a bargain.” Her fist clenching as the tattoo formed on the back of her neck. “Please proceed.”

Azriel stood, looking to his mate. Crestfallen he began. He held himself in submission to his mate but with enough confidence for her to see that he was sincere in whatever he was about to say.

“Y/N. I love you. I have loved you since before the bond ever snapped. You are - You’re everything. Fuck, I know that what I did was terrible but, it’s not what it seems. You were so good, too good, I didn’t deserve you. I never have. You are everything good and I do nothing but bring pain and hurt to others, and now I’ve done the same to you. Words can never express how sorry I am but… I can at least share what happened.”

He looked to her, praying she’d speak, give any encouragement. Her bright eyes only stared through him, straight into the tattered soul he’d tried so hard to conceal from her.

The table remained silent. Camila biting back a scoff and Elain fidgeting with her dress.

Realizing she wouldn’t speak until he’d told her everything he continued.

He began speaking of how insignificant he’d felt in comparison to her. How he’d buried himself in work, in training with the Valkyries, helping Elain recover. He then pleaded to her, giving recollection of how he’d stopped feeling her through the bond. Giving account for everything leading up to the night he’d slept with Elain.

He recounted how he’d just wanted to get through the night, how he’d chosen to go to dinner instead of staying in, drowning himself in alcohol in an effort to get through the night, how he’d planned to tell Elain that he could no longer spend so much time with her.

It was then that he turned a violent glare to Cassian. “Tell her. Tell her, Cassian.”

Cassian let out a sigh. “Y/N, I am so sorry for the mistake I made. Nes and I, we’d stopped into a new apothecary along the Sidra and found a unique new aphrodisiac. We’d done a parting shot with Azriel and Elain after everyone else had gone out and I -“ his cheeks flushed with embarrassment, “I accidentally gave the shots we’d mixed the powder into to Elain and Azriel instead of Nes and I. I had no clue until yesterday, we just assumed it was a faulty batch.”

Azriel’s shadows swirled with rage as he picked up where he’d left off. “I went to find Elain afterward, to break things off but the aphrodisiac hit so hard, so fast, and I was so terribly intoxicated. One moment I was trying to speak, the next she was kissing me.” He shook, choking on the next words. “The next morning, I knew I could either tell you, inflicting more pain upon you, or I could carry the pain myself and make sure it never happened again.”

Lucien gritted his teeth at the admission. He’d known they slept together, she’d come straight to him afterward. Choosing to make his best effort to do right by his mate, telling himself that what had happened evened out the playing field between them. Of course it hurt, and hell, he was livid. He found himself fond of the Shadowsinger’s mate, forming a comfortable acquaintanceship with her the few times they’d attended the same events with the Inner Circle. She deserved so much more than a mate that cheated on her.

But Elain was his mate, he needed to at least try with her now that she’d finally shown up. He swallowed the bile that rose in his throat and had spent the past six months spending what time she deigned to give him with her. He’d hoped at the very least it would keep Azriel away from Elain and with his own mate. He’d felt awful when he heard she’d left.

He was drawn from his thoughts by Azriel’s next words and the corresponding pained gasp from Elain, and the thrumming power of Feyre as she seethed from both embarrassment of the ordeal and the careless words about her sister. “Y/N, Elain means nothing to me. She was a mistake. I don’t care about her beyond the fact that she’s my High Lady’s sister, I don’t love her - I only love you. I only want you. She is nothing.”

Elain clutched her chest, eyes welling with tears as she let out a whisper that may as well have been a damning scream. “But - you’re my mate.”

Time stood still as everyone turned to her in shock. Everyone, except for Rhys whose raging power dimmed momentarily, heads turned from Elain toward him as he let out an incredulous laugh. “You idiot.” Feyre turned toward him. He’d pay for that comment later, though only mildly as she was inclined to think the same of her sister. “That aphrodisiac that you were given, it is designed to imitate the mating frenzy. He’s not your mate, you were just horny.”

Elain turned ghostly, sinking in her chair at the revelation. Y/N felt sympathy for Lucien as she noted his gritted teeth. Apparently whatever she’d told Lucien, she’d left out the important detail that she thought she had another mate.

Camila’s body shook, fighting back laughter, and failing. Her laughter filled the space. “Oh my gods!” She wiped a tear from her eye. “I don’t mean to… but this, this is too good.” Her laughter only increased. “How humiliating!”

Even Y/N bit back a smile. Camila never was good at hiding her emotions, laughing in the most unstable of circumstances. And she couldn’t stop. Finally she placed her palms on the table pushing herself up. “I’m so sorry. I’ll excuse myself.” Lucien was next to stand, Elain tightly grasping his wrist. “Lucien” she whispered.

It was Lucien’s turn to let out a small laugh. “I suddenly find that I am not at all intertwined with this mess. Enjoy your mate!” He mused, a saccharine smile forming on his face as he pulled his arm away, catching up to Camila. His footsteps and the distant sound of “My lady” as he extended an arm to her, which she gladly accepted.

Elain stood eyes darting between Azriel and the door. Taking far too long to come to the decision to chase after her actual mate. Her foot moved out, pivoting her toward the doors when Rhysand commanded, “Oh no, you will stay here and finish this discussion.” She gasped looking to Feyre who only gave a solemn nod of solidarity with her mate.

Elain fell back into her seat, crossing her arms across her chest, glaring daggers at Azriel.

As the room once again settled, aside from the roaring heartbeats at the table, Y/N spoke impassively, “If there’s anything else you wish to say, now would be the time, Azriel.”

He stared wide eyed, clearly still blown away by the bullshit with Elain.

“Y/N, I am so sorry. I know that what I did was wrong. I never meant for any of this to happen. I never would have slept with her had it not been for the aphrodisiac. I never meant to hurt you. I have so much darkness within me to reckon with, so much that I’m terrified to bring up, so much I never wanted you to see. I need you to understand that. You were never the problem. It was me. It was always me. I can tell you how sorry I am, I can tell you how much I love you, but it won’t matter unless I can show you. Please give me that opportunity. I won’t let you down.”

Y/N sat still. Processing all of the details Azriel had given her. She felt his desperation barreling through the bond. Her hands again began shaking under the table without her sister there to steady them. Discreetly, Eris reached his hand to Y/N, the quivering receding at his warm touch.

Azriel’s shadows rose to whisper in his ear, his eyes instantly honing in on where their hands were joined, as if he could see right through the table.

And Y/N didn’t know if it was by a stroke of luck or the absolute lack of it but at that moment, the doors flung open and Nesta. Fucking. Archeron. stormed in.

“You.” She pointed to Azriel. One word. One action. So much damnation behind it.

Rhys’ darkness flared in the presence of his wild card sister-in-law. Cassian merely raised an eyebrow, the slightest upward curve tilting his lips as he took in his mate who could command a room full of power.

She looked over both High Lord’s at the table with an unimpressed sneer before turning that deadly, piercing gaze toward Azriel.

Azriel’s eyes widened in surprise at the Valkyrie striding toward him. “What. The. Fuck. Is. This?”

His brows knit and she opened her fist, grasping a chain with two of her fingers to display a dangling necklace.

Azriel’s face paled.

“You know, the strangest thing happened this afternoon. I was talking to my friend, Gwyn. We got to talking about flowers and Elain’s garden. Gwyn began speaking of how she loves roses, clutching at a lovely little pendant around her neck.”

“And I thought to myself, something about this necklace seems so familiar.”

“And then I recalled a solstice not too long ago where my sister came crying to me over a male who had given her a lovely necklace of the same description. How they’d pined for each other, never going further than a brush of the hands. Until the night they almost kissed, the scent of his arousal heavy in the air between them, then pulling back from her and stating ‘this is a mistake’ and leaving.

At the point Rhysand turned to his brother. “You’re fucking joking, Azriel.”

Y/N looked to them beginning to anticipate where this was going.

“When asked who gifted it to her, she stated that Clotho told her it was left for her from an anonymous admirer. So, I went to my friend Clotho, who keeps to her word very well. She’d sworn to the source she wouldn’t tell. But you know, the House of Wind is a sentient entity. Persistently tugging me toward Rhys’ belongings that remain scattered around the house.”

Nesta turned her glare from Azriel to Rhysand. “So, Rhysand, something tells me you know about this.”

Rhys lowered his head with shame hesitating as he searched for the right words.

“Y/N…. I’m so sorry. A couple of years ago, on Solstice, I caught Azriel placing a necklace on Elain.” He looked to Elain and then back at Azriel again. “I monitored the situation, hoping I was wrong, but as their lips were moments away from touching, I used my daemati abilities and summoned Azriel to my study. I truly thought whatever happened was over between them as the tension between the two seemingly faded in my presence. Until yesterday, when we found out about he and Elain sleeping together.”

Cassian glared to his brother with rage, “You gave a necklace meant for Elain to Gwyn?”

“She wasn’t supposed to know.”

Before he could dig the hole further, Elain whispered, those doe eyes peering at Azriel through her lashes, “So, you didn’t really think it was a mistake?”

Feyre broke her silence letting out an audible groan of exasperation. And Azriel broke his own silence,

“It WAS a mistake, Elain. All of it. Rhys tried to stop it. I should have listened. You were a mistake.”

Elain gasped, tears lining her eyes. And if looks could have killed, the glare Nesta gave Azriel would have ended him on the spot. But it was Elain who made the mistake of reading her sister’s rage toward Azriel as sympathy toward herself, leaning into her sister, turning her head into her side to catch her dramatized tears.

“No, Elain. I am so disappointed in you. You were completely wrecked when Graysen left you and you were only engaged. Imagine the pain Y/N felt losing her MATE.”

Eris who had been taking in the cluster fuck surrounding them mused, looking toward the door Lucien had earlier exited, “Oh, I don’t think she’ll have to imagine much.” Earning a laugh disguised as a cough from Cassian, another sigh from Feyre, and a scowl from Nesta as she chose to ignore the barb - looking again to Azriel, “You have a lot of amends to make.”

She looked to Elain, “You do too.”

With that she grabbed Elain by the arm and drug her out of the room. With a wave over her arm and a shout of, “You deserve so much better than what you’ve been through, Y/N!”

Y/N took a breath as the room regained its composure, the tension again thickening. “Is there anything else, or are you done making excuses, Azriel?”

“They’re not excuses. Y/N. I love you. I was wrong. It’s always been you.”

“I’m tired.” She spoke softly. And it was the truth.

“I spent so much time waiting for you. Praying that one day it would all become ‘right’ again. I dreamed that you’d come walking through the door, and remind me what it was like to feel your love. My Azriel, my mate, all I wanted was you.

But, this, Azriel. You are not the male I fell in love with. And I think… I think the most heartbreaking part of that is that what I loved most was those dark depths of your soul that you tried so hard to hide. You were never a monster, you were always worth loving. You wouldn’t have broken me. Shutting me out is what broke me. And I told you that, so many times, in so many ways. But you never listened.

And the reason you couldn’t feel me through the bond? The further you pulled away, the more I closed it off from my end. I hoped that it would give you time to work through whatever it was you were facing and refused to share despite my pleas. Until I eventually grew so numb that I just shut it down completely. A courtesy you never once extended to me during my time away. Do you know how hard it was to recover after I left? I felt your guilt and rage barreling through me at all hours.

And you fucking Elain? Nobody but you and Elain are responsible for your actions. Cassian is not your excuse. You chose to go that night, you chose to drink all evening, you chose to wait until that night to tell her you wouldn’t be spending time with her like you had been. You had the entire week away and chose to wait until the last minute.

The affair started long before then. I think we can agree that despite your cold treatment of her before me today, that you two were engaged in an emotional affair long before you ever went to bed with her.”

She reached into her pocket pulling out a piece of parchment.

“And then, you attempted to court Gwyn in my absence - which, fair, because I’m the one who left. She really is a lovely female. Although, I hear it didn’t quite work in your favor.”

Azriel’s eyes grew wide in panic. “The necklace didn’t-“

She laughed. “I’ll save you time and effort of your excuses, Azriel. Gwyn may not have known the necklace was from you but she did extend the courtesy of writing to me and I was rather surprised by the details of the demise of our relationship that didn’t quite line up - specifically the cheating aspect.”

She placed her hands on the table, looking her mate directly in the eyes. “I made my decision long before your attempt to break into this Keep, before the truths were unveiled today. I appreciate everyone for coming but I have heard enough. I ask that you leave now, Azriel.”

Tears filled his eyes. “Wait! Please, Y/N.” His brothers began to pull him away but Azriel fell to his knees.

“Please, baby.” He begged. “Just come home.”

She stared at the pleading male before her. A pang of sympathy for her broken mate ran through her. She wasn’t cruel and sympathy was not a weakness. This was her choice to make and nobody would blame her if she went back to her mate.

“Come home, please.”

Holding her head high, she stepped around her chair.

Eris sat expressionless, carefully avoiding any inclination of the devastation he’d feel if she chose to leave. He would support her either way.

Azriel remained focused on her every movement, his erratic breathing the only sound cutting through the tension of the room.

She took a step, and one more, before halting. Gently taking the hand of the red-headed male beside her whose eyes lined with silver as he looked up to her.

“I am home.”

EPILOGUE

The time he showed up:

Lucien suffered when his bond with Elain was severed. She did not agree to breaking the bond which left slim to no opportunity to move forward with the breaking of it. After months of intense research, Helion was able to find a tricky workaround that did not require both parties to be present. It was incredibly painful due to the negative effects being concentrated to one individual instead of split between two but fortunately not lethal.

Eris never pushed me to sever my bond with Azriel but as time went on it felt important to put that part of my life behind me. I’d extended the courtesy of writing to Azriel regarding my intention to sever it, informing him that I would be going through with the incantation that Helion had conjured. He did not reply but I knew he received the letter based on the muted feelings of grief that seeped through crevices of the walls I had placed against his end of the bond for several days afterward.

Eris traveled to the Day Court with me, having decided nobody could aid in my recovery better than he. To my shock, upon arriving, Azriel was there. Demurely, he stated that it was only right for him to share the weight of this burden. I was inclined to agree but only thanked him for showing up. He bristled at the sight of Eris but the males said nothing to eachother and we went our separate ways until Helion was ready for us. With Azriel’s presence and the pain being shared, the physical recovery on both of our ends was expedited and manageable for both of us.

We were both held in separate suites to recover until Helion gave the all-clear to leave. When the pain became less debilitating, I decided to take a stroll through an exterior walkway, soaking in the sun while Eris bathed. Apparently Azriel had the same idea as I turned a corner to find him sunning his wings, head hung low.

Right as I made to pivot, his head whipped in my direction, eyes locking with mine. Even without the bond I could easily read the pain in his eyes, the grief that surrounded him. His shadows fought to come to me but he kept a tight reign on them. His breathing was rapid, his eyes fighting to turn away but his gaze lingered.

He opened his mouth to speak, a weak sound escaping his lips before he clamped his mouth shut, jaw tensing.

I kept my gaze soft, maintaining eye contact for another moment but he didn’t try to speak again. With that, I walked away and we did not encounter eachother again during the stay.

It was later I realized that he likely wanted to say something, anything, but there was nothing left to speak between us.

The sister-in-law:

After recovering fully from the severance of his bond, Lucien cryptically invited Eris and I to a lakeside home in the Day Court.

“Dress for merriment.” His only details.

Upon arriving, we found a couple of beloved faces from my life, along with Feyre, Helion, The former lady of Autumn (now the lady of Day), Jurian, Vassa, and even Tamlin at the home. We were all escorted to the grounds where an absolutely beaming Lucien stood at an altar beside the most radiant female I’d ever seen.

That was the day my sister became also my sister-in-law. It’s a very strange thing to say aloud but makes sense if you think about it.

The first heir:

Eris cried the day our son was born. Not from the relief of having an heir, not from any upset due to the child being male, certainly not from any disappointment of being a father.

The birth was as smooth as one can be, he held my hand throughout, praising me, and whispering words of love. He didn’t even mind the curses I threw his way as I pushed. He only let go of my hand once the babe was carefully handed to me by the midwife, allowing me those first precious moments to cradle our little flame to my chest and relish in the life our love had created.

Eris cried when that tiny babe was finally passed into his arms and the little red-haired beauty grasped his finger. That touch immediately tethering a connection straight from the child in his arms delicate soul to Eris’ heart, the heart that once beat beneath layers of armor now laid bare before his son.

Never would this child know pain at his fathers hand. Never would he limit the love he could show for fear of being seen as weak. And never, ever would he question his fathers love for him.

The coronation

Azriel

Sitting here lonely at a table for two, watching lovers being lovers

Azriel sat shrouded in shadow in a quiet corner of the decorated throne room. Happy chatter rang throughout the room as attendees anxiously awaited the crowning of the High Lady of the Autumn Court.

Feyre and Rhys; Cassian and Nesta; Helion and the former Lady of Autumn; Emerie and Mor; Tamlin and his new wife, Briar; Lucien and Camila; and even Gwyn and Tarquin sat cozied up in pairs throughout the crowded throne room. Nyx had seated himself next to his best friend Alex, Camila and Lucien’s son.

From what Azriel had heard Lucien treated Alex as his own from the moment he met him, adopting the boy immediately after he and Camila married. He seemed to be a fine young man and a positive influence on Nyx, who kept Rhys and Feyre on their toes these days. Perhaps karmic justice for the hell Rhys, Azriel, and Cassian put Rhys’ mother through in their youth.

Three little girls ran through the room, two with vibrant red-hair, tan skin and freckled golden cheeks; one with dark hair, fair skin, and her mothers eyes; their giggling rang out above the chatter filling the room as an older child, a boy of eleven years old - Azriel still remembered the day the announcement arrived to the Night Court of the birth of the first Autumn Court heir - walked in a straight backed, lordly posturing behind them, a crease forming between his brows as he focused intently on his little sisters.

The boys long strides kept up with his little sisters as he reminded them to mind their paces. Lost in their merriment, the girls ignored his warnings until the boy finally let out an exasperated sigh. Stopping for a moment with his arms crossed, he raised a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose as he shook his head, murmuring gods knows what frustrated curses. Knowing his mother, it was not the typical frustrated language of a child.

Azriel gave a small, sad smile at the memories elicited.

When the boy looked up, the girls had disappeared from his sight. He grew frantic for a moment until his Uncle Lucien walked up to him, pointing to his wife and the three girls pressing kisses and talking animatedly to her round, very pregnant belly. The boy gave his uncle a smile, shoulders sagging in relief. Lucien bowed down, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. The boy took his hand and walked back toward Camila and the sisters.

Azriel placed a hand to his chest at the wave of grief that rang through him. The mating bond may have been severed but he never could get over the love that he squandered. The family that could have been his.

“You don’t have to be here, brother.” Rhysand’s voice invaded his mind.

Azriel swallowed, willing his thoughts to a tone of neutrality. “She’s the High Lady of the Autumn Court, we’re immortal, we will have to be comfortable in spaces together. It comes with the territory.”

I miss you. Without you I just don’t fit in.

He didn’t have to say what his brother already knew. That yes, he was broken when she left. Broken further when she confirmed he was no longer her home. He’d hated himself for what he’d done, for what he put her through. For a long time, he’d been a shell of the shell of himself that he’d already become. Eventually, he’d taken to seeing one of the counselors in the House of Wind’s library. He was too far gone at that point to consider such an option but Rhys had coordinated with the priestesses and mandated it. Either he got help or lost his position in the Night Court.

Even after the countless hours of counseling sessions he’d attended over the years, that “savior complex” of his remained. Seeing Y/N thriving with someone else was fucking hard but not as hard as living in a world where he never looked upon her face again. As she assumed the title of High Lady, a target would lay on her back, just as one was on any other High Lord or High Lady’s back. He’d never forgive himself if his stubborn pride kept him from attending any court events she attended and something happened to his own High Lord or Lady… or if something happened to her.

I don’t know if I’ll ever find another you.

So here he was, alone at a table, in a now quiet throne room, watching the love of his life step out onto the dais in all of her resplendent glory, kneeling down before the male she loved. Eris’ eyes lined with silver as her own lifted to meet his gaze, her chin held high as she awaited his next move. Carefully, he lifted the emerald and ruby crested crown, with one large diamond centered between two golden leaves, off of the plush pillow it sat upon. Eris’ previous words rang true through Azriel’s head “Diamonds don’t crush under pressure.” The people of this court were truly fortunate to be under the rule of such a resilient and kind ruler. The shining diamond of Autumn. She would love them deeply and do right by them in a way so few leaders were capable of.

Azriel couldn’t contain the pride that welled up in his chest, tears threatening to spill over his thick lashes as the crown was placed upon her head. And yet it was Eris who looked at her like she was the very air that he breathed, as if nothing existed in that moment but the female at his fingertips, like the only reason he himself was brought into existence was to find and cherish her for eternity. And despite his disdain for Eris Vanserra, Azriel finally understood that this was where she belonged.

Everybody’s got somebody but me.

————————————-

A/N: Thank you to everyone who has read this series! I loved writing it and I hope you are pleased with the ending. Some may ask, “What about Elain?” and to that I say, “What about her?” I find great satisfaction in the fact that she didn’t get either male, was embarrassed in front of the IC, and became so irrelevant that she was barely mentioned in the epilogue (aside from Lucien breaking the bond). Clearly, she’s still bitter considering she refused to sever the bond with him but he still found a way out (albeit painfully) and got his dream girl! Stay mad, Elain.

ACOTAR Tag List:

@lilah-asteria

Eris Tag List:

@angiedsv

Rainy Season Tag List:

@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 @thegirlinshadows101 @viistrength @grunchwench @starryhiraeth @macimads @feiwelinchen @acourtofbatboydreams @nebarious @haechansleafblower @melsunshine @thegirlintheshadows101 @plsfckmern @existingthroughwords @mybestfriendmademe @strangersunghoon

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vroomvro0mferrari · 2 months

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CL16 | Awkward Advances

Summary: You are best friends with Alex Albon. When you go to the bar with him and his driver friends, you decide to shoot your shot. But with the amount of drinks consumed, it doesn't go as smoothly as planned.

Charles Leclerc x female!Reader

WC: 2.1K

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, maybe talking yourself down?

Masterlist

You have met Alex's friends many times. Every time he invited you to a race, he made sure you had someone to talk to when he was busy. Of course, most times his girlfriend Lily, who had also turned into your best friend, was there to keep you entertained, but when she wasn't, he set up some other people to take care of you. You had met many people that way: his engineer, his PR manager, and many other team members. But he also introduced you to several drivers: Nicholas Latifi, Nyck de Vries, Logan Sargeant, George Russel, Lando Norris, and even Max Verstappen and Charles Leclerc. You had conversations with all of them, and they were all great people to talk with, but Charles Leclerc was different.

Like many other girls, you thought he was really, really handsome, and so sweet as well. And you got along great, better than with any other of Alex's friends. It's safe to say you had at least a little crush on him. Who are you kidding, it's a pretty big crush, and it's been going on for quite a while. But you'd never actually made a move on him. Why would you? He would never like you back. It wouldn't make any sense, Charles Leclerc is famous and rich, surprisingly sweet, talented, intelligent, a great conversationalist and insanely attractive. What else could you wish for in a man? He has his pick of the litter, nearly any girl would love to be with him, so why would he choose the silly friend of one of his colleagues?

So, you never tried to make a move or flirt with him. Because you knew it wouldn't lead to anything, but also because you're a terrible flirt. You never know when's the right time to flirt, what to say, and you're always either too subtle or not subtle enough. It's a difficult balance that you've never managed to find.

Tonight, you are once again going out with Alex and his friends, including Charles. The night's been great, you've been dancing for hours, and you and Lily have made numerous new friends. Right now, you're sitting at the bar to get another drink, while Lily is joining Alex in the booth your group is occupying. As the night carries on, and the drinks keep coming, you are definitely moving from tipsy to drunk. When you finally receive your drink, you decide to join the rest of the group at the booth. Sitting next to Alex, leaning on him, you look around the group. Everyone had dressed up, ready for a great night out and enjoying the time spent with friends. And Charles, he looked so good. In the black button-up he was wearing, more buttons undone than done, and his messy hair. Your drunk mind could barely handle it and found it very, very difficult to focus your eyes elsewhere, and Alex wouldn't be him if he hadn't noticed your staring.

"You've been staring at him for a while now." He whispered, or at least it sounded like a whisper.

"Hm? What are you talking about?" You slowly turned your head back to the boy next to you.

"You're more obvious than you think. He'll notice soon."

You blushed as you realised Alex knew about your crush on his friend. You shouldn't be surprised though, Alex knows you through and through. He would have found out eventually.

"What are you talking about?" A drunk Lily asks you, bending around Alex to look at you properly.

Alex responds for you: "[Y/N]'s crush."

Lily gasps, "You have a crush? Who is it?" she yells loudly.

Your eyes quickly dart over the group, ensuring they didn't overhear that just now. "Shh, not the whole world has to know." You look over the group again, before you move closer, "It's Charles." You're blushing again.

"You should go flirt with him!"

"Are you crazy? I can't flirt, especially when I'm drunk."

"Nothing like a little liquid courage to help you flirt. I'm sure you'll be fine!" Lily turns to Alex, "Come, let's get another drink!" and pulls him up, winking at you.

Fuck, should you do it? What does it matter anyway? If it ends badly, you can just blame it on the alcohol, right?

Just then, seeing you're left alone, Charles moves to sit next to you.

You turn to him.

"Hey, how are you doing?" You ask him.

"I'm good. Having fun." He smiles at you. To him, it's obvious you're drunk. He decided not to drink tonight and was completely sober, different from most of the group.

