#endless melodies series

[mauvecherie-writes]

endless melodies: l.hamilton

part: [i] [ii] [iii] iv

pairing: lewis hamilton x fem!oc;jamilah riley

genre: smau romance x full chapters

summary: an impromptu studio session leads to tensions rising

tags: 18+, mentions of past cheating, corny flirting, making out.

w.c: 2.4K

reading list: @queenshikongo3 @dhlfastestlap @saintslewis @serpenttines-library @hopefulromantic1 @cocobutterqwueen @bluesole16 @chaneajoyyy @melodichaeuxx-lacritquexx @sapphireheaven @olyvoyl @lewisroscoelove @lh44adore @hellomadamebutterfly @scorpiobleue @qveenmelanink @tremendousstarlighttragedy @angelinaevans @bekindbecoolbeyou @greedyjudge2 @itsapurrfectstorm @createdbylivingclocks @samiwzx @omgsuperstarg @peyiswriting @miyuhpapayuh @blowmymbackout @purplelewlew

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jamilah.riley

liked by renee_downer, victoriamonet and others

jamilah.riley Quit vapes - start Smoking on my Ex Pack instead. #OUTNOW

view 20,405 comments

userriley Oh you came in HOT guuurrrll !! This is tew good!

rileygirlie I’d be scared if I was that guy right now. My sister is not playing around!

user17 PUUURRRR !!!! This is the Jamilah we needed! You handled that shit!

jwellerfan You’re such a loser.

⤷rileyryder44 I’d rather be a LOSER than be a CHEATER liked by jamilah.riley

raye They could never make me hate you!

⤷jamilah.riley raye my sister for life

lewishamilton 🔥🔥🔥 liked by jamilah.riley

stormzy Cmonnnn!! Fire in the booth!

⤷user379 stormzy isn’t Jackson Weller your friend?

⤷user82 user379 Being friends with someone doesn’t stop you from approaching good music!

amalriley been on repeat all day!

⤷jamilah.riley amalriley so real

thatgirljodie you didn’t whack him enough for me idk

⤷jamilah.riley thatgirljodie I’ll try my best next time!

It was early afternoon and Jamilah was having a rare day off and she was loving the initial reactions to her surprise drop. Smokin on my Ex Pack was written and recorded the day Jackson posted on Instagram the picture of him and his new girlfriend.

She knew, she’d always known that he was cheating on her. Her intuition had never done her wrong and when he started to change, she knew something was up. He wouldn’t touch her anymore, he wouldn’t kiss anymore, he wouldn’t communicate anymore, he barely wanted to spend time with her and the times that he was around her, Jackson always had his face in his phone.

The last straw for Jamilah was when Jackson started wearing a friendship bracelet with ‘ I love you from V’ on it. She asked him where it was from and he told her that a fan had given it to him as a gift. At the time, she didn’t question it - she also has a box full of friendship bracelets from fans but that all changed when she was visiting him on set and Vanessa had the identical bracelet.

She broke up with him the same day.

Jackson tried to fight against it but Jamilah stood her ground. It fucking hurt and it sucked to go through that and is still trying to heal with the loss of that relationship. However she was far happier now that it was over, she was moving on and her music was better than ever.

Then Jamilah thought back to the previous week to her chance encounter with Lewis. And it brought a smile to her face. He was far more devastatingly handsome in person and it rattled her quite a bit. She knew that she had a crush but the way she reacts to Lewis was a little out of bounds for her.

She wasn’t going to try and understand her feelings with him now. All she knew was that she liked him and he makes her feel good. The rest can be analysed later.

As she settled down on her couch, her phone began to ring. As if fate was reading her thoughts, it was Lewis calling. They had finally switched numbers at the end of the party last week and the conversations continued. They were a little less now because he was preparing for the beginning of the new Formula One season.

A bright smile was on her face as she answered his call.

“Princess.” He glanced at the camera with a smile before he leaned back into the seat of the car. Jamilah giggled as she rested her head on her hand as she looked into the camera as he was fixing his cap.

“Hi, Lewis.” She smiled.

“How are you? How’s your day been?”

“It’s been pretty eventful.”

“I bet. That surprise drop really shook some tables huh.”

“Something like that.”

“It had me thinking.”

“Tell me.”

“Let me start by asking, are you free today?”

“Yeeesss why?” She dragged out her answer.

“Good. I’m booking us a recording session. I’ll pay for everything but your song really inspired me to just get back into the studio and work on some music.”

“Music that’s not going to be released?” Jamilah raised her eyebrow as she watched Lewis laugh and roll his eyes.

“Let’s not focus on that right now. We talked about us working on some things together and I want to start now.”

“You’re very persistent. Has anyone ever told you that.”

“I’ve been told.” He smirked as he licked his lips. “But don’t act like you don’t want this too.”

Jamilah rolled her eyes. “Whatever, just tell me which studios we’re going and I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“None of that Princess, I’ll come and pick you up. We can get something to eat and drink on the way there.”

“Oouu, I’m feeling spoiled. Free session and food? You know how to really charm a lady don’t you.”

“Just you.” He winked at the screen. “Send me your address, I’ll be there to pick you up in no time.”

“Fine.” She chewed on her lip as she tried to stop herself from smiling. She shared her address with him before they said their goodbyes.

Jamilah jumped up from the couch and ran to her bedroom to freshen up. She had about 30 minutes to spare before Lewis arrived at her doorstep. Jamilah jumped to her feet and rushed to her bedroom to freshen up. She changed from her current loungewear and into. matching black tracksuit and spritzed some of her perfume. She brushed her eyebrows and applied her lip balm before popping a piece of chewing gum into her mouth before preparing her bag.

Laptop, songbook, headphones, chargers and anything else that she needed. The rest that couldn’t come to mind, Jamilah was sure that Lewis would have.

By the time she was completely ready, a knock came to her door. She had nervous flatters in her stomach as she anticipated seeing Lewis again.

Jamilah opened the door and there he was. Standing at the same level, she could see his eyes and the smile on his face when she opened the door even wider, even though most of his face fact was hidden by his signature cap.

“Hey, you.” He softly said. There was just something about the tone of his voice that had her smiling.

“Hi.” Jamilah replied as she stepped out of her townhouse. Once the door was locked, she turned her back around and gave him a hug. All of her belongings were in the way but they managed to figure it out. Lewis chuckled as he wrapped his arms around her waist as hers went around his neck.

She couldn’t help but sniff him - it was almost a reflex at this point. Jamilah couldn’t help herself, he always smelt so good and she was quickly becoming addicted to it.

“Did you just sniff me?” Lewis asked with a tone of laughter in his enquiry.

Jamilah blushed in embarrassment as she pulled away from his embrace. “You smell good.” She sheepishly admitted as she fixed her hoodie back into place.

Lewis chuckled as he took her bags away from her and carried them.

“Now I gotta keep smelling good.”

“For lil old’ me?”

“If it keeps you sniffing me? I’ll make sure that my sweat smells like the freshest river and lakes.”

“Oh my god!” Jamilah groaned as she rolled her eyes and pushed him towards the gates out of her townhouse.

Lewis walked in front of her, leading her to the parked car. He seemed to scout the area before he stepped to the side and let Jamilah enter into the truck first. It was a move that she was used to. Kensington was a hotspot for paparazzi but with the time of day that it was, it was pretty chill but Jamilah still wasn’t sure.

On the way to the studio, they stopped by Tesco for some snacks but it was Lewis’s bodyguard that walked into the store with their list.

“Which studio did you book?” Jamilah asked.

“Abbey Road.” Lewis replied as she scrolled through his phone. His nonchalance shocked her back into the seat.

“Did you just say Abbey Road?!” She exclaimed.

“Yes.” Lewis laughed, “why?”

“We’re only going to be there for a few hours at least.”

“I go there all of the time when I’m in touch and I don’t want people at my place.”

“Oh you’re rich, rich.” Jamilah giggled which caused him to smirk. “Might just keep you around as I work on this album.”

“What am I to you? A bank?!”

“You might as well be. I’m seeing that you have a pension for spending money on your people.”

“You classify yourself as my people now?”

“I’m bulldozing into your life as you are mine, so yes.” She smiled at him.

“You’re not wrong.” Lewis replied hitting her with that smouldering gaze of his as he licked his lips. Now Jamilah’s feelings were going array. She loved the way that he made her feel - not even Jackson had ever made her feel like this.

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jamilah.riley posted 10 minutes ago

When they arrived at the studio, they quickly set up their working stations and thankfully they got to working. Their energies were in sync so their ideas naturally bounced off each other and in the process, they started working on a song together. Lewis worked on synthesising the beat whilst Jamilah worked on the lyrics.

“Hey, come listen to this. I build it up from a beat I worked on. I fixed it to have to have a style similar to yours.” Lewis called her over and she got up from the couch and walked closer to him. He got up from the seat to let her sit down. Lewis stood next to her as she put the headphones and pressed play.

He watched as her head swayed side to side with her eyes closed. Her face scrunched up when the beat dropped which caused him to smile.

“Oh this is good! I love it!” Jamilah grinned as she turned to face him.

“Yeah?” Lewis smiled as he watched her take the beat in.

“Yeah! We can absolutely work with this. I already have some lyrics in mind for this.” Jamilah got back to her bag and took out her lyrics book. She flipped through the pages until she arrived at a page that had unfinished lyrics. Lewis had come closer to her and she could feel his warmth around her. She tried to not let his presence affect her but when his breathing was what she could feel on her neck as he looked over her shoulder into her book.

“My waterfall, I’ll make it overflow. Make you forget about all them hoes.” Lewis read out loud her written words and then chuckled. “Do those lyrics hold the truth?”

Jamilah gasped at his question as she rushed to her close her book and turned to face him.

“You can’t ask me that.”

“I’ll find out soon enough.” He smirked. Jamilah pushed him away as she tried not to blush.

“You’re a trip.” She rolled her eyes as she tried not to pay too much attention on the fact that he was holding onto her hand and pulling her towards him.

“You like it though.” He replied as he dropped their hands from his chest to their side.

“I don’t know why I do. Any other person would have been cussed out.”

“I’m not like other people.” Lewis boasted about himself. His statement causes a small smile to draw on her face.

“No you’re not.” She whispered. Jamilah then felt his thumb caressing the hand he was still holding. The feel of his touch sent shivers down the length of the spine and caused her breath to softly shudder.

Then his finger hooked onto her chin and turn her head back towards his. And the way that he was looking down at her was leaving her flustered, squirming as she stood.

“You look like you want to kiss me.” She whispered as she licked her lips.

“I do want to kiss you.” He answered. As she looked up at him, she felt his fingers dig into her jawline and the slight sting had Jamilah biting into her bottom lip.

“Then kiss me.”

Lewis didn’t waste any time before he leaned down and claimed her mouth. Jamilah let out a soft whimper as their lips moved in a slow, sensual rhythm. His hand moved from her chin and down her body until they settled on the small part of her back and pulled her closer.

When his other hand came to her waist, he changed the pace of the kiss. It lost the tenderness from the beginning as the kiss became more passionate and more smouldering as his hands began to explore as much of her body as he could.

Lewis bent forward slightly as he cupped her ass in his hands and then picked her up so that her legs wrapped around his waist. He walked towards the couch and sat down with her in his lap. Their lips didn’t part as she settled her thighs on either side of him.

Jamilah cupped her cheeks as the kiss deepened, sucking his bottom lip into her mouth. Lewis groaned into their kiss as his hands squeezed on her hips and stilling the slight movement of them on his lap. She giggled yet again when she felt his hardness slightly pushing against her inner thigh.

“Is that what I think it is?” She mumbled as she played with his short beard.

“I don’t want to think about right now.” Lewis mumbled. “Let’s focus on the fact your lips are so soft and I could kiss you until my last breath.”

“Do you ever stop being corny?”

“When it’s you involved, never.” Jamilah hated the way her cheeks warmed up to his words. He leaned forward and bumped his nose against hers.

“You know long I’ve been wanting to kiss you for?”

“Since the party?”

“No. I was scrolling on your Instagram and you had posted this picture of you looking cute as hell and I just kept staring at your lips. I’ve wanted to know what they felt like since.”

“Oh you’ve been plotting for time huh.” Jamilah smirked as she licked her lips, bringing the taste of him back into her mouth.

“This was just phase one.” He mumbled as he pulled her closer, wanting to feel more her heat on him.

“What’s phase two?” She grinned as she wrapped she arms around his neck.

“Stick with me and you’ll find out.” Lewis said as he leaned in for another kiss.

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ru’s letters 💌: I had most of this sitting in my drafts but I got so busy and sidetracked. I’m trying to get back to it. Starting with the posting of this. Please comment, reblog and like. Love you all 🩷

#mauvecherie writes #endless melodies series #lewis hamilton x jamilah riley #lewis hamilton smau #lewis hamilton x black oc #sir lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton x black reader #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton fanfiction #lewis hamilton fic #lh #lewis hamilton smut

[vellichor-of-the-solivagant]

With Them, Who Swallowed a Star

PAIRING: Professor!Task Force 141 X F!Student!Reader WORD COUNT 5.3k CONTENT WARNING: NSFW! group sex, age gap, fingering, cunnilingus, oral sex, handjobs, facefucking/blowjobs, unprotected sex, p in v, anal sex, slight usage of nicknames, reader is a pianist/student, tf141 are professors, smut with plot SYNOPSIS: A musician is a storyteller in their own ways. You had told yours and captured the sights of men you never expected to pull when you stepped inside an academy. AUTHOR'S NOTE: I tried to be poetic. This fried my brain and I'm not going to write something like this again. That's a lie because I have a series that has 5 love interests. This one was supposed to have Graves as well since he's actually my inspiration for writing this shit, but I ended up not adding him. I might do it on Drabbles if someone asks though. And yes, I have changed my username from DontFearTheReaperAzura. Here's the Masterlist for more! Also on Archive of Our Own

Your fingers fluttered slightly as you lifted your hands to the keys, blocking out the rustling from others as they sat in the grand auditorium. Long and drawn, you began to tell a tale you had held for a long time. Notes swam in the air, old friends that played with your tresses and caressed your skin.

The story started slowly, the sound of the beginning, the beginning of the end. Longing clashed with trepidation, your fingers sang a song of despair. You swayed with the music, lost in the whims of unspoken words—of a world you owned. Quicker and quicker, the notes climbed in sync with your heart, growing joyful in hopes of masking the mournful melody surrounding you.

It filled the emptiness deep within your chest for a moment, before like the heavens shed tears upon a barren land, you showed—you poured out the lore of your world, and with heavy reluctance to leave what you created, you played the last few notes.

For a few moments, you kept your eyes closed, and when a series of claps reached your ears, only then you opened them. You were shackled back to reality just as you held back your work.

You looked at the people, who in your eyes were nothing but shadows at the beginning, now enamored, yearning for the rest. You knew they felt it, too. Pulled, as though you were the center of the system. Like the Sun, a star.

And one man stuck out more than others, gazing at you, blue eyes almost ravenous. But it didn’t last for long, just like a song in the wind, he faded among the standing crowd, drowned out in the flurry of praise.

You breathed out a sigh as you stared at the towering structure before you, now your second hell—in replacement of the ramshackle place you call home—after you had gotten a scholarship to this prestigious university after years of a couple of years of working your ass off. Students rushed past you on their way in and out of their classes, but you stood frozen.

Suddenly you felt awfully unprepared for this unfamiliar place, of socializing and strangers, and of university. Of life. What did Google say about socializing with people your age again? How about impressing a professor? Good lord.

You shrugged off your thoughts and sauntered to your class. A large lecture hall welcomed your sight and you found an empty seat at the front row. Not the perfect place for observation of the whole place, but good for listening to the professor.

The sound of expensive shoes echoed throughout the hushed room and you kept your eyes down as you took out your notebook and pen. As the quiet dragged on, you glanced at the professor and found your brows raising at his sight.

He was tall, seemed to be fit, and in his thirties. He had a few wrinkles, a beard, and brown hair, but no sign of graying.

Above all, you could remember those eyes. An endless swirl of blue. The man at the concert hall.

You put your gaze down as the professor looked down on you, your heart hammered against your ribs, sudden nervousness springing in your nerves. You wished he wouldn’t recognize you, but at the same time, you hoped he did.

Yet, the silence remained, and in curiosity, you looked back up. Your breath hitched as your eyes met his, gaze shining with something you couldn’t decipher, and a smile formed on his lips.

You forced yourself to mirror it and batted a glance at the door. You wanted to get out.

The professor introduced himself as Jonathan Price, and told the class a few things about himself, before diving straight into the first lesson of Philosophy.

Time seemed to flow fast throughout his class and you kept your fingers busy, writing down his words. He was easy to understand, bringing out intricate details in his lesson, and asked questions now and then if he was going too fast while walking around the room.

You couldn’t help but notice his slacks fit in a certain area. Then again, that thing wouldn’t give you a brain cell even if you suck it off.

The bell chimed and you gathered and stuffed your notebook and pen inside your bag, jolting up to your feet. But as you approached the exit, his canorous voice called out to you.

“Pardon me, young lady.”

You turned to face the professor, keeping a respectable distance from him, which he closed off, only standing a couple of feet from you.

“Yes, sir?” You asked in a small voice when he remained silent, his eyes studying you with disconcerting intensity, just like how he gazed at you at your performance.

Finally, after an uncomfortable silence, he asked. “What’s your name?”

You spoke of your name in a steady voice, equally confused and intimidated, you gripped on the strap of your bag. Everyone had already left, now bringing quietness to the hall.

He smiled once again, his head tilting a bit to the side. “A pretty name.” His voice sent goosebumps on your skin, making you breathe in deeply, inhaling the scent of his pleasant cologne. “Such a shame I couldn’t catch it after your performance a couple of weeks ago.”

He remembered you.

Your cheeks began to burn.

Oh, how he yearned to caress your tinted cheeks, place a kiss on them, and mutter praise against your soft skin.

“Ah, you were there, weren’t you, sir?” You offered him a smile and a pause. “I think I caught a glance of you in the front rows.”

“Correct.”

“Thank you for watching, sir,” you said, not knowing what to speak of next, and nodded at him, reaching out to the knob to leave. But he reached for the door, making you blink at his unexpected actions, caged between the door and him.

“I couldn’t take my eyes off of you,” he fessed, bodies now closer to yours that you almost touched, and you gulped. “You were magnificent.” He opened the door, a hand motioning at you. “See you on Wednesday. And I hope we see more of your performance.”

We?

You jolted awake at the loud laughter of a raucous group outside of your room and grunted at the sudden pang of pain in your head when you stood up. You glanced at the alarm clock by your bedside and muttered a crisp curse, hauling your bag. You burst out of your room, slipping past students in the hallway like a breeze, hurried apologies were called out to those poor victims she bumped into.

The morning had been long and tiring, and you decided to take a nap earlier, only to end up sleeping for a couple of hours. Now, you were about to get late for your next class, and the usual ten-minute walk turned into a five-minute run and an uncalled exercise.

You glanced from left to right in the hallway, glancing at your phone to make sure you were in the right building, and turned to the right, following the signs. You halted before a room, strangely closed even though the class was supposed to start in five minutes.

You used your phone as a mirror and patted down your hair, before turning the knob and opening the door. You walked into a softly lit room and realized the mistake you had made as you spotted a man splayed down on a couch across the room. A hand behind his head and over his stomach, and over the lower half of his face was a black mask.

Inside was a personal office, belonging to one of the professors.

You immediately turned away, about to exit the room when an angry voice echoed.

“Have you got no manners?” The man rose to sit, a scowl painted on his face.

For the nth time in your sorry life, you wanted to bury yourself alive. You dipped your head low in embarrassment. “I’m very sorry, sir. I thought this was the room my class was in. I didn’t mean to intrude.” You frantically fumbled on your phone, inputting the wrong password one time, and read your schedule.

You read the room number wrong.

Brilliant. Bloody brilliant.

The professor fixed his crooked mask. “What class were you supposed to go to?”

“Uh, a math class of Mr. Simon Riley,” you read on your phone, keeping your head low.

A hum escaped past the man’s lips, making you glance up at him. His dark blond hair slightly ruffled from his apparent nap and coat a bit crooked. He ran his hand on his hair, fixed his coat, and patted down the invisible wrinkles on the fabric.

He stood up and you inched back, surprised at his stature. A tall man with broad shoulders and arms noticeably strong, (massive honkers) and eyes like a pool of honey, swirling like molten gold under the light.

“You’re in luck, sweetheart. I’m Simon Riley. You’re in my office, our class is in the next room.” Unlike earlier, his cold voice had turned a bit softer, but the fact that he was your professor made your sweat run cold.

You nodded, inwardly wincing at your dumbass. “Again, I apologize, sir.”

He stood before you, next to the opened door. Gladly, there were no students passing by in the hallway.

“What is your name, love?” he questioned, his hands going to his pockets. His eyes narrowed at the way your head dipped, refusing to meet his gaze. Like a meek little bunny, scared of the world and what all those pretty eyes could see.

He wanted to place a finger under your chin and lift your face up to look at him.

You never knew introducing yourself could feel like an interrogation until now. You told him your name, averting your gaze down at his shoes that shifted slightly. “Nice to meet you, Sir Riley. I’m sorry it wasn’t under the best circumstances.”

He hummed once again and stepped out of the office. “Pleasure’s all mine."

You followed him out of the room and he swiftly closed the door behind you, his being a bit closer to you than comfort.

With a nod, Professor Riley led you to the classroom. Dozens of students had already occupied the room and you silently made your way to a vacant seat on the second row, placing your bag next to you.

Just like Mr. Price, the masked professor went straight to the point, briefly introducing himself to the crowd, and began his lesson. He, too, was easy to understand, repeating the equations some couldn't get well, and was kind enough to let the class take a few minutes of break, before continuing. You had also come to notice he would fix his mask every once in a short while.

And when the bell chimed, he bid his students goodbye, yet called for your name. You halted on gathering your things as he approached you. His eyes glanced at the students who last left the room before he spoke.

"Feel free to come by my office whenever you have a question or need anything. Can't have you lose your way again, do we?" He asked, a bit of amusement in his voice as he leaned close.

You smiled at his offer. "Thank you, sir."

Sure as shooting, you asked him where your next room was for Chemistry. By good fortune, he knew where it was and who the professor would be.

"Ah, there he is." Sir Riley abruptly came to a stop, making you halt in your tracks as well and follow the direction of his gaze, to see a man with a mohawk.

"Simon!" The man jogged towards the two of you, a grin playing on his lips in contrast to the man who never took off his mask. Another person with blue optics, but his were bluer as though someone took a piece of the briny deep and placed it in his optics.

He kept a smile as his attention swept to you. "And who's the little bird?"

You frowned a bit at the nickname, nonetheless gave him your name, and watched his eyes light up with fascination. The man began to tell the pull he felt by the notes of your music, how enamored he was by the unspoken words of your tale.

He was there, too and Sir Riley was along with them.

Your face flushed as he ranted and they both noticed, taking note of the shades painted on your skin, bashful of the sudden recognition.

"He is John Mactavish, your Chemistry professor," Sir Riley piped in, placing a hand on the other man's shoulder, before bidding his farewell at the moment, marching down to his next class.

Left all alone with Professor Mactavish, you turned to him. He grinned at you and he beckoned at you to follow him. The man was, well, talkative and wasted not a second expressing his applause of your performance and how he never expected to see you in the university.

You could only mutter small words and nod, already feeling exhausted. But it was pleasant to hear him compliment you. You could get used to it.

And you could get used to his enthusiasm for teaching. His first lesson went straight to an experiment and dragged you to his side as his assistant, instructing you to mix chemicals. Occasionally, his fingers brushed over yours as you passed vials.

Your eyes met, and sparks flew all around.

Literal spark.

And fire.

Professor Mactavish pulled you to the side, hand remaining on your arm as the chemicals were set ablaze.

With a couple of ticks of the clock, a giggle erupted from your lips and like there was a pull, his chuckles followed.

In the sea of awes, his laughter floated on the surface.

You sprinted on the hall, navigating through the winding routes of the structures, and arrived at one of the most exquisite auditoriums you had ever set eyes on. Your eyes took in the magnificent chandeliers and the divine paintings stretched across the ceiling.

The sound of a throat clearing pulled you from your stupor.

“Are you just going to stand there?” a voice called for your attention to where he stood near the stage. The man basked in the warm glow of the concert hall, skin as though molten caramel, and eyes like embers.

“Oh, forgive me, sir.” You straightened yourself up like a soldier before a superior. “I was just, well, this place is beautiful.” You couldn’t help but glance around once again.

“Isn’t it?” A soft smile crawled its way to his lips and he approached you. “I am Mr. Garrick and you are . . .” your name rolled out of his tongue like a serenade, gentle to the ears, a sight to see the way his lips moved, and he extended a hand to you.

You clasped it gently before realization dawned on you. “Pardon me, Garrick as in the Kyle Garrick?”

In a flash of a moment, something sparkled in his eyes and searched yours. “Yes, it is me.”

You nearly squealed and ran around the room in excitement. “Oh my God. Wow. I-I’m a huge fan, sir. You were such a huge inspiration to me—and, and, I wished I could have watched your performance at the concert before, but I was busy preparing for mine. Oh, that must be why Mr. Price, Mr. Riley, and Mr. MacTavish were there! You are friends!” Your words tumbled out of delight.

"Yes, well, thank you for the kind words." His hand sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck, his smile becoming wider.

You gazed at him for a few moments before you snapped out of it, your brain slapping it to your face that you just rambled in front of this gentleman. "I'm very sorry, that was unprofessional of me."

"No need for apologies. But I do want to get a feel of your play today as soon as possible." A hand landed on your back, his warmth slipping through the fabric as he led you towards the grand piano patiently waiting for you at the stage.

Your fingers itched in anticipation.

Sir Garrick gave you a comforting smile and sat on the front row seat. "Feel free to play whatever your heart desires."

What your heart desires.

With a shaky breath, once again, you began to tell a tale, the notes sounding like a human voice as it wove its sonorous song.

A ballad to tie what dream your heart made. An andante at first and increased tempo at each heartbeat.

Lightning striking and thunder howling, Kyle was consumed with the way you swayed from one note to another. He couldn't peel his eyes off you as though you had him in your grasp, a puppet for you to control. And only when the last of the music hung in the air, could he snap free of the strings.

He walked towards you and dropped to his knee, taking one of your hands in his palm. "You were truly astonishing."

"I'm telling you, she was marvelous," Kyle exclaimed, pacing around Price's office and pointing at his fellow professors. "Blimey, if only you guys were there the other day, you'd feel chills."

Simon kept a straight face as he sat on the couch, legs spread, his knees bumping with Johnny who took a seat beside him, sipping from his mug of coffee. Whilst, Jonathan inclined on his chair behind a mahogany desk, decorated with intricate carvings and souvenirs he had gathered as they traveled across continents.

"I get that you're delighted, but could you quiet down?" Price grumbled on his desk, a pang of pain shooting his head.

"No, I am not shutting up." Kyle raised a hand, shaking his head. "She recognized my name. My name.” He pointed at himself.

“Anyone would recognize your name if they’re yer fan or hater,” Johnny quipped and placed the mug down on the coffee table.

Kyle turned to him. “You don’t get it, mate. She said she’s a fan of mine. I was a huge inspiration to her—”

“Was a huge inspiration to her,” Simon echoed, leaning back against the couch. “Used to be, not anymore.”

Kyle glared and stomped towards the masked man, grabbing his collar when the other merely raised his brows in a challenge. “I swear to God, Simon, I swear to—”

“I swear to God if you three don’t shut the fuck up—” Price paused, straightening himself from his chair as Kyle shook Simon, and glared at them— “I’ll have you asinine blokes chopped into bits!”

Kyle let go of Simon, who simply fixed his crooked collar and tie, and raised a brow at the man behind the desk. He sat down on a vacant chair, his eyes not leaving Price, and asked, “Are you jealous she recognized me, Price?” he was answered with another glare, which he shrugged at. “Or not.” He definitely is.

For a few moments, they sat in silence, each lost in their train of thought. All centered on a certain lady, whom they had watched from afar, now within their grasp. They only acted as though it was their first time meeting you.

Each born to a wealthy family, presented interesting things which soon died down as they broke them down into pieces, they had grown bored. And had found that there were only a few they could put their trust in this world. Though not related by blood, they shared everything since they were younger. They knew one another strengths and weaknesses. Their faults. Their passions.

Their desires.

A knock pulled them out of their reveries.

Johnny being the closest to the door, got up and opened it. A smile was brought to his face as he found you. “Hello, bonnie. C’mon in.” He swung the door open, a hand motioning at you.

You hesitantly stepped in as you saw your professors inside the office, eyes all settled on you. You put a hand on your other arm to hold down your nervousness as the door behind you shut.

Four men who were strangely overly friendly to you. You could think of a couple of reasons. The first being a musician they had watched and the second, being their student.

A hand landed on the small of your back, guiding you further in, making your face flush. “Have a seat,” Sir MacTavish waved a hand at the sofa, where he and Simon sat. 

You kept your gaze low as you obeyed him, sitting between him and your math professor, red cheeks going in a deeper shade as you met Kyle’s gaze. Embarrassed, you finally faced Price, and asked, “What is it that you called me for, Professor?”

Price put his elbows over his desk and intertwined his fingers. “We have a proposition for you . . .” Your name rolled sensually out of his tongue.

The proposition was to be their assistant. Given their overlapping schedules these days, it was hard for them to handle them. At first, you refused the offer, telling them you had a part-time job to do, along with practicing your skills in piano. But they had already thought about that and said they could pay you for your work.

A tempting proposal. Perfect for a student like you who got into this prestigious school through a scholarship.

You tapped your pen on the table and heaved a sound sigh, slouching on the chair. You were in a cafe near the school, in an attempt to change the atmosphere and help you write a report for Sir MacTavish's and Sir Price’s classes, but it didn’t seem to be helping at the moment. A pleasant music came from your earphones to block out the background noises and you closed your eyes to lull yourself.

When you opened your eyes, you jolted up your seat. “Shit!” your hands immediately flew to your potty mouth and straightened your spine at the sight of one of your professors, Simon, across the table. “Ah, uh, I’m very sorry, sir. I didn’t notice you—”

“Why do you apologize so often?” his rough voice was low and he placed a cup of tea on the table. His eyes landed on your notebook, full of notes, written clean as though it was printed.

You pursed your lips, unable to think of an answer, and ran your tongue over the soft flesh, catching Simon’s attention. “I . . .”

Simon glanced around the empty cafe, the only other person within the area was the staff over the counter, who kept her eyes on her phone. And you had perfectly picked a secluded spot. He looked back at you and reached out a hand, placing it under your chin. He lifted your face to bring your eyes to his.

Your heart raced at his actions.

“An angel as brilliant as you are should carry yourself with confidence, sweetheart.” His thumb caressed your lips. “Perhaps, we could teach you that.”

Your lips parted at his touch, warmth pooling at your stomach. You knew this was strange—wrong, and yet you didn’t want him to stop.

But he let go and leaned back, and you found yourself gripping on your thigh. “Have you thought of our proposal last week?”

You nodded, clearing your throat. “I have, sir.”

“What do you say?”

“The offer is good, and I don’t think it will clash with my schedule under normal circumstances, either.” You paused, letting him wait for your answer as you gazed into his caramel eyes. “I’ll take it, professor.”

You were fond of puzzles. You were interested in mysteries. And you were drawn to danger.

Being their assistant had more perks than you initially thought it was. You talked with them about their terms and added some of yours, and they seemed to be pretty considerate about it.

Maybe, a bit too much.

You had moved to an apartment they got you, so you wouldn’t be distracted by your roommates. When you had breaks, they would call you to their offices and give you desserts and snacks.

And more often than not, their touches lingered, turning into hugs, caressing, and pinching when in private. To close, seemingly the start of a taboo, a risk, and yet when Professor Price had you pinned between him and Professor Garrick in his office one late night when most of the people at school had gone home, you didn't want them to stop.

You wanted the heat to rush over you, like a forest fire, unwavering.

Didn't pull back when he planted his lips on you. Didn't stop the very professor you looked up to as a musician to bunch up your skirt and grind his dick against your ass. Didn't stop even when the other two entered and Sir Price had his hand rubbing against your clothed cunt. Didn't stop when Professor Riley locked the door behind him as Sir Mactavish joined in.

Johnny’s snaked a hand around your waist, a bit harsher than the ones he’d always done, but you didn’t mind it. Not when his lips were gentle against yours, patient and exploring as he led you on his lap when he sat on your couch, stealing you from Price and Garrick. He drank on your gasp as you felt another pair of lips on your nape, dusting kisses along your flesh.

Simon breathed against your shoulder, hand grasping the swell of your breast and performed maddening massage that got your nipples pebbling under the fabric of your top. You flinched when he took them by fingers, the rolls languid, and shifted on the other man’s lap as you felt a poke underneath.

Johnny groaned against you, parting the breathtaking kiss. He removed you from his lap, only to turn you against him, now facing the professor who had shed his mask. His fingers dipped under the band of your panties, into your untouched bud and your wet folds. He rubbed with a hum, spreading your filth.

“You're so wet, hen,” he commented and inserted a digit, rubbing it against your slick walls.

Your teeth sunk to your lower lip, biting back a squeal at the sudden intrusion.

Simon placed his fingers under your chin and leaned down on you, his tongue running over your lips, something he had always wanted to do before. “Don't bite your lips. That's something we're supposed to do, yeah?” He whispered on your lips and explored your mouth, savoring the echoes of your pleasure, and left to plant his marks on your collarbones. Hands gathered your shirt and lifted it, exposing your chest to his sight.

His mouth dropped to the nipple, sucking while his hand went to work on the other. 