God, he looks so good. You are going to do this, no time like the present, right? "That's good. You look handsome tonight, clean up well." You say, moving your hand to touch his upper arm and looking into his eyes. You can feel your heart beating in your chest, but no matter how nervous you are, and how nervous he makes you, you're not backing down now.

"Uhm, thank you." He responds chuckling a bit. He did not expect that from you. He thought you were sweet and had noticed that you were always slightly flustered around him, and he also knew you were not very upfront and direct. He suspected you had a crush on him, but maybe you were just very shy, and behaved like this around everyone. Nevertheless, he had never expected you to say something like this - to flirt(?) with him like this, so straightforward. He's surprised, to say the least, and maybe feels a bit awkward at the situation too, because what is he supposed to do? But you don't notice, and continue.

"I mean, you always look good, but especially tonight." You smile with fake confidence.

He looks away from you, chuckling again, adjusting his body to subtly push you to the edge of the booth. Fuck, that hint is so clear it's hard to miss, even when you're drunk. Your smile falters as you realise he wants you to leave – to leave him alone. Your false, alcohol-induced confidence falls, realising you made a mistake doing this now. He obviously isn't into you. You knew this, yet you tried. You never should've.

"You're pretty drunk, no? Let me find Alex, hm? He can take you back?"

You nod softly, disappointed at his rejection. He now fully pushes you out of the booth, but sets you back as he stands up.

"I'm gonna find him, okay? You stay here."

You just nod, and sit still waiting for him to come back. God, you're so embarrassed. Why did you have to do this again? You knew this would happen, that he'd reject you. You feel the tears welling up in your eyes. You've never felt this embarrassed. You try and blink them away as you see Charles return with Alex and Lily.

"Let's get you home, yeah?" Alex says when he's back at the booth.

You feel like a toddler when he pulls you up and helps you walk out of the club to the taxi. This couldn't have ended worse.

In the cab, he asks you: "So it didn't work out?"

You shake your head and lean on his shoulder, Lily doing the same on the other side, as she speaks "I'm sorry, it'll be okay"

The headache in the morning was the worst. And the realisation of what you had done last night settling in certainly wasn't helping. Lily and Alex took you back to their room last night, and let you crash on the couch they had in their very luxury room.

They were already walking around and getting ready for breakfast when you first opened your eyes. You were moving around, trying to find a more comfortable spot on the very uncomfortable couch when Lily spotted you.

"Good morning sleeping beauty." She says way too excitedly for the time of the day. Actually, you don't even know what time it is, but you assume it's too early after a night out.

"How are you so cheerful right now? If I remember correctly you were just as drunk as me last night, if not more." You say grumpily, sitting up.

"Lots and lots of water, and aspirin." Lily smiles at you, grabbing you a glass of water and aspirin as well.

"So, you want to fill in the gaps on what happened with Charles last night? Before he came to get me?" Alex asked.

You groan, "I don't even want to think about it. It was so bad. I knew he would reject me, but I still tried anyway. It's so stupid. I'm so stupid for thinking it would work out."

"You're not stupid for trying. What did you say to him?" Lily continued, handing the water to you.

"I told him that he looked good and then he laughed at me, told me I was drunk and left to get you." You take a sip of water and take the pill. "I shouldn't have expected any differently. He never showed any signs that he was into me."

"What are you talking about? He's always staring at you when you're near." Lily says, confused.

"He's not. And even if he is, it doesn't matter because he rejected me last night.", you sigh.

"I'm sorry, babe. I'm sure you'll find someone else who likes you just as much as you like them." She smiles sympathetically. "We're going down for breakfast now, you wanna join us?"

"Yeah, you go. I'll come down in a bit. I want to take a shower first."

You go to your room to take a shower as soon as Lily and Alex leave to go to the breakfast hall, where they meet the rest of the group.

"Hey, guys. How's [Y/N] doing? She was pretty drunk last night, no? Is she very hungover?" Charles asks as soon as Lily and Alex sit across from him.

"Nothing aspirin can't fix." Alex smiled.

"She was acting pretty weird last night, told me I looked handsome and stuff. I've never seen her acting like that."

"Yeah, that's why she never flirts. She sucks at it, and people always think she's acting weird." Alex says laughing.

Charles looks surprised. "That was flirting? She was flirting with me?"

"Yes, Charles. I thought you knew she liked you?"

Charles shrugged, "I didn't know for sure, but I suspected it, yes.", he looked somewhat confused at the revelation.

"Look, maybe you should talk to her. She's really embarrassed about last night and would hate for things to get weird because you rejected her. Just to make sure everything's good between you two, you know?" Alex explained

"I didn't reject her? I just-" Charles is interrupted.

"Hey, [Y/N]! How you doing?" Lando asked her as you walked to the table.

"Hey, I'm fine. Just a bit hungover." you responded, a fake smile on your lips.

"I'm not surprised." He said laughing, "I've never seen you so drunk."

Your face flushed as you laughed awkwardly, taking place on the only available chair, next to Charles, of course.

You glare at Alex, knowing he did this on purpose. He shrugged his shoulders with a sneaky smile as he sipped his water. Naturally, he had to make sure the only open chair was the one next to Charles.

"You're not hungry?" Charles asked you, moving his face closer to your ear as the group moved on to the next topic.

"No, I don't think I can keep anything down right now." You responded with a small smile. "By the way, I'm sorry for last night. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable or anything."

"Oh, you didn't make me uncomfortable. I just thought you were very drunk, and it would be better for you to go back to the hotel."

You smiled tightly, looking away to avoid any eye contact.

"I didn't mean to reject you if that's what it seemed like."

You kept staring at the table, but you could feel your face becoming hotter as you picked at your nails to keep yourself occupied.

"I didn't think you were serious. You really are a bad flirter." Charles chuckled again.

You're face was surely as red as a tomato right now.

"If you come to dinner with me sometime, I'll show you how it's done."

Could your face get any redder? You don't think so. You look up at Alex sitting across from you. He looked away, pretending not to overhear the one-sided conversation Charles was having with you.

You nodded your head, "Okay" you said softly.

Charles put his arm on the back of your chair, "Great!" he said with a cheeky smile.

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc fanfiction #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 fanfiction #formula 1 #formula one #charles fanfic #CL16 fanfic #CL16 #CL16 x reader #CL16 one shot

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hotvintagepoll · 1 month

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Propaganda

Sharon Tate (Valley of the Dolls)— She quickly became a Hollywood "rising star" and sex symbol in her unfortunately short film career and was often referred to as a fashion/style trendsetter in her era. She was so beautiful and absolutely rocked every aesthetic her characters embodied - fancy Victorian vampire with a long red wig, cute super-spy sidekick with a beehive and Buddy Holly glasses, mysterious villainous femme-fatale witch...the list goes on! There's also been a long-standing rumor that the classic Malibu Barbie may have been visually inspired in part by a brief on-screen role of hers in the movie "Don't Make Waves", where she played a fashionable beach-goer. She only lived to 26, but she was an absolute icon of the 1960's!

Shima Iwashita (Goben no Tsubaki)—Shima Iwashita was THE leading lady of Shochiku (one of the 3 major movie studios in Japan) for over 16 years, including the entirety of 1960s. She's been two-time winner of the Blue Ribbon Awards for Best Actress and the winner of the Japanese Academy Award of actress in a leading role in 1977. Famously known in Japan as the actress best suited to wearing kimono, Iwashita often played elegant, strong-willed, and sometimes vengeful female characters. She is particularly adept at portraying women's independence and self-reliance, as well as their delicate inner feelings, and has portrayed a number of sentimental and individualistic women in her many period and contemporary dramas. Her talent was discovered by Yasujirō Ozu, one of the world's greatest filmmakers, who told Shochiku executives at the time, "She is an exceptional talent who comes along only once in a decade." Ozu cast her as the female lead in his final film An Autumn Afternoon before he died of cancer in 1963. Now at the age of 83, she is as beautiful as ever.

This is round 2 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Sharon Tate:

she was the sweetest person and great actress too!

Even though her career was cut short, she proved to be a talented and charismatic actress with plenty of potential. Known for her astonishing beauty, fashion choices and wonderful personality, she remains a Hollywood icon to this very day!!

she should be known for more than the terrible thing that happened to her. she was beautiful but also a burgeoning comedic actress and apparently an incredibly kind person

Shima Iwashita:

#shima iwashita #sharon tate #hotvintagepoll #fuck that old woman #ladies 2

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veroniquesboutique · 1 month

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Shooting Blanks - Suguru Geto x Reader

Your boyfriend Suguru Geto gets a Prince Albert piercing and makes you wait the whole 6 weeks before you can sleep with him again. You take advantage when the wait is over.

Title: Shooting Blanks

Rating: Explicit

Warnings:

AFAB!Reader, Female Reader, Explicit PV Sex, m-Overstimulation, light bondage, cum shot, creampie, cum eating, Oral Sex f-receiving, multiple orgasms, piercings, pet names (baby & darling mostly) m-Masturbation, consensual voyeurism

Characters & ships: boyfriend!Suguru Geto x Reader

Word count: 4.2k words

18+ Minors DNI!

More explicit below the cut

6 weeks. You had to wait 6 whole weeks to have sex with your beautiful boyfriend, Suguru Geto, as his newest piercing healed. Those weeks were very, very long, and when you received the calendar notification that your waiting period was up today, you almost left work early to greet him at the apartment, but he beat you to it, texting you as you were gathering your things to stay put because he was going to be home late, and it wasn’t worth using the sick time. So you sat down and got absolutely no work done for the next few hours as drool pooled in your mouth thinking about the terrible things you were going to do to him when you got home.

He beats you to it, though, because as you finally get home and slip your shoes off at the door, your boyfriend sidles up behind you and covers your eyes with his large, masculine hands. You hum in enjoyment, leaning back against his chest to feel his body against yours. It’s so warm, and he hulks over and around you, encapsulating your body in his wide stance. He smells of syrupy vanilla and smoky bourbon and shampoo in his long black hair wisping over his shoulders, over your shoulders, tickling your nose as he leans in close to your neck and breaths in deep.

“Hello, my love,” He murmurs, a smile on his lips pressed against the soft skin of your neck, and your body is practically vibrating in anticipation because 6 weeks is the longest amount of time, you think. It must be because it feels like an eternity since you last had him thrusting roughly into you, and the thought alone makes your knees weak.

“Hello,” You purr back, attempting to turn to him to make eye contact, but he follows your movements, keeping his hands covering your vision the whole time, “Something specific you’re hiding from me?”

“Just a surprise,” His voice is already slick with want, deep and rumbling and warm just like the heat radiating from his body.

“I love surprises.”

“I know,” He whispers before slowly starting to lead you into the bedroom you two share. Your steps are slow and shuffling as you try to avoid the corners of furniture that frequently like to bruise your shins, but finally, he sits you down on the bed. He blocks your view, towering above you, and he shimmies his tie off from around his neck. The silky, thin fabric shines in the lamplight as he reaches around you and binds your wrists together. You smile up at him; this territory is familiar, and after this long, anything this kinky is going to finish you in mere minutes.

“This is my kind of evening,” You whisper, starting to lean back, but he grabs you by the top of your head and sits you back upright. He is strong, he is stern, not forceful but commanding.

“You stay here. Sitting like this.” It’s an order, not an ask, so you sit up a little straighter and lick your lips. He finally moves out of your way, and sitting in front of the bed is a single chair. You can’t help but scrunch your face in confusion.

“What are you going to do?”

“You’ll see,” He teases, slowly undoing the buttons on his shirt with one of his hands and grinning at the torture he’s putting you through. You whine a little in desperation and frustration, but when the shirt falls from his shoulders and he flexes just for you, turning at the waist briefly to show off his back, you fall silent in awe. He chuckles and unbuttons his pants and lets them slip to the floor.

Geto is not wearing any underwear underneath.

His cock stands at attention before you, and you gasp, slurping up the drool dripping from your lips, locking eyes with the shiny new appliance adorning the tip of his impressive length.

The look of this piercing against his tan skin is not, on paper, surprising to you. He has other piercings - his earlobes have been done since high school, he said, and he had a lip piercing when you first met him, and he was bragging about how he had gotten his nipples done on your first date. These embellishments to his already perfect skin made him even more irresistible.

This piercing, however, makes a record scratch in your brain. It is beautiful, hugging the tip of his cock like your tongue does when it’s in your mouth, and it makes you want to rub your fingers against it, rub your tongue against it, feel it pressed against your most sensitive bits because he promised he’d do that when he told you he was going to be getting his Prince Albert done and needed a 6 week recovery window without temptation.

He smiles when he sees your eyes locked on his prize. “You like it?”

“I want it,” You whine out, shifting your weight on the bed as the heat starts to build between your legs. What is he doing? Why hasn’t he ripped your skirt, pushed it up to your waist, and slammed right into you?

“Ah, ah,” Geto teases, and finally you peel your eyes up to his, and they are looking awfully mischievous right now. “You are going to watch.”

“Watch?” You ask in disbelief. He wants you to just watch? Has he even seen himself? Does he know how hard that is?

“Watch,” He commands again, letting the words drip like hot honey off his tongue as he sits in the chair, legs spread facing you, his length already hard and dripping and bouncing off his toned abs. Your eyes are glued to his cock, and his eyes are glued to the absolutely crazed look on your face as his hand comes up to grip himself. His thighs tense at just that touch, and a shiver rips through him. “It’s been a while for me too, darling.”

He brings his hand slowly up his length, and he lets his head drop back, and you finally take in all of his body before you. His jaw is tense, and as he gulps down a breath of air, you watch his Adam’s apple bob in his throat, and it takes everything in your power to not sink your teeth into his neck. His chest is flushed red, and his arms and shoulder keep tensing as he slowly fists himself. His thighs - his beautiful, thick thighs - stretch out wider, and you have full view as his fingers travel up and down his length, a slick noise from the movements making your body ache for him.

He lets his thumb brush against the piercing, and the feeling sends a shock through him, his neck tensing.

“Does it feel good, baby?” You coo, watching him for a reaction, and he groans, rolling out his neck and brushing against it again.

“So, so good.”

“Am I going to get to watch you cum?” You ask, your voice dark and daring, and he pushes his hips up into his hands with another groan

“You’re supposed to be watching not talking.”

You grin, knowing you’re getting him all worked up. “I just want to taste it, baby. I just want to taste it so bad.” He lets out a softer moan at your words, and his hand speeds up, rubbing over his tip and all the way down his length, and his other hand is gripping the seat of the chair. “Please won’t you let me taste you?”

“You’ll get what you want soon,” He breathes out, lolling his head back up to look at you through his eyelashes. A blush has covered his face as well, his hair sticking to a light sheen of sweat on his forehead, and his eyes are glued to yours. You bite your lip and nod softly.

“I need it. I need you to fill me up, Suguru. Please, please come fuck me,” You beg, and you watch his pupils dilate and shrink. His grip tightens, and you see the veins throb in his cock in his hand as he drips all over his own fingers.

“Do you really need me?”

“Yes, yes, yes, I need you. Ruin me, I need you to ruin my body,” You coax, sitting up on your knees, your eyes flitting back down to his length as he pulses, throbs, twitches in his hand. The tip has become a beautiful violet color, sticky and wet with his mess, and his own eyes flutter close as his breathing stutters. “I want all of it, baby.”

Suddenly, he stands, kicking the chair out from underneath him, and he’s beside you in seconds. He still fists his cock with one hand, but with the other, he pushes you down on your back and slides you to just the right angle under him on the side of the bed. Placing one foot on the bed and the other firmly on the floor, he leans his head back, pushes his hips forward, and lets himself cum.

It douses your body, clinging to your neck and collarbone, the thin fabric of your shirt, staining your skirt, dripping onto the sheets from where it hit your arm, it’s in your hair, and somehow, none of it landed on your tongue, sticking out enticingly, and you are just a little furious.

The anger melts away seconds later when he’s pushing your skirt up to your waist, pulling your panties off in a singular swift movement, pulling your shirt up over your face, pushing your legs wide apart, and burying his cock to the hilt in you with no resistance. You call out, arching your back at the sudden feeling of fullness, but his softening cock hardens right back up inside you, and you can suddenly feel his new piercing pressing against your G spot like its a doorbell, and your tongue goes stupid. You can’t even think it all feels so good.

“Is that what you wanted?” He groans in your ear, enveloping your body with his, and he thrusts once experimentally, and the cry that rips from your throat at how nice it feels after so long would be embarrassing if your legs weren’t already shaking with pleasure. You’re lost in the foggy haze of arousal, unable to say anything to Suguru, simply panting into his mouth as his lips find yours, sucking on your tongue as he starts to pound into you.

“I….need….you…” You moan out of your mouth between hiccups as his hips ram into yours, and your brain turns to mushy white noise each time his tip hits deep into you, spasming all of your muscles into what might be the best orgasm you will ever have.

“You have me, darling, you have me,” He whispers comfortingly into your ear. You arch your back, your jaw wretched and frozen open as you try to pull in air. With an uncontrollable need to get him to fuck you deeper, harder, rougher, more more more, you wrap your legs around his waist and push him into you, and it makes him chuckle so deep in your ear that it vibrates your spine and you have to grip the sheets with your still bound hands to keep yourself tethered to the moment.

“More, please, more,” You moan, desperate, and he obliges, pulling your legs up so your knees are to your shoulders, and this new angle splits you open. You have never felt this full before, and at this point, you’re past an orgasm. Your brain is melting out your ears as your pussy throbs around him, and it pushes him on, slamming into you harder and faster, and your bound hands can finally claw at his thighs under you, leaving red angry marks as you try to pull him even closer

“I’m going to cum again,” He grunts, gripping your hips even harder, and you nod, bobbling your head dumbly at his words

“Inside me, please, please.”

That’s all it takes for him to lose it, and you feel him sputter inside you, pouring himself into you, warming you from the inside, melting you, and makes your toes curl. His face is scrunched in pleasure, and his fingers are gripping you so hard that they’ll leave bruises, but it doesn’t matter because the look on his face leaves you needing even more.

“Again, please, more,” You beg, and it breaks his concentration on the pleasure pulsing through his veins.

“I don’t know if I can go again-” He starts, leaning back, but you push up onto your knees and interrupt him.

“I am going to milk you dry, Suguru,” You declare, determined, as you push him back onto the bed, his head lolling off the end.

“Wait, love, hold-” But you cut him off as you settle in his lap, taking his again softening length and settling it between your slick slit before grinding against him. His piercing is now brushing against your neglected clit, and it feels like your body is on fire with the lightning electricity dancing across your skin at every touch. You can feel his cum dripping out of you and onto him, and when he moans, he looks back up at you with pain and pleasure covering his face, his teeth biting into his bottom lip so hard that it might draw blood. “It’s too much,” He whispers, but you can’t stop yourself.

“I need to fuck you again, Suguru, please, I need more.” You feel your begging work as he lengthens, hardens, grows in your wetness, and you sit up on your knees, and when you guide him into you, Suguru’s hands shoot up to your waist with a cry.

“Gentle, please.”

“Okay, baby, yes, gentle,” You nod, you agree, you babble, but your hips say otherwise as you bounce up and down on his length, speeding up when you hear him whimper and moan and whine beneath you because it is simply too much for both of you. His legs tremble, and you settle into his lap again, grinding against him so you can rub your clit against his pelvic bone and feel him kiss your cervix and you’re wild with how badly you want to cum. “Use your hands, please, please, please-”

And he obliges, taking the thumb of his free hand to press against your clit, and you clench around him in response, and when you see the tears start to bubble in his eyes, it just urges you forward, grinding against him at as punishing a speed as your hips could manage. Your walls are spasming with pleasure, and it ripples up his length, and you can feel his heartbeat inside you. Your pants melt to moans, loud loud moans of his name and curses and pleading for him to make you cum. His cheeks are bright red, so pretty, and his hair is sticking to his wet skin all over his body, and his breathing is harsh as you push him closer and closer to an edge.

“I can’t cum anymore,” He groans, and the bite of his nails in the flesh of your hip is delectable.

“I can,” You let out a soft giggle, and his ab muscles contract at the sound. “I haven’t even once!”

“My love,” He’s nearly begging now, and you can hear the wobble of overwhelmed tears in his voice, but it makes you wetter, faster, slicker, needier.

“I want you shooting blanks at the end of this,” You purr, and as you arch your back and crane your neck to stare at the ceiling, you reach back with your bound hands and palm at his flesh, dragging your fingers up his inner thighs, near the base of his length, gripping at his balls. His knees stutter, his breathing stops, and you feel a weak release deep inside you again.

However, you still haven’t cum, and as he whimpers below you, all you want is more.

You still on his lap and push out your bottom lip in a pout. “Suguru, more, please more.”

He brings his hand up to your mouth, cutting off your words, and he catches his breath, sniffling and sucking back tears. His chest bounces with his sporadic breath, and when he finally picks his head up, he looks barely there, lost in a fog of sex and pleasure behind his eyes. His arm is weak, shaky, and his legs vibrate underneath you.

“Just give me a moment,” He whispers before slowly slipping three of his fingers into your mouth. You take it greedily, licking at his skin, swallowing him down as far as he’ll go, sucking frantically needing more. He smiles up at you, so soft it slows your heart just a tad, before he shifts underneath you, picks you up, and places you on your back on the bed. Removing his fingers, he slides down your body, spreading your legs and resting his head on your inner thigh to stare at your messy, sloppy core. “Let me clean you up a little.”

You nod, knowing exactly what he means, needing exactly what he means, and when his tongue slowly drags up your skin to your slit for the first time, you writhe into the pillows, gripping the sheets as a new flooding warmth of pleasure courses through you.

Suguru’s cock was great, but his tongue did things no one could dream of. Absolutely magical, mind-boggling things, and as he licked the cum dripping out of your opening, it shot the pleasure you were looking for directly into your brain. He is slow and deliberate with his movements, sticking to cleaning you, making sure to lick every inch of skin he can reach. He presses soft kisses to the sensitive parts of you, and you can’t help but pant like a dog in response, spreading your legs even wider for him to reach.

His tongue swirls inside you, dipping deep, and you grind your hips softly against his face. When you look down your nose to sneak a peek of the action, you match his eyes as he watches your every reaction, and it absolutely ruins you even more to know he’s getting off on pleasuring you. You grip your hands into the sheets behind you, humping harder against his face, and he lets you use him to chase your high.

“Suguru,” You whine out, carrying out the vowel into a high-pitch squeal.

He takes this as a sign you’re close, and it’s when he replaces his tongue with two fingers deep and fast inside you and sucks your clit between his lips that you finally lose it. You feel the waves of orgasm finally overtake your brain, and it rushes out of you from between your legs and all over Geto’s face. Your back arches almost painfully into the feeling, and you press your face into the pillow next to you to drown out the loud cries involuntarily escaping your throat

“That’s it, good girl, just like that,” He moans against you, continuing to lap up the wetness spilling from you, and your body convulses with the feeling until your brain is mushy and content.

Unfortunately for you, Geto wants his payback.

Just as you settle into the feeling of finally, finally being relieved of the throbbing need that had been pestering you for 6 straight weeks, you look down at him between your legs and see him gently stroking himself again.

“You taste so good, my love,” He murmurs, and suddenly, you’ve been flipped on your stomach, and he’s positioning you on your knees and spreading your legs wide to fit his overwhelming presence.

“Again already?” You ask, wiggling your hips enticingly, and he slaps your ass in response.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” He asked, and you can feel his length prodding against your sensitive hole.

“Aren’t you a little shit?” You mock back, but you take your hands, still stuck behind your back, and spread you ass cheeks apart for easy access. “I’m all yours, baby.”

And he takes that as permission, pushing deep into you again, and it hurts so good that your toes curl immediately and you see stars in your vision as he bottoms out, draping his body over you and fucking into you with relentless speed. You squeak every time he hits deep inside, your mouth stuck open like a doll.

“I…thought…you…were…tired…” You manage between thrusts, and he rumbles laughter into your ear that shakes you straight down to your cunt.

“And then I saw how hot you are. God, you’re fucking irresistible,” He presses open mouth kisses against you back, his lips stinging your back with greed. It’s when he digs his teeth into your back that you can finally feel the gears in your brain turn, and you yelp a little at the pain. You can feel the piercing rubbing against your walls, making your stomach flutter and your toes curl as it pokes and prods.

“I-I like it,” You mumble into the sheets, and when Suguru lightly hums for clarification, you groan it louder. “I like the piercing!” He buries himself deep in you and kisses the soft spot below your ear.

“Good, that was the point.” Another hard thrust. “Touch yourself, darling.”

He barely even had to ask. Your fingers find the bud between your legs, and soon, you’re frantically chasing another orgasm as his hips rocket against yours. Your walls throb in time to his heartbeat in his cock, and if you thought about it for a while, you’d probably think it was romantic, but right now thinking is hard, and it’s probably for the better that the only thing in your brain is just Suguru’s name like a chant to the Gods.

“Fuck, baby, fuck, you feel so good all used like this,” He moans, massaging the flesh of your thighs with his thick fingers, and you can feel the blood rushing to the irritated skin, your nerves sensitive from his manipulation. You press harder against your clit, and your toes curl with need, a wet moan slipping from your lips.

“So big, Suguru, so big,” You mumble, clenching around him to punctuate your thought, and he stutters at the feeling. You turn to see his eyes roll to the back of his head as he gives you a few more thrusts before falling atop you, kissing you, licking at your lips, biting your tongue. His cock spasms inside you, barely leaking the little he has left to give.