Johnny began to pump faster, making you throw your head back to his chest, moaning out in pleasure as you shot a glance at other professors.

“You are not so innocent after all, hm?” Price took your jaw and ran his thumb over your lips, before pushing it in, muffling your cries.

“No one's that innocent nowadays, Price,” Garrick remarked, watching the frown on your face and the flutter of your lashes at every jerk of Johnny's hand made and Simon’s tongue did. His tongue ran over his lips, hand cupping over his hard-on, palming himself through his pants.

You began to suck on Price’s finger, making his dick twitch in his pants—his brain wondering how good your mouth would feel around him. He pulled his hand away to work down on his belt and pants, hands pulling out his shaft. He gave it a few pumps, chuckling when he noticed the way your tongue ran over your swollen lips before a groan escaped from it as Simon planted a bite on your neck and Johnny's thumb began to work on your clit.

Price brought his tip to your mouth. “Open up, dove,” he demanded and grunted as he pushed his shaft in, breath hitching at the warm feeling of your tongue and your throat. Your face twisted a bit at the taste of his precum. He let you adjust for a couple of seconds, hand going to the back of your head before he began to thrust.

One of your hands flew to hold onto his hip as you let him use your mouth, eyes fluttering closed and focusing on breathing through your nose. Out of the blue, Johnny pulled his fingers out and Simon stepped away, eliciting a whine from you. Vibrations ran down Price’s body and he groaned.

Unbuckling of belts echoed in the air, and you were pulled away from Price, making him curse. The next thing you knew, you were staring into the eyes of the man you had admired for so long.

“Sir—”

Kyle put his thumb over your lips, cutting off your words. “Not sir. Call me Kyle.” He positioned his cock under your cunt, rubbing the tip on your entrance.

You gasped at the sensation. “Kyle . . .” Your jaw slacked as he slowly went in, hands pulling you closer to his clothed body, fingers running on your flesh, gentle just as how he played his instruments. 

“Yeah, yeah, that’s it,” he groaned, hands sliding down to your ass to guide you up and down on his length.

Now, he made music out of you.

It didn’t take a few ticks of the clock until they fucked you with all they had.

Simon’s cock was buried in the confines of your mouth, fingers tangled on your tresses, watching the curls of your lashes get soaked by the tears that rolled down on your cheeks as they relentlessly pounded on you—Kyle on your pussy, Price on your ass, and Johnny on your grasps. You had never felt so full, so complete.

You feel your legs shake—the sign you have reached the pinnacle of pleasure and exhaustion when Kyle hits the spot deep in you. You whined against Simon’s cock, groaning as beg for the overdue orgasm that they had been keeping from you.

You felt a hand slide down your thigh, finding your swollen clit, before the rough pads of the fingers rubbed aguishly gentle and slow. If they weren’t your professors, you would have cursed at whoever the one was doing it. But your wish had been heard and he picked up the pace until you were crying, arching your back.

But they weren’t done.

You felt Kyle and Price become rougher at each of their thrust, Simon tugging on your hair harder, and Johnny losing his rhythm on your hands, until they all pulled back, coating your skin with their cum.

You slumped on Kyle’s chest, limbs like a stringless puppet as you ride out the aftermath of your orgasm. Your heavy lids fell close, tired from the deed, but you fought back the drowsiness, not wanting to fall asleep in the state you were in.

“You did good, love,” Kyle cooed into your ear and planted a soft kiss on your temple.

Johnny leaned down and pressed a kiss on your shoulder. “Yer amazing, bonnie. Can’t wait to have more of ya.”

A hand caressed your flushed cheek, swiping the transparent mix of tears and sweat. “Let’s bring you back to your apartment, dove,” Price said in a gentle voice.

Gentle fingers scraped your scalp, gaining a hum from you, must be Simon with how his fingers feel on your head. An unspoken apology about the way he tugged on your locks.

Like the sky glowing, your skin glittered in the ruins they drew up. A masterpiece you were, vulnerable, vincible in their sight, like walls that had fallen. And yet as though a book which held thousands of words, they still had more things to know about you. 

Like every start of a relationship. How fortresses were made. Each beginning of a story. 

You basked in the echoes of their praise, letting their words bring you comfort and slowly help you regain your mind and strength.

Like after a fire, new maps were drawn. A new tale was written, with them, who swallowed a star.

Taglist: @itsyellow

#call of duty #cod 141 #141 x reader #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley #john price #kyle gaz garrick #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #gaz x reader #ghost x reader #john price x reader #john price x you #john price smut #soap smut #ghost smut #gaz smut #cod smut #soap cod #professor!au #student reader #musician reader #i tried to be poetic #price smut #cod mw #cod mw3 #cod

[prythianpages]

I Can't Pretend | Eris x Reader

summary: After your sudden disappearance, Eris takes it upon himself to find you. When he does, he breaks down and can no longer hide his feelings for you.

warning: angst, suggestiveness, smut (p in v, loss of virginity); this one is kind of a rollercoaster of emotions and the longest imagine of this series (at 6K words)

a/n: you can find the masterlist to this series here or read this as a stand alone imagine (: all you have to know is that reader is engaged to Eris's brother and in the part right before this one, reader and Sawyer got threatened by Beron. this piece here is brought to you by Tom Odell's Can't Pretend.

“There will be a bedding ceremony at your wedding.”

“You just marked your death sentence.”

Your body grows cold, muscles tensing once again. The tears running down your face feel endless as you stare at the door closing behind the High Lord. When it finally shuts, the sound feels like a sentence in itself, locking you into those promises. Bedding ceremony. Death sentence. The words repeat themselves over and over inside your head like a haunting melody. 

You’re going to be watched as you're forced to be intimate with Sawyer. Then, you’re going to die. You want to run…but where to?

A whimper drags you from your thoughts, directing your attention back to the male lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood. Your fate is sealed and cannot be helped. But you can at least help him.

You hardly recognize him as you kneel beside him and help him sit up. Blood trickles from his face and every exposed inch of his pale skin is littered with open wounds that make bile rise in your throat. You can also sense all the broken bones in his body, something urging you inside to mend them.

“Let me help you,” you whisper, unable to hide the tremor in your voice and your hands. Slowly, you bring your hands to his face, grimacing at the lack of warmth.

A choked, rattled sound escapes from Sawyer. He instinctively leans in to your touch, welcoming the surprising wave of relief that comes with it. It’s as if something deep inside you is calling to him, telling him that you can fix him.

“Did you…did you mean it?” He croaks out.

You don’t have to ask to know what he means. “Yes.”

Sawyer’s pained expression softens for a brief moment. “Sometimes…” he begins and as you blink away your tears, you catch the way he averts his gaze, focusing on the splatters of his own blood that taint the marble floor. “Sometimes, I wish the Cauldron had made me different too...”

“The Cauldron makes no mistakes,” you assure him, your voice steadying with every breath. “It doesn't matter who you love. All that matters is that you love strongly and freely. I sense you have a good heart…which I’m coming to find is a rare thing in a place like this.”

“I thought I was an asshole.” There’s a subtle hint of regret in his tone.

“Yes,” you say with a small exhale. “I’m afraid that you still are… An asshole with a good heart.”

And for the first time since you met him, a faint ghost of a smile graces Sawyer's lips as he looks back at you. 

You continue to help heal Sawyer, the same way you’ve done for others in the past. The cuts on his face close as your fingers brush against them, the swelling of his face goes down and the broken bones begin to mend. It’s like a miracle. There’s no trace of any injury left behind other than the blood that has not yet dried.

It’s strange for it to be quiet between you both. You’ve grown accustomed to the insults thrown your way in his presence and even the look of disgust that usually mars his features when looking at you. But all you see is the bewilderment in his face.

As the weight of silence threatens to consume you, you find yourself humming to deter the thoughts lingering in your mind. It’s a familiar melody, one your mother would gently sing whenever your injuries and the sickness that would often befall you begged for relief. Just as it did in those tender moments, the melody you hum washes over you, bringing an immediate sense of comfort. 

The warmth returns to your veins and Sawyer, too, senses the soothing energy as it radiates from your touch. His sharp aches dulls into a distant memory. “I didn’t know you were a healer,” he says quietly and then realizes how little he knows about you. He has an inkling that his older brother knows more. “Are you from Dawn Court?”

“My mother was. I think I inherited it from her side,” you reply, helping him to his feet.

As the two of you stand, the door slams open, causing you to involuntary flinch. To your relief, it is Lady Raelynn and not her fearsome husband. Her breaths are quick and shallow and eyes full of concern.

“Oh thank the Cauldron,” she breathes, rushing toward her son. She assesses him for injuries, not caring over the blood that stains her hands as she softly touches his face. “Let’s get you cleaned up. The healer is already waiting in my quarters and I’ve had my maid prepare some tea to soothe your ails.”

The way she speaks leaves an unsettling feeling in your stomach, as it gives away that situations such as this occur with such frequency. Lady Raelynn then turns to you, gaze dipping down toward your hands. They’re stained with Sawyer’s blood.  “The both of you,” she adds as emphasis.

Her hand reaches for yours but you take a step back, suddenly feeling sick. She had already included you in the disconcerting routine. The urge to run comes over you again as Beron’s words resurface in your mind. Is this what your life will become? A routine of suffering and torture until death harshly claims you.

“I’m okay,” you say, taking a deep breath. It’s a lie and you all know it but they don’t push you further. They share a glance filled with understanding, deepening your revulsion. You think you’re going to throw up. “I–I think I need to rest.”

“Of course,” Lady Raelynn nods, a deep frown settling upon her face. “Please allow one of my maids to escort you back to your room.”

**

Eris has grown to know fear over the centuries. It held him in its grip, bringing forth tears and whispering sweet nightmares into his ears until there was no trace of hope left behind. But this feeling surging through his veins and creeping into his heart is much, much worse. Like a fear he’s never known before.

You’re not in your room. You’re not in the gardens. You’re not in the library. 

All air has left his lungs and he feels like he can’t breathe until he finds you. There’s one more place within the Forest house he’s yet to check. He’s racing toward it, his pace reflecting the erratic rhythm of his heart. He knows he should tread carefully but you’re flooding him with your emotions through the bond, pushing away all rational thoughts from his mind. 

The doors to Lady Raelynn’s quarters slam open. His eyes are drinking in the room like a man deprived of water, chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Y/n,” your name is spilling from his lips in a choked breath. “Where is she?”

His gaze lands upon Sawyer, who sits on the couch and then to his mother, who sits right next to him. You’re not here either. His heightened senses take in the bloody cloth in his mother’s hands–not your blood–and then, the somber expression on Sawyer’s face. Across from them, three teacups rest on the small table, the faint scent of chamomile wafting over to him.

Suddenly, Eris is livid. His gaze darkens and he’s rushing toward his younger brother. Hands roughly grasp onto the front of Sawyer’s shirt, forcing the younger male to rise to his feet. Flames tickle around his throat, tightening with every second.

“What did you do?” Eris seethes. It’s more of a demand than a question.

“Eris!”

“Answer me,” Eris nearly growls, his eyes mirroring the flames tightening around Sawyer’s neck. “Or I swear to the Cauldron, I’ll–”

“Eris!” His mother calls out again. 

This time, she’s successful. She steps in between her sons, a hand at Eris’s chest and she can feel the frantic beating of his heart. The flames around Sawyer’s throat loosen their grip but only a little.

“Your brother has endured enough blows today.”

“He looks perfectly fine to me,” Eris retorts, amber eyes taking note of the lack of injuries on him. Despite his mother’s words, he’s inclined to give him one. One that will remain and act as a reminder to never cross him. He already knows that whatever happened, was Sawyer’s fault.

“Yes,” Lady Raelynn begins, voice heavy with caution. She knows Eris will find out what happened one way or another and though it fills her with dread to be the harbinger of bad news, she rather her son hear it from her. “Because y/n healed him.”

The sound of your name brings Eris back down and the flames around Sawyer’s throat extinguish. He looks at his mother, silently urging her to go on.

“Your father caught the ear of the rumors circulating in court and well…well, he called for a bedding ceremony.”

Sawyer swallows thickly at the reminder. He casts his head down, overwhelmed by Eris’s heated gaze that is directly solely on him now. A realization hits him then and slowly, he lifts his head. “You care for her, don’t you? All this time…,” his voice trails off.

Eris falters. He shakes his head, a mix of horror and panic tainting his delicate features. “I told you–”

“Then you should know,” Sawyer interrupts him, lips pressing into a tight line before speaking again. “Father plans to kill her after the wedding.”

Flames erupt from Eris’s fingertips, itching to wrap around Sawyer’s throat once more. He warned his brother not to be a fool. To be more careful because this was not just a matter of life or death for Sawyer but for you as well. Eris just needed more time to help you and he fears Sawyer just deprived him of it.

A firm push from Lady Raelynn stops him from raising his hands. “Eris, your brother is not the enemy,” she reminds him, tone pleading with him to hear her. “Y/n is in her room. Go to her. She needs you.”

Eris's fiery temper flickers, dissolving into the familiar grip of anxiety that had driven him to this chamber. He takes a step back and Lady Raelynn’s hand drops back to her side. “She’s not in her room.”

It’s now Lady Raelynn’s turn to panic. “What do you mean she isn’t? My maid personally escorted her there. She even helped draw her a bath.”

“She’s gone.”

Sawyer lets a curse under his breath, a shiver running down his spine. “One more mishap,” he murmurs, fear swirling in his eyes. He falls onto the couch, sinking into the cushion with dread. “One more mishap and father warned…,” his eyebrows furrow, not being able to finish the threat Beron had made to the both of you and Eris feels his heart at his throat.

“She couldn’t have gone far.” Lady Raelynn speaks but it does nothing to reassure Eris.

“When I bring her back,” Eris says, voice steady with determination because he will find you. He takes another step back, toward the doors. One hand grasps for the knob while the other points a finger at Sawyer.  “Then, I’ll deal with you.”

Sawyer says nothing but Lady Raelynn nods, urging him to go. “We’ll cover for you,” she assures him. “Please be careful.”

Eris leaves without another word, the doors closing shut behind him. 

“He loves her.” Sawyer's words are tinged with sympathy and bitter amusement. A humorless chuckle escapes from him and he looks toward his mother. Her gaze remains fixed on the doors of her room, where Eris had left just moments ago, as she gives a silent prayer to the Cauldron.

“Are we cursed? To love those we cannot have?”

“I’m afraid you all have inherited it from me,” Lady Raelynn confesses softly, her voice carrying the weight of years of unspoken longing, clouding her eyes with regret and sorrow.  

**

Leaves crunch beneath Eris's boots as he makes his way toward the stables, the crisp autumn air biting at his cheeks. His face dons his usual mask but his heart is still racing. He would much rather take his hounds in his quest to find you but the risk of raising suspicion held him back. It’s not uncommon for him to ride during these hours of the day and it’d give him a better vantage on covering as much ground as he can as opposed to winnowing. 

The sound of a high-pitched whinny echoes through the air as Eris approaches, drawing his attention. His gaze settles upon the stablemen, their focus fixed upon a solitary stall.

“Lord Eris,” one of them greets, bowing his head in respect. “Do you wish to ride? I can ready your horse. Just give me a moment.”

Eris offers no response as he strides purposefully toward the stablemen, his curiosity piqued by the source of the anxious sounds. The stableman follows his gaze, his expression troubled. It’s your horse, Maximus. The white stallion throws his head back, pawing at the ground with such force that the dirt rises in swirling clouds.

“He’s been restless all morning, my Lord.”

“I’ll take him,” Eris finally speaks, his gaze lingering on the horse. From where he stands,he can sense the tension rippling through Maximus’s powerful frame. It reminds him of the way his hounds act when they sense something is wrong. “Perhaps, a ride will soothe him.”

The stableman’s eyes widen in alarm. “I would advise against it, Lord Eris. This one has a temper that only Lady Y/n can soothe. He’s bitten us before.”

Eris lets out a quiet amused huff, undeterred. “I’ll saddle him myself,” he says and it’s as if your horse understands for it tilts his head to look directly at Eris, a silent exchange passing between them.

The stableman simply nods, reluctantly handing the necessary equipment to prepare your horse. As Eris steps into the stall, Maximus steps back with a deep and heavy exhale. “It’s okay. I’m y/n’s…y/n’s friend,” Eris reassures though the word ‘friend’ rolls off his tongue awkwardly.

As he utters your name, Maximus's body relaxes slightly, mirroring the calm that had settled over Eris earlier in his mother’s quarters. He admires the way Maximus’s eyes soften slightly, betraying his deep love for you. Animals are the true definition of unconditional love, he thinks. However, there’s a flicker of doubt in the horse's eyes at the mention of the word "friend," as if he could sense something more. It makes Eris wonder if your horse can see past the glamor he meticulously placed over himself and you.

Maximus doesn’t move when Eris takes another step forward. He pats his neck softly, running his fingers down the silky white strands of Maximus’s mane. The white stallion’s head lowers and ears relax under the gentle touch.