The feeling deep inside is victorious, and it helps push you over the edge to your own final orgasm. It has you screaming out, your whole body vibrating with pleasure that turns your vision white before collapsing from your knees. Geto falls atop you as well, careful not the crush you but fully enveloping your much smaller body. Curling up against him, you moan, almost purring, in pleasure, and he welcomes you to him by wrapping his arms around you.

“That was wonderful,” You whisper, stretching your neck to kiss his nose as he finally reaches around to untie your hands. With a brief rub at your wrists, you shift and turn, wrapping your own arms around his neck. You are as close to him as you physically can be, and sometimes even that doesn’t feel like enough.

“It was a lot, that’s for sure.”

“That’s what happens when you make me wait.”

“It was six weeks!” He scoffs a laugh, disbelieving but still playfully smirking. You laugh too, letting a warmth cover your face.

“I genuinely think six weeks is the longest we’ve ever waited. Honestly, give me a half hour, and we can go again.”

He groans, crossing his legs just at the thought of the feeling. “I’m going to need a few days.”

“A few days?!” Your mouth drops open, and he laughs again at your reaction.

“If I promise to go down on you again tonight, do you think you can make it?”

You purse your lips in fake consideration before giving him an over-exaggeratedly sad nod. “I guess, if you hate me, that’ll do…”

“You’re absolutely ridiculous!” He grabs a pillow and gently bats the top of your head with it.

“All I’m saying is don’t ever make me wait that long again,” You wink, and he kisses your forehead softly, pulling you closer.

“Was it worth it?” He whispers, pressing his hips towards you, and you nod wildly.

“You tell me,” You coax, and you reach down, gripping his cock suddenly in your hand, rubbing your thumb along the cool metal of his piercing. He shivers, pulling away quickly.

“Watch it!”

“Worth it, but I never want you to do it again.” You sigh in relief, wiggling from his grasp to lie on your back on the bed. You spread your legs wide, showing a new slick wetness off to him before shooting a glance over at him, your eyebrow high on your face. “Ready to go now?”

209 notes · View notes

merakiui · 8 months

Text

boyfriend.

yandere!female!riddle rosehearts x (female) reader cw: yandere, nsfw, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, obsession, implied (cyber)stalking, cheating, dub-con, alcohol/intoxication, characters written as 18+ note - riddle seeks to prune the filthy weeds from your life, starting with your ill-mannered boyfriend. // inspired by dove cameron's boyfriend.

i. i can’t believe we’re finally alone. i can’t believe i almost went home. what are the chances? everyone’s dancing, and he’s not with you.

Riddle has never traveled to this part of the city before—the seedy, unsavory sliver overshadowed by towering skyscrapers, illicit, perilous secrets tucked away in every alley. It’s not as if she’s here under duress. Although if you were to frame it from her perspective, it would feel less like an active, consensual choice and more of a you’ve-forced-my-hand choice. It’s blatant rule-breaking all the same, a stain on her delicate character. Blight on her shiny social status as a golden child, forever marked as the obedient one.

She’s lived her rebellious streak, was punished swiftly and accordingly, and strived to be better in the aftermath. It was one thing to slip out during independent study, and that fun had been trampled upon by a cruel, heeled foot. That was a child’s error. A lesson learned. A valid reason to sever all distractions and improve academically, consequently maturing with sharp, sparkling intelligence and abysmal social skills.

But Riddle is no longer that starry-eyed, impressionable child, and she does not make the same mistake twice.

Or so she’s always believed, but she’s willing to risk an unforgiving tongue-lashing and life imprisonment at the hands of her mother if it means she can fix things. No matter how she spins it, the truth remains the same: She’s fallen back on an old habit, sneaking out and keeping secrets. She’s an open book to Trey, though, who she’d taken care to message on the train ride into the city, her text mostly cryptic: Should anything happen, this is where I’ll be. It’s wrong to skirt around the truth, especially when it’s your closest friend. She knows this, but then she also knows Trey gives terribly good advice. The type of terribly good advice you often don’t want to hear.

Advice like: “You need to let her go.”

And Riddle can’t—won’t.

So she steps into the digital footprints left by that brash, brutish party animal you lovingly call your boyfriend, and she follows the string of social media posts like a diligent detective, flicking through each with manicured fingernails. She commits them to memory so that they remain imprinted in her mind before they’ll eventually expire at the twenty-four hour mark.

In the days leading up to tonight, Cater had taken her out for their usual self-care makeover day, which was really just a day dedicated to dressing up and gossiping at the salon. It was a monthly arrangement, and it kept the both of them entertained and sane. The latter of those two was called into question when Riddle, wholly out of character, selected black nail polish for her mani-pedi, which left Cater looking on with brewing curiosity. She gazed at him, pouty lips upturned slyly, and said, “I thought I’d give red a temporary break.”

“Oh, but red is so your color!” he insisted, raising his phone to capture both of them in frame.

Riddle smiled at the camera. “I know.”

It has always been her color, a staple in her closet. It’s a favorite she can never truly shake, hence why it stains her lips instead. Bright like arterial blood, a blossoming carnation, it stands out starkly on her pale countenance—the only splotch of color on her person. Cater took her shopping when he’d learned she was attempting to fit a new style into her wardrobe of prim, modest clothes. They ran up and down the racks, grinning at each other from across the store and holding up sweaters and skirts, weighing whether either would suit Riddle’s night out. In the end, she settled for the outfit she wears now: a red tube top, a cropped puffer jacket, a pencil skirt that doesn’t pass the fingertip test (not that she cares to follow that rule), tights, and knee-high heeled boots. To finish the look, she’s pulled her hair from its usual plaits, allowing it to cascade down her back like a crimson waterfall. Fingerless lace gloves adorn her hands, stitched with intricate patterns of roses and thorns.

Cater called it the Femme Fatale Friday fit. It’s a Saturday night, but it feels like Friday when she peers at her reflection in a pocket mirror, checking her makeup once more.

She will not make the same mistake twice. She’s a paragon of perfection—Riddle Rosehearts, for seven’s sake!

Stuffing the mirror into a matching handbag, she eyes the skyscraper looming before her, sleek with its metal framework and industrial glass. The bright cityscape reflects off of each window, dazzling with luminous specks of light. She considers the contents in her purse, reviews each with a critical eye, and inhales a steadying breath.

This is necessary.

She’s an adult now, nearly finished with her graduate studies. She lives on her own in a quaint, pet-friendly apartment with her hedgehog, and she works part-time at the café down the street, putting forth her best effort as she weathers the woes of university. Despite all of this independence, she doesn’t feel like an adult.

Not when she can hear her mother in the back of her head: You look ridiculous. Come home right now before you make a fool of yourself and sully my good name.

Riddle scowls at the concrete, curling her fingers into fists.

She’s an adult now. She is not her mother’s doll.

Leaving all hostility and self-doubt at the door, she steps through the lobby and beelines for the lift. It carries her to her destination—one of the highest floors. A penthouse suite.

And not just any penthouse suite. Floyd Leech’s penthouse suite.

Under normal circumstances, she would never willingly set foot in his territory. She survived four years of school with him, which was already a sickening amount, and in that time she watched him glide through his undergraduate with just barely passing grades. That wasn’t enough to stoke the red-hot embers of envy, though. It only made him seem even more like a cockroach, unable to be crushed by the weight of scholarly responsibilities, for he never took anything seriously.

For that reason, Riddle has never envied Floyd. But by the end of their third year, he had something Riddle didn’t.

He had you.

How he managed to settle into a relationship when all he did was slack off, party, and break the rules was beyond Riddle. He was a slippery delinquent, hardly deserving of your sweet affections, and yet you looked at him like he was the only one on the planet. Just where was the appeal? His manner of dress is sloppy. The way he carries himself is unpalatable and crude. The way he acts suggests his insipience is incurable. Even when he applies himself, he is still Floyd and that doesn’t clean his slate or shine his reputation. So in Riddle’s discerning eyes, he does not possess a scintilla of romantic appeal.

You don’t seem to agree with these sentiments, for you’ve been with Floyd for four long years.

Love is blinding, but Riddle has never been in love before and so she doesn’t have adequate data to prove this point. It was forbidden in her home. She’s only allowed to love the men her mother handpicks, plucking each specimen like they’re ripened strawberries from a bush. In the beginning she found all manner of minor details to excuse them from her life, insisting upon a nonexistent list of impossibly high standards. He was too tall. He was too forward with his interest. He wore contrasting colors. He didn’t like tea. These reasons were far too critical and childish, and each man had been sent away in a huff. Her mother would scold her, halving her with a nasty glare: “Are you planning to die alone?”

Yes, Riddle realized by the twentieth admonishment, yet another man cast aside. If dying alone means romantic freedom in life, I’ll do just that.

The elevator spits her out into the hall, which isn’t as silent as she thought it’d be. Bass shakes through the walls, reverberating all the way through her ribs as if it intends to stir up her organs. She catches her reflection in the windows, noting the dark, monstrous scowl, and smooths her face into something courageous. She means business as she clicks down the hall, preparing herself for the whirlwind that undoubtedly waits behind the door. Riddle starts to wonder how Floyd’s neighbors have yet to file a noise complaint and then stops, her thoughts cutting off abruptly. It’s a challenge to make complaints when your father holds parts of the city’s underground in his palms.

He’s got it easy, that spoiled pest.

Riddle’s gait slows to a halt and she reaches out to knock thrice. The door is thrown open before she can even bring her fist down. Soon she’s staring at a rosy-cheeked stranger, whose eyes trace her figure like he’s trying to paint her on his mental canvas. She’s prepared for the worst, having tucked the spray in her bag, its container disguised to look like lipstick. The strawberry keychain hanging from her purse is a self-defense alarm, ready to be pulled at a moment’s notice. His ogling does not frighten her, nor do his intentions, if he can even harbor any in that intoxicated brain of his. She’s braved scarier horrors. Like living out years of her life with her mother.

“Heyyy, you one of Floyd’s girls? Here for the party?”

Riddle suppresses the disgusted shiver threatening to crawl up her spine, swallowing bile. “Just the party.”

She is no one’s girl. Definitely not Floyd’s.

When she’s let inside and the stench of sweat and alcohol assault her nostrils, coupled with the too-loud party music, she considers retreating, her mother’s judgment echoing: You look ridiculous. Her fingers twitch towards her purse. One text and Trey would pick her up. One call and Cater would be on his way. But then she’d be forced to tell them the truth—would have to admit that she’s chasing the one person she can never have.

She hardens her resolve, pushes through the throng of bodies in an effort to find refreshments, and there you are, her perfect, pretty wallflower in a perfect, pretty silver dress. The dim neon lighting casts you in a luscious pink haze, and she watches you scroll through your phone, your eyelids falling and opening. You’re so beautiful—the sweetest thing she’s ever seen, more saccharine than a truckload of strawberry tarts. Her hand slides away from her purse, and she tamps down a gleeful smile, stepping over to you with newfound confidence.

“(Name)?”

You turn your whole body towards her, your gaze unfocused. She can smell the liquor on you, can see the hickeys not quite covered by a velvet choker. Her gaze narrows. He’s all over you, isn’t he? From top to bottom, you are covered in traces of him. Her nose scrunches. Just what do you see in him?

It should be her teeth on your skin, tearing it open, bruising it, tasting slick copper on her tongue. It should have always been her, but it’s not. Why did you have to settle for less when you’re entitled to so much more?

You peer at her like she’s something in a museum, perplexing and abstract. And then it clicks. You gasp, your mouth falling open in awe, and your words come out horribly slurred. She fails to hide her wince when you throw your arms around her, hanging off of her like a tote on a shoulder.

“Riddle! You…seriously showed up… Can’t believe it’s really you. It feels like it’s been forever.” You pull away, swaying with the motion, and place your hands on her arms. “Your outfit is suuuper cute.”

She’s blushing. She knows she is because her face is burning with heat and suddenly it’s much too stifling in here. “Oh. Ah, um, t-thank you very much�� You look very nice, too.”

Really? Is that the best thing I could say? ‘You look very nice’? Honestly, Riddle…

But you smile, and the sight steals her heart all over again. You can have it. By all means take her heart. Take it and love it to pieces. That way it will be fair when she takes yours. An even exchange in accordance with the rules of love.

Or maybe it’s more so the rules of romantic warfare, carried out to the extreme on a chessboard. Or a croquet court. Something sporty and metaphorical, anyway.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” she asks, refusing to say his name lest she speak him into existence and tarnish her near-perfect evening.

Her question strikes a chord within you, and you heave an exaggerated sigh. You cross your arms over your chest, leaning against the wall for support. “Left me to go hang with the guys. S’not fair!” you whine, sliding further down until you’re sitting in a defeated heap.

Riddle bends down to your height, her tone as soft and sympathetic as her expression. “Does he always do this?”

Hurt flashes across your face, but you don’t say anything. So he does. Why is she not surprised?

Who in the world leaves their partner at a party, vulnerable and alone? Riddle thinks, anger flaring up in her chest. Someone could take advantage of you. You’re in no state to be standing here by yourself. That fool… He doesn’t know how to treat a lady at all. How have you put up with him for four years? Your patience amazes me.

“It’s not like…” You shut your eyes and rest your head against the wall. “Not like an always-happening thing…”

Riddle isn’t going to sugarcoat it. She wants her words to cut deep, all the way to the heart you’ve allowed Floyd to bind. “Whether or not he does it often, the fact still stands that he left you intoxicated in the corner of this room. That’s careless and unsafe.” She tilts her head, admiring the way you’ve done your makeup, the way your plush lips jut out in a miserable pout. And it just rushes out, words she’s thought but never had the courage to say. At least, not to the sober you. “I wouldn’t do that to you. You deserve so much better.”

Like me, she almost adds, but that’s too direct. And she’s not even sure the admission will land when you’re so out of it.

“Appreciate it…” You scrub your face, groaning. “Ugh. I feel sick…”

“Would you like to get some fresh air?”

You shake your head, stubborn to a fault. “Can’t. Gotta wait for Floyd.”

Riddle frowns. “I highly doubt he’s coming back anytime soon.”

“Still.”

“At the very least, let’s get you some water.” She offers her hand, hoping and praying to the heavens above that you’ll take it.

You do. It’s a flawless fit. Her heart flutters, weightless and feathery, when her fingers close around yours. She wonders what moisturizer you use, what sort of lotions kiss your skin. Are they scented, or is that just your perfume? Or have you done away with perfume for tonight and is that a natural fragrance? Or maybe it’s the sweet scent of a fruity wine, printed on your tongue like a delicious tattoo.

She wants to kiss you.

“Just how much have you had to drink?”

“Like a cup or two? I…dunno. Does it matter?”

You stumble when she helps you up, grabbing at her shoulder for support. Riddle almost falls back, but the wall braces her. You place your palm right by her head, and suddenly you’re leaning in, inadvertently pinning her to the wall. Her pupils nearly eclipse her blue-grey irises, and her breath sticks in her throat. Oh, you’re so close. You’re a drunken mess, pushing yourself up against her, your beauty enveloping her like a chrysalis. If this is a dream, she never wants to wake, for the world that awaits her beyond this is cold and colorless.

Your head lowers to the dip between shoulder and neck, and she gazes heavenward. The ceiling is much nicer at this moment, if only so she can clear her own heady haze of impure thoughts.

There are people about, she has to remind herself, shaking off the urge to close her fingers around your chin and tilt your head up to meet her mouth. And she has a boyfriend. Just because I can doesn’t mean I should.

But the chance is much too beguiling. You’re right here, quite literally within her reach, and Floyd’s nowhere in sight. It’s too perfect. She can’t quite wrap you in an affectionate embrace—though that is an irresistible urge she must fight off—so she settles to rub circles into your back instead, dutifully reflecting the role of a concerned friend. It’s not the part she wishes to play. Rather, she’d gladly take on the title of boyfriend if it meant you’d feel loved. Every day, at every hour, for the rest of your life. She’d do all the things Floyd ought to do: care for you, appreciate you, protect you, stay by your side through thick and thin.

Love is a dangerous, thorny thing, but it’s the encroaching jealousy that kills.

Floyd doesn’t deserve you. If anything, he deserves a mouth full of soap to scrub every profanity he’s ever uttered. Just what does he tell you in bed? That you’re a good girl? That you’re soooo tight? That you can take it? Does he know which ways you like it? Does he know where to touch so you’ll unravel faster? Does he know how to get you properly, thoroughly worked up, so much so that it feels like your skin is aflame with potent want and desire?

Does he even know your anatomy, or are you simply a body for his avaricious appetite?

Like roses twining possessively around a trellis, Riddle holds you close in her arms, her hand sweeping across your lower back. Her glacial eyes scan the crowd, warding off anyone who may be curious with her most malevolent death stare.

“Mm… I need to lie down. My head is…spinning…”

With that, the murderous, overprotective haze sticking to Riddle like a poisonous fog dissipates. A sickly sweet smile widens on ruby-red lips. “Let’s find someplace quiet.”

Together, the two of you stagger-walk out of the room, leaving the party and its inhabitants behind. Crossing through the attached kitchenette, Riddle pilfers a bottled water from the fridge.

Her mind is sharp as a cut diamond. Her skin prickles with anticipation.

Down the hall you go, with Riddle supporting you with what minimal physical strength she has. A door looms before the both of you, cast in a comfortable glow from a neighboring skyscraper, and you struggle to pull your heels off while she pushes the door open. It reveals a messy room, clothing and candy wrappers strewn about sloppily.

Riddle feels like she’s on top of the world, and she is. Up in the clouds on the forty-third floor of this luxurious penthouse apartment.

ii. i could be a better boyfriend than him. i could do the shit that he never did. up all night, i won’t quit.

All throughout her undergraduate, Riddle pined. Hopelessly. Forlornly. Desperately.

Hungrily.

It was unbecoming to want something to such an obsessive degree. She buried herself in her studies to do away with lustful delusions, each more distracting than the last. But then you would crop up in her life when she least expected it and soon the two of you were studying together. Soon you were visiting her dorm to watch movies during the times in which she allowed herself the break (and she only did so because it was you). Soon you were spending nights in her room, sleeping sprawled on the floor even though she offered her bed time and time again. You’d get ready in the mornings, debating what the breakfast menu would entail. She’d watch your reflection in the floor mirror as you pulled your shirt up and over your head, eyeing the way you slid seamlessly into a lacy black bra. And then she’d change out of her nightgown, and you’d comment on her undergarments.

“We should go shopping sometime. You gotta get cuter stuff!”

“Why should I? No one’s going to see it,” she insisted with a flustered huff.

“I’ll see it the next time I sleep over,” you told her, smiling innocently as you stepped into a blue handkerchief skirt. “Besides, there are so many cute sets you could wear. You’d look so pretty in something red and frilly. You’re totally missing out.”

Riddle considered it back then. Your eager eyes had almost won her over, but she was firm in her decision. “I’m fine with what I have now.”

And the conversation ended there. She really wishes you would have pushed it back then because just a little nudge in that direction and she would have given in, entirely at your mercy.

Selfishly, she just yearned to be stuck in a changing stall with you.

All throughout her undergraduate, Riddle fostered a special sort of friendship with you. You’d stop by her dorm during finals to insist she take a break, your offer too tempting. She’s always been weak to sweets. You were close enough to exchange intimate details with one another. She listened to all of your dating woes, and conversely you’d sit still and bear witness to her ramblings about fascinating law facts. Sometimes she’d rant about her mother. You always listened. “She sounds like she sucks,” you said once. “How are you even related to her? You’re so nice.”

It was a pleasant three years. If she deluded herself enough, she could have pretended you were her girlfriend and then she’d have something to tell her mother to put an end to the countless attempts at scoring her a husband. I will never marry any of your options, she would think, playing the confrontation out in her head. I have a partner now and we’re very happy together. Sometimes Riddle imagined her mother tossing darts at a board with photographs of men attached to it, disregarding compatibility altogether in favor of upholding traditional rules. But then Riddle realized she’d have to die before she could ever admit her own romantic freedoms to her mother, and so that conversation only ever came about in daydreams.

I’d rather die alone than live life shackled in a loveless marriage. She wonders if her father thought the same.

Those three years had been a wonderful reality, filled with sugared, candy-coated love. A one-sided love, sure. But Riddle could settle for platonic affections, for that was just as sweet.

And then he arrived at the doorstep to Riddle’s fantasy cottage, kicking the walls down and sweeping you off your feet.

Floyd Leech has always been a nuisance. You were there to shoo him away every time he came knocking, all broad grins and vexatious jeers. He listened to you most days, a mutt without proper leashing, oddly loyal to you. As if you were his keeper of sorts. Riddle was amazed, befuddled, and worried all at once. Unlike her, you could keep your cool, could still smile so kindly even when Floyd was being an utter pain in the ass with his foolish nicknames. When he tried to pluck Riddle’s hairpin from out of her braids—a handmade gift you had given her for her birthday—she slapped him hard across the face and hissed, “Don’t ever put your filthy paws on me again.”

And maybe it was because you were there that she was able to recover shortly after the outburst. (Although she still meant that slap with every fiber of her being.) Maybe you were her collar. Maybe you were her keeper. Maybe she was meant to meet you so that you could color her world, lead her along into the friendship she’d been robbed of as a child.

Looking back, Riddle realizes that was the catalyst. Because when Floyd cradled his bright-red cheek, giggling like a maniac, you asked him, “Don’t you have anything better to do? Can’t you bother someone else?”

And then you were made the prime target.

What’s worse is that you reveled in it, adored every ounce of attention Floyd gave you like it was something holy, later admitting to Riddle during a movie marathon that you “wondered if Floyd was seeing anyone.” She wanted to retch. You, a seraph incarnate, with a devil like Floyd? Impossible. But your tone was so whimsical; you were dreaming of it. You liked him.

She couldn’t believe it. Didn’t want to believe it.

By the end of her third year, just as finals gave way to summer, you threw your arms around Floyd’s neck while he pressed you up against the trunk of a flowering tree. Pink petals fluttered to the ground, and with the falling blossoms came Riddle’s hope, crashing and burning in a heartbroken heap.

She won’t make the same mistake twice, which is precisely why, when you flop onto Floyd’s unmade bed, she turns the lock to keep all outside influences away. The party is but a mere muffle now, thrumming through the floorboards with reckless abandon.

Her nose wrinkles at the pile of dirty laundry. Slob, she thinks, brimming with hate. What does she see in you? You’re a mess, you’re definitely a criminal, you can’t keep a stable job, you throw obnoxious parties every other week, you leave your own girlfriend unattended… What part of that is appealing? She gazes at you next. You’re too good for him, (Name). You can do so much better. Raise your standards. Find someone respectable and attentive. Someone who’ll stay with you forever. Someone who won’t let you get stupidly drunk and then run off to Queen-knows-where.

“Someone like me,” she mutters.

You have to be coerced into drinking, and you’re so sleepy that the water dribbles down your chin. Riddle tuts at you, swiping the liquid away with her sleeve.

“You’re a mess,” she says, affectionate despite the barb.

You’re my mess.

She slides your heels off, casting them elsewhere. You look like a starfish when you lay sprawled, or maybe you’re more like a snow angel. Only rather than snow, you imprint yourself amongst wrinkled sheets. Riddle knows it’s wrong, but you’re right here. She’s waited so many years for a moment like this one.

It’s not fair.

She unzips her boots, kicks them off, and stands at the edge of the bed, locked in a fierce debate. You should have thrown your arms around her that day. You should have kissed her, should have spent the last four years with her, should have stayed in her life like the permanent fixture you were destined to be. She’s never wanted anything more than this. Not even a surplus of strawberry tarts. Not even the dreams she’s working tirelessly towards achieving. She’s only ever wanted you.

But Floyd took you away, and her world has never been the same since.

The mattress dips under her weight; she’s made up her mind.

“Do you remember the promise we made?” she whispers, running her hands up your legs. You lift your head to look at her, eyes glassy with inebriated exhaustion. “The one in which we’d live together after graduation? You said you’d want to live somewhere pet-friendly so we could get hedgehogs and name them Tweedledee and Tweedledum.”

You hum, your lashes fluttering.

“We could still do that. Just you and me. Without your boyfriend.”

“What?”

Her fingers catch on the waistband of your panties. “Hm?”

“Mm, no, nothing… You should get going. It’s late…” “Someone has to look after you.”

“Floyd can.”

She presses her thumbs into your hips and the tiniest gasp leaves your parted lips. “But Floyd’s not.”

“He will.”

“He won’t,” she snaps. Something flickers in your eyes, a flash of unrest. Riddle chews her lower lip. “He’s… (Name), what do you see in him? Honestly, truly, what is it? Please educate me. Please… What does he have that I don’t? What makes you stay?”

“Cuz he’s my boyfriend,” you mutter slowly, perplexed, “and I love him.”

“Do you?”

“Riddle, why are you so…” The words fizzle out on your tongue when her touch strays too close to home. “Wait… We can’t… Not in here.”

“Why not? It’s just one more mess. He won’t even notice.”

“That’s not it… Riddle, wait. I… I don’t like you in that—”

She collapses, anchoring herself to you, her manicured nails digging deep into your arms. And then her mouth is on yours, clumsy and uncoordinated. She doesn’t want to hear it—can’t bear to hear it. She knows the truth. It’s haunted her from the day she met you, a shadow looming like a guillotine’s blade. You were fated to be forever out of reach. Just like those strawberry tarts in the bakery window. The kiss is filthy, all desire and zero skill. Her tongue flashes into your mouth. It’s nothing like the way they describe it in fiction or portray it in films. It’s obscene. Sinful. Libidinous. Her lipstick smears; she tastes the wine in your throat, licks your teeth and nibbles your lip, delicate and gruesome all at once. She tries her best, unyielding.