“Can you take me to her?”

Maximus taps one of his hooves in response and Eris smiles.

**

Eris can feel your bond growing stronger and stronger as Maximus gallops, taking both of them deeper into Autumn’s forest. Around them, trees adorned with golden leaves blur into a whirl of color. The sound of thundering hooves fills the air. He pulls on the reins and the white stallion immediately obeys, coming to a gradual stop. 

“Stay here.” Eris commands as he dismounts.

Maximus lets out a noise in protest but does not fight when Eris secures him to a nearby tree. He looks around the forest, allowing his senses to guide him through the labyrinth of trees. He feels a sharp tug against his ribcage, prompting his head to turn right. How did he not think of it sooner?

Eris quietly makes his way toward the clearing ahead, where the meadow he often frequents is. The canopy of the tall oak trees filter the golden sunlight into a mesmerizing dance of light and shadow. A kaleidoscope of wildflowers blooms along the edges, their petals kissed by the wind. His senses sharpen with anticipation. It’s as if a taut string is pulling him inexorably closer to you. 

He’s flooded with relief when he finally spots you but it is short lived as he takes in your appearance. Relief is quickly replaced by a terrible sinking feeling that he feels in his very core.

The river is a distant murmur as you face it, your back to him. The shifting patterns of light and shadow play across your form, casting you in muted hues. You’re dressed in his clothes, the same ones he had given you when the two of you snuck out. The ruffled long sleeves do nothing to protect you from the biting Autumn winds and he frowns as you curl into yourself, arms wrapped tightly around your waist. You seem smaller somehow, more vulnerable. He’s already taking his coat off as he approaches you.

“Angel,” he calls out softly, placing his coat over your shoulders, but you don’t move. You don’t even react…are you even breathing?

Eris steps around you, his eyes pools of amber concern and as he comes to stand in front of you, his heart clenches. Your eyes are bloodshot and puffy. Tears stain your rosy cheeks, making his knees weak. Yet it's the emptiness in your gaze and the absence of radiance in your expression that shatters his heart. This court has broken you beyond repair. You, who always shined so bright, who lit up his world, were losing your spark. This is what he had been trying to prevent and he failed. 

His hands cup your face in a tender caress, internally wincing at the lack of warmth he feels. Drawing upon his powers, he channels heat into his hands. As the warmth envelops you, he watches as your distant gaze gradually returns to him.

A pained expression clouds his features, tears stinging at his own eyes. He knows the answer, recognizes it the more he looks at you. He knows because you wear the same expression he does after facing Beron’s temper. But he needs to hear it. His brows furrow, barely able to contain the anger that had been left simmering. Anger not directed at you but at his father. 

“Did he…did he hurt you?”

“I’m okay.” 

There’s a roughness to your voice he’s never heard before that kills him inside. You lean in to his touch, tilting your head slightly to the right. Consequently, the same cheek Beron had struck earlier. Eris frowns. There’s no mark on your pretty features, no trace of harm of any kind. Though, he knows better now. 

So he asks again. Differently and more carefully, this time. He’s trying very hard to tame the fire raging through his veins for your sake, worrying that he’d scare you if he allows you even the slightest glimpse of it.

“Did he touch you?”

You shift your head, attempting to escape his hold. But Eris doesn’t allow it and takes your silence as an answer. He swallows thickly. His father had laid his hands on you. Fiery tongues surge from the earth, swirling around you both and painting the air with bright hues of amber and scarlet. How dare he?  His father is going to pay for this, Eris will make sure of it. He’s going to return the pain Beron inflicted on you tenfold. He’s going to ki—

“I’m okay.” You try again and it’s as if you’re also trying to convince yourself.

Eris leans his forehead against yours, eyes fluttering shut. “I’m so sorry, angel,” he murmurs, voice thick with longing and regret. He had been so careful about leaving Autumn since your arrival and the one time he has to leave it, is when you find yourself in trouble.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.”

“You’re here now.”

He feels the softness of your hand against one of his, prompting his eyes to open. His amber orbs glisten with a haunting luminosity as quiet tears escape them. “I put you in this situation,” he confesses quietly.

Confusion flashes onto your face, your eyes searching for answers and he feels his heart at his throat. “I arranged your marriage, knowing the life I would be damning you to. This is all my fault.”

“You couldn’t have known. You didn’t know me then and my father…this marriage would’ve happened any–”

“Don’t.” He interrupts you, inhaling sharply, voice strained with emotion. He doesn’t think you’d be defending him if you knew what he did to your father just hours ago.  “Don’t defend me. I don’t deserve it.” 

And then he reluctantly drops his hands, stepping away from you, needing to put some distance between you both.

“I don’t deserve you.” 

“Eris–” You take a step closer but he holds out a hand, flames erupting from the ground right between the both of you.

“No. You don’t understand, Angel. I’ve tried to fight it but I can’t contend. You’ve pierced through every defense of mine and now… I’m exhausted.I can’t pretend anymore.” Eris bows his head, flames dancing around him with heightened intensity. He collapses to his knees, surrendering to the turmoil within.

“You awaken sensations within me that I’ve never known. Sensations that both exhilarate and terrify me. If you–if you only knew the depths of my capabilities, the lengths I would go for you, the sacrifices I’ve already made...”

He can already imagine the heartbroken look on your face when you find out the truth. That he, your mate, the very being that should bring you nothing but joy and shower you in love brought harm upon your family. You’re one and only remaining family member. It did not matter if your father was a monster because either way, you adored him. Or rather, the idea of him. 

Eris should tell you the truths he learned. How your father poisoned you for years, treating you not as his daughter but as a mere experiment instead. He only read snippets here and there from the journal, read just enough to be sickened with the horrors purposely inflicted upon you. 

And Eris will tell you. He knows he needs to. But you’re breaking and he can feel you on the verge of shattering apart this very moment. If he tells you now, he fears–

“Eris.”

Your voice pulls him out of his racing thoughts and he winces. As if it physically pains him to hear the sweet way you say his name. “Don’t say my name like that, angel,” he nearly pleads. You don’t know what you do to him.

The flames pulse around him with the rhythm of his heart. He decides at that moment that you can hate him all you want after. As long as you’re alive, as long as your radiance returns to you, that’s all that matters. He just desperately needs you to be you again.

“Just tell me, angel, and I’ll do it,” Eris says, closing his eyes as he tries to steady his breath. “Tell me what to do to make you feel better? I can’t bear the sight of seeing you like this so please tell me.”

**

His words strike a nerve in you, the devotion in them unfamiliar to you. How cruel, you think, tears pooling at your eyes for an entirely different reason. You’re marrying the wrong Vanserra. You take a step forward, the flames of Eris’s fire threatening to swallow you whole.

 “You care for me?”

“Devastatingly so.”

Another step forward. Your heart hammers in your chest. The flames lick at your feet and you should fear them. But you don’t. Because it’s Eris and though you shouldn’t, you want him. Not Sawyer or anyone else. You want Eris. All of him. 

“You’d really do anything for me?”

Eris lets out a sound–a mixture of an exhale and laugh. It’s humorless and singed with disbelief as if he can’t believe you’re really asking him that after he just confessed it all to you. But you need to hear it again.

“I would traverse all over Prythian, surmount every obstacle, and brave the fiercest storms just to see the light of your smile. All you have to do is ask.”

And then you’re taking that last step, braving yourself against the searing heat that dances in the air to reach him. Because if you’re going to die, you need him to know. You need him to know the truth that lingers in your heart. 

That he’s your golden hour, painting your world in shades of warmth and love, but also your midnight hour, where secret desires and dreams are whispered under a canopy of stars and now…

Now, he’s everything in between. You’re every waking thought and the last before you sleep. You need him to know that you burn for him. Ardently. Your breath catches and Eris’s eyes snap open, widening as his fire reaches out to embrace you. 

But it doesn’t burn you. 

The two of you look at each other in awe before you’re falling to your knees in front of him, the flames enfolding around you in a tender caress. Neither of you say a word. Your hands reach out to cup his face, coaxing his gaze to you. He doesn’t stop you this time. Not even as you lean in and press your lips against his. He should pull away but he doesn’t. Instead, his lips move against yours, kissing the warmth right back into you, giving a piece of light from him to you.

You pull away, just enough to speak but still close enough to feel the warmth of his mouth. “And if I ask you to take me in a way only a lover could, what then?”

He looks at you with such an intensity it sets you alight but then he’s averting his gaze and there’s an ache in your chest.  “Please,” you whisper, eyes glistening with tears. 

You always dreamed of what your wedding would be like, who you would marry. A part of you always knew that it would be arranged. Still, you foolishly hoped that in light of the arrangement, love would blossom. That your husband would hold affection toward you and learn to love you. That on your first night together, he’d be gentle and caring.

But your dream was morphing into something darker. Your husband would never love you in the way you desire. He hated the very thought of you and though you caught a mere glimpse of the caring male underneath the harsh exterior earlier, it did nothing to soothe you. It can’t be Sawyer. 

The night you dreamed of was becoming a nightmare. The last thread of hope was hanging precariously, threatened by the sharp blade of anxiety and fear. You can’t lose the last part you hold dear to Sawyer. You can’t let Beron win. They don’t deserve to forever hold this over you.

You look at Eris, your last thread of hope. “Your father called for a bedding ceremony and I don’t want that to be my first time. I don’t want Sawyer to…to…”

**

“I know, angel,” Eris murmurs, not letting you finish your sentence. He wipes at your tears and then places his hands over yours, which remain on his face. He gives a gentle kiss to your lips but his body is tense. The thought of you having to endure the horrors of a forced bedding ceremony. Your body on display for others to see, the emotional and physical pain it will bring upon you, the—

Eris has to force himself out of those dark thoughts, the bond in his chest roaring with a fierce and protective anger. He kisses you again. This time, on your forehead. “It’s not going to happen.”

“But your father–”

The fear in your eyes pains him. He pulls you closer, nose brushing against yours as he forces you to look into his eyes. “Do you trust me?”

“With my whole heart.”

“Then trust me when I say that no one will touch you against your will again.”

“Even though your father, the High Lord, has condemned me to death?”

“No one,” he repeats, voice firm as he pulls you close to him. One arm wraps itself around your waist while the other cradles your head to his chest. He brushes his fingers through your hair, basking in the sweet scent of rose it brings forth.

Silence envelops you both and you allow it to embrace you, the same way Eris does. In his arms, you are safe, you are warm. It is just the two of you…against the world.

“Tell me what you’re thinking of,” Eris speaks softly.

“I’m thinking…” your voice trails off as you shift in his hold to face him. His hands fall to your waist and you make yourself comfortable in his lap, placing a knee on either side of him. “What if it's your touch I will?”

Heat and desire pour through the bond, filling his veins.

“Your eyes I dream of,” you whisper, threading your fingers through his red hair and tilting his head up to look into his eyes. When you lean in to delicately kiss the corners of his eyes, he shudders beneath you. 

“Your heart I want.”

Your hand trails down his neck in a tender caress, stopping at his chest. Right over the organ that beats for you. The golden threads stir under your touch and he swallows thickly, eyes locked onto you. He wonders if you can feel it–the way the bond is singing madly like it wants to be heard. With a sudden boldness, he tugs on it.

His eyes widen when your body seems to react, lurching forward slightly. Your movements still, hand lingering on his chest and he watches you with bated breath. You felt it…but your end of the bond remains quiet. Still waiting to unravel, only giving him a glimpse of the emotions stirring within you. 

Something that both uneases and relieves him. He wants to know exactly what you’re feeling–if your emotions resonate with the same fervor that consumes him. He wants you to understand the depth of his devotion to you. However, amidst his yearning, your oblivion toward the bond allows him to mask the subtle shift in your scent. A silent sacrifice that weighs heavy upon his heart but a burden he is glad to carry if it means he can safeguard your innocent heart from the cunning foxes at court.

Your hand continues its path downwards, tracing a tantalizing path toward his. His heart stirs with a flutter of anticipation. He can feel the unspoken yearning in your touch. With trembling fingers, he intertwines his hand with yours, each brush of your skin igniting a wildfire in him that grows brighter as you bring his hand to your lips. 

 “Your hand in marriage I long for.” You press a soft kiss upon the fourth finger of his left hand and his resolve is faltering. Teetering on the edge of surrender…

The flames surrounding you both catch on the ring on your fourth finger, the very one claimed by his brother. A forced and loveless claim. Yet still, regretfully, not him. A stark reminder that you are not his and perhaps, will never be. The simple golden band glistens precariously as if acknowledging his thoughts. He should stop you.

 “Y/n–”

“Your touch I crave,” you continue, your longing turning into a desperate need as you kiss him. Harder, with more urgency, sending a delightful sensation down his spine that makes his cock twitch. 

As your hips roll against his, Eris abruptly pulls away. The hands at your waist tighten, keeping you still and holding on to that last wall of defense. He wants you but he shouldn’t.

Your brows furrow and Eris hates the hurt that flashes in your eyes. The hope that deflates. “I’m sorry.Have I misinterpreted your—““

“I want you too,” he interrupts, needing to reassure you. He licks his lips, gaze flickering to your own, already missing their taste, before lifting back up.  “Gods, do I want you but not like this.”

He gestures to the autumn meadow around you both. The meadow that is painted in hues of crimson and gold and alive with the whisper of falling leaves and dancing flames. It’s beautiful. The epitome of Autumn. But it’s no proper place to have you. 

“You deserve better. You deserve for your first time to be special.”

“It does not matter where we are. As long as it’s with you, it is special. Please,” your bottom lip trembles and Eris leans in, gently kissing it steady. “I want you to be my first. I don’t want it to be Sawyer or anyone else. I want it to be you.”

“We don’t have to do this now. There will be another time,” Eris utters but his voice lacks strength. The promise in his words hangs in the air delicately like a wisp of smoke that is already dissipating into uncertainty. 

“Time,” you echo quietly, a wistful shadow casting over your features.  “What if we don’t have time? What if–what if this moment is all we have left?”

Eris wants to respond but the words catch in his throat. There’s nothing he can say to reassure you there. He knows you’re aware of the impending dangers that wait for you back at court. His father will be watching you closely now, security will be tighter. Eris will have to be more careful, tread lighter and with higher caution. 

There’s only a little less than two weeks away from your marriage to Sawyer. The three of you are running out of the time and there is still so much to do. The stolen moments with you will have to cease and he senses you’re aware of this truth as well. This may be the very last one between you both.

If you thought Autumn was a terrible place before, then you’re about to learn that it’s much, much worse. It’s a living hell. And Eris curses the Cauldron for its cruelty.  

Angels like you shouldn’t live in hell.

“So much has been taken from me and I fear there is very little choice I have remaining in this world. But this,” you pause, placing his hand over your racing heart, an urgent plea echoing in the rapid rise and fall beneath his touch. “This is mine to give and it wants you. I want to give it to you before it’s too late…”

Eris’s entire body tenses, muscles tightening with restraint.

“And if your heart feels the same, then I need you,” your voice trembles under the weight of your emotions and suddenly, Eris feels like he can’t breathe. “Like fire craves the kiss of air–”

No one has ever looked at him with such devotion, spoken to him with such passion. It’s overwhelming and threatening to drown him in its intensity. While his mind is screaming for him to run away, his heart wills for him to stay. 

“–like flowers thirst for the tender caress of rain, like–”

Eris’s lips crash onto yours. His kiss is searing yet gentle and you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer and he groans into your mouth. He carefully guides you back onto the soft bed of fallen leaves and golden grass, cradling the back of your head with one hand while the other remains over your heart. 

He kisses you until you’re both breathless and forced to pull apart. His body hovers over yours, amber eyes drinking you in. He tenderly kisses the remnants of your tears away, reveling in the way you softly sigh and lips begin to curve upwards into a smile.

“I love you, Eris.”

The three words hit Eris so hard there’s a crack in the last wall of defense. He’s terrified to move, not wanting to leave this moment but also in fear that if he does, that last wall will crumble entirely. 

“Me? Are you sure?” 

“I’ve never been more unequivocally sure.”

Eris studies you intently, captivated by every subtle shift in your expression. There’s nothing but unwavering love and desire reflecting back at him with such luminous intensity that it threatens to blind him. He can no longer think properly. Every reservation, every thought telling him to stop is slipping through his fingers.

All he can think about is you and how you love him. You love him! You love him! You love him!

And when he meets your eyes again, it’s too late. 

The damage has already been done. That last wall of defense is crumbling at a devastating speed. A soft flush creeps up his cheeks, betraying the vulnerability that seeps through his every pore in surrender.

“Is this what you really want?” 

“Yes,” you breathe, eyes fluttering shut in anticipation as his nose brushes softly along your neck. “Even if it’s just for this moment, let me be entirely yours. Every beat of my heart. Every breath. Take it all.”

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Eris murmurs against your neck, inhaling sharply and when the honeyed scent of your arousal greets him, he whimpers.

**

Gentle is not a word Eris Vanserra would use to describe himself. That is, until he met you. His mate. The one who dismantled the walls he spent centuries constructing around his heart in months with little effort. In your presence, lies a burning desire to soften the edges of his demeanor. To be the gentle male worthy of your affection. 

You wield a power over him unlike any other, leaving him utterly captivated and surrendering to all rationality. He should tell you he feels the same but he is beyond words. How can mere words capture the magnitude of his devotion?

So when you’re asking–begging–to be his, he can’t bring himself to say no. Not when this may be the very last moment shared between you both. Not when you’re giving him the perfect opportunity to show you the depth of his feelings instead.

Everything fades into insignificance. Nothing matters but this moment. With a touch as light as the brush of butterfly wings, his hands explore your body. Tentatively, as if scared to burn you with his burgeoning desire. Always asking for permission–”is this okay?” “yes”–before venturing further, before discarding your clothes–his clothes. 

Flames continue to dance around you both, a protective circle and barrier against the cold winds. Each flicker of light casts intricate shadows upon your faces, your bodies. Eris pulls away just enough to admire you. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, leaning down and capturing your lips for what feels like the hundredth time. But it will never be enough. “So, so beautiful.”

You’re melting like wax beneath every touch and then his lips are tracing down the paths his hands have forged. Gentle and somehow still urgent. His mouth lingers on the swell of your breasts, sucking and eliciting the prettiest sounds from you. 

“If it’s too much, you tell me,” he utters, holding your gaze as he rests his chin on your stomach. He can sense your nerves. He’s nervous too. He wants this to be perfect for you. As perfect as it can be, given your circumstances.

“We can stop whenever you want.”

You nod but it’s not enough for Eris. “Words, angel,” he says, pressing a tender kiss to your stomach. “I need your words.”

“I’ll tell you,” you breathe, body arching into him. “I promise.”

Eris presses another kiss to your stomach before continuing his path downwards, to where he can feel you aching for him the most. He’s breathing so hard and kissing every inch of your skin, setting you ablaze. His nose brushes against the apex of your thighs and he’s flooded with your arousal. It’s overwhelming all his senses and he’s pulsing with need to have a taste. 

Still, he pauses to look up at you through his long eyelashes.

“Please,” is all you manage to say.

Eris moans in anticipation, drinking in your otherworldly beauty, the same way he wishes to devour you. One hand rests on your hip while the other reaches for yours. His fingers intertwine themselves with yours and when you squeeze them, he lowers his mouth and finally has a taste.

You throw your head back with a choked cry. “Eris!”

Eris groans, lapping and working his tongue against you. He’s never loved his name more. “You taste absolutely divine,” he breathes, losing himself in you. If this is how you taste, his cock throbs painfully as he imagines how you’d feel.

You reach your peak soon, crying out his name again. He lifts his head and brings your locked hands to his lips, admiring the look of pure bliss on your face. “Beautiful,” he whispers again, heart swelling with warmth. Overcome with emotion, he dives for your lips and pours them out into his kiss, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue. 

The hand not intertwined with yours, caresses against your core, fingers prodding at your entrance. Your mouth parts in a gasp at the intrusion but he eases you through it until you're clenching around his fingers and begging for more.

“Are you sure you still want this?” He can’t help but ask, chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Yes.”

“I’ll go slow,” Eris promises, his amber gaze filled with softness and tenderness. Blush rises to your cheeks and it’s instinctual, the way you look away. He lets out a low sound in disapproval. “Eyes on me, angel.”

When you meet his gaze, his pupils are blown but his gaze remains soft and warm. Your lips curve upwards and he does the same. Both of his hands are locked with yours, resting on either side of your head. He holds your gaze, slowly sinking into your warmth and stilling at the furrow of your brows. He kisses them, allowing you to adjust and wanting to ease any discomfort you may be feeling. 

“You’re doing so well for me, angel,” he encourages, voice strained. The bond in his chest is surging with pride at being your first and with a primal fervor to be the only one who gets to have you like this.

He feels like his heart is going to burst into flames and when he finally sheathes himself inside you, everything catches fire. His mind. His body. His soul. Every muscle, every nerve in his body is coming undone with every thrust. His kisses, though still soft, grow intense. So hot yet so sweet.

Fire consumes him, its vibrant flames igniting not destruction but building something new. Something beautiful. Something heavenly. where hopes and dreams, once thought lost, are resuscitated. The wounds of his heart being mended by you.

His body presses further into yours, mouth pressing feverish kisses down your neck, whispering sweet praises and worshipping you for the divine being you are. Your moans grow louder and you’re clenching around him tighter. “I love you,” your voice is a mere whisper but he hears it loud and clearly and you don’t seem to mind his lack of response. Not when he’s following after you, bodies shuddering as release courses through you both.

Eris pulls you close to his chest, arms tight around you. He can feel your heartbeat. Fast but steadying and in tune with the rhythm of his own. The gentle rise and fall of your chest let him know you’ve fallen asleep. Letting out a sigh in content, he closes his eyes, wanting to bask in this moment longer.

His fingers lightly trace along your back, tracing the four words he couldn’t bring himself to say back to you earlier.

I love you, too.

a/n: I've never written soft smut before so I hope it was okay. I also hope I was able to convey the desperation between Eris and reader well. I debated a lot on whether keeping the smut or scrapping it. Huge thank you to @stormhearty for helping me out with this part and giving me her input! ily! ❤️

series tag list: @fabulouslyflamboyant5 @fxckmiup @stormhearty @skyesayshi @sfhsgrad-blog @crazylokonugget @evergreenlark @secretlyhers @mybestfriendmademe @ib525, @96jnie, @glitterypirateduck @thatsassyhufflepuff @acourtofbatboydreams, @mal-adaptive-dreams, @dandelionfairyyy, @queerqueenlynn, @circe143

general tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444, @lilah-asteria

#eris x reader #eris x y/n #eris x you #eris vanserra imagine #eris vanserra x you #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra x y/n #acotar imagine #acotar x you #acotar x reader #acotar x y/n #eris angel au #eris vanserra smut #eris smut #acotar smut

[elusivecagedmockingbird]

Play It As It Lays

[taehyung x reader] [1.5k smut: mirror sex, creampie, unprotected sex, virgin kink??, really just porn with a lil bit of plot; Taehyung is a famous Cellist who was hired to tutor OC.

Just a self-indulgent fic.

-

People said to never meet your heroes.

You'll be let down, they say.

But you would beg to differ.

And beg, you do.

With your bodies sitting naked on the couch, Taehyung has you facing the mirror and the sight of your petite frame slotted between his bulging naked thighs shoots up your arousal. Your perfectly intertwined limbs could inspire a whole series of shunga artwork.

Calloused hands grip each of your knees and push them wider apart before a hand returns to cup your dripping sex.

"Please," you whine. The words that fell from your swollen lips were almost incomprehensible because of how breathy and timid it sounded.

But that was just one of Kim Taehyung's effect.

The man lives up to his reputation in the Classical music industry—charisma just as alluring as people described and his presence calls for attention, not because he, himself, demands it, rather there is something lingering in his aura that just lures and pulls you into him. And when he looks at you, it's a mixed feeling of intimidation and desire to keep his eyes on you.

And to you, it makes you want to defy him. You itch to see if you can crack that calm and stoic demeanor of his.

Taehyung only hums in response to your plea and you feel his chest rumble on your back. It's close to an hour and yet all he did with his finger was tease you. Everything he has done was all build-up, never the climax.

"You're so delicate." His lips graze your ear as he whispers to you. His body is so close, you hear the wet smacking of his tongue inside his mouth as he speaks. He dips his fingers inside your pussy as he presses his thumb on your nub, leaving you shuddering in pleasure. "And so sensitive. My pretty virgin," he tsks. "You're making a mess, darling."

You mumble out a half-hearted apology to which he snorts at. You struggle to keep your tears at bay. Frustration and defeat are obviously written on your face. If only you knew how to touch yourself, you would've done the job yourself. But no. You can play with yourself all you want, but you've never experienced an orgasm. And none of what Taehyung does to your body now matches the pleasure when you touch yourself.

And so, you remain at his mercy.

It was torture to be teased, but the way Taehyung's arm muscle clenches and your body twitches has your attention stuck to the mirror. It was as if his hand was a bow and your body held the strings that create the most beautiful melodies.

His right hand pushes in and out of you in timed intervals and his left hand grips your neck, arms across your body to hold you close to his. It was oh-so-intimate.

But of course, this was also a way for Taehyung to restrain you.

"Take it," he lectured when your body thrashed around from sensitivity. "The pleasure is tenfold if you endure it. Just like playing the cello—a sublime piece is achieved from laborious and seemingly endless revisions. So, take it."

The growing warmth between you has you both sweating—the smell of sex in the air grows potent by the minute, pushing you further into your shared haze.

You don't mind that all Taehyung does is play with your body. He can do whatever he wants to you for all you care. But you also have this feral need to learn about his body—play with his cock and grip it as tight as you hold your instrument in place between your thighs. You want to hear the sounds he makes as you play with his body. He has been hearing you chant his name with moans and sighs in different pitches; it's his turn to sing.

You focus on Taehyung's hand disappearing and reappearing from your cunt. The velvet couch that carries your bodies is vandalized with your slick and his precum. His hands are truly just as skilled in playing the cello as it is in flitting around your body. You can almost taste it again—your sweet peak.

But you can't come like this. Not yet.

Your hand halts Taehyung's movement, tongue darting to wet your lips, "S-stop," you stutter. His eyes meet yours in the mirror, one eyebrow raising in question. And so, with your senses still muffled with lust, you try your best to answer clearly, "Wanna cum on your cock, sir.”

Your legs wobbled as you changed positions—you're now kneeling on the floor with his thick dick right on your face. You gulp at Taehyung's size but also swallow the pooling drool in your mouth.

You ought to thank your parents for hiring Taehyung to give you private lessons. Albeit this isn't the lesson they had in mind, you personally think this is more… beneficial for you.

Without wasting another second, your hand grips his base to erect his cock and you run your warm tongue from his balls to his slit. The man above you throws his head back as air is expelled from his pretty lips. He leans his body backward, arms propping him up and he sets his eyes on you. "You're a feisty little thing, aren't you?"

You only respond with a smirk; smug eyes refusing to look away as you make a big show of sucking his tip like it’s the sweetest lollipop.

You're halfway there, you encourage yourself. You want to see the moment you break him.

Mimicking a move you watched on porn, you wet your hands with your slick before returning your hold on Taehyung's dick. With one hand stroking him up and down, your other hand caresses his balls within your palms like two delicate marbles.

Taehyung curses. You were sin incarnated.

Determined to get more from him, you push your head closer to his crotch, deep-throating his cock.

Unexpected and unprepared, Taehyung makes a guttural wail; his arm shoots up to hold you by your hair and his body reflexively sits up and pushes his cock at another deep angle inside your mouth which pulls another moan from the man.

You fight the urge to gag, and your eyes start to flood with tears. You could only claw at Taehyung's thighs.

Taehyung was quick to gather his wits and then chuckled at your state. His hand on your hair moves to cup your face before smudging your mascara as he wipes your tears before they fall.

"Come up," he instructs as he pulls his cock from your mouth. A plop is heard, and a string of your saliva mixed with his precum lingers from your lips. Taehyung's hands take control of your hips—his bruising hold guides you to sink down to his cock until you take all of him, pulling a pained moan from you.

Taehyung is a tight fit, and you fight through the initial discomfort as you move your hips. You teeter between the stinging stretch and warm addicting pleasure.

With a satisfied groan, Taehyung gently guides your head to level your sight with the full-length mirror and holds you in place. "Take a look at yourself. You look as heavenly as you sound," his voice in your ear is so soft and saccharine, you believe him. "And see how well you take me like a good girl," he praises, the tone switching to a little bit strained as your pussy clenches—the pain morphing to lust and desire. His hand goes back to your hips to help you ride his cock. The minimal movement gives you both pleasurable tugs, you can't help but moan.

With his thighs now caged between your own, you momentarily bend down to kiss his knees. Your action has him throwing his head back once again. But his eyes trail down to your curved spine all the way down to your ass perched on his hips.

Deciding that you've adjusted to his cock, Taehyung bounces your hips on his cock. The sight of your arousal creaming around his crotch has him salivating. As much as he wants to lick you clean, he badly needs a release. It's a miracle he lasted almost more than an hour.

You plant your feet on the ground and start moving at your own pace. Each slam of your ass on his thighs reverberated in the room as if cheering you on as you bounced faster and harder on his cock.

A contrast of warmth and shivers washed over your body as Taehyung laid open-mouth kisses on your back. As he reaches your neck, he sucks on the soft flesh to claim you, mark you—so you remember this night which will be the first of many. He promises.

You grab and tug at his hair to pull him toward your puckered lips and he obliges. The echoing sound in the room is no longer just your skin slapping but the smacking sound of your lips as you breathe each other in.

"Sir-r, I-I’m close," you stutter out between kisses amidst overwhelming pleasure. Taehyung meets your thrusts halfway. And as your pace increases, so does the frequency of the moans of the man behind you.

With a powered thrust, your body trembles as you climax. Taehyung follows not long after—your pussy spasming around his dick has him shooting up his cum inside you as he wraps you in his arms.

People who warned you to never meet your heroes, clearly never had the privilege of meeting Kim Taehyung.

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#taehyung fic #bts x reader #taehyung x reader #bts smut #bangtanwritershq #bts fic #kim taehyung #bts v #taehyung x y/n #bts v x reader #taehyung smut #bts taehyung #smut fanfiction #bts fanfic

[dee-writes-smut]

WINTER

FEATURING Azriel x Illyrian!reader

SUMMARY in the aftermath of your kidnapping, you find it harder than normal to cope and continue on with life, causing you to push the people closest to you away. (THIS IS A PART TWO)

CONTENT WARNINGS descriptions of injuries, pain, torture, severe depression, and PTSD. If you thought the last one was dark, buckle up.

AUTHORS NOTE wow, three fics in two days?! What happened to me? I have just been super motivated to write creatively recently, which is exciting! So here, enjoy the second part of the Season's series, Winter.

Winter's embrace was a bleak grip, the world laying shrouded in a suffocating blanket of ice and snow, each flake a cruel reminder of nature's indifference. The landscape stretched out before you like a desolate wasteland, barren trees reaching up like skeletal fingers towards a sky heavy with the promise of more bitter cold to come. There was no warmth to be found here, only the biting chill that gnawed at your bones and numbed your very soul.

Gone were the vibrant colors and lively sounds of spring, replaced instead by a deafening silence broken only by the hollow howl of the wind as it whipped through the skeletal remains of once-thriving forests. The air was thick with a palpable sense of despair, each breath a struggle against the icy grip of despair that threatened to crush you under its weight.

As you trudged through the snow, each step felt like a punishment, a relentless march towards an uncertain fate. The landscape seemed to taunt you with its emptiness, a cruel reminder of the futility of your existence in a world so devoid of life and hope. Shadows danced across the frozen ground, twisting and contorting into grotesque shapes that seemed to mock your very presence.

And yet, amidst the desolation, there was a perverse beauty to be found – in the stark contrast of black against white, in the delicate lacework of frost that adorned the barren branches, in the eerie stillness that hung heavy in the air like a shroud. It was a beauty born of darkness, a twisted reflection of the cruel whims of fate that had brought you to this forsaken place.

In the heart of winter's icy grip, you found yourself consumed by a sense of isolation and despair, a prisoner in a world that had long since abandoned any pretense of kindness or compassion. It was a season of suffering, of unrelenting cruelty, of darkness so deep that even the faintest glimmer of hope seemed but a distant memory. And as the cold crept ever closer, you couldn't help but wonder if there would ever be an end to the endless winter that had consumed your very soul.

(Wintertime, Velaris)

As the first rays of dawn painted the sky in hues of pink and gold, I sat alone on the edge of my bed, my gaze fixed on the empty space where my wings used to be. The pain, both physical and emotional, gnawed at me like a relentless predator, sinking its claws deep into my chest, a constant reminder of everything I had lost. My once majestic wings, the very essence of my being, were gone, severed from my body by those who sought to break my spirit.

With trembling hands, I traced the scars where my wings had been, feeling the phantom sensation of membrane-like skin against my fingertips. The memory of their hard, bone-like ridges, their graceful span; it lingered like a bittersweet melody, haunting yet achingly beautiful. Tears welled in my eyes, blurring the world around me with their shimmering veil, but I refused to let them fall. Crying felt like admitting defeat, acknowledging just how shattered I truly was. So instead, I pushed the pain down, burying it deep within me, where no one could see.

But the emptiness inside me was a vast abyss, yawning wide and hungry, impossible to ignore. I had always prided myself on my resilience, my strength, but now I felt like a mere husk of my former self. The trauma of my kidnapping weighed upon my mind like a heavy shroud, casting shadows that danced and twisted in the corners of my consciousness.