The technique doesn’t matter. Not now, anyway. It’s just blind, unrequited passion. She’ll learn it eventually and when she does she’ll kiss you drunk. It’s just another thing she’ll master. And she will because that’s just who she is. Give her a textbook and she’ll have it memorized. Give her a kiss and she’ll return to practice it to perfection.

She pulls away, panting, her lipstick in disarray. It’s all over you, smudging on the corners of your mouth. Running a hand through her hair, her figure outlined in the tantalizing glow from the city lights, she licks her lips.

“Riddle…”

Spoken soft like prayer, it’s a whisper she’ll treasure. Over and over, without end, repeat it like a mantra.

“Riddle, please…”

“He doesn’t know anything about your preferences, does he?” Your dress is slid up next. She traces a heart into your bare stomach, capturing your navel in invisible lines. You shudder under her touch, grabbing at her wrist with a limp hand. She brings it up to her lips and presses a chaste kiss to the top of it. “I know you much better than he does. I always have.”

To prove it, she presses two fingers to your clothed pussy. You whine, reedy and high-pitched. “But…”

“I read it takes fourteen minutes for women to reach their end during partnered sex.” She levels you with a half-lidded stare, smirking. What she lacks in skill, she makes up for in raw confidence. “I’ll only need less than that, so you won’t have to feign anything for my sake. I know you well enough, my rose.”

A wide range of emotions waltzes across your countenance. Your arm falls over your face next. It’s defeat or hesitant acceptance, but to Riddle it’s love.

“Ten minutes,” you whisper, conceding. “And then…you need to leave.”

She makes you cum in just five, covers you in lipstick prints, each kiss a sly cover-up. Floyd may be all over you, bites and bruises blooming new and old, but he’s not inside you, wringing you out like a sodden towel. You sob like you’re in heat when she sinks her fingers into your slick warmth, scissoring so slowly, until you’re begging her to make you cum again. Your fluids soak through the sheets. The scent of sex and sweat hangs heavy in the air. She’s alive, wildly untamed, a knight who’s just rescued the princess and slayed a bloodthirsty dragon.

Her head is between your thighs next, her hands braced on either leg to keep them apart. You watch her with glazed eyes, soon throwing your head back when she slides your hood up to reveal your pretty, pert clit. Experimentally, she licks a teasing stripe up your slit. You shiver and dig your fingers into her scalp, imprisoning her there. It’s where she’s always wanted to be.

“Tell me,” she murmurs, the words fanning across your pussy, “if he’s so good, why haven’t you proven it? Is this the most you’ve ever cum in a night? Does he please you or do you please him? If he’s everything you’ve ever wanted, why are you still so unsatisfied?”

“Because… B-Because!”

Your protests are fragmented and spotted with gasps. That’s arguably more telling than a detailed response.

Riddle smiles like a Cheshire, her eyes narrowed victoriously. Spidery digits creep along your thighs. Her thumbs dip into your pussy, spreading it wide for her viewing pleasure. “Don’t think of him. Tonight, it’s just you and me. I’ll give you what you’re owed. That and so much more.”

Like a fragile statue, you topple. Right into her, bucking against her mouth like the world is ending, and she’s there to steady you.

She always is.

iii. i’m gonna steal you from him. i could be such a gentleman. plus, you know my clothes would fit.

“Sooo… Gimme the goss. How was your night out?”

Riddle looks up from an assortment of nail polish colors, each one more red than the last, and says, “It was more enjoyable than I thought.”

“Yeah?” Cater prompts, brows raised. “Don’t be so vague! I wanna know all the juicy details. It’s rare for you to stay out so late. And to go to a party, of all things, in the city? Hello?! New Riddle, who’s this?”

“I was only meeting an old friend.”

“That’s what they all say.”

The technician asks her to pick a color. “This one,” she says, pointing. “The one named Sanguine Sunrise.”

“You’re totes keeping me in the dark!” Cater whines, dramatic. “At least give Cay-Cay some hints! Something! Anything! Spare change, please?”

Riddle smiles smugly. Pride drips from every syllable when she speaks next. “My friend will be spending this Valentine’s Day alone.”

“Bummer.”

“Not quite. She’ll have me and half-priced chocolates. A rather charming combination, no?”

Cater laughs. “GL. I’m rooting for you.”

You don’t need to, she thinks, tracing the love bite stamped into her skin, hidden under the soft fabric of her blouse. Because I’m already winning.

Her phone buzzes with a text: about last night… if i did anything weird, i’m so sorry. i was way too drunk.

Riddle turns it over, dips her feet in the heated water, and settles into the massage chair, pleased as a peach. “It was one bad decision. Four years of bad decisions, but it’s forgiven. We all make silly mistakes when we’re lovestruck. Hopefully her silly mistake disappears for good and we never have to speak of him again.”

“You’re so scary, Riddle. Remind me to never get on your bad side.”

Another message arrives: i think we might’ve kissed last night. i’m really super sorry.

There’s a brief delay.

ok this is gonna sound weird coming from me but maybe we can do it again??? floyd’s kisses are sorta… :/

Her phone vibrates for the final time that afternoon.

actually i’m just gonna stop talking omg i’m crazy. i have a bf and everything. sorry riddle please ignore all of this kk tysm ttyl <3

wait one more text before i forget,, if you wanna meet up for tea i wouldn’t mind. we should definitely catch up when i’m not hungover. kk bye fr this time <3

A start is a start. You can’t grow a rose tree without first planting a seed.

#yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere riddle rosehearts x reader #yandere riddle rosehearts #yandere riddle #yandere riddle x reader #n/sfw #tw: dubcon

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roosterforme · 10 months

Text

One Night in Vegas | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Summary: After you move in with Bradley, it doesn't take long for you to settle in to your life together. He makes dinner, you eat it. You make a mess, he cleans it up. He proposes in the most endearing way, you say yes. And then both of you spend one perfect night in Vegas.

Warnings: Fluff, swears and smut

Length: 2100 words

Pairing: Beer Boy and Sugar! Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader (former fuckboy college student Bradley)

This is a one-shot to accompany my fics Old Habits Die Hard and Right Girl, Wrong Time! This was written for a request.

Check my profile for my masterlist

You were so close to your winter break, you could almost feel it. Your first semester teaching math at San Diego State University had been wild. At times, it was very rewarding, and you didn't want to be anywhere else. At other times, you were holed up in your office, working late into the night grading papers and planning out your lessons.

But the one constant thing had been Bradley.

"Hey, Sugar," he said, knocking softly on the open door of your home office. "Dinner." You stood and practically ran into his arms as you glanced at the office door on which you had written SUGAR LOVES BEER BOY.

"I don't want to grade any more exams," you whined loudly against his solid chest while he laughed.

"I told you not to wait until tonight to finish them."

You glared playfully up at him and tried to escape his arms, but he held you tight. "You're terrible," you informed him. "It's entirely your fault that I'm still working on them. You spent the whole weekend luring me back into our bedroom!"

He smirked at you and said, "It didn't take much convincing, Sugar."

You rolled your eyes and let him lead you out of your office and through the kitchen. "Oh, are we eating in the dining room? What's the special occasion?"

But you stopped in the doorway, heart pounding a million miles per hour as tears sprung to your eyes. "Bradley!" you gasped. There were five white doors lined up on the far wall, and each one had a single word scrawled across it in Bradley's big, tidy handwriting.

SUGAR

WILL

YOU

MARRY

ME?

When you spun to face him, you found him behind you, down on one knee. He looked blurry through your tears, but he was holding a ring between his thumb and index finger. You barely saw it though as you half sobbed and half shouted, "Yes!"

And then you were on top of him on the hardwood floor, straddling his waist and kissing his face while he smiled and held you tight to his chest. "I love you," he managed to say as you smashed your mouth against his. "Wait, wait," he whispered, reaching for your left hand. "Let me put this on you before it gets lost."

You let him slide the ring onto your finger as you said, "I love you so much, Beer Boy." And then he pulled you in for more kisses.

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

On New Year's Day, you and Bradley were curled up together on the couch, watching his vintage DVD of The Grateful Dead concert footage and nursing your hangovers.

"What are you going to do all week while I'm at work?" he muttered against your neck.

You shrugged in his arms. "Probably visit you and Nat on base one day and just mess up the house so you have something to complain about."

"Remind me again... why am I marrying you?"

"Because you can't live without me," you whispered as his nose skimmed the sensitive spot behind your ear.

"Oh, yeah," he mumbled.

The five doors on which Bradley had written his proposal message to you were now a permanent feature in the dining room. And you took your dinner in there most nights to enjoy them while you ate, even if Bradley was on base late. Even the ring he got for you, which he was currently spinning around your finger, was perfect.

You didn't want to go back to work at the end of the month without having selected a wedding date. But every time you and Bradley talked about wedding plans, he told you the same thing: "Pick a date, Sugar. Vegas is available 365 days a year."

You wiggled yourself around on the couch until you were facing him, and he sang along softly to the DVD while you closed your eyes. When the song was done, you asked, "How serious are you about Las Vegas?"

He studied your face. "To get married?"

"Mmhmm."

"So serious," he replied, but he was looking at you a little skeptically.

But as a smile broke out on your face, he started kissing your cheeks. "Let's do it, Beer Boy," you told him with a laugh.

And soon he had you pinned underneath him on the couch while he sang Viva Las Vegas by Elvis and unhooked your bra.

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

When Bradley got home from work on Friday, the house was a damn mess, and you were looking at him with barely concealed excitement.

"What?" he asked cautiously. And then you started bouncing around. "What happened? Did you hire someone to clean up after you so I don't have to?"

"No!" you exclaimed, rolling your eyes. "I spent the entire day planning our wedding!"

Bradley's heart skipped a beat. "For real? When is it?"

"In two weeks."

He had your sweatpants off in an instant, and he bent you over the dining room table and fucked you while you told him the details.

"It'll be perfect," you moaned as he rocked your body with his thrusts. "Elvis and the Vegas strip and a heart shaped bathtub."

You were everything he had wanted for more than ten years, and the fact that you were letting him have this silly, no nonsense quickie wedding made him so happy. Neither of you had much family, and the only person he really cared to invite was Nat. But she'd give him a pass on missing his big day if she knew going to Las Vegas would make him happy.

"You're perfect, Sugar," he grunted, kissing your neck and eyeing the five doors lining the far wall. "I can't fucking wait, baby."

Bradley started packing that night, laying some of his favorite tropical print shirts on his open suitcase. But as the days wore on, you started to add some cold weather clothing into his bag for him.

"What's that for?" he asked you when he noticed you had folded up his heaviest coat and placed it on top of his short sleeved shirts.

"Our honeymoon."

He raised one eyebrow at you. "Are we not staying in Vegas for that?"

"Nope."

"Where are we going?"

"Not telling."

Bradley looked you up and down as you stood next to the bed in his favorite tie dyed tee shirt. "Do I need to fuck the information out of you?"

Your eyes went wide and your lips parted on a needy gasp. "I'd like to see you try."

After nearly an hour of giving you his hands, mouth and cock, you were a sweaty, gasping mess beneath him.

"Chicago," you managed to say as your eyes drifted closed. "Honeymoon in Chicago."

Bradley collected you in his arms and pulled you beneath the covers with him. You and he had made all those plans for Chicago together before you broke his heart more than ten years ago. And now you were really taking him there. The city where you lived when you were missing him. The city where you got your second tattoo. The city that haunted his dreams when he was twenty two years old and so lonely.

"I love you so much, Sugar," he whispered over and over until you fell asleep in his arms.

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

"Aren't we supposed to not see each other before the wedding?" Bradley asked you while you got dressed in the hotel bathroom. "Isn't that a thing?"

You rolled your eyes as you pulled on your white sundress. "I'm sure Elvis won't mind!" you called to him where he was getting ready in the bedroom.

"Speaking of Elvis, we need to be there soon, Sugar!"

Your flight from San Diego had been delayed, and now you were cutting it close for your appointment at the Chapel of Neverending Love next to Caesars Palace. "Grab the wedding bands!" you told him while you fixed your makeup. When you walked out of the bathroom a minute later, Bradley was standing there in a white linen shirt and pants with a huge smile on his face.

"You look beautiful."

Your dress was simple, and your engagement ring was your only accessory. But you did feel pretty, and you knew Bradley was eager to marry you today. "So do you, Beer Boy."

You ran your fingers through his hair and kissed his mustache, and when you got to the chapel, Elvis was already waiting for you. The entire ceremony took fifteen minutes, and that included your wedding photos. And then they were ushering you out for the next couple to come in.

But the two of you were laughing and smiling nonstop as you looked at your rings and made out in front of the chapel.

"I'm ready to take my wife back to that heart shaped bathtub and have my filthy way with her."

But you looked up at his handsome face and shook your head as he held you close. "Not yet. It's time for your wedding gift."

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

Bradley thought he was going to faint from all the excitement. You and he were married. You and he were about to enjoy your wedding night. You and he were flying to Chicago tomorrow.

But then you told him the most magical words: Grateful Dead cover band.

"How the fuck does this day keep getting better?" he asked, kissing your neck and hugging you as you led him down the lit up sidewalk of the Vegas strip. Soon the two of you were surrounded by a bunch of hippies in tie dye. And Bradley knew all the words. And you held him tight the whole time.

"This is our wedding reception!" you told him over the loud music. And then the band started playing the song with the lyrics from your tattoo. The one you got because of Bradley.

You grinned at him as the singer said, "This song is for the newlyweds."

Bradley wrapped you up in his arms and sang to you while you danced with him. "You don't know how easy it is to love you."

You were wound around him, singing the lyrics back to him as well. Perfect. You were perfect. And somehow, you were his.

When the song ended, he tipped his head back amidst all of the applause and cheers. "I fucking love my wife!" he shouted. "Seriously, Sugar! I love you so much!"

And he was still saying those words back at the hotel when you changed into your 'wedding night lingerie' which was just his old Grateful Dead tee shirt.

And he was whispering, "I love you," as he carried you to bed. When you pulled him closer and let him settle against your body between your spread legs, he paused with his lips just barely brushing yours.

"Sugar, I know we didn't have proper wedding vows, because Elvis only let us speak in his song lyrics, so I have a few things I want to tell you now."

You giggled, and said, "But I liked it when you called me your hunka hunka burnin' love."

He ran his hands all over your body and smiled. "Listen, you're definitely that, baby. But you're also the only woman I've ever loved. And I fell in love with you as soon as you spoke to me."

"Bradley," you whispered, running your fingertips along his scarred cheek and neck. Your pretty face was always so open and honest for him, and he loved you for that, especially right now.

"And I've been loving you for eleven years, nearly to the day," he told you, kissing the tip of your nose as your eyes filled with tears. "You changed my life. Twice. And getting a second chance with you is the most important thing that ever happened to me."

You nodded and wrapped your arms around his neck. "I'm so happy I found you again, because I never stopped loving you either. How could I have?"

Bradley pulled your left hand to his lips and kissed your rings. "My vow is to keep loving you just like I did the night I met you in my disgusting fraternity house, and just like I did when we parted ways, and just like I did when you found my again, and just like I do right now. Because I'm better at loving you than I am at doing anything else."

"You are," you promised him as you sniffed. "You're so good at it."

And then Bradley spent the whole night loving you and your body and your voice. And it didn't matter if you and he slept at all, because you had the flight to Chicago for that.

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

Thanks for sending in this request! I laughed and I cried. I just love Beer Boy so much! I love how happy they make each other. Thank you @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

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seresinhangmanjake · 9 months

Text

Methods of Love and Trust

dad!Jake "Hangman" Seresin x female reader

Summary: For the first time, Jake is allowing his mother to babysit his children by herself. He's terribly nervous, but he promised you a date.

Warnings: implied smut. I think that's it, really.

Notes: this is a combination of two asks/comments from @rosiahills22 and @matisse556 for the Oh, Baby Series. I changed some tiny details, but I hope you guys like it :)

Words: 1755

---

"Jake," you quickly snapped, but your husband didn't tear his intense stare from the sight before him. He only hummed. A lame acknowledgment compared to what you were wanting from him. "Stop being weird and let's go."

You felt ridiculous, tugging at the cuff of Jake's sleeve the way your daughter did when leading him along on some adventure. She, however, was much more successful in her attempts. Thirty minutes had passed with you trying to guide your husband out the door, but his feet were planted, his stance sturdy, his eyes glued to your son in Eliza Seresin's arms.

"I'm not being weird, I'm just–" he paused before his next word. Smart of him, you thought. You both knew the end of that sentence was nonsensical. I'm just watching, checking, making sure my mother doesn't kidnap or harm or neglect our children when our backs are turned. With the way he was acting, it seemed to be the only way that sentence could complete.

"You're being silly, baby," you replied. "Stop looking at your mother like she has bad intentions. You’ve wanted her to move here permanently for years, remember? You were finally able to help her find a house she loves, so what's going on with you?"

Jake turned away from the window where his mother and children were in clear view in the backyard. "I know," he agreed. "And I do want her here. But alone, Honey? With our children? Their safety, their lives, in her hands?" He made a face and shook his head. "I'd like it better if Gram were here with her."

Your freshly painted fingernail scratched at the bow of your top lip before you crossed your arms. "Look, baby, I don't want to say that you sound unhinged exactly, but perhaps paranoid? Just a tad?"

"Honey…" was a little whine.

"We knew the day would come when your mother would have to go solo. What happened to that trust you were working on?" You asked, and his shoulders instantly fell. Stepping toward him, you placed your palms flat on his chest and leaned in close. "And me? You promised me a date. Last I checked, that involved dinner and beach sex, and I've yet to receive either."

The mossy green of his irises flashed then darkened, and you grinned with pride. If anything could get his mind off his troubles it was the thought of rolling around with you in any position, in any location, at any time. And you enjoyed having that power. Though despite him being smart enough to keep his mouth shut about it, you knew it was rare that sex didn't also have him imagining a third little Seresin. A topic you'd been putting off, and would continue to do for as long as possible.

"Jake, she is here to babysit so we can go have some fun of our own. Don't let me go unsatisfied," you said, throwing in a pout as your fingers fiddled with one of the buttons of his shirt.

"When have I ever left you unsatisfied?"

"Never, yet. So it would be a shame to break your winning streak, don't you think?"

—

"Baby, why are you stressed again? You were perfectly at ease twenty minutes ago," You said as you adjusted your bra strap and tucked it back under the cap sleeve of your dress.

Jake's hands were tight around the steering wheel, his eyes glued to the road.

"Twenty minutes ago I was balls deep inside of you. That tends to quell my stress, Honey. But my balls are back in my pants now and I have to remember that my mother is the only one protecting our babies at the moment."

Brushing the leftover sand off your knees, you snickered. "Protecting them from what?"

"Anything. Everything!"

You placed a hand atop his on the steering wheel, and the gentle touch encouraged his following deep breath. He released the right side of the wheel to intertwine your fingers, then brought your hand to his lips for a kiss.

"Jake, I know your mother wasn't much of a caregiver when it came to you," you continued, "but she wouldn't let anything happen to our children. After accepting her back into your life, she wouldn't let you down."

His lips parted then closed. They thinned from their tight pressing together before he expelled a long sigh. "Not intentionally…but I know."

With a smile, you pulled his hand into your lap and let your index finger trace along one of the veins showing under his tanned skin. You caught a few tiny rough grains when you made it to his wrist.

"You're still sandy," you said.

"Pretty sure my fly is still undone, too."

You chuckled as Jake pulled into the driveway of your home.

A wave of relief washed over you when you noticed his subtle grin. You were proud of him on your date. He’d set his concerns aside so you could give one another the long-awaited and well-deserved attention you’d both been craving since your son was born. And you’d definitely had your fun. But more than that, despite his anxiety, you'd managed to calm him during your short drive home, which meant he hopefully wouldn’t be charging in head-first on the hunt for his mother's mistakes. With luck, he'd simply thank her, check on his children in their beds, and call it a night.

"Well, zip up mister, so we can go see our babies."

—

The house was silent as you walked through the door and kicked off your heels; almost seeming uninhabited if not for the lone light emanating from the living room that was just out of sight. The low glow reflected off the creamy color of your walls, making it easy to find your way down the main corridor.

“So?” Eliza asked, setting her book aside. “How was your date?”

You didn’t glance behind you when you sensed luck was not on your side. Without a doubt, Jake was scanning the area. For messes? No. His mother was practically pristine. For a droplet of blood or two from a minor injury? Unlikely. Surely you’d be greeted with the sobbing of your children. Nevertheless, you let him look around. If it meant realizing he was proven wrong then it was worth holding back the minor scolding.

“Great, thank you,” you replied. “Needed.”

“I’m sure.”

Her eyes flicked over your shoulder to her son, her hands starting to awkwardly fiddle in front of her.

“Eve isn’t in bed,” Jake finally said. He moved over to the couch where your daughter was passed out on her stomach, a small mark of drool dampening the cushion. Sitting beside her, he brushed her blonde curls back out of her face.

“Um…no,” Eliza began. “She wanted to wait up for you and since it’s a Friday I figured it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. Poor thing said Mama and Daddy always kiss her goodnight. She got that adorable pout on her face and crossed her arms and refused to move from that spot, but she was exhausted. The Little Man is tucked away though. Went down very easy.”

“Well, I appreciate you doing this, Eliza,” you said. “I know there’s a lot of energy to wear out.”

She waved a hand. “I’m always happy to watch my grandbabies.”

A few beats of tension-filled silence passed, you standing across from your mother-in-law while Jake continued to rub Eve’s back. You thanked her once more and she nodded before heading for the door. When her back was to you, you nudged Jake in the shin with the tip of your toe.

As if expecting it, he looked up at you with an expression that could only be described as mildly irritated with a healthy dose of pleading in his stare, but you didn’t let him off the hook. Your head nodded toward his mother as she reached for her purse.

Jake sighed and stood. “Mom,” he called. Eliza turned. Her nerves were not so easily concealed. “Thank you. Truly.”

The smile that slowly formed on her face was beautifully genuine. The wideness of her lips and natural narrowing of her eyes from the act deepened the wrinkles in her aged face, but they were hardly noticeable compared to the radiance emitting.

“Any time, sweetheart,” she said. “Really.” Then she was gone.

Jake twisted on his heel, eyes meeting yours. “Fine. You were right.”

“Baby,” you chuckled as you wrapped your arms around his waist. “I know it’s hard.”

He accepted your hug, pulling you further into him and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You and our babies are the best thing that ever happened to me, Honey,” was a whisper against your skin. “Entrusting someone else with two-thirds of that is like leaving a couple of limbs behind when I walk out the door.”

You understood that feeling all too well. However, relying on others’ help after you’d had Eve without Jake by your side allowed you to adapt much quicker than him. You wouldn’t ever deny the little twist to your gut whenever you were without Jake or your children, but while acknowledging what your husband was experiencing, you learned to be the strong one. For him and the kids.

Your bodies suddenly began to sway, back and forth to the deep humming of an unrecognizable tune; or what you thought was unrecognizable until the stringing together of a few known notes. The song you danced to the day you were married.

“You’re a sap, Jake Seresin.”

“You knew that when you married me.”

The agreement was on your tongue but a sleep-laced “Daddy” interrupted before the words could pass your lips. Eve was sitting up on the couch, both fists rubbing at her eyes, a yawn contorting the other dainty features of her face.

When Jake moved out of your arms to lift Eve up in his, her head fell on his chest. Her mouth parted the slightest, her eyes remained closed, and when Jake said “Dance with me and Mama, baby girl,” you knew she was already back asleep.

He returned to you and snuck the arm not holding Eve to his side back around your waist. You did the same. One around his hip, the other snuggling your daughter even closer.

“I love you, Honey,” Jake whispered as the three of you continued your gentle swaying.

“I love you, Jake,” you replied.

Then the humming resumed to fill the small cocoon of space.

---

tags: @wkndwlff @kmc1989 @sagittarius-flowerchild @dempy @oliviah-25 @rosiahills22 @xoxabs88xox @novagreen04 @multifandomlover4life @mayhemmanaged @memeorydotcom @ryiamarie

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colonelarr0w · 2 months

Note

Can we pretty please have Sukuna reacting to his crush telling him that thier lover cheated on them. Like the reader has been in a relationship with this person for a few months.

Would he comfort her? At all?

Also can I be‼️ anon

Sypnosis - He may be heartless, that doesn't mean he'll stand silently by and watch as you get yours broken.

Warning(s) - canon JJK violence, mature themes, foul language, Sukuna is nice for once (?)

A/N - First time ever writing for Sukuna -- wish me luck! And yes, you can be that anon, I love you guys.

! PIECE BEGINS UNDERNEATH THE CUT !

"Brat, wipe those tears, you look pathetic," Sukuna says coldly, sneering at the sight of your tears running down your cheeks. You quickly lift your wrist, roughly rubbing the water from your eyes and turning yourself away from him.

At the sight of you turning, oddly enough, he feels a strange sensation somewhere in his chest – what was it though? All he knew was that it wasn't anger, no, he couldn't find it in himself to be angry at you in that moment (shockingly).

"Sorry," you mumble, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip in an attempt to silence your sobs, but the action does very little to prevent the shaking of your body. Sukuna notices, raising an eyebrow in curiosity.

His head tilts at you; you had come to Yuuji asking for a movie night and snacks, which wasn't out of the ordinary. But what was out of the ordinary was that you showed up on Yuuji's doorstep crying.

The fact that Yuuji relinquished control to Sukuna so easily was also shocking – but Sukuna was never one to complain about having control over what was rightfully his vessel.

He lets out a small "tch" at your apology, turning himself away from you and crossing his arms over his chest. Some part of him wants to turn back around and inquire about what had happened – but at the same time he could genuinely care less.

You remain silent in your place on the couch, knees curled up to your chest as you keep your watery eyes focused on the television, which plays a repeat of an old rom-com that you mentioned that you enjoyed. But from what Sukuna could see, the sight of the two main leads being happily in love is only worsening your mood – but why?

Usually you would be smiling and chipper, pointing out everything that the male lead did for the female with a too-sweet smile plastered onto your face. But now you were just staring at the screen with a look that Sukuna couldn't describe – and he despised it.

`"What's going on? You're never this silent, I detest it," Sukuna comments, angrily scrunching his nose as he turns sharply to glance at you. Your hands tighten over your knees, eyebrows pinching together as you bite back the fresh round of tears that cling to your lash line.

"Nothin' happened. Jus' wanted to come over and watch a movie," you lie through your teeth, voice slightly muffled from where you keep your mouth pressed against your clothed legs. Sukuna clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, glaring at you.

"Liar."

"I'm not lying."

"You are. I only know because you're fucking terrible at it," Sukuna spits, furrowing his eyebrows together in frustration as you look away from him again. Your eyes water, and you lift your wrist to swipe away the tears before they have the chance to fall – remembering what Sukuna had just said about them rendering you 'pathetic'.

"Nothin' happened. Even if something did, why would it matter to you?" Your voice is laced with a bitterness that Sukuna hadn't heard in you before – and honestly, he didn't think that you were capable of sounding so cold.

"It doesn't. I just don't wanna deal with your sulking," Sukuna rolls his eyes, resting his cheek against his knuckles as he sneaks another glance at you. You seem to sink further into the couch – there's that sensation again. What the fuck was it?

You remain silent, keeping your eyes fixed on the movie, which is nearing its conclusion. The male lead tenderly reaches for the female, holding her face and steering her lips to his own. Sukuna notices your nails digging into your legs, no doubt leaving behind angry red marks that you would complain about later.

"So talk."

You glance at Sukuna, narrowing your eyes at the unfamiliar tenderness that flickers in his irises. Your eyes involuntarily water, eyebrows furrowing together as you look back to the television screen.

"Nothin'. My boyfriend – he just, y'know, got bored of me. Guess my best friend looked better," you explain offhandedly, obviously trying to downplay the situation for the sake of not working yourself up. But Sukuna could tell that the situation deeply bothered you, judging by the way you blink back your tears and curl your arms impossibly tighter around your legs.

Sukuna's hands subconsciously curl into white-knuckled fists, anger flaring up in his chest as he mulls your words over in his head. He shocks himself – why did he care so much about what happened to you? Why did he suddenly have the overwhelming urge to strangle the life out of your now ex-boyfriend?

"He what?" Sukuna all but growls, turning his head to settle all of his attention on you. You, however, don't spare him another glance, not wanting to see his mocking expression or the smirk that he's most definitely wearing in response to your sadness.

A shame that if you had looked up, you would see the genuine anger that Sukuna displays.

"Wasn't slick about it either, but it's whatever," you say with faux indifference, shrugging your shoulders. You sigh shakily, tears slipping down your cheeks as the movie in front of you ends. "It's whatever Sukuna."

"It can't be whatever if you're staining the couch with tears," Sukuna bites back, glaring at you – though his anger is very clearly directed elsewhere. You let out a shaky sigh through your nose, not wanting to discuss the situation further.

"Well it is whatever, so fucking drop it," you growl out, voice wavering slightly as you reach for the television remote, flicking through channels until you land on some random documentary, opting to leave it on for background noise.

Sukuna grumbles something incoherent, lifting his legs to cross them over one another as he sits silently on the couch across from you. Every now and then, his eyes flicker to sneak glances at you, taking mental notes of your body language and facial expressions.

"I'm...sorry that he did that to you," Sukuna grumbles out, his voice at a volume that you nearly miss. The tenderness in his voice is so foreign, but at the same it sounds so natural coming from him – almost like he had rehearsed this very scene a thousand times over in his head.

You sit there stunned for a moment, not having expected Sukuna to be offering you his condolences. In truth, you didn't need them, nor did you want them – but the fact that he had softened up for a passing moment to say those words to you brought a little bought of warmth to your stomach.

"It's whatever," you say again, this time with a bit more indifference than before. Sukuna finds himself smirking, which he tries to hide but to no real avail – you catch it just before it fades away.

He'll pay your ex-boyfriend a visit later, right now, he wants you to keep that barely there smile on your face.

#colonelarr0w #jjk x reader #jjk fanfiction #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen x reader #ryomen sukuna fanfiction #sukuna ryomen fanfiction #sukuna fanfiction #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna

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everythingelseisextra · 9 months

Text

My Body Is Here

Part Five: Give Yourself A Reason

Part Seven: Lingering in Doorways

Description: A brutal accident leads to a revealing conversation. Warnings: Mention of trafficking, mention of guns and shooting, references to being drugged and withdrawal, skull being cracked (like in canon), references to sexual assault, panic attack, language, use of the word Gypsy for Roma people Word Count: ~3000 Tag List: @theshelbyslimited @zablife @weaponizedvirtue @ttaechi @majesticcmey @optimisticsandwichgladiator @princesssterek @babayaga67 @shelbydelrey @globetrotter28 @look-at-the-soul Author's Note: This is unedited. I have a headache and don't have the energy to go through and fix it. Hope it's not terrible.

You walk out of your house at two in the morning on Friday. You try to separate your thoughts, move through your work as though nothing unusual is happening. In the dark, you exercise the horses, and in the dawn, you return to eat and dress and make yourself presentable. Dressed to impress, with clean jodhpurs and a white collared shirt, you sit to wait for Tommy to appear.

The horses eat their hay, silent in the warm morning air, and birds sing faintly in the few trees that dot this barren countryside. Time trudges past, and you glance at the clock, brow furrowing. He’s usually early like you, greeting the day before it even fully awakens. At eight, you stand and start to pace, worry rushing through you. You haven’t heard from him since the call, and your mind jumps to the worst. You know how pain can feel like pleasure when the blade is sharp enough, and you know how exhilarating the finger on the trigger can be. You pause, take a breath, and try to convince yourself that you’re catastrophizing.

At nine, you pick up the phone and call him. The line rings, and you stand in trepidation, heart in your throat. Just when you think no one will pick up, the ringing stops, and a female voice speaks.

“Hello?”

“Hi.” You release a breath. “Is this— who is this?”

“This is Ada Shelby.”

A spike of relief jolts through you and you speak a little too fast. “Tommy was supposed to meet me this morning. Is everything okay?”

“Who is this?” Ada grows suspicious, her voice losing the warmth it had when she first picked up. “One of Tommy’s women?”

“No— I mean— I guess, technically— but it’s not— we’re not—” You sigh, frustrated. “I’m a friend. That’s all. We were going to go look at horses.”

“You’re the one who sprayed him with a hose.” She softens, and you hear a weak smile in her words. “Right, okay. Well, he was certainly looking forward to it.”

“What happened?”

“He got in a fight and his skull got cracked.” She sighs. “Poor Tom. Used cocaine to get him through the day.”

“What?” Your blood goes cold, your eyes widen, and you feel yourself step back from yourself, an observer of your own reactions. Numbness flows, and you sigh, closing your eyes and tensing your muscles for a moment, working yourself back into your body. Something like panic shoots through you, simultaneously hot like fire and frozen like ice. You wrap your arm around yourself and take a shaky breath.

“Scared the shit out of me. He could barely keep his head up.”

“Is he okay?” Your voice shakes. Your hand clenches around the handset.

“Any longer and he would’ve died, but the doctors say he’ll make it through. Just had surgery on him yesterday. I’m taking care of Charles at the moment.”

“Who’s Charles?” Your mind latches onto the least awful thing, trying to sort through all the information you’ve just been given.

“He’s Tommy’s son.”

“He has a son?” You shake your head. “Sorry. Sorry, but— Jesus Christ, he cracked his skull and made it through a day after?”

“Yeah, well, you know Tom. If he’s made his mind…”

“Fuck.” You exhale the word, trying to remind yourself how to breathe, how to make yourself calm. “Fuck. Okay. Will they let people visit him?”

“No, not until later. He wouldn’t even know who you were if you came now.”

You run a hand through your hair, trying to sort out the next step, some way to move forward knowing this. You can’t go to the track without him. You can’t.

“Okay. Okay, I— I don’t live in town. I need— how can I get to him? What hospital? I can’t ride there, not to a hospital, not now.” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “I don’t have a car.”

“And you’re… his friend.” She says the word like she’s never heard it in this context before, like it’s completely new to her. “Just his friend.”

“Yes. Just his friend.”

“You can take a cab into Warwickshire and I’ll meet you there with Arthur and John.”

“I don’t have…” To Warwickshire is several hours of driving, and you don’t have the money to pay for it.

“What? What don’t you have?”

Shame bubbles up in your throat, but you swallow it down and speak up. “I don’t have the money for that.”

“Oh. Well, I’m sure Tom won’t mind if we cover it.”

“I don’t want to be indebted to you.” You shake your head. “I guess I can—”

“No, you won’t be. To be honest, love, I don’t think he cares about that amount.”

“Why wouldn’t he?”

She’s quiet for a second, then, quietly; “His house has a name, if that gives you any idea.”

“You’re kidding.” You rub your forehead, completely nonplussed.

“Come to Warwickshire. He’ll need a friendly face when he comes out of it, and he’s not too keen on us at the moment.”

“Um— okay.” You nod to yourself. “Okay. If he wakes before I get there, tell him I’m coming. Please.”

“I will.” She clears her throat. “See you in a bit.”

“See you.”

The hospital is a cold, concrete building, built more like a prison than anything else. Cave-like hallways flicker with uneven light, and your footsteps echo through them with each step. Around you, the sobs of patients and the creaking of cots consume the frigid air. The faint smell of rubbing alcohol burns your nostrils, and you close your eyes as the nurse leads you down the hall of thick, unforgiving doors.

John and Arthur and Ada had all gone in before you. They came out thin-lipped and quiet, heads bowed as if at church, like something holy had sent them off. Ada murmured to you not to expect much, and you nodded, sharp anxiety pressing into your chest. Now, the nurse knocks sharply on the door, then opens it.

Her voice echoes around the square, freezing room. “Here she is, Mr. Shelby.”

She nods to you, then turns and walks off, hard-soled shoes clattering on the stone floor. You stand in the doorway, heart in your throat. He’s lying on a cot, and, at the angle, you can see the stitched wound in his skull from the surgery. His head turns slowly, and hazy blue eyes stare over at you, then look away again.

He speaks to the rest of the room, apparently unable to shift his head for too long, letting his words echo over to you. “Don’t stare.”

“Sorry.” You blink out of your horrified spell and step inside, closing the door behind you. As quietly as you can, you walk over to sit down on a wooden chair next to him. His eyes are surrounded by pale purple, his skin pale and pallid.

Inexplicably, you want to reach out and touch him, give him some sort of comfort in this cold, all consuming room. He’s talented at communicating in silence, and, right now, you simply don’t have the words to put your thoughts into, don’t have the ability to explain everything you’re feeling. When you were younger, when everything was twisted and terrible, you never knew if you were real unless you were touched. You never knew if you existed to other people until they put their hands on you.

So, in silence, you reach out and place your hand on his. His skin is cold, calloused in places but fragile in others, and, for a moment, you’re not sure if he’ll respond in kind. His fingers twitch under yours, and then, slowly, he turns his hand and laces his fingers into yours.

You stay like that, two specks of warmth in a cold, dark place, and you watch his bare chest rise and fall, watch his eyes close. There’s a half-full bottle of morphine on the bedside table, a spoon laying next to it. In this moment, neither of you are whole. You do not complete each other. You are separate, but syncopated, two notes that harmonize. And, for the first time today, you feel calm.

“Will you come back?” His voice is gravelly as always, but slightly slurred, no longer sharp and commanding.

“I’ll try. I have the horses, but… I’ll try.” You gently squeeze his hand. “Don’t need you going crazy in this jail cell.”

He squeezes back, weak, his only response. You lean back and close your eyes. Your mind swirls absently, flickering with memories you can’t place your finger on. Moments of intimacy with other people that you never knew the names of. The touch of another that you trust, gentle, loving, a comfort against the world’s atrocities. His hand warms in yours, the touch of skin against skin battling against the frigidity.

“Thought I would die,” he says quietly. “Thought I would die and the last thing I’d see is that priest’s fucking face.”

“I’m sure your siblings have said this to you, but, if I could, I would kill him myself.”

“No. Don’t get mixed up in all this.” His eyes remain closed. “Fucks with your head.”

“You think it’d be the first time?” You smile faintly.

This gets his attention. His eyes open and flick over to you, waiting for an explanation.

“It wouldn’t. I know what it does to a person.”

“If you’re smart, you’ll stay away from me.”

“Tommy, you just asked me to come back and see you.” You shift forward in your chair to meet his eyes. “I’m not staying away from you. We’re past that.”

He blinks, and when his eyes open, he’s looking away from you. “I want you to stay.”

It must be hard for him to admit that, when he desperately wants to keep you at arm’s length. When his instincts say to separate and protect and avoid, but he truly needs something else, something different.

“I can’t. The horses need feeding. I can come back, though. I can probably even stay the night and leave in the morning, if you want.”

He pulls his hand away from yours and nods. “Go take care of your horses, then.”

You stand, the echo of his hand in yours tingling faintly. “I’ll see you, okay? And, once you’ve recovered, we’ll go get that racehorse.”

His eyes slide closed and he nods faintly. You turn and leave the room, stepping lightly to avoid announcing yourself to every patient in the entire building, and walk back down the long hallway.

“You have a son.”

At night, the hospital room seems to freeze over. You curl into yourself on your wooden chair, trying to preserve your warmth and keep yourself from shivering. Pale moonlight shines in from the high windows, impossible to open but insistent on allowing in the cold air.

“Yes. I have a son.”

“You never mentioned him.”

He shrugs. He sits up in bed, arms crossed over his bare chest, and he looks down at the blankets covering his lower half, not at you.

“You also didn’t mention that you have more money than most people know how to do with. You came and looked at my little house and thought— what? What did you think?”

“I thought nothing. Your money is spent elsewhere.”

“How could you think nothing? Is that why you wanted to buy Draco? I’m not a charity case, Tommy.”

He’s quiet.

Irritation heats up in your chest. “I asked you a question.”

“I grew up a gypsy boy with too many brothers and not enough to care for them.” His words are quiet, more refined than a few days ago. “Saw a man beating a horse and went after him with a stick. That man had friends. So, they said, ‘Go away to the war and come back with something.’ Came back with nothing. Built my way up from there. I don’t give a fuck about your earnings.”

It’s the most he’s spoken in days. You cross your arms, mirroring him, brow furrowed. “Why didn’t you tell me, then? Not about the money, I get that, but about your son?”

He glances at you, then looks back down. His skin has more color in it before, the almost-invisible freckles across it showing in the moonlight. “I wanted you to give me a chance.”

“A chance at what, exactly?”

He doesn’t answer. His eyes shift to you, those careful, bright eyes flicking over you, as if begging you to read his mind. You can’t.

“Always the mysterious one, aren’t you?” You shake your head, gently pushing his shoulder. His face remains stoic.

“I looked into you. Asked everyone I knew in France about a girl at a boarding school from America. No one knew you, no one had heard of you. I need to know.” He speaks softly. “I need to know.”

You look away. “Why, Tom? Why do you need to know? It’s not who I am anymore. I don’t want to be that person anymore.”

“I need to know who you are.” His head tilts, his eyes still fastened resolutely to his legs. “I’ve told you who I am.”

“It’s different.”

“Tell me how it’s different.”

You bite down on your lip, looking up at the ceiling. “Please, can’t you just trust me?”

“I need to know.”

“Okay.” A lump forms in your throat, and you don’t even try to swallow it down. “Okay. I’ll tell you. You have to promise me something first.”

He nods.

“Promise me you won’t treat me different. Promise me you won’t treat me like a bomb about to go off.”

“I promise.”

“Okay.” You close your eyes, a faint burning sensation behind them. “I guess… It starts with my mom and the man who got her pregnant. I don’t really know what happened. I just know he kept women, rented them out to other men, sent them to other parts of the world.” You glance at him, waiting for a reaction and not getting one. “After I was old enough, which, to him, was when it wouldn’t cause permanent damage, he sent me off to France, where I was kept as… well, I was kept there to be used. There were other girls. One of them taught me how to shoot. I fell in love with her.” Your throat closes and your words grow choked. “When I was fifteen, one of the men that kept control of us beat her to death. I shot him, and I ran. I made it to the streets, hid in alleyways and basements, spent my time half lucid. They kept us drugged, and the withdrawal almost killed me.”

Your lip quivers. Memories drip slowly through your mind. Darkened hotel rooms, the taste of alcohol on your lips, the feeling of your body being broken over and over again, the fogginess that kept you alive, kept you able to do your work. You remember her icing and dressing your wounds. You remember her brushing through your knotted, wild hair. You remember her touch, so gentle compared to a man’s, saving you from your own mind.

“I ended up working at a racetrack. They barely paid me, and it was hard work, but I was good at it. That’s how I ended up where I am now.”

“Why did you leave France?” His voice stays quiet and even, but not quite unfeeling. There’s a respect to the way he speaks to you now.

“They found me.” A silent tear drips down your cheek. “They found me, and I had to run again. You can’t find any information about me because there is none. I existed in underworlds and living nightmares, and then I was nobody. I’m no one. I’ve never been myself, I’ve just been the things other people want me to be. You can’t find out who I am because not even I know who I am.”

“You’re not.”

“What?”

“You’re not no one.” He turns to look at you, blue eyes clearer and softer than you’ve seen them in the last few days, or maybe even since you met him. “You’re someone to me.”

You scoff, wiping another rogue tear from your face. “You barely know me.”

He swings his legs off the side of the bed, one of his knees between yours, and leans forward to meet your eyes. You grow still, the intensity of his attention freezing you.

“I don’t waste time, do I?” His eyes flick over your face, trying to read you. “Don’t waste time on nobodies, do I? You’re not nobody. Don’t give a shit what happened to you, or who you think you are, or whether you have fucking money or not. You don’t have to hold your head up so high that you forget who the fuck you really are.”

You sniffle. It’s too much. Your heart pounds in your chest and you find yourself unable to breathe. You shake your head, pushing your chair back from him and standing. “I need to go.”

“No, you don’t. You can—”

“Thomas!” You gasp for breath, tears spilling from your eyes. “If I say I need to go, I need to go.”

Before he can speak, you’re gone. Head bowed, body trembling, throat closing and lungs on overdrive, you try to silence your panting as you walk down the hallway. You’re fading in and out, failing to pull yourself out of your own head. There are hands on you, gripping at your flesh, trying to hold you. Pandora's Box has opened, and you’re caught in the stream of terror coming from it, stuck, light in the head. You leave the hospital, closing your eyes and repeating to yourself, over and over again.

My body is here and I am inside.

My body is here and I am inside,

My body is here and I am inside.

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thewulf · 2 days

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I Choose You || Legolas

Summary: Request - Hii hope you're having a good day, is it okay if I request a Legolas x reader where reader is Gandalf's granddaughter and joined the fellowship on their quest to destroy the ring? They both slowly fell in love with each other along the way and when the incident in Moria happened where Gandalf dies, Legolas comforts her.

A/N: Thank you for the amazing request! Had a blast writing this as usual :) It's a lil long, so enjoy!

Pairing: Legolas x Female Reader

Word Count: 5.5k +

TW: Talks of war/death, war, death, orcs, general LOTR triggers

You stand silently amidst the gathered council fading into the background as best you could. The murmur of many voices echoing softly through the vaulted halls of Rivendell. The air is crisp, filled with the mingling scents of ancient scrolls and the distant freshness of autumnal leaves. Elves, men, dwarves, and even a few hobbits have come to discuss the fate of Middle-earth, their faces marked by concern and resolve.

Your grandfather, Gandalf the Grey, stands at the center of it all. His presence both commanding and comforting. You’ve always admired his wisdom and strength and today, more than ever, you feel the weight of your lineage. You are his granddaughter, gifted with a touch of his magical prowess and a deep love for the mysteries of this world.

As the debate swirls around you, Elrond, the lord of Rivendell calls for silence. His gaze settles on the small golden ring laid upon the pedestal. It’s simple form belying its terrible power. The task is clear though the path is fraught with peril: the ring must be destroyed in the fires of Mount Doom. "We must form a fellowship," Elrond declares. His voice resonant and clear. "Those who will take this burden upon themselves and walk into the shadow to see this evil undone."

A hush falls over the council. Eyes turn, some in fear, others in anticipation, seeking those who might step forward. This is the moment you’ve prepared for, not just since you arrived in Rivendell but throughout your life under Gandalf’s tutelage. With a breath that steadies your resolve you step forward. The rustle of your cloak is like a whisper against the stone floor and several members of the council turn in surprise as you move into the circle of light cast by the morning sun through the high windows.

"I will go," you say, your voice firm and clear. "For the love of my grandfather and for the safety of middle earth. I will see this quest through to its end."

Murmurs of approval ripple through the room and Gandalf meets your eyes across the circle. There’s pride in his gaze and a touch of sorrow, knowing well the dangers that lie ahead. But in this moment you see also the unspoken bond between the two of you. An acknowledgment of the shared commitment to what is right, no matter the cost.

Legolas, a prince of the Woodland Realm, nods to you with respect clear in his bright eyes. Beside him, a stout figure grumbles under his breath, yet Gimli the Dwarf gives a curt nod of assent, recognizing your courage. Beside them a young hobbit named Frodo, who is to be the Ringbearer, looks on with wide, earnest eyes. It is for him, and for all who call this land home, that you pledge your strength. As the council disperses to prepare for the journey you stand beside Gandalf feeling the ancient power of Rivendell around you and the even older strength that lies within your own heart. This is just the beginning you know but you are ready. For the Fellowship, for middle earth, for Gandalf.

You will face whatever comes, together.

As the Fellowship journeys south from Rivendell the path grows increasingly treacherous, winding through craggy mountain passes and shadowed forests. The air is crisp and the first frost of winter sparkles on the leaves. Your companions walk close together. Each step a testament to the weight of the task ahead.

Aragorn leads with a steady hand, his ranger skills essential as the terrain becomes more challenging. Beside him, Boromir of Gondor often lends his strength. His booming voice echoing off the stone trying to keep spirits high among the group, especially the hobbits—Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin—who find amusement in the smallest wonders along the way. Like the frost patterns on the leaves or a particularly stubborn squirrel.

Legolas glides effortlessly beside you. His elven grace a stark contrast to Gimli who stumps along with a determined scowl, his axe ever at the ready. Despite the solemnity of your mission the elf and the dwarf have already begun what seems to be an endless competition, each trying to outdo the other in tracking skills, strength, and the telling of tall tales.

One balmy afternoon as the path narrows along the edges of a steep ravine the rivalry comes to a head between the two of them. Gimli insists he can clear a particularly large fallen tree with a single vault much to Legolas’s skepticism.

“Watch and learn, Master Elf,” Gimli grunts as he began to back up for a running start. Legolas watches with an arched eyebrow, clearly very amused by the red headed dwarf travelling beside him.

Just as Gimli begins to charge forward you step in placing a calming hand on his shoulder. “Perhaps, Gimli, it would be wiser to assist each other over the obstacle rather than compete with others. After all, the road ahead promises ample challenge for both of your strengths.” You smile warmly down at the ambitious dwarf set out to prove himself.

Gimli stops mid-stride puffing out his chest a bit as he turns to you, then to Legolas. “Hmm, perhaps you are right, lass. What say you, Legolas? Shall we make this journey a test of our cooperation rather than our competition?”

Legolas’s lips curve into a smile. His eyes sparkling with a newfound respect. “I believe our companion speaks wisely. Let us proceed together.” He offers his hand to Gimli who looks at it for a moment before shaking it heartily.

As the journey continues you find yourself often mediating and bringing lightness to tense moments. One evening as the Fellowship gathered around the campfire you recount a humorous anecdote from your days studying under your grandfather. Making sure to mimic Gandalf’s stern voice and dramatic gestures. The group erupts into laughter, the sound carrying through the trees and lifting the spirits of all including the hobbits who clap delightedly and ask for more stories.

Aragorn, sitting across from you nods appreciatively. His eyes meeting yours with a silent thank-you for the lightness you bring. Boromir chuckles, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes clearly more at ease. “You have the gift of your grandfather. Not only in magic but in spirit.” Aragorn comments, his voice warm in the chill air.

Legolas who was sitting beside you leans closer and speaks softly, “Your wisdom brings much-needed peace. And your humor is a light in dark times. It is a rare gift.”

You meet his gaze. The firelight cast dancing shadows across his features. All elves were beautiful but there was something about the Price of Mirkwood that drew you in. “We all carry our gifts, Legolas. Yours is your unerring optimism and sharp eye. Gimli’s his steadfastness and heart. Boromir’s his valor. Aragorn’s his leadership. And the hobbits’ their enduring cheer. Together we are stronger than each individual.”

As the nights grow longer and the path more daunting the bonds within the Fellowship deepen, fortified by shared challenges and your quiet efforts to understand, and support each other. In the quiet moments Legolas teaches you Elvish songs of old. And Gimli shares tales of the great Dwarven halls, their voices blending into the night creating a tapestry of friendship and hope.