As the days stretched into weeks, and weeks into months, I withdrew further into myself, cocooning my heart in layers of solitude and silence. The world outside seemed distant and hazy, a blurred landscape of faces and voices that I could no longer connect with. I couldn't bear the pity in their eyes, the whispered words of sympathy that fell like stones upon my wounded soul. So, I built walls around my heart, brick by brick, until I was encased in a fortress of my own making, impervious to the outside world.

Even Azriel, my steadfast companion, my unwavering ally, found himself barred from the inner sanctum of my heart. He tried to reach me, to break through the barriers I had erected, but I turned away, unable to bear the thought of exposing my vulnerability to anyone, even him. I didn't want their pity or their well-meaning words. All I wanted was to be left alone with my pain, to drown in it until it consumed me completely.

But even in my darkest moments, a flicker of hope danced on the periphery of my consciousness, a tiny flame that refused to be extinguished. It whispered of resilience and redemption, of healing and renewal, but I pushed it away, hiding from its warmth like a frightened child. For now, I would remain adrift in a sea of darkness, lost and alone, clinging to the fragile thread of hope that promised a way out of the abyss.

The memories played out in my mind with vivid intensity, each scene etched into my consciousness like a brand of torment.

I remembered the moment I was jolted from unconsciousness, the harsh voice of my captor slicing through the haze like a blade. "Wake up, whore," he hissed, sending a shiver down my spine and igniting a primal fear within me. Blinking against the darkness that enveloped me, I felt the oppressive weight of a bag over my head, suffocating and disorienting. Panic surged through me as I realized my bound state, my struggles against the restraints futile in the face of impending doom.

The voice, dripping with malice, mocked my defiance. "No need to struggle, sweetheart," he sneered, his words a cruel reminder of my helplessness. As I strained to make sense of my surroundings, fear clawed its way through my throat, leaving behind deep grooves of despair. The familiar scent of damp earth and mildew filled my senses, a chilling reminder of the unknown horrors that awaited me.

A flicker of hope emerged in the form of Azriel, my steadfast protector, but it was quickly extinguished by the looming presence of Lyris, a childhood friend turned tormentor. His eyes gleamed with sadistic delight as he brandished a dagger, the cold metal glinting ominously in the dim light.

With a cruel smirk, Lyris descended upon me, his voice filled with twisted pleasure. "Time to finally take what's mine," he taunted, the blade poised to inflict unimaginable pain.

The first cut tore through me like a bolt of lightning, a searing agony that ripped through flesh and soul alike. My cries echoed off the walls of the chamber, lost in the darkness that enveloped me.

But the torment did not end there. With each merciless stroke of the blade, Lyris carved away my very essence, leaving behind a shattered shell of my former self. I watched helplessly as my wings, once symbols of freedom and strength, were mutilated and discarded like worthless scraps of flesh.

And as the last remnants of my identity fell away, a hollow emptiness consumed me, leaving behind only the cruel scars of my torment. I was no longer whole, no longer the person I once was. I had been robbed of everything that defined me, my essence stolen by the darkness that lurked within the depths of my captor's soul.

As the soft rap echoed through the hollow corridors, it felt like a distant echo of a life I once knew, one filled with warmth and camaraderie. Reluctantly, I approached the door, each step heavy with the weight of my turmoil, the heavy thud of my heart matching the rhythm of my footfalls.

Feyre stood there, framed by the soft glow of the hallway lanterns, her presence both a comfort and a reminder of the bonds I had once cherished. In her hands, she cradled a delicate tray, a small offering of sustenance amidst the darkness that engulfed me.

"I brought you some food," she offered, her voice a soothing melody in the stillness of the room, a fragile thread of connection in the vast expanse of my solitude. "I thought you might be hungry."

My response was curt, a reflexive defense against the vulnerability her kindness exposed. "I don't need your pity, Feyre," I retorted, the bitterness in my voice a stark contrast to the warmth of her offering. "I can take care of myself."

For a fleeting moment, hurt flickered in her eyes, a silent plea for understanding that cut through the barriers I had erected around my wounded heart. But she quickly masked it with a forced smile, her resilience a testament to the depth of her compassion.

Without another word, she set the tray down on the table beside me, the scent of warm food mingling with the heavy silence that enveloped us. It was a gesture of kindness in a world that had grown cold and indifferent, a fleeting glimpse of the friendship I had once treasured.

As Feyre lingered in the doorway, her gaze lingered on mine with a quiet intensity, a silent invitation to let her in, to share the burden of my pain. "Is there anything else I can do for you?" she asked, her voice a gentle reminder that I was not alone, that there were still those who cared enough to reach out a helping hand.

But I shook my head, my walls still firmly in place, my pride a shield against the vulnerability her presence exposed. "No," I replied curtly, my voice a harsh echo of the emptiness that echoed within me.

With a nod of understanding, Feyre turned to leave, the weight of her disappointment a heavy burden on my already burdened soul. And as the door closed behind her, I was left alone once more, the silence of the empty room a stark reminder of the walls I had built to keep the world at bay.

The evening air was thick with the scent of spices and laughter as I made my way through the bustling streets of Velaris, the soft glow of lanterns casting a warm hue over the cobblestone pathways. Each step felt heavy, burdened by the weight of my own thoughts, as I navigated the vibrant tapestry of the Night Court.

Amidst the lively chatter and cheerful bustle of the city, familiar voices pierced through the haze of my melancholy. Mor's vibrant laughter echoed through the air, drawing my gaze towards her radiant figure standing across the street. Beside her, Cassian, his presence as imposing as ever, offered a welcoming grin that tugged at the corners of my lips despite my inner turmoil.

"Hey, there she is!" Mor's voice carried on the breeze, her smile bright as she beckoned me over. "Come join us!"

Cassian's invitation followed, his boisterous enthusiasm contagious as he gestured towards the tavern. "We're heading for a drink. You should come with us."

My heart clenched at the genuine warmth in their gestures, a stark contrast to the icy grip of my own despair. The desire to lose myself in their company, if only for a fleeting moment, warred with the overwhelming sense of unworthiness that gnawed at my soul.

But as Mor reached out to take my hand, her touch a gentle reminder of the bond we shared, a surge of jealousy and resentment swept through me. My gaze flickered to Cassian, his powerful wings a constant reminder of everything I had lost. Anger boiled within me, bitter and consuming, as I struggled to suppress the envy that threatened to engulf me. "I appreciate the offer, but I think I'll pass," I managed to say, my voice betraying a hint of regret. "I'm not really in the mood for drinking tonight."

Mor's smile faltered for a moment, a flicker of concern crossing her features before she masked it with reassurance. "That's okay," she said softly, her words a soothing balm to the ache in my heart. "But if you ever change your mind, you know where to find us."

With a nod of understanding, I watched as they disappeared into the throng of revelers, their laughter fading into the night. Left alone on the deserted street, the weight of my solitude pressed heavily upon me, a reminder of the chasm that separated me from the warmth of their companionship. As the echoes of their laughter dissolved into the stillness of the night, I couldn't shake the pang of resentment that lingered in my chest. But even amidst the darkness of my despair, I knew that I couldn't risk dragging my friends down with me. So, with a heavy heart, I turned away, retreating into the shadows once more, the silence of the night swallowing me whole.

The faint glow of moonlight, a silver cascade, filtered through the windows, casting ethereal patterns across the dimly lit kitchen of the Night Court's sprawling estate. I stood amidst the chaos, surrounded by a haphazard array of pots, pans, and ingredients scattered across the countertops. My attempt at cooking had quickly spiraled into a messy disaster, each failed endeavor only serving to fuel my frustration further.

As I grappled with the stubborn lid of a jar, a voice sliced through the silence, its presence both unexpected and unwelcome.

"What in the world are you doing?"

Startled, I turned to find Rhysand standing in the doorway, his silhouette a stark contrast against the luminescent backdrop. His wings, a breathtaking display of power and grace, unfurled behind him like the majestic sails of a ship, the membrane-like skin gleaming in the moonlight. They seemed to pulsate with an otherworldly energy, each beat a testament to the freedom and strength they embodied. My heart clenched at the sight, a bitter pang of jealousy twisting in the depths of my soul. Once, I had known that same sense of freedom, had soared through the skies with effortless grace, my wings slicing through the air like a blade through silk. But now, they were gone, cruelly ripped from my back by those who sought to break me.

An ache, dull and persistent, throbbed in the space where my wings had once been, a constant reminder of everything I had lost. I longed to feel the wind beneath me, to taste the exhilarating rush of flight once more, but it was nothing more than a distant dream, forever out of reach.

"None of your business," I snapped, my voice a whipcrack of frustration, my fingers still wrestling with the stubborn jar lid. The last thing I needed was his pity, his condescending attempts to help when I clearly didn't want it.

Rhysand's gaze softened, a flicker of concern crossing his features as he approached with cautious steps, his movements a ballet of grace. "You're making quite a mess," he observed, his voice gentle but firm, like the soothing murmur of a distant stream. "Let me help you."

I recoiled from his touch, the anger bubbling to the surface like molten lava erupting from the depths of the earth. "I don't need your help," I spat, my voice tinged with venom, the bitterness like bile in my throat. "I don't need anyone."

There was a brief pause, a pregnant silence hanging heavy in the air as Rhysand regarded me with a mixture of sympathy and frustration. "You're clearly upset," he said softly, his words a gentle caress against the storm raging within me. "Let me help you. Let us help you."

But I refused to listen, the tempest of my emotions raging unabated, the walls around my heart fortified against any intrusion. With a strangled cry of frustration, I shoved past him and fled from the room, the echoes of his words following me like a haunting refrain, the cadence of his footsteps a melancholy echo in the corridors of my mind.

Alone in the sanctuary of my darkened chamber, I collapsed onto the bed, the weight of my own solitude pressing down upon me like a suffocating avalanche. Tears welled in my eyes, hot and stinging, as I buried my face in the pillows, the emptiness consuming me like a ravenous beast, its jaws gnashing at the frayed edges of my soul.

"Mind if I join you?"

Nesta's voice broke through the silence, her presence a welcome intrusion in the stillness of the night. I turned to face her, my expression guarded and wary, unsure of what to expect. She stepped onto the balcony, her graceful movements a stark contrast to the heaviness that weighed upon my own shoulders. There was a quiet understanding in her gaze, a silent acknowledgment of the pain that lingered beneath the surface.

"I know what it's like," she said softly, her voice a gentle murmur in the quiet expanse of the night. "To push people away, to build walls around your heart so high that no one can reach you."

I bristled at her words, the anger and resentment bubbling to the surface like a dormant volcano awakening from its slumber. How dare she presume to understand the depths of my despair, the darkness that threatened to consume me from within?

"You have no idea what I'm going through," I snapped, my voice tinged with bitterness. "You have Cassian, you have someone who loves you unconditionally. I have no one."

Nesta's gaze softened, a flicker of sympathy in her eyes as she reached out to take my hand. "I may have Cassian, but that doesn't mean I haven't faced my own demons," she said gently. "I know what it's like to feel like you're drowning in darkness, to feel like there's no way out."

I recoiled from her touch, the walls around my heart growing ever taller with each passing moment. "I don't need your pity," I retorted, my voice laced with venom. "I don't need anyone."

Nesta's expression faltered for a moment, a fleeting glimpse of hurt crossing her features before she quickly masked it with a steely resolve. "Fine," she said, her voice tinged with resignation. "But just know that I'm here if you ever change your mind. No judgments, no expectations. Just someone who understands." And with that, she turned and walked away, leaving me alone once more with the weight of my own sorrow.

The library exuded an atmosphere of solemn tranquility, its shelves adorned with ancient tomes and illuminated by the soft glow of flickering candles. I sat ensconced amidst the towering pillars of knowledge, a solitary figure in the midst of a vast sea of wisdom, my thoughts tumultuous and unruly.

"I’m joining you.”

The voice, sharp and unwavering, pierced the silence like a dagger, its intrusion disrupting the fragile peace that had settled over the room. Startled, I glanced up to find Amren standing before me, her gaze penetrating and incisive, cutting through the veil of my solitude with unnerving precision.

"Fine," I sighed, my voice tinged with resignation as I gestured for her to take a seat. Amren wasted no time in settling herself across from me, her movements fluid and purposeful, her eyes fixed upon me with an intensity that made me squirm.

"You look like hell," she remarked bluntly, her words a harsh echo in the stillness of the library.

I bristled at her candor, the urge to lash out bubbling up from the depths of my despair like a tempest on the horizon. But there was something in Amren's gaze, a glimmer of genuine concern beneath the steely facade, that gave me pause. She wasn't asking out of idle curiosity; she genuinely wanted to understand the turmoil that churned within me.

"It's nothing," I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper as I averted my gaze, unwilling to meet her probing stare.

Amren snorted in disbelief, her lips curling into a sardonic smile as she leaned forward, her eyes boring into mine with unrelenting intensity. "Don't give me that bullshit," she retorted, her tone sharp and unyielding. "I may not be the touchy-feely type, but even I can see that something's eating you alive."

I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat growing with each passing moment as I struggled to find the words to express the depth of my despair. But before I could respond, Amren reached out and grasped my hand, her touch surprisingly gentle despite the steel in her eyes. "I'm not going to pretend to understand what you're going through," she said softly, her voice a quiet reassurance in the stillness of the library. "But I do know one thing: you don't have to face it alone. We're your friends, and we're here for you, no matter what."

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, hot and stinging, as I looked into Amren's unwavering gaze. In that moment, I realized that she was right. I didn't have to carry the weight of my despair alone. I had friends who cared about me, who were willing to stand by my side through the darkest of times. But even as the realization washed over me like a tidal wave, a part of me rebelled against the idea of letting them in. The walls around my heart, built brick by brick in an attempt to shield myself from further pain, felt impenetrable, insurmountable.

With a trembling breath, I pulled my hand away from Amren's grasp, my movements abrupt and jerky. "I don't need your help," I said, my voice strained with emotion. "I don't need anyone."

Amren's expression hardened, her eyes flashing with barely concealed anger as she stared at me, incredulous. "You're a fool if you think you can face this alone," she spat, her voice cold and cutting. "But fine, if that's how you want it. Just know that when you finally come crawling back, don't expect us to welcome you with open arms."

And with that, she rose from her seat and stormed from the room, leaving me alone once more with the weight of my own despair. Even as the silence settled around me like a suffocating blanket, I couldn't shake the feeling of emptiness that gnawed at my soul

As the twilight descended, casting its ethereal veil over the Night Court's training grounds, I found myself standing alone at the edge of the courtyard, my heart heavy with the burden of my own anguish. The fading light painted the world in hues of amber and indigo, a melancholy backdrop to the tempest raging within.

With measured steps, Azriel approached, his presence a soothing balm amidst the chaos of my emotions. His silhouette merged with the shadows, his eyes alight with concern as he drew near. "Are you alright?" His voice, a tender caress against the backdrop of the evening's symphony, reached out to me, offering solace in the darkness.

I turned to face him, my heart aching with the weight of unspoken words, the tumult of my soul laid bare in the vulnerability of my gaze. "Do I look alright?" I whispered, the bitterness of my sorrow echoing in the stillness of the night. "Do I seem like someone who has it all together?"

Azriel's expression softened, his gaze a mirror to the storm brewing within me. "I'm just trying to help," he murmured, his voice a gentle melody that stirred the depths of my wounded spirit.

Tears welled in my eyes, the ache in my chest threatening to consume me whole. "Maybe I don't want your help," I confessed, the admission a fragile confession of my deepest fears. "Maybe I'm tired of everyone trying to fix me, like I'm some broken thing in need of repair."

The hurt that flickered in Azriel's eyes pierced through me, his anguish a reflection of my own. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice laden with remorse, a silent plea for understanding.

My resolve wavered, the walls around my heart crumbling in the face of his compassion. "I don't need your apologies," I confessed, the weight of my pain heavy upon my shoulders. "I just need… I don't know what I need."

With that, I turned away, the vulnerability of my confession hanging heavy in the air between us. As I retreated into the enveloping darkness, I felt the warmth of Azriel's presence recede, leaving me alone with the ache of my own brokenness. And in the stillness of the night, I grappled with the realization that perhaps, amidst the chaos of my despair, what I truly longed for was the one thing I had pushed away—the comforting embrace of someone who cared.

But even as I yearned for solace, the sight of Azriel, the one who had rescued me from the clutches of darkness, stirred within me a tumult of conflicting emotions. His Illyrian heritage, his wings—symbols of strength and freedom—served as painful reminders of the horrors I had endured. And in his compassionate gaze, I saw reflected the shadows of my past, haunting me with memories I longed to forget. It was hard to see him, to confront the echoes of my trauma that lingered in his presence, yet even amidst the pain, there remained a flicker of hope—something that clung so tight, that wouldn’t let go, and that throbbed in the presence of him.