As the Fellowship delves into the ancient depths of Moria the air grows thick with the mustiness of ages and the weight of stone. The walls echo with the memory of Dwarven voices, now silent. The path is lit only by the faint glow of Gandalf’s staff. Gimli moves with a mix of reverence and sorrow. His eyes reflecting a deep familial connection to the lost realm of his kin. The narrow passages twist and turn leading you deeper into the mountain’s heart. The quiet is oppressive, only broken by the occasional drip of water or the scuffle of a boot on stone. Tension mounts with each step and even the normally unflappable Legolas seems taut, his eyes scanning the shadows.

All too suddenly, the dark stillness erupts into chaos. A low growl escalates into a deafening roar as the Balrog, a creature of fire and shadow, reveals itself. The ground trembles beneath its weight and the air sears with heat. Gandalf steps forward his face set with grim determination. “Lead them on, Aragorn,” he commands. “The bridge is near. Do as I say! Swords are no more use here!” Your grandfather cries as he gives you a sharp look. Obey. You must listen to him now.

The Fellowship rushes forward driven by fear and the urgent need to escape, but you hesitate, your heart torn as Gandalf faces the monster alone. As the others cross the bridge of Khazad-dûm you watch, helpless, as Gandalf confronts the Balrog. His staff was raised, a brilliant light flaring to meet the darkness.

“You cannot pass,” Gandalf declares. His voice echoing powerfully. It sends a shutter down even your spine.

The Balrog advances and with a defiant cry Gandalf strikes the bridge with his staff. It crumbles sending the creature plummeting into the abyss. But the Balrog’s fiery whip lashes out, catching Gandalf’s leg, pulling him towards the edge. With a calm but utterly sad glance back at you, he murmurs, “Fly, you fools,” before falling into the darkness below.

Shock paralyzes you momentarily, tears blurring your vision. The others tug at you, pulling you away from the crumbling edge. As you flee Moria the loss of your beloved grandfather hits you. A deep ache that seems to echo through the empty halls. Outside, under the grey, mourning sky, the Fellowship collapses in a clearing. Each member grappling with grief. Your knees give out and you sink to the ground, overwhelmed by sorrow. Legolas is at your side in an instant, his presence a silent solace. He does not speak, but his hand finds yours, squeezing gently. A clear reminder that you are not alone.

Gimli joins you. His own eyes rimmed red. “He was the greatest of us all,” he says gruffly with his voice thick with emotion. “I am honored to have walked beside him and I vow to you, we will see this quest through. For him and for all our sakes.”

The words are a balm to your spirit even as you could not reply. Words were too hard for you now. You lean into Legolas, his strength supporting you. You mourn the loss of the only thing you knew. Legolas and Gimli by your side reminding you that even in the depths of loss, the bonds of friendship and love hold firm.

You manage to whisper a weak "Thank you," before the sorrow overwhelms you once more. Tears flood your cheeks, each one a memory, a moment shared with Gandalf that you'll never experience again. Overcome, you turn into Legolas's side, seeking the comfort that only close, physical presence can provide. Though he was not typically fond of physical touch he does not hesitate to comfort you. He wraps his arms around you, his embrace firm and unwavering. In this moment your need transcends his usual reservations, and he holds you close. A silent sentinel in your hour of vulnerability.

His hands are steady on your back, one arm around your shoulders, the other at your waist, grounding you as your grief spills forth unchecked. Legolas's heart aches for your loss and though he may not express his emotions openly his actions speak a clear language of care and adoration. As you cry into his side, Legolas rests his chin atop your head. His gaze was fixed on the distant horizon where the last light of day gives way to twilight. He feels the weight of your sorrow as if it were his own, yet he knows he must stand strong for you.

Legolas knows that the road ahead will be fraught with further trials but for now, he offers you all that he can—protection, comfort, and an unspoken promise that no matter what lies ahead, you will not face it alone. In the stillness that wraps around you and Legolas there's a respectful pause from the rest of the Fellowship. They were giving you a moment to collect yourself under the cloak of Legolas's support. Aragorn, ever attentive to the needs of his comrades, notices the depth of your grief and the comfort Legolas provides. He understands the significance of this moment, the necessity of mourning and the importance of support in such times.

Standing a short distance away Aragorn speaks quietly with the hobbits making sure everyone is ready to continue but delaying their departure ever so slightly for your sake. His leadership is subtle. His decisions shaped by a deep understanding of his people's emotional and physical stamina.

After a brief moment, Aragorn looks over, his eyes meeting Legolas’s over your bowed head. There’s a silent communication between them. A leader’s acknowledgement and a friend’s gratitude for the support given to one of their own. Aragorn’s face softens, his respect for whatever was forming between you two clear in his gentle nod.

With a deep breath, signaling both readiness and respect, Aragorn approaches. His voice is soft yet carries a necessary urgency as he speaks. His words meant to soothe but also to remind of the path ahead. “We must move on for night will not wait for us and neither will our enemies,” he spoke with his tone conveying both compassion and resolve. “Take the time you need but remember we must not linger long.”

Legolas gently helps you stand straighter his arms still offering support. As you wipe away the last of your tears, strengthened by the comfort you’ve received, you nod in understanding. Legolas gives you a reassuring look. His eyes promising continued support and then he gently releases you. He was ready to stand by your side as you all prepare to resume the journey. With a final glance at Gandalf’s last stand you and the Fellowship gather your gear and set off once more into the fading light. The memory of Gandalf a guiding light that pushes you forward through the darkness.

Emerging into the sunlight of the world again does little to lift the sorrow of the Fellowship which soon deepens with Boromir’s tragic fall at Amon Hen. His valiant defense of Merry and Pippin against the Uruk-hai, though ultimately costing him his life, marked him forever a hero in the annals of your journey. The loss of such a stalwart companion leaves a void in your heart and within the group, casting a pall over your spirits.

Driven by a fierce determination to honor Boromir’s sacrifice, you, Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli give chase across the plains of Rohan to rescue Merry and Pippin from their captors. The pursuit is grueling. Pushing each of you to your very limits. The landscape of Rohan is vast and relentless, but the tracks are clear, guiding you unerringly toward the thick fringes of Fangorn Forest. The hope of rescuing the hobbits fuels your weary bodies onward even as your hearts ache with the memory of Gandalf's fall and Boromir’s courageous end.

As you follow the trail into the shadowy depths of Fangorn a sense of ancient watchfulness grows. The forest feels alive, old beyond reckoning, and filled with secrets. It is here among the whispering trees that the unexpected happens. A figure steps out from the shadows garbed in white, his presence bright against the dark underbrush. The shock of seeing what you believe might be Saruman stops you in your tracks. But as the figure approaches the energy changes—the air around him shimmers with a familiar warmth and power. Not the cold malice of Saruman.

"Gandalf?" Legolas breathes. A note of awe mingling with disbelief.

You squint, hardly daring to believe it to be true. As he draws closer, clarity dawns, and recognition floods your senses. Overcome with emotion you shout, "Grandfather!" and sprint toward him. Your heart swelling with joy and relief.

Gandalf opens his arms wide, and you crash into his embrace. The impact strong yet comforting. "My dear child," he murmurs. His voice warm and welcoming as he wraps his arms around you. His cloak envelops you with a familiar scent of pipe-weed and the road clinging to the fabric grounding you in the reality of his return.

"Yes, it is I," Gandalf responds gently, now looking down at you with sparkling eyes, "but as Gandalf the White. I come back to you at the turn of the tide. Stronger and renewed. Just as our hope must now be."

The grief at Boromir’s death and the shock of Gandalf's return blend into a complex tapestry of emotions. The initial shock gives way to a festive air as relief and joy wash over Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli. They join in, their earlier despair replaced by laughter and words of amazement, forming a tight circle around you and Gandalf.

As Gandalf explains his battle with the Balrog and his subsequent rebirth his words filling the gaps in your understanding and rekindling hope in your hearts. His return not only signifies a miraculous second chance but also invigorates the Fellowship with renewed purpose and determination. With Gandalf's guidance now as Gandalf the White you all feel a renewed sense of purpose. The path forward is still fraught with danger but with Gandalf returned, and in memory of Boromir’s bravery, you are reminded that even in the darkest times there can be resurrection and hope. Together you prepare to resume the quest, stronger and more determined than ever.

"Your guidance has been sorely missed, Gandalf," Aragorn says. His voice steady but thick with emotion as he joins you. He captures the mood of the moment, channeling the Fellowship’s relief into focus. "What should we do? Frodo and Sam are gone to Mordor. Merry and Pippin are captives of the enemy." Gandalf releases you from the embrace but keeps one hand on your shoulder, grounding, and comforting. He surveys the small group with a decisive gaze and the air around you seems to thrum with renewed energy and urgency.

"We will split our efforts," he declares. "Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, and you," he nods at you, "will pursue the orcs who took Merry and Pippin. Every second counts and your skills will be crucial in navigating this perilous chase."

You try and protest, but he shakes his head continuing along. "Meanwhile, I shall seek aid from the Ents of Fangorn," Gandalf continues, turning to look at the dense woods behind him. "Their strength will be necessary in the wars to come. We must rally all allies for the shadow from the East grows ever bolder."

As plans are made Legolas stands close by your side, his presence a silent vow of protection and partnership. You feel his hand briefly squeeze yours. A gesture of support that sends a surge of warmth through your heart that he had done so many times before.

"You have grown much, under shadow and trial," Gandalf remarks. Looking at you with a blend of pride and affection With the reunion drawing to a close and the path forward set you all prepare to leave. Gandalf’s return has not only brought back a beloved mentor and friend but has reignited the flame of hope within your heart. Together you feel ready to face the challenges that await knowing that the bonds of friendship and duty will guide you through the darkest of times.

As you traverse the expansive lands towards Rohan the camaraderie within the group deepens, each member adjusting to the rhythms of travel and the complexities of intertwined destinies. Amidst these dynamics your relationship with Legolas finds new ground. The elven prince, always serene and composed, begins to show a more attentive and tender side in his interactions with you. His glances linger longer and his conversations, once filled with tales of ancient elven lore, now often drift towards thoughts and dreams of the future, your future.

It’s during one of the long nights while camped under the vast, starlit sky near the borders of Fangorn Forest, that Gimli noticed the growing tension between you and Legolas. He decided to give you both some space. With a knowing wink and a gruff voice Gimli volunteers for the first watch, his tone unusually gentle. "I reckon the night is best shared with stars and heartfelt words, not an old dwarf's snoring."

Grateful, you share a smile with Legolas as Gimli settles a little distance away, his back to you, affording you a semblance of privacy. Legolas turns to you with his blue eyes reflecting the starlight, and for a moment he simply looks at you as if contemplating a thought long held in silence. "I have seen many wonders in my long life," he starts, his voice soft and mesmerizing under the night sky. "But none compared to the courage and kindness I've seen in you. In these trying times you have become a light guiding me."

Your heart flutters at his words, and you feel a warmth spread through you. "And you, Legolas, have been my solace. In you I find peace amidst turmoil. A joy that even the darkest shadows cannot diminish." He smiles. His gaze intensifying with affection and something more, something unspoken yet palpable between you. Then, in a move that surprises you both for its boldness and its intimacy, Legolas shifts closer and gently pulls you into his side. It's a daring gesture for an elf, particularly one as reserved as Legolas. But it feels right as if many paths had converged to bring this moment into being.

The warmth of his body against yours, the protective embrace of his arm—these are things you never expected to find so far from home. "It seems we have found comfort in one another's presence," he says softly. "Would that we might find a way to keep this light alive… no matter what lies ahead?"

"I would like that very much," you whisper as you leaned into the strength of his embrace.

The two of you sit under the blanket of night talking softly of dreams for a peaceful future and the immediate plans for the days to come. The reality of the quest remains but for now, under the stars, you both allow yourselves the luxury of imagining a life beyond the war. Both of you bound by a newfound affection that promises to grow with each passing day.

At Helm's Deep the air is thick with the tension of impending battle. The great fortress, built into the deep folds of the mountain, stands as the last bastion of hope against the relentless march of Saruman's forces. As the sky darkens and the torches flicker against the night you stand on the ramparts beside Legolas watching the sea of enemies gathering in the distance.

Legolas turns to you, his expression clouded with concern. “You should not be here,” he says softly. His voice barely above the howl of the wind. “This battle... it is not like the ones before. I fear—”

“I know,” you interrupt, understanding his fear but meeting his gaze with a resolve that mirrors the steel of the swords of your comrades below. “I know what this battle could mean for all of us. But I must stand with you, with all of you. There is no other place for me now, Legolas.”

Seeing the determination in your eyes, Legolas's expression softens and he pulls you gently against his side. It was a bold move for him, especially in such a public setting. “Then we will face it together,” he says squeezing your hand tightly as a silent promise passes between you.

The night deepens and the enemy’s drums beat a terrifying rhythm that seems to match the racing of your heart. Legolas pulls you closer. His eyes searching yours in the dim light. “No matter what happens tonight, know this,” he whispers, his voice steady despite the chaos swelling around you. “I love you. I have loved you amidst the shadows of our journey, and I will love you beyond the reaches of time.”

Your breath catches at his words. The simplicity and depth of his confession anchoring you amidst your fears. “And I love you,” you repl. Your voice strong even though you felt so weak. “Whatever may come, whatever we face… we face it together.”

As the battle commences the air fills with the clash of steel and the cries of warriors. You fight back-to-back, Legolas’s arrows finding their marks with deadly precision while you fend off attackers with sword and spell.

Gimli joins two of you, his axe a blur as he protects your flank. “Ha! I’d like to see them try to break this line!” he bellows. His voice a rumble of thunder over the din of battle.

The hours stretch. Each moment a lifetime but you fight with a clarity borne of love and the will to protect not just middle earth but the futures you hope to share. Legolas’s presence is a constant reassurance. His quick glances amidst the fray a reminder of everything worth fighting for.

As dawn breaks the tide of battle shifts. With Gandalf’s timely arrival and the charge of the Rohirrim, a new hope is rekindled. The enemy falters and breaks. Exhausted but alive, you, Legolas, and Gimli regroup, your bodies weary but spirits lifted by the victory, however costly it may have been.

Standing amidst the ruins of the battle you all share a look of relief and unspoken understanding. The war is far from over, but the strength of your bonds, the depth of your love, and the courage of your friends give you the fortitude to press on, to fight another day. With Legolas watch the sunrise, the light washing over Helm’s Deep painting the world in hues of gold and red. A daily rebirth, a reminder that after darkness there always comes a new dawn.

After the long shadow of war finally lifts with the destruction of the One Ring the world begins to breathe again. Minas Tirith stands gleaming under the bright sun, its banners waving in a joyous breeze. The streets are filled with music and laughter as people from all corners of middle earth gather to celebrate the victory. The air is sweet with the scent of blossoming flowers brought forth by a spring that signifies not just the changing of seasons but the dawn of a new era.

You, Legolas, and Gimli stand on a balcony overlooking the jubilant city with a cup of fine wine in hand. The Fellowship has been honored by kings and lords, sung by minstrels, and cheered by crowds. But in this moment, the three of you share a quiet moment that speaks of deeper bonds forged in the fires of your shared trials.

Legolas looks out over the city, his eyes reflecting the green of the fields below. “The world is changed,” he says thoughtfully. “I feel it in the earth, I smell it in the air. The darkness that once threatened to swallow us whole is now but a shadow of the past.”

Gimli nods. His eyes twinkling under his bushy brows. “Aye, and it’s time for more pleasant journeys,” he chuckles. “I promised you both a tour of the Glittering Caves, did I not? And I intend to keep that promise. You’ll find no finer sight beneath the mountains, mark my words!”

“And I,” Legolas adds turning to you with a gentle smile, “would have you both come to Mirkwood. The forests have suffered in the darkness. But they recover, much like us. There are places of such beauty and tranquility that they deserve to be witnessed with friends.”

You sip your wine, letting the rich flavors linger on your tongue as you consider the future. “And what of you?” Gimli asks, looking at you with an expectant raise of his eyebrow.

“I think,” you say slowly, smiling at the possibilities that stretch before you, “that I would like to see more of this world that we have fought so hard to save. From the forests of Mirkwood to the caves of the mountains and perhaps even beyond. There’s so much to explore, so much to learn.”

“And so much to rebuild,” Legolas adds. “Wherever we go we carry with us the legacy of those who fought beside us. Those who fell, and those who lived to see this day. Gandalf’s wisdom, Aragorn’s courage, and even Frodo’s quiet determination—they remain with us, guiding us forward.”

Gimli raises his cup, and you and Legolas do the same. “To the future,” Gimli declares heartily.

“To peace,” Legolas adds, his voice warm.

“To friendship,” you conclude. The three of you clink your cups together, the sound crisp and clear.

As the celebration continues below you lean against the stone railing admiring the city sprawling at your feet. Around you the laughter and music rise to the starlit sky, and you feel a profound sense of contentment. The road ahead is uncharted, but you face it not as a lone wanderer but as part of a fellowship that has endured the darkest of times to see the brightest of days.

With Legolas and Gimli by your side you know that whatever adventures lie ahead, they will be filled with joy, discovery, and the unbreakable bonds of friendship. This is not the end of your story but the beginning of a new chapter, one that you will write together.

As the celebrations in Minas Tirith begin to quiet down into a gentle hum of merriment and the evening deepens, Gimli, with a knowing grin and a subtle nod towards Legolas excuses himself to “inspect the integrity of the ale supply,” leaving you two alone on the quieter side of the terrace that overlooks the city’s sprawling, illuminated gardens.

Legolas watches Gimli depart and then turns to you with a serene expression. His eyes reflecting the myriad lights of the city. He reaches into the folds of his tunic and pulls out a small, exquisitely carved wooden box. “I have something for you,” he says. His voice low and filled with a tender emotion that sends a thrill through your heart.

You watch, curious and expectant, as he opens the box to reveal a pendant. It’s a delicate piece, shaped like a leaf but crafted with such intricacy that each vein in the leaf is visible. It shimmered with a light that seems to emanate from within the silver itself.

“This is a leaf from the Mallorn trees of Lothlórien,” Legolas explains as he carefully lifts the pendant from the box. “Galadriel herself gave this to me before we departed and though I cherish it... I believe it was always meant for you.”

He steps closer. His presence so familiar and yet so heart-stirringly profound at this intimate moment. “In the elven tradition,” he continues, his eyes locked onto yours, “to give such a gift is to choose a companion. To offer a token of one’s heart and soul. I give this to you not out of obligation but from a free and willing heart. I choose you and it’s you I wish to be with through all the ages of this world.”

He pauses while holding the pendant up between you. His eyes searching yours for an answer, a confirmation of your feelings. You nod gently, overwhelmed by the emotion in his gaze and the significance of his gift.

Legolas smiles, a soft, joyous curve of his lips, and delicately clasps the pendant around your neck. His fingers brush lightly against your skin as he secures the clasp sending shivers down your spine. The metal feels warm as if charged with his affection and presence.

“I cannot promise that the road ahead will be free from hardship,” Legolas says softly while drawing you close so that your foreheads touch lightly, “but I can promise that you will never walk it alone. Where you go I will follow. And where I go I hope you will be by my side.”

“Legolas,” you whisper. Your voice thick with emotion. “There is no one else I would rather have by my side. No one else I would want to share my path with. I choose you, too, today, and always.”

Without hesitation Legolas leans in to capture your lips in a kiss. It’s gentle at first. A tender meeting that speaks of mutual respect and deep affection. But as you respond the kiss deepens, becoming a profound expression of your shared love and commitment.

The world around you—the city of Minas Tirith, the sounds of celebration—fades into a blissful quiet. In this moment wrapped in Legolas’s embrace, you realize that while the war might have brought you together it is love that will lead you into your future. Beneath the stars and above the glowing city you share a promise of a thousand sunrises to come. Each one a new day to explore and cherish the world together.

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humanpurposes · 8 months

Text

Sweet Dream

The Sandman AU

Her father means to summon and capture Death, but ends up with the wrong sibling. She becomes fascinated with their prisoner // Main Masterlist

Dream!Aemond x unnamed female character

Warnings: 18+, spells n shit, mild gore, death, lowkey Lima syndrome, smut

Words: 8000

A/n: For my fellow Morpheus and Aemond lovers. Also available to read on AO3.

Roderick Burgess had always been a terrifying man. In grief he has only become more irritable and less predictable.

The telegram came in the early days of July. She delivered the news to Roderick herself, while he was in his study. Her father did not like to be disturbed and he might have beaten her to remind her of the fact, until those fateful words slipped from her mouth. “Randall’s dead.” Shot down by a German machine gun at the Somme. In the end he had been one of thousands, his body buried in a neat line of tombstones somewhere in France, his name engraved on a plaque in the church at Wych Cross, ultimately unremarkable and indistinguishable from the other men and boys who had lost their lives.

But it was not so for Roderick. He let out a sudden groan and clutched his chest as though his pain was tangible and terrible. He shed no tears– of course he didn’t, but he gritted his teeth, crying out in fury as he dashed his hands over his desk, sending papers, books, fountain pens and empty whisky glasses tumbling to the floor.

She stood frozen, waiting for his hand to descend on her for being the one to tell him, but it didn’t.

When they held a memorial service for him, Roderick handed her a piece of paper, to read before the crowd of faces she didn’t recognise.

“Randall was our family’s happiness. He was the bravest, the wisest, and kindest older brother I could possibly dream of having.” Her hands and voice trembled as she read because she knew it was all a lie. In truth, Randall was like their father. They had the same short temper, the same stubbornness and the same cruelty.

But Randall being dead meant she could reinvent him.

Lately, she dreams of happier memories and looks back on them fondly, knowing they can never be contradicted or disproved.

While her father has dreamt of Death ever since.

It’s a brisk afternoon in October when a man in a suit, bow tie and bowler hat arrives at Fawny Rig. He clutches a leather briefcase in front of him and introduces himself as Dr John Hathaway, a curator from the Royal Museum, travelled all the way from London to this quiet corner of East Sussex. She leads him through the panelled halls of the manor, to her father’s study.

Roderick barges in behind them, in a shirt and waistcoat, already smelling faintly of whisky and waving his cane in her general direction. “Tea for our guest,” he orders.

She has the pot ready and strains the dark, reddish liquid into two delicate china cups while her father and Dr Hathaway settle on opposing leather sofas in the centre of the room.

“I take it you have reconsidered?” Roderick says.

“After our meeting at the museum… I know what I said, but–” Dr Hathaway takes an unsure breath. “I received a telegram this morning. My son, Edmund, his destroyer was sunk last week off Jutland.”

It’s a loss Roderick can share, even if he doesn’t really understand how other than a few quick words of condolence. “I lost my son, Randall last year. He was my greatest joy.”

She pauses as she reaches for the sugar bowl. She has never been under the illusion that her own existence has given her father any joy, but then what sort of person would she have to be to earn his respect? She places the sugar on a tray, along with the small jug of milk and the cups, and brings them to the small table between the sofas. The pair don’t spare her a word of thanks or even a brief glance.

Dr Hathaway’s hand lingers on the clasp of his case. “If I give you this, could you truly do it? Could you really–”

“Capture the angel of Death?” Roderick says. “I believe I could.”

She shudders unexpectedly. The old groundskeeper used to say a sudden chill meant someone was walking over your grave.

Dr Hathaway clicks open the clasp and takes out an aged, leather bound book. It has no title on the cover, just gold markings in square, geometric patterns.

“The Magdalene Grimoire,” her father mutters, his eyes wide in an ominous sort of wonder. “With the spells recorded in the book, we will see our sons returned to us.”

The next night is a full moon. She stands by the door with Sykes, welcoming men and women dressed in midnight blue robes to the manor and directing them towards the door that leads to the cellar. They’re all part of Roderick’s ‘Order of Ancient Mysteries’ which as far as she can tell is a cult of fanatics who still believe in witchcraft. They come to Fawny Rig once a month, to listen to her father read from so-called ‘spell books’ as though he is a preacher.

The fanatics pull hoods over their heads and descend the narrow stone steps into the cellar with lit candles grasped in their hands. Roderick leads the way, the book Dr Hathaway gave him tucked under his arm.

She shoots Sykes a concerned frown but he just shrugs. He’s paid to organise the household and guard Burgess’ collection of relics, not to ask questions. Questions are a dangerous game with Roderick.

She trails after them and shuts the iron lock on the door behind her.

The cellar is more like a crypt, an expansive room sprawling under the house, held up by pillars and arches. In the low candlelight she makes out a set of markings on the floor in the heart of the room and this is where the Order of Ancient Mysteries gathers.

The shapes and symbols are unfamiliar to her, painted onto the flagstones, twisting and curling over each other to form a circle. Roderick stands at the very edge of it by a brass lectern.

She watches, half hidden behind a pillar as they stand around the circle and Roderick opens the book, his desired page already marked and studied in the hours since it has been in his possession.

“Tonight,” her father says to his congregation, “we will achieve what no one before us has attempted. We will summon and imprison Death.”

His eyes meet hers through the shadowy space, heavy and sunken with age, grief and months worth of sleepless nights. They glisten slightly too.

He holds his hands out and looks down at the markings on the floor. “Here, in the darkness.”

The others echo his words, softly and melodically at first. Here in the darkness. Here in the darkness.

And so the ritual begins.

“I give you a coin made from a stone,” Roderick says, presenting the object to the ceiling as though the eyes of God are looking down from the heavens, through the house and the earth, and drops it to the floor, inside the circle of markings.

“I give you a knife from under the hills.” He holds up a thin blade and lifts his other arm so the sleeve of his robe drops to his elbow. “I give you the blood from out of my vein.”

She winces but does not look away as he draws the knife along the skin of his forearm, until dark droplets begin to fall and stain the markings.

“I give you a song I stole from the dirt and I give you a feather,” he says, raising a white feather that almost seems to glow through the gloom, “pulled from an angel’s wing.”

And all the while the voices persist. Here in the darkness. Here in the darkness.

He drops the feather and it drifts gently down, landing in the very heart of the circle.

The room is still and she holds her breath.

The feather starts to move. It twists in a circle and floats up, lurching and turning as though it’s being blown about by a breeze she cannot feel or hear.

The voices raise to an urgent chant. Here in the darkness. Here in the darkness.

She clenches her fingertips against the stone of the pillar. She tries to meet her father’s eye again but he is fixated on the feather flying above their heads.

He calls over the chanting, “I summon you with poison,” and the moment he does the feather flickers like the striking of a match. “I summon you with pain! I open the way! I open the gates! I summon you in the name of the old Lords, we summon you together! Come!”

A noise, like a cracking whip splits her ears. The feather bursts into white and golden flames like the flash of a camera. The heat of it rushes over her face and burns her eyes.

And from the flames a body falls to the floor.

It thuds as it hits the ground, silencing the voices save for a few gasps and murmurs. She feels the flagstones rumble under her feet, sees the edges of a black cloak spilling across the floor and a head of long silver hair trailing from its head.

This isn’t an illusion. Roderick Burgess has brought forth a tangible entity, plucked from God-knows-where, lying motionless on the floor. For a moment she wonders if he is dead, until she sees a slight movement in his chest, but even then she fears she could be imagining it.

She takes a few unsure steps to where Roderick stands and the man– he is a man as far as she can tell– is further revealed to her. She can see his face now, his pale skin, the angles of his jaw and cheeks, the curve of his lips, but beyond that she finds herself unable to look away from the jewel that sits where his left eye should be. It is a bright, deep shade of blue and dotted with silver specs, like the vast expanse of twilight when the stars are out but the sky is not quite black. The eye is framed by twisted, red flesh and a scar, slicing from his brow to his cheek. It takes her a moment to realise his other eye, closer to the ground, is closed.

The only other parts of him she can see are the tips of his fingers, clasped around a small pouch.

“Is this… Death?” she utters.

“That remains to be seen,” Roderick says. He points to the pouch. “Get that for me.”

She stares back at her father. How he can speak so flippantly when a man has been conjured, seemingly from thin air, is beyond her. But he glares back, his dark expression only more formidable with his aged frown.

So she steps forward and begins to lower herself beside the man.

“Careful, girl!” Roderick barks, “don’t break the binding circle.”

She stops and looks down, where her skirt is inches from brushing over the markings on the floor. She shuffles back and, with trembling fingers, reaches for the pouch. It’s not hard to take, the man hardly resists, twitching his fingers to keep it in his grasp. It feels wrong, stealing from someone too weak to hold onto what is his.

She looks into the jewel-like eye. Can he see through it? Perhaps it has something to do with the scar? Did he place it there himself, or was he simply made this way?

Someone snatches the pouch from her. She looks up at her father as he undoes the strings and peers inside. “Sand,” he mutters, and stows it away inside his robes.

“And the jewel,” he says to her.

She means to protest, but finds she cannot.

She avoids the markings as she leans forwards. She presses her fingertips beside the man’s eye. His skin is cold and firm.

She swallows her guilt and the nauseous feeling in her throat, nudging her fingertips into the socket. It takes her a few attempts, but she pries the jewel free, wincing when she feels it come loose. If he feels any pain he hardly shows it. His brow furrows but his other eye remains closed, and he makes no sound.

She stands and offers the jewel to her father.

Roderick holds it to the light of one of the candles, giving a curious hum before he pockets that too.

“Move,” he mutters to her, pushing her out of his way as he stands over the man. He tugs on the black cloak and it falls into fragments that fade away, like dust on a breeze. The man’s body is bare, pale skin running over details of muscle and bone. He shivers and twitches like he has a fever, but still he does not speak, or even let out a breath.

“We’ll let our guest recover,” Roderick says, “and then we shall make our demands.

They leave him there for days. He does not move, or ask for food or water.

She doesn’t dream in the nights since they captured their ‘guest’. In fact she hardly sleeps at all. Each morning she wakes, already exhausted, having felt like she’s only closed her eyes for a few brief moments.

Then come the stories in the newspapers. They call it ‘the sleeping sickness’. People all over the country, and in fact the world, have been plagued, either to not sleep at all or never wake up.

On a cold, drizzly morning, a stranger appears at the door to the manor.

She listens and watches from the top of the stairs, crouching by the bannister to stay out of sight as a man with choppy silver hair and pale skin strides into the entrance hall, with Roderick following closely behind.

“Do I know you?” her father asks, furiously.

“No.” The stranger’s voice is low and almost seductive. “But I know all about you, Roderick Burgess, and the being trapped in your basement.”

“You mean to intimidate me?”

She sees a flash of a grin and a pair of pale purple eyes through the wooden balusters.

“I am here to help you,” the stranger says. “There are benefits to keeping one of the Targaryens in your confinement.”

“Targaryens?” her father echoes.

“Did you think Death was the only one of her kind? Death has family. Destiny, Despair, Desire…”

“And who have I got?”

“Dream,” the stranger says with a smile that bares his teeth.

A shiver runs over her shoulders. She keeps her jaw tight to stop herself from reacting to it.

Roderick scoffs. “What good is a God who governs dreams?”

The stranger's voice darkens. “There was a saying in the ancient times of humanity, that said the Targaryens are closer to Gods than men. But they are not Gods. They are more than Gods. They are Endless.”

He tells Roderick of Dream’s vestments, the pouch of sand and his sapphire, both of which he says Roderick may manipulate for his own influences. He says the binding circle will not be enough to contain their prisoner, that they must construct a sphere of glass within the circle.

Most crucially of all, he says no one must be allowed to fall asleep in Dream’s presence.

“Why are you helping me?” Roderick finally asks.

The stranger runs his tongue over his teeth and smiles to himself. “Little family dispute, I shan’t bore you with the details. But for your sake, and for mine, he must not escape.”

He offers his hand to Roderick, who returns the gesture after a moment of hesitation.

Before he heads for the door, the stranger’s eyes trail up to where she hides. Her heart leaps with a sense of dread, like she’s seen something she wasn’t meant to.

She doesn’t trust him, not by the look or sound of him, but her father does. He follows the stranger’s instructions, ordering the construction of the glass sphere, to be welded around their prisoner as it is made. Finally, he arranges a rota of guards to keep watch over him, under strict orders to never fall asleep, lest their prisoner escape into their dreams.

The details of his face are etched into her memory, even after months, the angle of his jaw, the curve of his upper lip, the silver falling over his shoulders. If she could dream, she is sure she would dream of him. Instead she holds onto the flashes of images that appear before her waking eyes, the pale skin of his bare body against the floor, the stars in his sapphire eye, now kept locked away in her father’s study.

She knows Roderick has tried to bargain with him, and each time he returns from the cellar more furious than when he entered it. “He will not speak a word!” his voice bellows through the quiet halls of the manor. “He will not even look at me!”

When she dares to ask questions, Roderick glares at her and tightens the grip on his cane.

The stranger with silver hair was right about something, wealth and admiration have come to Roderick Burgess in droves since he acquired the Lord of Dreams. It’s something about the sapphire, or the sand, something she doesn’t understand, but their family comes across good fortunes, which is almost entirely spent on lavish parties to entertain Roderick’s ever expanding crowd of admirers.

She wakes with the sunrise, from a void and dreamless sleep. The manor is littered with empty bottles, full ashtrays, plates of half-eaten food, odd shoes and playing cards. Her father must still be asleep, which is odd. He is usually an early riser, even after a night of drinking.

A rumbling in her stomach has her heading through the entrance hall towards the kitchen, but she stops when she sees two men waiting by the door to the cellar– two of the guards her father has hired to watch the prisoner, dressed in smart suits with service revolvers just poking out of their jackets. They look restless, peering their heads round corners, shifting their weight on their legs, not wanting to step too far from the door.

“We can’t just leave,” one mutters to the other.

“I’m not staying down there with that… thing one second longer than I have to–”

“Good morning,” she calls.

They look at her in unison, and frown.

“Have you seen Noel and Mauirce?” one of the men asks. “They’re nearly half an hour late.”

The rotation of the guards. They take eight hour shifts in pairs.

Her eyes glance to the cellar door, opened only a fraction. “I could watch him until they get here,” she says, “if you want to leave.”

It doesn’t take them long to agree.

They leave through the front door. When she hears it shut, she finally lets herself reach for the handle to the cellar door. The handle is cold, untouched for hours at a time, and a little stiff. She pushes on it slowly, carefully, making as little noise as possible.

With the cellar door closed, she shuts out the light and warmth of the morning. A silent, icy draft drifts through the narrow stairway. She follows it down, all the way to the dull, eerie light of the main chamber.

The sight takes her breath away, the glass sphere, suspended above the ground, still within the circle of markings that keep his power contained.

He sits in the centre, still bare, his knees tucked into his chest and his hair falling around his face like a veil.

As far she knows, no food or water ever passes the threshold to the cellar, and the cage is never opened. How does he breathe? How does he eat? How does he not wither away? He just sits there, stoic, his face frozen in time like a statue, like the image of a god cut from marble, to be preserved and admired.

A man like that cannot be real, and yet there he is.

“Hello,” she says.

He does not react to her voice or the sound of her footsteps as she walks further into the chamber.

If he can even hear her. She wonders how thick the glass is, if sound can permeate it, or does he just hear the sound of his own breath echoed back to him, endlessly.

She comes to lean against one of the pillars, tracing her fingertips down the cold, rough surface of the stone.

“Are you really the Lord of dreams?” she says.

His gaze lifts and turns to her, just enough that she can see his chin, his nose, and a single violet eye. It is not like the stranger’s, it is far more vibrate, burning with with a silent fury that makes her heart flutter and her skin feel tight.

“I have not dreamt since that night.”

She knows it isn’t just her. It’s the sleeping sickness, the war, the cloud of darkness looming over the rest of the world.

“The groundskeeper has a son, he’s only ten years old. He’s been asleep for months now. He can’t even eat. If he doesn’t wake up, he’ll die.”

He does not react, but his eye follows her as she takes a single step away from the pillar, towards the sphere.

“This is my father’s– our doing, yes?”

Her eyes dip to his chest, to the movement of his lungs underneath skin and muscle, a steady rise and fall with a deep, patient breath.

“My father is a reasonable man, if you could give him something, anything, I am sure he would let you out.”

He tilts his head, until she can just see the point of his scar on his cheek and the edge of his empty eye socket.

He is simultaneously the most terrifying and most beautiful thing she has ever laid eyes upon. The low light only accentuates the harsh angles in his face, the ridges and lines in the muscles and tendons of his neck, torso, arms and legs.

She takes another step closer. “I would let you out, if I could,” she says quietly, like a secret.

He blinks softly, and when her eyes flicker to his lips she sees them curled into something almost like a smile, but not quite.

“Oh you would, would you?”

Her blood runs cold at the sound of her father’s voice. She whips her head around just in time to see Roderick marching towards her with his hand reaching out. His fist grips at her hair, and when she yelps in pain he hisses at her to be quiet. He drags her back up the steps, away from the cold cellar, to the warmth and the light, to the world without dreams.

She bathes before dinner, wincing as she runs her hands over the fresh bruises that mark her skin. Most of them are red, others are set deep and already turning a greyish purple.

Her father’s fury still rings in her ears. “Stupid girl! If he escapes he will slaughter us all!”

Leaning on her back is especially painful, it’s where her body took the brunt of his cane. She brings her knees into her chest, hunching over herself.

She hasn’t cried over her father’s cruelty in years, not since she was a small child. He’d always call her weak for it. Randall never cried when he was disciplined, because he knew, deep down, it was good for him. Perhaps she is simply not as strong as Randall was.

Her tears are hot and stinging in her eyes. She blinks and lets them fall onto her knees, to become the dew that lingers on her skin.

“Do you want to die, girl? Because it can be easily remedied!”

She doesn’t wear anything special, a white satin dress, with long, billowy sleeves, and applies some rouge to her cheeks, to make her seem more awake, more alive.

She reaches the bottom of the staircase as the clock in the entrance hall starts to chime. Five times. Marking the start of another shift rotation.

Two men appear from the hall that leads from the cellar, vaguely nodding as they pass her.

She can see into the dining room from the stairs, an enormous table set with silver cutlery and china plates, for just two of them.

The door to her father’s study is closed, obstructing the voices within. He’s arguing with someone.

Before she can stop herself, she’s walking towards the cellar. She tries the handle to find it unlocked. With one final look to the door to the study, she descends back into the darkness.

Two guards sit on wooden chairs by the entrance from the stairway, and immediately stand to attention as she walks into the chamber.

“Miss,” one of them calls, “you cannot be here.”

And she seems to have caught his attention too. He looks up from where he sits in the sphere, his forearm resting on his knee. His hair is pushed from his face, and his violet eye is wide, curious.

“This is my father’s house, I will go where I please,” she says, shakily, continuing until she comes face to face with the glass.

He stares at her, somewhat furious, but in a way she knows it is not meant for her.

The men behind her are muttering to each other, she doesn’t hear their words, but she hears their panic.

“It isn’t right for him to keep you here,” she says. “It isn’t right for him to think he can play with mortality. And I am as bad as he is for letting this happen.”

The tendons of his hand flex as he clenches his fist, his fingers restless as he stares at her, intently.

“If I let you out,” she whispers, “would you harm me?”

His face softens as his eye moves over her face.

He’s studying her, she realises. She imagines him noting the curves of her cheeks and chin, the shape of her mouth, perhaps the faint teartracks and the dark circles under her eyes.

What does he make of her, the daughter of his captor, the one who pried the sapphire from his eye? Roderick could be right, he might slaughter her the moment he is free from his cage.

“I would like to believe that you wouldn’t,” she says.

His expression gives nothing away.

Suddenly he shifts. His muscles tense as he comes to his feet and uncurls his spine to stand before her. Something about his movements are distinctly inhuman.

The guards behind her are shouting now, telling her to step away, calling for Mr Burgess. Their voices are inconsequential to her, muffled as though spoken behind a closed door. Her heart pounds in her ears. All she sees is him, the intense gaze of his eye, a wide palm reaching out and pressing against the glass.

She reaches up slowly, his eye growing wider with every inch she comes closer to touching the glass that separates them, but not quite meeting it.

His brow furrows as if to question her. Why are you hesitating? What are you afraid of?

She won’t be dragged upstairs again. She won’t be thrown to the floor with nowhere else to go. She will not suffer at the hands of Roderick Burgess any longer.

So she presses her hand to the glass.

Her skin is feverishly cold, her arms weightless. She can almost feel the shape of his palm through the glass, but not quite, like she is reaching for something she will never touch, clawing to the memory of a dream.

She can feel herself slipping into numbness, her eyes and her limbs becoming heavy. She presses her fingernails against the glass, silently pleading though she doesn’t know what for. An escape? An end? Anything.

His face is strangely gentle as he pouts his lips, hushing her, lulling her panic. She can feel her breathing and her heartbeat slowing, but it does not frighten her.

The glass shatters, her knees give way. She is awake enough to know she is falling, but too far gone to stop herself.

But she does not need to.

The world around her is silent– no, a gentle breeze drifts over her skin and whispers in her ear. Sunlight beams onto one side of her face and the other rests against bare skin. She feels a weight around her waist, something propping her body upright.

She tries to steady herself but the ground shifts beneath her. The arms around her only tighten their grip when she stumbles.

Finally she lets her eyes flutter open. They are in a desert, a vast expanse of dry sand, reaching as far as the eye can see.

Her head is moving with his breath, against his chest.

She tilts her gaze up, close enough that her lips barely brush over the base of his throat.

His eye is already fixed on her, holding her firmly in his arms, pulling her into him.

Wordlessly, he releases one arm from her waist, and reaches down, keeping his eye on her face. When he brings himself back up, she looks at his closed fist, where sand slips from between his fingers.

Her confusion must be visible on her face because he smiles softly at her, letting out a low “hmm” as he does.

She means to blink, but when she opens her eyes the world has changed again.

She lies face down against the ground of the cellar, dust and dirt pressing into her cheek, broken glass littering the floor around her.

She blinks again through the haze of sleep still clouding her vision. She makes out a figure in a long black coat with silver hair falling down his back. He stands over two bodies, lying lifeless on the ground, and stalks towards another.

Roderick is at the base of the stairs. He raises his cane and cries out as the prisoner reaches into his coat.

Her father’s voice fades into a spluttering, retching sound. Then he is silent. His body slumps to the floor with a gut-wrenching thud. When the stranger walks away, she sees her father sprawled out on the floor, blood spurting from his throat, seeping into his shirt, pooling on the floor around him.

She pushes herself up, leaning on her hands as her vision is blocked once again by a black coat. He stands over her, blood dripping from a knife he holds in his hand, his eye a brighter shade of violet than it was before.

He kneels beside her, taking her chin in his fingertips.

“Are you hurt?” he says. His voice is a hypnotic blend of soft and harsh, low and light, chilling in a way that sends a wave of warmth through her stomach.

She looks past his shoulder, where Roderick’s skin is turning from white to grey. “What did you do to my father?” she utters.

He jerks her head back to him. His expression is dark, lips upturned into a sneer.

Does he expect her to be grateful?

“My tools,” he says.

“You’re… what?”

“My tools. The sapphire and the pouch.”

The items that were stolen from him, that her father has now paid for with blood.

“Are you going to kill me too?” she says, digging her fingertips into the stone and the shards of glass beneath her.

He tilts his head and his lips twitch in a flicker of movement. His voice is barely above a whisper. “Tell me where they are. I will not harm you.”

Three men lay dead mere feet from them, and yet she finds herself wanting to trust him.

He offers her his arm as she stands, gripping at the thick, leather sleeve. Her palms are covered in small cuts from the glass, droplets of bright red blood pearling at the edges. He takes her wrists in his hands to have a look and tuts to himself.

“Quickly,” he says, moving towards the steps, leading her along with him, past the bodies of the guards, and the body of her father.

She brings him to the study, her hands shaking, bloody and outstretched before her. The door is wide open, a stack of papers thrown carelessly to the floor.

Roderick’s safe sits in a black cabinet in the corner of the room. She uses her fingertips to open it, wincing at the pieces of glass still stuck in her skin, but she swallows down the pain.

She guesses the combination on the first try. 1895– Randall’s birth year.

There, in the centre shelf, above the Grimoire, below a stack of banknotes, is the pouch of sand and the sapphire.

He reaches for the gem first. She turns away as he fixes it back into his socket, remembering the weight of it in her palm when she took it from him. She sees him reach forward again, but not for the pouch. He takes a hold of her wrists.

With no magic words or spells, he waves a hand over her palms. For a moment she sees a glow in his sapphire eye. The pain vanishes, so does the blood, the glass and the dirt.

She blinks a few effortless tears from her eyes. Tears for her father, tears of relief, she cannot place a cause.

Cold fingertips meet her skin once more, as the Lord of Dreams wipes her tears away, bringing her gaze to meet his.

He leans in closer, until his forehead meets hers. “Sleep,” he whispers.

She falls into him, to find herself wide awake, clinging onto him as she had done in the desert.

But they are somewhere else entirely. The sky above them is a pale yellow, like daybreak, painted with swirling grey clouds. The land here is… dead. Dead trees, barren mountains and hills, and in the distance, beyond a dried lake, is a castle of red brick, decrepit, falling into ruin.

“You see the damage that has been done to my realm?” he says. With her ear pressed against his chest, his voice is cavernous and she feels everything, the way his words drag through his throat. She feels his pain at being confined, the loss of his home and his creations.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

“I do not forgive easily, that is why Roderick Burgess had to die. But you…” he pulls away from her so he might look at her properly, cupping the sides of her face and swiping his thumbs over her cheeks. “I do not need an apology from you. We are free of him now.”

“Is that what you think I wanted?”

He hums with tight lips. “I have seen your dreams, as I see the dreams of every mortal. I see them as clearly as you perceive the waking world. It just so happened that our dreams coincided.”

She had never dreamt of her father’s death and she had certainly never imagined that she might have played a part in it. But she cannot deny the weight now lifted from her shoulders. She will never have to earn his approval, she will never have to endure him again. She is free of him.

“Go now,” he says, “I am sure you have your own business to resolve.”

He releases his hold of her and brings his hands behind his back. As he walks towards the castle the world around her starts to fade. She can smell the musk of the manor, the lingering smoke of her father’s cigars, the distinct scent of a winter evening.

“Wait!” she calls.

The ends of his coat swish around his legs as he turns back to face her. “Yes?” he says, the corners of his mouth curling up into a small smile.

“I want to know your name.”

“I have had many names,” he says.

“And how would you have me know you?”

“Aemond,” he says.

She echoes his name, letting her mouth linger on the final syllable. “Will I see you again?”

He draws the tip of his tongue between his lips. “Perhaps,” he says.

When she wakes she is laid out on one of the leather sofas of her father’s study. She looks down at her hands, traces her fingertips down her face, now free of the dirt and dust.

She wonders if she might have dreamt all of it, the beautiful man in the sphere, the glass breaking, her father’s blood on the floor…

Her life is never the same after that. With her father dead, his estate passes to her. For the first time, her life is hers to do with as she pleases.

And yet she feels an absence, a hollow longing in her chest.

Her dreams come back to her since she set him free, and each night she dreams of him.

He only appears in brief moments, like lighting, bright and brilliant, but gone in a heartbeat, before she can truly see him. She sees the movement of a leather coat, flashes of silver, violet and sapphire blue. Sometimes she is met with darkness as a pair of lips ghosts over her neck with a contented sigh and a warm breath.

She cannot bear it.

As she lies in the empty manor house, she traces her fingers over her body, her lips, down her neck and her chest, underneath her cotton nightgown, to her navel and the pool of wanting wetness between her legs, trying to imagine they are his.

She pictures the way his hair fell around his face, the coldness of his skin, the curve of his lips. She imagines them parting in a small sigh, the sound of his breath, the way his chest hummed as she circles over her bundle of nerves. Pleasure sparks at first but it keeps slipping from her grasp.

She circles faster, harder, searching for a spot that will finally give her the release she craves.

She feels heat and a sheen of sweat settling on the surface of her skin, her breathing hitches, her hips twitch under her touches. The pleasure heightens, then fades.

With her eyes tightly shut, she spurs herself on with thoughts of him, breathlessly chanting his name into the empty space and cold air of her bedroom.

“Aemond… Aemond…”

Something changes.

The mattress shifts beneath her and a weight presses against her body, her legs, her stomach, her chest.

A hand clasps around hers, ceasing her movements, and bringing it to rest by her side.

She laments the loss of the friction against her bud, her pleasure pulled away from her, but in its place anticipation blooms within her.

When she opens her eyes he is above her, against her, hovering his face over hers so that all she sees are his eyes, one violet, one sapphire.

“You have my attention,” he says in a soft but unsettling voice.

A thrill ripples through her body.

She whispers his name on an exhale of breath, running her fingertips over his arms, tense and toned as his props himself over her.

But she is somewhat dazed, her senses numbed by fatigue and the echo of the pleasure she had been chasing.

“Is this real?” she utters.

Aemond leans further into her. She feels a weight between her hips and an unmistakable hardness prodding at her centre as he brings his lips to her neck, pressing a slow, teasing kiss against a sensitive spot of skin that has her body tensing and her fingers digging into his shoulders.

“Does if feel real?” he whispers against her skin.

How much has he truly seen of her dreams, her desires, she wonders? Perhaps she should feel some kind of shame, but she cannot, not when she is on the precipice of something bright, beautiful and damning. She can hardly stand being on the edge of it, having him so close but not close enough.

She wraps her arms around his neck as he teases her with his lips, crosses her legs around his hips, meeting his movements as he torturously grinds his hardening cock against her cunt, dripping with arousal, twitching and clenching around nothing at the anticipation.

“Needy little thing,” he mutters, dragging his nose along her neck as he comes to kiss the hollow of her throat.

His voice sends a shockwave through her body. Her hips buck against his, determined for relief as her fingers thread through the soft strands of his hair, and tug.

He lets out a quiet growl against her skin. A hand rests upon her thigh and trails up, bunching the hem of her nightgown to her waist and adjusting the other side.

He sits back, watching her with the same darkness and intensity as when he was trapped inside the cage, intrigued at the least, fascinated if she is presumptive.

The irony of being laid half bare before him and at his mercy does not escape her.

“I’ve heard you crying out for me, little mortal,” he says.

“You said you can see my dreams,” she says, “how?”

“Your dreams exist in my realm,” he says, “in The Dreaming. I see your dreams as I see the dreams of every other being. I feel them, as clearly as you perceive the waking world. But you…” he muses, settling his hands on either side of her waist. “You are incessant.”

She shivers and writhes under his touch, a pulsing heat settling within her.

She traces her hands over his, where they grip at her waist, along his smooth skin, the tendons and veins. His fingers are long and lithe. She knows they would feel so perfect, wrapped around her throat, stroking over her skin, pushing inside of her wet heat to coax her pleasure.

Aemond smiles to himself as though he can hear her thoughts.

He grips harder into her flesh and pulls his hips back, only to let his cock slide over her slick folds with teasingly gentle thrusts.