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#azriel x you #azriel fanfic #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #acotar #rhys acotar #acourtofthornsandroses #acowar #acotar fanfiction #angst #fanfic #acomaf #x reader #velaris #night court #a court of thorns and roses #depressing shit #tw depressing thoughts #tw depressing stuff #amren #mor #rhysand #feyre archeron #nesta archeron #amren acotar #cassian #wings #a court of silver flames

[alientee]

This is rated 18+ just in case minors don’t interact Maugaxreader

🌋🌋🌋🌋🌋🌋🌋🌋🌋🌋🌋🌋🌋🌋🌋🌋🌋🌋

I’ve had Mauga brain rot since he came out and there not enough fan fiction for me so I’m weighting this because it’s a funny thought I had in my mind I may even make it into a series. Reader is AFAB. Mauga x reader, some fluff, just a lil smut (barley) maybe more in the future enjoy!!!!!

You were relatively new to overwatch, but you were strong. The team knew you had their back, and that’s all that mattered; it also helped you have omnikinesis. But you couldn’t control it that well; you were unstable.

That’s why you reached out to overwatch, to control yourself before you hurt the others around you again. It’s a good thing they found out about you before talon or who knows what could have happened?

Speaking of Talon, you are having a team fight against them now. They tried to destroy another omnic and human peace event. Some of the richest humans and omnics were attending.

So you, Ana, Mei, Winston, and Lifeweaver were on guard duty. And lo and behold, here comes Sigma, Sombra, Reaper, Moria and some other big guy you didn’t know to ruin the party. Everyone began to run around in the grand dining room.

Sombra was hacking communications, so you couldn’t check on your backup. Mei and Ana were dealing with Reaper, and Moria, Winston, and Lifeweaver were dealing with Sombra and Sigma. That left you with the hulking, raging giant with tribal tattoos.

You quickly dodge his machine guns, using everything around you in the room as a shield. You quickly hide, trying to regain yourself; if you lose focus, you lose control.

“HEY HEY HEY WHERE DID YOU GO?!”

You hear smashing and bullets flying, trying to think of a plan in your head.

“EITHER YA COME OUT OR I START SETTING SHIT ON FIRE YOUR CHOICE HAHAHA!”

“Ok your completely insane” You whispered

You snuck around the hulking hot head. You hype yourself up to do a sneak attack that hopefully won’t take down the whole building. You focus on all the skylights and chandlers, bringing them down on top of the hulking man before jumping on his back, ready to detain him.

Until you were encased in darkness.

You find yourself squished by the man who was trying to kill you just moments ago. You were lying on his chest and straddling his waist while he was scrunched up and bent forward. You look up at him, seeing the snarl on his face.

“Ummmmmm hi there” , his eyes narrowed at you.

“What the fuck did you do!”.

You look at him startled and confused. “What do you mean I thought this was you?”

He looks like he’s about to yell at you again untill you both hear somthing.

“(Y/N)! Can you hear me!” It was Ana “YES!”

“Sigma got you two stuck in there!”

The large man shouted right in my ear while his chest rumbled underneath me. “HE DID WHAT!”

“Ah Mauga my friend would you like to hear about my new project. I was trying to trap the other one but you’ll make a great tester as well!” you could hear the collective sighs outside.

“It’s a black cube! One could say it’s a miniature black hole, but not a black hole at all, just a void in cuboid shape. It’s supposed to hold matter and keep it stabilized in place. It’s purpose is to hold things until it fully disappears on its own. Can you hear the melody within the universe? ”

You could feel the man named Mauga stiffen beneath you, you stiffen as well.

“Does that mean we dissapear to!” You scream

“Hmm possibly or maybe it will disappear without you in it the possibilities are endless.”

Your about to speak again when you hear Mauga grunt, you look up seeing him move his head down, that’s when you realize it’s shrinking now.

“It’s shrinking now!”

“Don’t worry (Y/N) given the circumstances we will work together until your both out”

“Don’t die in there Mauga I still have use for you” You shiver hearing Moria speak in such a way it’s gross.

You look up and see Mauga looking annoyed and uncomfortable “I’m sorry”

“Why you didn’t do nothing”

“It’s just that, if it shrinks without disappearing you’ll die. I could probably protect myself if I think of a way but I don’t know how it would affect you I can’t fully control my powers.” All he does is hum in response.

“(Y/N)! Can you use your powers to force the cube open!” Now that’s and idea but before you could even think about it Sigma speaks again.

“If you try to force a black hole to seperate it may disrupt everything around it destroying us all”

but sigma speaks again “But if she uses her powers and makes a black whole within a black hole?”

“Then Mauga dies, it would be such a waist but it may be an easier option” Moria spoke again, you could see Mauga rolling his eyes “Fuck you”

You look back up at Mauga you can still see the cube slightly shrinking again. “Mauga who are you?” He looks at me confused not saying a word. You sigh and speak again.

“If I’m going watch someone die in a cube I at least want to know them.”

You can’t help but stare into his eyes; he looks very handsome. Just something about him being a giant hunk of muscle with a sharp tooth smirk had you enticed.

He looks at you and puts a smirk on telling you the basics: he fought a war, he got two hearts, he lives his life as he pleases, and the rest is history.

You learned he liked video games, he takes pride in being strong and actually works out, letting you know he’s not an experiment with Moria, he’s a hot head but he’s passionate, and you even learned you both own a pair of shark slides.

The cube really did seem to be some type of black hole because you lost track of time and talked for what seemed like hours.

“Since you wanna know me so bad you mind doing me a favor” you nod looking at him

“If I die in here do something for me” You stiffen and look away sadly; you didn’t want to think about him dying in here, especially being responsible for someone’s last wishes.

You may be able to save yourself with your powers, but not at the expense of Mauga's life. You could only hope you would get out before then.

“I need you to tell Bap that I was mad at him for trying to blow me up and for leaving me behind. I was willing to drag his ass back; I missed him. Tell him the next time he grows a conscience, don’t skip out on your friends.” You looked at him confused, but nonetheless agreed.

“Ummm ok I’m not even going to get into that, is that all” He looks away and ponders “Make sure my turtle plush and guns are buried with me to and make my funeral a celebration of me not some sad ass drag of a day”

“Considering we’re technically supposed to be enemy’s I don’t think I’ll be able to plan that who knows what they’d do to your body, but I’ll try my best”

“That’s all I ask”

We stare into each others eyes what seems like forever. Until he leans down more moving his forhead to mine “One more thing?”

You look into his eyes shyly looking away when his gaze got to intense. He looks at me giving me a wink and that damned smirk of his. “What is it?”

“I always said if I died, I’d be on my terms. I wanted go out happy with a gun in each hand and a smile on my face. But right now I think the only thing that could make me happy is if I was taken care of by a beautiful lady?”

You blush looking at him with wide eyes “Are you asking me to have sex with you!?”

“Can’t really do that in this position doll” He’s laughing his ass off, you want to wipe that smirk off his face.

“Then what do you mean?”

He looks down your breast and you blush getting and idea of what he wanted. “If you could let me lay my face in those big tits of yours that’s a way to go” he smirks.

You feel your blush go from your face to your neck. “We don’t even know if your going to die Mauga, they could be done getting us out any minute.”

You listen outside to see if I can hear anything.

“We are not destroying the cube Moria!”

“Why not Mauga can be replaced and that girl can cause the destruction of our universe she’s a liability and a threat”

You could only mumble under your breath. “Your ugly face is a liability and a threat to everyone’s day and stomach”

You hear Mauga chuckle. “Don’t worry I’ll make sure to fuck up all her lab shit if I get out of this”.

You noticed his words if. And you couldn’t deal with that. If he died you’d have been to useless to stop it and in that moment you didn’t want to think about him dying.

You can see the cube shrinking more but Mauga doesn’t make a sound of discomfort, it’s like he doesn’t want to bother you every time the cube gets smaller.

“Hey Mauga”

“What’s up?”

You wrap your arms around his broad shoulders and push his face down into your breast. You don’t know what possessed you, but the thought of giving him his last wishes made you confident in your decision.

Mauga snuggles his head in your chest. You hold him there pushing his head down , not wanting him to see your blushing face making this even more awkward.

As if he can sense your distress Mauga motor boats your chest making you laugh. “Hahaha what the heck Mauga!”

“Just enjoying my new home. I love it here.”

He pushes his face deeper in your breast, inhaling your sent. “Hmmmm I really love it here” You feel him lick your chest.

“Mauga! W-what are you doing”

You pull back to find him looking at you with lust in his eyes and a shit eating smirk.

“You looked nervous I wanted to break the ice. I want you to enjoy this too. Can I?”

You don’t know if it was the way he looked at you, or because this was the first time you’ve felt a man’s touch like this, or maybe it was the fact that you wanted to help him; either way you nodded your head giving him the green light.

He puts his forehead against yours once more. “I need words sweetie, tell me what you want”

You look down refusing to make eye contact “I want you to touch me Mauga”

He slowly moves in and kisses your lips, his lips are surprisingly soft he pulls back biting your bottom lip. He moves his face down back to your breast, kissing and biting them slightly, leaving read marks on your skin. You use the front of your hands to pull down the top of your dress, thanking yourself the dress you had on didn’t require you to wear a bra.

He looks up at you as he slowly licks around your breast, taking a nipple in his mouth. His hands cant reach your chest so he settles on placing them on your ass.

Your eyes roll back in pleasure as he suckles on your nipple, his tongue flicking against it softly. He gropes your ass, squeezing your cheeks roughly. You can’t help but moan softly in his ear.

He releases your nipple with a loud pop giving the same attention to the other while nibbling it.

You can feel something slightly poke at you. You realized Mauga got hard. He felt so big even behind his pants. You slightly raised yourself to sit on top of his dick and begin to grind on his erection.

Hoping to give him and yourself some relief, your panties were soaking wet from the attention. You didn’t want to think about the wet spot you were about to leave on his pants.

“Fuck~, you feel so good sweetheart.”

You were about to respond but the cube starts to shake rapidly. You quickly pull your dress up and hold on to Mauga. All you can think about is his safety wanting to put both of you in a shield that could protect you no matter what.

And it seemed like your powers agreed. Because the next thing you know, you and Mauga are in a giant bubble floating above everyone.

He’s looking at you with wide eyes his frown turning into a giant smirk. “I made you feel so good you broke the cube huh”

Your embarrassment must have faulted your concentration, because you two instantly fell from the sky. You land on top of him in front of everyone making it even more awkward.

Everyone looked down at you two before you quickly got up and walked towards your team while covering yourself, just incase you didn’t put your dress on quite right. Reaper spoke up

“Next time you all die”

Ana spoke before anyone else “Oh shut up Gabriel I’m sick of the death jokes”

As they begin to leave Mauga turns towards you giving you a wink.

“It was fun sweetheart”. And he walks away with the rest of talons members.

Mei spoke up while everyone else looked at me “Did he hurt you (y/n)?”

“No he didn’t, he’s just messing with me”

They all nodded and we all begin to retreat back to headquarters. You could only guess sombra hacked everything before you even tried to get back up because no one showed. You started to wonder if you’d ever see Mauga again.

That thought alone made you blush. Lifeweaver tapped your shoulder. He gave you a smirk showing you he was laughing at you. You look at him confused wondering what was so funny.

“What is it?”

He leaned down and whispered in your ear.

“I hope he wasn’t to rough with you”

You looked at him in horror and confusion how could he even know! You looked down to your chest seeing dark red marks all over your breast.

Dammit Mauga!

#overwatch #overwatch 2 #overwatch mauga #mauga #mauga x reader #mauga overwatch #overwatch x reader #overwatch x you #overwatch smut #maugaloa malosi

[hotmentransformed]

Lovin' It

Under the soft hum of his local McDonald’s fluorescent lights, Thomas found himself enveloped in the solitude of his closing duties. The 18-year-old’s body bore the signs of fatigue, with slouched shoulders and tired eyes, a testament to his disdain for the job he felt trapped in. Back in high school, he had dreams of going to college and studying engineering, and even though he had the grades to get into a top school, financial constraints left him with no choice but to enter the workforce straight away. No one else would hire him straight out of school with no experience, so he applied to McDonald's, where he started working full-time.

Thomas was a tall and lanky young man, with unkempt brown hair and a perpetual frown etched on his face. He disliked his job intensely, feeling it was beneath him and a constant reminder of the opportunities he had missed out on due to financial stress. The smell of fries and grease had become nauseating, and the endless drone of customer orders through the headset made his head throb every day that he returned home, only for the cycle to continue the next morning.

The rain outside played a sorrowful melody, as he methodically scrubbed the grills, making them gleam and sparkle with cleanliness, wiped down the sticky countertops, counted the till with utmost precision, as a single missing dollar would be a write-up, mopped the lobby floors until they reflected the overhead lights, and cleaned the restrooms until they were spotless. He moved with a mechanical precision born from routine, albeit begrudgingly.

His final task before he had the pleasure of clocking out for the day and heading home for a dinner of a frozen pizza led him to the storage area, where the sight of a crumpled clown costume on the floor caught his attention.

It hadn't been there when he had been working earlier, so he wasn't sure what to think. Maybe it was a new promotional gimmick for the upcoming sales period and had just fallen out of one of the many boxes that get carried through the back on a regular basis. Reaching down to pick it up and fold it onto one of the shelves, Thomas' finger grazed the soft fabric. As he touched the strange outfit, he was engulfed by a warm and pleasurable sensation as his consciousness faded away.

As Thomas lay on the dirty stockroom floor, he began to undergo a transformation. His feet began to swell and grow, the bones stretching and reshaping to accommodate the oversized proportions of a clown’s shoes. The sensation was oddly satisfying, like a stretch after a long rest, leaving a tingling pleasure in its wake.

His skin was the next to change, the tan of his complexion fading into a luminescent white. It spread up his legs and over his torso in a wave of warmth, each inch of skin it touched tingling with the pleasure of transformation. His brown hair, untamed and messy, shifted into a brilliant red, growing longer and silkier, adding to the overall euphoria.

Thomas' facial features subtly shifted and molded into a new form. His nose rounded out and took on a bright red hue, his mouth stretched into a wide, perpetual smile, painted with vibrant red, and his eyes seemed to sparkle with newfound joy. The transformation was thorough, leaving no part of him untouched.

As the last remnants of unconsciousness faded and he awoke from his euphoric stupor, Thomas felt an odd sensation around his feet. Lying on his back on the cold floor, he lifted his head slightly, only to catch sight of two enormous, brightly colored shoes protruding from the ends of his legs. He blinked, trying to understand the surreal sight before him.

The shoes were massive, a vivid mix of red and yellow, the classic Ronald McDonald design. Panic raced through Thomas' mind, a series of frantic questions pounding in his head. Why were his feet so huge? What had happened to him?

Still in disbelief, Thomas slowly wiggled his toes, expecting to feel a spacious void within the oversized shoes. But to his astonishment, he felt resistance. The shoes weren't merely on his feet; his feet filled them perfectly, contouring and shifting with every subtle movement of his toes. The sensation was strange yet oddly comforting. The shoes felt like they were made just for him.

His heart raced as he tried to piece together the bizarre puzzle. Pushing himself up to a sitting position, Thomas took a more detailed look at his transformed body. His once tan skin was now a striking shade of porcelain white, and as he lifted a hand to touch his face, he felt the unmistakable texture of clown makeup.

Realization slowly dawned on him. He wasn't just wearing a clown costume; he had become the clown. The memories, the emotions, the very essence of Ronald McDonald began to flood his mind, merging seamlessly with Thomas' own memories and experiences.

He ran out of the store, and into the night, laughter bubbling from his lips as he embraced his new identity. He was no longer bound by the confines of his old life; he was no longer Thomas. He was Ronald McDonald, and he was free to be happy, to spread joy, and to live life as the happiest clown on earth.

He was lovin' it.

#male tf #transformation #tf #transform #male transformation #clown tf #ronald mcdonald #ronald mcdonald tf #costume tf #outfit tf #clothing tf #clothing transformation #clown transformation #ai images

[nebbyy]

Hi! I'm not sure if you are currently taking requests, so feel free to ignore mine if you aren't! If you are taking them, however, would you please write something for King Baldwin IV overhearing reader sing and falling further in love with her because of her soft and sweet voice? Upon realizing that he's there, she becomes extremely flustered and apologizes for disrupting his peace and quiet. Thank you!

King Baldwin IV x reader - Sweetest of melodies

A/N: omg it’s been so long since I’ve received a request! I can’t lie, Baldwin is my supreme comfort character, I think I’ll never stop writing fro him because it gives me sooo much joy😩😩😩 I personally like to think of this piece as taking place a few months after Baldwin’s and reader’s wedding, so it could be considered a sequel for my first fic ever. Also, the song mentioned in this piece is a real song from the 12th century called "Can vei la lauzeta" (in English,"When I see the lark") by Bernart de Ventadorn, and the painting is "Lovers in a garden" by Charles Edward Perugini!!

Oh btw!! I’m working on a long ass series about him, based off of a prompt by @phantomsghoulette  which I absolutely LOVED. Sooo all the KoH fans stay tuned for future updates🤭

Warning: nothing really, just pure fluff. Maybe you could say that religious innuendos could be something triggering for some people but I don’t know. There might be ONE, SLIGHTLY spicy mention but only if you squint really really hard. Also, keep in mind that the historical accuracy in my fics is rather relative, I try to add some details here and there but I don’t have the knowledge (nor the skills) to write a piece 100% accurate to the real history. Also, reader’s gender is female and uses she/her pronouns!!