Every stroke pushes her closer and closer to the edge, but not enough to find release. She feels the frustrating want pulsing through her body, the coil getting tighter and tighter, her cunt clenching over nothing.

“Aemond…” she says with a breathless mewl, “please…”

“You really want it, don’t you?” Aemond growls, resting his forehead against hers. “Just feel how wet that empty little cunt is for me.”

Her eyes trail along the angles of his face, the line of his scar, the night sky in his eyes as he stares down at her, the gentle curve of his lips and how they settle into a soft expression.

Her gaze slips further down, over his throat, his collar, his pale, bare chest, the ridges of the muscles on his abdomen, the slight dip in his waist, the trail of silver hair to his cock, long, hard and flushed with need, transfixed by the way it moves against her.

She holds her breath each time he withdraws, stifling her whines into his mouth when he only keeps teasing her.

“I want it,” she groans, “I want you. I’ve wanted you since the moment I saw you.”

He lets out a contented hum as he leans down to kiss her. The movements of his mouth are slow and consuming, claiming her with lips, tongue and teeth, wetness and warmth.

She holds him close by the sides of his face. In his violet eye she sees his hunger, his rage, his lust. In his sapphire, she sees oblivion.

And finally, he eases himself into her.

He fucks her delicately, dragging his cock through her gently, slowly, deeply. His lips ghost over her skin, her temple, her cheek, back to her mouth with light kisses and strained but soft breaths.

With a few deft circles over her bud she feels herself come undone around him. Her climax burns through her and she holds him closer for purchase, digging her fingertips into his skin as her resolve melts and her legs tremble around his hips.

Aemond doesn’t stop. He holds her against the mattress with a determined grip, fucking her through her peak until her pleasure settles and simmers once more.

Being kissed by him, held by him, fucked by him feels light a dream, that weightless, numb feeling of being between consciousness and sleep coursing through her limbs. It feels good, it feels deep, it feels perfect.

She cannot be sure how many climaxes he draws from her, she just feels him, his heat, his hands and his skin as he repositions her legs, guides her onto her front, brings her up to her knees, pushes her back down again, until she is a blissful, mindless mess.

He meets his own end when he has her face down on the bed, her face turned to the side against the pillow, his mouth on the underside of her jaw as he pounds into her.

“You’re doing so well,” she hears him rasp, “you’ve been so good to me… fuck, I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you.”

Her mind is beyond words and coherent thoughts. She utters the only thing she feels, the only thing she can think of, “Aemond… Aemond… Aemond…”

He stills his hips against her rear with a guttural moan, pressing his face against hers, squeezing her waist under his hands. He allows himself a few more shallow thrusts until he is spent. She feels his cock pulse within her, a warmth pooling, his spend dripping from her cunt once he has pulled away.

The weight dissipates from her back and for a moment she lies there, basking in the afterglow, feeling her chest rise and fall against the bed, the softness of her sheets under her fingertips.

She wakes to a gentle breeze running over her skin and slipping down her spine.

She allows her eyes to flutter open and recoils at the pale sunlight beaming through the spaces in the curtains.

She holds her breath.

She hears no sound or sign of life other than her own pulse.

She twists herself to sit up, noting that her bedsheets are neat and the hem of her nightgown is where it should be.

Is it possible that she dreamed it? She remembers it so vividly, but the mind has a way of playing tricks. Perhaps it was only a dream.

“Your dreams exist in my realm,” he had said. “I feel them, as clearly as you perceive the waking world.”

How do we determine what is real? she wonders as she pulls on a robe and goes to open the curtains. The morning floods her bedroom. It brings no warmth, but it brings light and life back into the room.

To dream is to live beyond ourselves, why should that be any less true than the world around me?

She seats herself before her vanity, reaching for the drawer for her hairbrush.

But something catches her eye, a glint of colour against mahogany wood, a small gem catching the sunlight.

She takes it between her thumb and index finger and brings it before her eyes; a sapphire, the size of a pearl, a deep and vibrant blue. Its edges are uneven and dull, uncut, as though plucked straight from the earth.

She turns it about between her fingers. It could be a trick of the light, but there is depth to it, a vastness within. The sapphire seems to capture the night sky, dotted with glimmering stars.

His was the same.

As the dazed state of sleep wears off, she feels the satisfied ache between her legs, the spots on her skin marked by him. She smiles to herself and holds the gem in her palm, this precious gift, this reminder, this promise from the Lord of Dreams.

Tags (comment to be added)

Sweet Dream taglist: @solisarium @sirenangelroyal @sabrinasstar @shygardengalaxy @aemondsfavouritebastard @wintrr13 @thedamewithabook @lexwolfhale @rainyforest777

General taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya @dreamsofoldvalyria

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mydisenchantedeulogy · 1 year

Text

Lost in Paradise || Buddha

A/n: this is my first time writing for this character, so I hope he's not too OOC. I started watching ROR when the first season came out, so of course I was going to watch the second season. Then Buddha came on screen and immediately I was hooked. So, this OS is the product of that.

On another note, while I was writing this a story idea came to mind. I sort of want to toy more with the red cord aspect and have the reader come to the realm of the Gods and live with their significant other. It's a basic idea, but I like it.

Please pay attention to the warning tags and please enjoy it.

Warning(s): red cord/soulmate (via Yue-Lao), mentions/implications of death, fear of the unknown, make-outs, intense sex, fainting (via overstimulation), oral (m), female reader, 4,444 words.

No Minors Allowed!!

How did it come to this? Mankind's last stand against the Gods. The moment you heard about Ragnarok, a tournament pitting the Humans against the Gods, you knew mankind didn't stand a chance. For a soul, this also meant that you too would perish; it honestly is a shame.

Sitting in the stands in the area, you stare in dismay at a large screen that displays the matches. So far, no human can best the Gods. Two rounds in, things are looking grim for mankind. Things could honestly not get any worse in your opinion.

"Oh wow! You have a soulmate cord!" A voice beside you exclaims.

You raise a curious brow.

"Pardon me?"

What does he mean by cord? The man points down and upon looking, you notice a silken cord around your finger. When did this get there? Following it with your eyes, you see that it fades in and out through the crowd, heading up to the terrace at the top of the stadium.

"This is the first time I've ever seen it," you mention in confusion.

The man beside you hums.

"How strange. You aren't meant to see the cord. I was a scholar in my former life and I have to wonder if Yue-Lao put this on you."

Yue-Lao? Is this the name of a God?

"Who is Yue-Lao?" You ask.

"He's a God of marriage and love in Chinese mythology. He often appears as an old man under the moon and unites with a silken cord all predestined couples, after which nothing can prevent their union," the scholar answers.

There's no way.

"I don't understand. I never saw this until today and when my soul came here, I'm sure I didn't have it," you mention.

"Could it be that you are destined to be with a God," the man utters, almost as though he's speaking more to himself.

What sense did this make?

"The Gods want to end humanity. Why would I be a match for a God?" You ask.

The man beside you hums.

"It's probable but I have no idea why. Have you heard the story of Eros and Psyche?"

You have. But this is a different story. Something is strange about it. You shouldn't be able to see the cord. Perhaps it is a God you are tethered to. But now isn't the time to care.

There is no way you can focus on the round, however. Curiosity is eating you alive. You take a deep breath and stand, walking toward the stairs. It's a terrible idea but you want to know who you are connected to and why. You pass humans and gods alike on your way down the terrace. The cord leads you to a gorgeous garden room with glass panels; one with an enormous fountain. You stare at it in awe for a moment until the cord tightens with a snap. A moment later the soft sound of footsteps echoes around the room.

Unsure of what to do, you dart behind a marble column as the footsteps grow louder, soon coming to a stop. Your heart pounds in your chest as an air of nervousness surrounds you. Slowly you peek around the marble column and see a muscular man standing near the fountain. His back is to you but you can see that he is wearing a tank top with robes tied around his waist, wrapping back to his hands. Who is this man? The cord seems to connect to him as it does you, so you know he is bonded to you, but he doesn't look familiar at all. The clothes he is wearing are akin to the ones seen in South Asia, but that is all you can tell.

For a moment you stare at him, until to your horror, he peeks over his shoulder in your direction. You dart behind the column and stand there, hoping that he didn't see you. Once a minute passes, you peek back around to see that he is gone. A sigh of relief pours from your mouth, but strangely the cord is still tight; it seems to wrap around the column to the other side. You raise a curious brow, turning to notice that the god in question is leaning his arm against the column staring at you with curious blue eyes hidden behind rectangle-shaped glasses. His hair, which you had thought before was blond is light green; the sides are black.

"Hmm. I thought someone was staring at me," he utters as he removes a light blue lollipop from his mouth.

Your face heats up in embarrassment and you avert your eyes to the cute bunny with the eyepatch printed on his tank top.

"I'm sorry. I just... was looking for someone."

To emphasize your point, not sure what sort of god he is, you raise your hand showing him the red cord. It takes him a moment to understand but once he does he snorts and raises his hand.

"Look at that." He pauses to toy with the cord. "The old man has a sense of humor."

Who is he referring to? Yue-Lao? You've never met the Chinese Love God; you have no idea what he's like or why he'd tether you to someone let alone another God.

If this was his idea of a joke, it wasn't funny.

"Do you know how to remove these? Or where Yue-Lao is? Perhaps he can remove them."

"You want to have them removed?" The God asks.

You narrow your eyes suspiciously and nod in agreement to his question.

"Do you not?"

"Hmm. I mean... We don't know one another. And unless the old man did this as a joke, we're tethered for a reason," he replies.

He wants to know you. Is he serious?

"I'm a human," you state in an obvious tone.

"I hadn't noticed," the god retorts with a grin.

He has a sense of humor. At least he isn't like some gods you have read about. You hum in thought, staring at the cord.

"I reckon we should find Yue-Lao and see about these before Ragnarok is over."

The God tossed up his hands in defense.

"Yes, boss."

Fearing that you might have insulted him, you frown.

"I'm sorry. I just... Don't know what else to do. I never asked for your name and that's rude of me."

The man in question knits his brows.

"You don't know me? I'm Buddha."

Your eyes widen.

"T-there's no way."

"Pretty sure I am," Buddha utters with a hum.

You shake your head.

"That's not it."

This has to be a joke. You've always compared the gods to celebrities; there are A-listers and B-listers; the major gods and the minors.

"You're an A-lister," you utter.

Why are you tethered to an A-lister? Let alone a God. You're not even someone important. Or at least you don't feel like you are.

A hand on your shoulder brings you into reality, sending a pleasant warmth throughout your body. You've never felt such an intense sensation. Is it because of Buddha? Or the bond you have with me? Your tense shoulders relax and you turn your attention to him.

"You have a name, don't you?" The God asks.

You nod and utter it.

Buddha grins in response; his sharp canines make your heart thump faster for some reason.

"Now, while I agree we should look for the old man, the 3rd round of Ragnarok began a moment ago, so--" He pauses to slide his arm around your shoulders. "Why not take the time to get to know one another? I'll even share a lollipop with you."

"Um... Okay," you retort.

So long as this doesn't get awkward.

He leads you over to the fountain and motions for you to sit, resting on the basin beside you. For a moment neither of you speaks; you watch the silken cord around his finger bob as he messes with it. The brief touch he had allowed you lingers on your skin; you hate to admit it, but you miss it.

"Any idea how we came to be tethered, my Lord?" You ask.

Buddha snorts and then laughs.

"My Lord?"

"How should I address you then?" You ask, narrowing your eyes in annoyance. It's not like you've ever spoken to a God; you don't know how to address one. "Because honestly, calling you Buddha is a bit uncomfortable."

The said man raises a brow.

"Is it? I suppose for a human it might be. Hmm. I've been known for a lot of things. Gautama, Gotama, Buddha Shakyamuni. You can call me whatever you like."

Does he honestly not mind?

"Is Shaka OK?" You ask.

He glances at you and grins.

"So, you do know me."

"A little here and there," you admit. "Your name is widely known throughout mankind. But to be honest, you aren't what I expected."

As soon as this leaves your lips, you immediately regret it.

"I'm sorry. I––"

"What were you expecting?" Buddha asks. He doesn't seem annoyed or angry, just curious.

Your face heats up in embarrassment. There's no point in lying to him, you reckon.

"I've always heard that the Buddha looked like a typical shaved man and in your old age, you are described as having a stooped body."

"Are you upset?"

You shake your head no and avert your eyes.

"I think you're extremely handsome, hot even."

It's silent for a moment, then the lollipop he had been sucking on appears in your line of sight. You widen your eyes in shock, peering over at the blue-eyed god.

"Want a lick?"

Your face heats up.

"You... had that in your mouth."

Buddha grunts.

"I don't have anything, and besides... we're tethered, remember?"

"No offense, but that doesn't mean I want to swap spit with you. It was a generous offer though," you state.

He hums and slides the lollipop back into his mouth; the sound of it clicking against his canines makes you snort. It almost seems like he's pouting for some reason.

"I'll try one you haven't licked on," you mention.

"No way. Not after you insulted me," Buddha states.

The grin on his face indicates that he's not serious however; you are relieved. For a God, he isn't bad. You are thankful that if it had to be a God, it is him.

An echo of cheers erupts from the stadium and you hear Heimdall announce the victor of the 3rd round. Is it over already? Your eyes widen in shock.

"He did it... He won."

Kojiro Sasaki beat a God. Perhaps there is some hope for humanity.

The loud crunch of a lollipop draws your attention to Buddha. He spits the stick onto the ground and stands having a serious look on his face. You frown. Is there something wrong? Perhaps it is because a God had died.

"Zeus isn't gonna take this lightly," he utters.

You imagine not. Poseidon is his brother. And now he is dead. It's a double whammy of a situation.

"Well... It's about time we got you back to the stadium." Buddha pauses to fake a yawn. "I'll search for Yue-Lao."

This is a shame; you want to know what reason he had to tether you to Buddha. You agree with a nod despite the frown on your face. A hand appears in your line of sight and you raise a brow, turning your eyes to Buddha; an easy-going grin appears on his face.

"I'll walk you back."

"I appreciate it," you mention with a smile, taking his hand.

For some reason, this feels right.

You hardly know what to think about the 4th match or who to root for. The representative for the Humans is a well-known murderer, Jack the Ripper, whilst the Gods have Hercules on their side. It strikes you as odd that a man known for killing humans is representing them, but if his win gives the Humans a chance then there isn't much you can argue about.

It's a strange match is all.

Feeling the cord around your finger jerk, you glance down at it, curious as to what Buddha is doing. Perhaps he's looking for Yue-Lao himself. He had parted ways with you at the top of the stadium, haven took you to your section unbeknownst to the Humans around you.

The 4th match started soon after.

You sigh and lean back in your chair, watching the screen in front of you. So much is happening at once but your thoughts are on the attractive God that you are tethered to. You never got to ask him what he plans to do with you should Yue-Lao choose to leave the silken cord around your finger. It's a lot to consider, honestly; a lot you're not sure you are ready for.

A motion from the corner of your eye draws your attention to the scholar beside you, his name you are still unsure of. He looks shocked almost, pointing his finger toward something or someone past you. Raising a brow, you peek over your shoulder and notice a familiar God standing at the end of the aisle watching the screen.

You stand and quickly saunter over to him.

"Shaka?" His eyes turn to you as you call his name. "What are you doing here?"

Buddha grins.

"I came to get you. Are you ready?"

Did he find Yue-Lao?

"Of course."

Leading you away from the stadium, you silently walk beside him to a nearby hill outside the arena. The scenery is stunning, the most captivating thing you have ever seen. But where is Yue-Lao?

"Are we meeting him here?" You ask in confusion.

Buddha sits at the base of a large Bodhi tree and hums.

"Meeting who?"

Did he already forget?

"Yue-Lao," you answer with a sigh.

"I haven't looked for him," Buddha mentions with a yawn.

Is he serious? Your jaw tightens.

"Are you not even a little curious?"

"Hmm. No. Even as a joke we're bound for a reason. Besides... I'm not bothered by it," Buddha answers.

Your eyes widen in shock. How can he not be bothered? You are a human. He may have been at one time too, but the era of mankind is at an end. With an uneasy sigh, you sit beside him, looking out at the arena in the distance. The warm gentle breeze sways your hair and little by little you relax.

"I'm sorry about Poseidon. Hearing that a God was struck down by a human can't be easy," you utter.

Or lifting for that matter. It must have struck--

A boisterous laugh rings out from the God beside you as he tosses his head back.

"You're hilarious."

"I was being sincere," you argue.

Buddha hums and tilts his head toward you.

"There's no reason to apologize. He knew what he was signing up for... And honestly, he underestimated the Humans."

Reaching between the robes tied at his waist, he pulled out a lollipop.

"The same may happen to me when it's my turn," he continues, popping the sweet candy in his mouth. "Though I doubt it."

He's battling in the tournament too? Your jaw tightens in uncertainty. This isn't a good sign for the humans or you for that matter. Why is he telling you this? You narrow your eyes.

"If we lose... What do you plan to do with me?"

Buddha snorts and presses the lollipop between his cheek and teeth.

"You can come back to Nirvana with me if you chose to."

Your face heats up. Perhaps it's the cord, but his proposal sounds lovely. Forever with an easygoing and attractive God like him is tempting.

"May I have my lollipop now?"

With a grin, Buddha takes the one from his mouth and offers it to you. Maybe he didn't expect you to take it, because the moment you do, sliding the treat into your mouth, his blue eyes widen. The taste of blue raspberry coats your tongue as you eagerly lick it, feeling the small indentations from his canines.

"I thought you didn't want to swap spit with me," he reminds you.

"We're tethered, remember." You retort.

Shifting the lollipop between your teeth, you press down until the shell cracks. The wide-eyed expression on the God beside you makes you snort."

"Hold on! That's the last one," Buddha mentions with a whine, reaching for the stick.

You lean back out of his reach.

"You said you'd give me one."

"I said we'd share," he clarifies.

Perhaps he did, however, he ate the last one without sharing. You grin teasingly at him.

"I'll take my share then.

As your teeth crunch down on the candy, the God lunges at you, knocking you onto your back; you don't mean to, but the sudden movement causes your mouth to snap closed, crushing the lollipop to pieces. Buddha stares down at you, mouth slightly agape as he removes the barren stick from your lips. Oops. He shouldn't have lunged at you. The fact he is nestled between your thighs forces an embarrassed heat to your face. It also doesn't help that he looks stunning in this position; with wisps of light green hair dangling around his face.

You reach up and curl a lock around your finger, admiring the way it springs back into place.

"I'm sorry about––"

Pressure on your thighs makes you shiver as the God leans down, capturing your lips in a soft kiss. For a moment, your head begins to spin; a pleasant warmth erupts in your stomach and your eyes tear up. Is this a product of the tether? A simple kiss shouldn't be this intense. It's too tempting not to want more. You return the kiss, groaning softly as Buddha adds more pressure. Why is he kissing you? It's not like you are arguing, but there has to be a reason.

No way! Is he wanting the candy? You part from him, ignoring the light tug of your bottom lip between his, and narrow your eyes.

"That's a mean trick."

"I'm just taking my share," Buddha utters. A grin spreads across his face. "Or maybe I just want an excuse to taste you."

Goosebumps rise across your skin in response.

"It's unfair how insanely attractive you are," you mention. Sliding your legs around his waist, you shoot him a glare. "Take your share if you want it."

Pressing his thumb against your bottom lip as he leans down, Buddha gently ushers you to slightly open your mouth, giving you a brief kiss before his tongue meets yours. A low moan tickles your throat, relishing in the sensation of the God intimately sucking on your tongue. The sweet and fruity taste of blue raspberry nearly drives you mad; the aroma is everywhere.

Parting from you, a thin lead of blue-tented saliva connects his tongue to yours until he breaks it, chewing on the candy he swiped from your mouth. Honestly, you feel like a complete mess. You are aware that your face is heated, and that your pussy is humming in arousal. Staring pleadingly into your eyes, you notice the unusual lily pattern in his own. Were those always there?

"Your eyes are gorgeous."

With a grin, Buddha lifts you from the ground and into his lap; your legs remain securely around his waist. He quickly turns his attention to your ear, running his warm tongue along the shell before he drops to your neck, tasting your skin. This is unreal; the sensation is almost too much to bear. He's slowly driving you mad with want.

Guiding his hand down, you grin as Buddha catches on, sinking his fingers into the waistband of your pants, yanking them down a bit. You sit up on your knees to help him remove them. With them gone, he slides his hand between your thighs and sinks a finger into your warm pussy. As he spreads your walls, preparing you for what is to come, you lean in and kiss his candy-coated lips. It takes everything you can not to break the kiss and moan; another finger slides in, pumping into you. For someone rumored to be so peaceful, he is brutal on your pussy. But what will his cock feel like inside you?

Sucking on his tongue, you yank on his robes urging him to remove them or pull them up; the latter he soon does, pulling them over his knees. It doesn't surprise you to feel that he isn't wearing anything beneath them; his hard cock rests against your thigh. You groan as his fingers retreat, leaving you feeling empty. And no sooner a tight pressure feels you as he eases you down onto him to the base. You break the kiss with a sigh; you've honestly never felt so full in your life.

"Shaka," you utter almost anxiously.

Buddha grins and buries his short nails into your hips.

"Hold on to me."

You do as told, not able to contain the gleeful smile on your face as the God begins to rock you on his cock. It hurts a bit, but honestly, you don't care; the pain combined feels divine with the pleasure Buddha is giving you. A soft moan escapes his mouth, sending warm breath against your neck; it's the hottest thing you have ever heard. Your walls tighten in response.

There isn't much you can do but try to match his quick and rough pace, arching your back. You honestly feel like you are just along for the ride at this point. It feels so damn good. There's no way you can last like this; your entire body is already tensing up. It doesn't help that the God wrecking you is giving you the most sinful and possessive look; lily patterns decorate his gorgeous blue eyes.

A warm pressure in your stomach quickly consumes you, pushing you over the edge and into an intense orgasm. It's too much; you've never felt this satisfied before almost like you can't breathe. For a minute you forget to, clutching onto the God as you ride out your high. A cold sweat washes over you and strangely a low static-like noise permeates your ears. What is this? The world around you suddenly goes dark.

A moment later, you snap to, leaning up. The God beneath you is still but remains inside you.

"Welcome back. Are you OK?" Buddha asks.

"I... What just happened?"

Your head is light and your body feels completely worn out.

"You fainted, he answers.

What? There's no way. Your face heats up in embarrassment as you avert your attention from him. Is this even possible? Did your orgasm make you faint? You've never fainted from overstimulation before, but you've also never fucked a God before either.

"I'm sorry I––"

Buddha snorts, interrupting you.

"You fainted because you stopped breathing... though I'm flattered you thought it was because of me."

Is this what caused it? You are unsure of whether you should feel relieved or not. Regardless, it's a bit embarrassing. The feeling of his cock stretching your walls reminds you that he didn't finish. You'd feel terrible if you left him like this.

"Let me take care of you."

Buddha raises a brow.

You ease off him, humming as this action leaves your walls empty and sore. Resting your knees on the ground, you reach down, wrapping your hand around him. His shaft is slick with your arousal so at least you won't have a hard time going down on him. Licking your eager lips, you lean down and press a kiss against him. This almost feels wrong, sucking off a God, but at the moment, you don't care. Sliding open your mouth, you sink onto him, taking as much in as you can; oddly enough, you don't taste half bad.

Slowly at first, you bob your head. Your tongue presses tight against the underside of his shaft, not able to move much due to limited space, but you do your best to make this good for him. It's a shame you can't see his expression; a soft grunt is the only indication you have to go on. The idea that you can make a God come surrounds you with pride and you tilt your head a bit, taking him from another angle.

A hand in your hair urges you to take a quick look at Buddha. He is staring in the distance, mouth slightly open. As expected of a God, he's gorgeous like this. You hum, bobbing your head a bit fast; the grip on your hair tightens in response. At this pace, it isn't long before you hear him groan softly. His cock twitches as warm ropes of cum coats your tongue. You continue to slowly bob your head until he is done, then you lean up, resting on your legs with a pleased yet worn-out expression on your heated face.

Swallowing the mess in your mouth, you hum.

"Even as a soul, I feel exhausted."

Buddha grins.

"We'll rest after we find Yue-Lao." He pauses to raise his finger; the one with the cord attached to it. "You wanted to ask how to remove this, didn't you?"

You do. But maybe this arrangement isn't so bad. Buddha straightens himself out and makes a move to stand, but you quickly stop him, gripping his robes.

"Can we maybe wait? I just... want to see how this pans out."

"Having second thoughts?" Buddha asks.

Is it that obvious? You nod to clarify.

"You're not that bad, I suppose, for a God."

Buddha laughs and sits back down, leaning onto his side with his hand propping him up; the other pats the ground beside him. You accept his offer, laying on your side facing him; you honestly don't care that you're bare from the waist down. The light breeze and warm sun dancing across your skin are delightful.

"Shaka," you call, resting your eyes. "If the Humans win, may I still go with you to Nirvana?"

"It's your decision... with me changing sides, the chance of the Humans losing is slim," Buddha answers.

Is he serious? You open your eyes briefly to glance at him. He's not doing this for you, is he?

"Are you––"

Interrupting you with a yawn, he shuts his eyes.

"Rest. It won't be long before I go on."

There isn't a way to convince him otherwise once his mind is made up, it seems. No matter. A God on the side of the Humans is a big leap. Either way, whichever wins, you can't wait to see what this soulmate business is all about.

#record of ragnorak fandom #buddha x reader #record of ragnarok fanfic #buddha ror #female reader #record of ragnorak

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