Word count: 2918

Someone would say Baldwin's patience could already be put to test by only his illness, which she ruthlessly does not grant him a moment's respite, the eternal enemy of his body and his spirit. But no, to this perpetual torment of his had to be added the perilous duties of a king. And it was certainly not governing his people and lands that sucked what little energy he had left; this duty of his, given by his father and willed by divine design, he had long since embraced.

It was the nobles, the leeches who had drained him of his lifeblood lately. It was their endless demands, the insidious words that hissed behind his back, the languid bows and sleazy gifts designed only to gain some favor from him. Looking around him, he seemed to see only vices and sinners, power-hungry beasts just waiting for his moment of weakness so they could feed on what Baldwin had under his power.

In fact, not without reason in the past the young monarch had attempted to abdicate the throne and leave it in the hands of one of his sisters, rid himself of this burden and devote the rest of his short life taking care of his declining health and to nurture his mind away from so much corruption. At times he dreamed of retiring to France, experiencing for the first time that cold climate and verdant landscape of which his preceptors and advisors told him so much.

In fact, not without reason in the past the young monarch had attempted to abdicate the throne and leave it in the hands of one of his sisters, rid himself of this burden and devote the rest of his short life taking care of his declining health and to nurture his mind away from so much corruption. At times he dreamed of retiring to France, to experience for the first time that cold climate and verdant landscape of which his preceptors and advisors told him so much.

And he dreamed of taking you with him, imagined how sweet his life would be if his only concerns were taking care of his health and you, faithful wife, sole blessing in his life battered by such burdens. How he would wish that his days would revolve around you, that his first thought in the morning would be riding by your side through the flourishing meadows, and his last thought in the evening would be caressing your face as you lie slumbering in his arms.

It would have been a blissful fate his, if only Sybilla's husband had not died at the very moment when he would have needed him most. If only his mother had not convinced him that Guido de Lusignan was a good fit for his sister and had continued to seek a new consort for her, perhaps that fate would not have been snatched from him so early. Too late to repent now, for Baldwin would have preferred to die agonizingly on his throne rather than leave power in the hands of that bumptious and arrogant lord, who was noble only in title.

And so he found himself in this sort of hellish limbo, forced into a position that should never be required of a man in his condition, but prevented by his morality from abandoning his reign, impelled by faith in God's greater plan, that his suffering should not be in vain.

And his faith always seemed to strengthen when he had a way to escape the stifling air that characterized the throne room, always packed with knights and crusaders and nobles, when he had a way to retreat to the palace gardens, one of the few verdant places in all of Jerusalem.

With slow, swaying steps, Baldwin strolled slowly among the local palm trees and flower beds from the faraway lands, those where men speak Italian and the more distant ones, those from which his fathers came. Exotic fruits mingled with those more congenial to the French, who out of nostalgia for their lands and fields did what they could to bring the seeds of these plants with them to overseas.

His mind seemed to go out, shifting his attention from the constant buzz of court demands and duties to the chirping of birds perched on the roof, to the eviction of the soft branches that shielded him from the scorching sun. He enjoyed the refreshing air that reigned in that small oasis of greens, which was able to infiltrate the fabric of his white robes, crossing the bandages that covered much of his body and finally reaching his skin, numbed by leprosy. 

To tell the truth, of that refreshing sensation little reached his damaged nerves, if not for those few points that had been spared by the merciless disease, from which departed that unusual shiver that caused him a delicate smile of relief, enjoying the refreshing breeze. Then he closed his eyes and breathed in, discovering with satisfied surprise that that light gust was also a harbinger of an intoxicating perfume, a mixture of exotic and familiar.

How funny to think of the concept of "exotic", for an Angevin born and raised in the unknown lands of the east. For him it was exotic French fruit, exotic were the green plains and heavy clothing that brought his allies from the northwest, and equally alien to the snowy mountains and forest beasts that he saw drawn in detail in his childhood books. It was these changes of perspective that stimulated his mind in a myriad of thoughts and reflections, but in a pleasurable way for him, not as exhausting as his daily duties.

His reflections on exotic and local made his mind travel, wandering until he came to a subject very close to him: Muslims and Jews, reflecting well on the landscape in front of him, recognized that he could share with them the same concepts of what is foreign and what they can claim the original belonging. And he could not but reflect on how it must have been for the first inhabitants of Jerusalem to observe the Franks who came as conquerors, and filled their gardens with such foreign plants as those pale warriors who had taken possession of their dwelling... But after all, the French soldiers who were emissaries of God’s will needed something familiar to stabilize them as they fought to reclaim the Promised Land, ut Deus voluit.

But all his brooding over these matters of conquest and submission ended up in the background in his mind, when a colorful scarlet sphere caught his attention. An exquisitely red apple seemed to tempt him from a branch just above his head, beckoning him to be picked and savored by the king, that he might lose himself in the juicy sweetness of that fruit with origins so far removed from the Holy Land. But the king's modesty prevented him from yielding to that temptation, wanting to avoid exposing the advanced state of deterioration in which his mouth was.

And in fact if that temptation had been alive it would have pale in front of something much more captivating, a sound that echoed in the most melodious distance of the song of any nightingale. Baldwin was surprised to think that he had not realized before the melody that inibriated the atmosphere around him, so taken by the tribulations of his mind that he almost missed such an intoxicating song. He did not know what he felt once he arrived in Heaven, if he had ever arrived in spite of the unjust fate in Hell that the evil Saracens wished him. He didn’t know it, but if one ever had to imagine what Heaven sounded like, that song would come to mind.

When I see the lark beating 

Its wings in joy against the rays of the sun 

That it forgets itself and lets itself fall 

Because of the sweetness that comes to its heart

She sang in Occitan, the beautiful one in the distance. The voice of his people, of his lineage, that few in the palace can pronounce after so many years of distance from their homeland in Provence. Paying more attention to the echoing song, he would not even have had to approach it to give a face to that melodic voice: he knew how to recognize his wife’s voice.

Yet it was a new context in which he saw you, new facets of you that he had not yet had a chance to observe. Your voice, sweet as honey, venerable like all your other traits, he had never heard it except in speech, when you were proclaiming orders before your subjects with the authority fit for a queen, or when you laughed at the poems and performances of the court singers, or when you whispered in Baldwin’s ears sweet words, while you lay with bodies merged between the soft silk sheets. Always spoken, but never sung.

Alas! Such great envy then overwhelms me 

Of all those whom I see rejoicing,

But though he didn’t need to approach you to recognize you, the desire to see your face exceeded any of his other needs. As if mesmerized by the sound of a siren, Baldwin was advancing towards you, with steps so slow that it seemed a hunter about to catch a deer in the woods. He wanted nothing more than to hear you sing again, that you continue to bless him with that angelic melody. What worse sin would there be than to interrupt your song, more sacred than a prayer?

His stomach filled with butterflies and turned upside down like the beasts' jugglers, his breath seemed to stop in his throat, depriving him of the breath he no longer needed, as long as he could hear you sing a moment more. And her cheeks warmed, when finally she saw you among the white lilies, more beautiful than divine salvation.

I wonder that my heart, at that moment, 

Does not melt from desire.

Baldwin wondered if you sang with him in mind, if those words of love reflected your own emotional turmoil. 

Oh, if only it were so, and your singing equalled his own words inscribed in the sonnets and poems he composed in your honor, which he himself commissioned from your favorite singers to perform at banquets, only to steal an embarrassed smile and to see the blush of your cheeks, along with the glint in your eyes.

Whether it was or not, the outcome remained the same since he was at that moment in your proximity, in the same state mixed with adoration, love and wonder at the bold gesture. But if only he had confirmation from your words...

Alas! How much I thought I knew 

About love, and how little I know, 

Because I cannot keep myself from loving 

The one from whom I will gain nothing.

"My angel, your voice sounds like heaven but your words are false." Baldwin practically saw you blow up from your session, completely taken aback by his sudden appearance, unaware that your husband has been acting as a secret public all this time. Your initial surprise quickly turns into a laugh to mask your embarrassment for being caught in a moment like this, when you thought you were alone to be able to run the streets of music with your voice.

"I beg your pardon, I thought I was alone in the gardens," your eyes met his own only for a moment, before you turned your face to try and hide the blush of your face, "it was just a silly song I heard singing to the Provençal knights. I hope I did not disrupt your walk, my love..”

He laughed softly, trying to hide his amusement from having caught you off guard. He approached you more quickly than when he did just a few moments before, but with the same phlegm that managed to inspire a feeling of safeness in you. Sitting by your side on the bare rock, he raised his bandaged hand to gently cup your face and make you turn your eyes towards him. It was only then, when you had no choice but to look at Baldwin in the face that you noticed how his eyes, the only part of his face exposed to the outside world, formed two half-moons, and you came to find that it was because of how widely he was smiling, as you lowered the veil from his face. 

He was making fun of you, you realized. With that swagger in his manner, you understood that his amusement came from your embarrassment at that silly misunderstanding. Laughing softly, he gently shook his head before bringing both hands to your face, holding it as if it were the most sacred of relics. "As much as I would love to hear you sing of your affection for me, just to hear your voice echoing in the air is the sweetest of gifts. How could you deprive me of this blessing thus far, my dear?"

You could do nothing but giggle at his sweet words, bringing your hands to his wrists to feel him closer to you. "You flatter me, my king. My voice boasts nothing more than those sweet melodies that the singers in the palace sing. Mine is only a dabble."

His gaze softened, his playful spirit addicted to your presence. He took the floor again, in a tone as soft as cotton, "At least this once, my queen, allow me to disagree with your words. My life may be short and my reality small, but never have I heard such an angelic voice, singing such sweet melodies. And God may not yet have granted me the ability to predict the future, but in my heart I know well that never will any singer be able to hold a candle to your beautiful voice, never will any song be able to express the same feeling of ecstasy.

"You, my angel, have managed to make a simple ballad an absolute work of art through your voice. I think I should take you with me into battle next time, for with your mere voice you could addict Saladin and his entire army.

"And seeing you here, angelic and perfect like the lilies that surround you, singing so softly that it would make any bird jealous, that I realize that whatever toil, whatever challenges God has stored up for me, and all those that still await me in my life, are worth it, if at the end of each of them there is you, voice of an angel, to hold a place for me in your arms of heaven." 

You were sure you were on the verge of crying a flood of tears, the result of pure emotion at his sweet words. It was not new to you that Baldwin worshipped you as much as the God to whom his kingdom was consecrated, from the first moment he got to hear your voice and admire your face, and you knew at once that he had become yours, body and soul. But it was new to you to see him like that, completely entranced by your simple being-it was something new. A wonderful newness that made you feel like the most desired of women on this earth.

Taken by a rush of boldness, you practically jumped into his arms, wrapping your arms around his neck; you ended up on top of him, with his hands around your hips. You both laughed, like two little boys frolicking in the gardens. And you left a kiss on his left cheek, then on the bridge of his nose. A kiss again on his forehead, and then down on the side of his lips. When you were about to give him another kiss, just where he most yearned for your lips, against his, you stopped a few inches away, with a wide smile, before speaking again, "If so little is enough to make your happiness, then I will sing to you every day, whenever you ask. Let me be your nightingale, your morning song and your lullaby all at once!"

"I couldn't wish for anything else, my dear. Now, however, I beg you, sing one more melody for me, before my duties drag me back to the palace, and I shall consider myself a blessed man."

"With great pleasure, my love." Your voice was now little more than a whisper. With a languid movement, Baldwin moved his body to rest his head on your lap, and you eagerly greeted him. After slightly moving the hood that veiled his head, so that you could play with his golden locks, you began to sing a new melody, one that this time spoke of reciprocated love, of the joy of being able to hold your loved one in your arms. But the words you sang barely reached Baldwin before his sky-colored eyes closed softly, his mind giving him at least a moment's despite from his perilous life. You continued to sing, caressing his face, which from day to day appeared more and more mutilated by his disease, singing the sweetest of melodies so as to prolong this idyll in which you and your husband found yourselves in. 

For with you Baldwin had a way of putting the crown aside, and being nothing more than a foolish young man in love, whose only duty was to love you, to love you with all the love that an angel like you deserved.

@sweetworkoffiction hope you like it <3

#fluff #writers on tumblr #f!reader #kingdom of heaven #king baldwin iv #king baldwin x reader #king baldwin x you #koh #medieval fiction #historical fiction #writing requests #requests open #anon ask #anon request

[astroboots]

RED FLAGS ║ PART 11

CO-WRITTEN WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Pairing: Steven Grant x female reader x Marc Spector (x hints of Jake Lockley)

Summary: You overhear things you were not meant to hear. Or alternatively: The girls boys are fighting.

Content: mild angst, lots of eavesdropping on secrets.

Word Count: 6.9k words

Series Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | Thirstworldproblemss’ Masterlist

[PREVIOUS] - [NEXT]

The music box sits atop of the wooden counter. For a love song, it’s such a sad and melancholic melody. Made sadder by the off-key note that clangs jarringly five seconds in, after you've wound up the music box to watch the little deformed Anubis inside twirl. 

It's oddly mesmerising in a meditative sort of way, how it keeps spinning round and round with nowhere to go. 

Doing the same thing over and over again. 

Stuck.

Has Anubis always looked so unhappy?

Steven's hand brushes against your back, interrupting your musing, and you jump in your seat despite the gentleness of his touch. Looking up, you find him standing in front of you with a worried frown.

"You're going to be late for work, love," he says, "It’s nearly eight-forty."

"Shit." You’ve lost track of time, fiddling too long with the music box. 

You glance at the table where Steven has already stacked your plate. Two pieces of charred marmite toasts sit atop his emptier plate as he's walking over to the sink. A pang of guilt sits in your chest at the sight of it. 

Despite the effort Steven had gone through, getting up early and having it ready for you by the time you woke up, you've hardly even taken a bite of your breakfast. 

You rush forward, wanting to at least help him clean the plates, but Steven waves you off with a shake of his head.

"It's all right, love. You go ahead, don't want you to be late. I'll clear this up. Donna can't possibly get madder at me than she already is." 

There's a forced smile twisting his lips, and when you don't make any moves to go, Steven sets down the dishes in the sink and walks back over to you.

"Have a good day at work today," he says and tips his head, pressing his lips to your forehead. "I don't want you to worry about anything alright? Everything will sort itself out." 

It feels like deja vu when he says it, and for a second you worry, because the last time you heard this sentiment aimed at you, the man who said it disappeared without any physical trace. 

As if he can sense your apprehension, Steven continues, giving your hand a gentle nudge. "Go on, love. I'll pick you up after work, and we’ll order something nice for take out tonight." 

Despite your hesitance, you find yourself nodding as you head towards the front door. The sound of porcelain clinking together and kitchen clutter continues in the background as you click the door shut behind you. 

The hallway is dimly lit and gloomy as you make your way down to the lift. 

Once inside, it’s quiet except for the whirring of mechanical gears from above. It’s almost like being trapped in a music box of your own, except that Steven’s building isn’t fancy enough to have elevator music. There's nothing to distract you here. No twirling Anubis. No melodies. The only thing keeping you company is your own thoughts and memories. 

‘Marc, I mean it. I miss you.’ 

The memory of your own words seems to echo between your ears, and you cringe, shaking your head in an attempt to make it stop. You're restless, the cuticles of your nails itching to be picked as you try to push yesterday's telephone call from your mind. Trying to mute your own pleading voice from playing on an endless loop. 

‘I'm in love with you– ’ 

You’re desperate for a distraction, but the cramped lift offers no distraction. There are mirrors on both walls, and endless Xerox copies of your own reflection stare back at you, repeating off into infinity. There’s no place here to hide from yourself. 

‘–You don’t have to love me the same way. Just come back.’

Your hand comes to your left wrist, seeking something to fidget with to calm your nerves, but the familiar leather strap of your watch is missing. Your forearm is bare.  

Oh, for god's sake. Where have you gone and lost the bloody thing now?

As soon as you think it, you realise where it must be. Can see the watch in your mind's eye, sitting on the porcelain edge of the bathroom sink, right where you left it when you took it off to shower last night. You sigh, pressing the button of the lift back to the fifth floor. This time as the lift ascends the floor, you fix your gaze on the menacing bright red LED sign indicating the floor level, refusing to look into the mirrors on either side of you.

‘Please. I miss you.’

The lift door pings open, mercifully interrupting the replay, and you briskly retrace your steps. You’re so focused on retrieving the watch—and ignoring the unwelcome memories—that you barely register that Steven’s no longer in the kitchen. It’s not until you’re brought up short by the closed loo door that you realise it’s not going to be quite that simple. 

Looking down, you can see the light streaming under the door is cut by a shadow’s flickering movement inside. Steven’s gone to the loo. That’s all well and good—nothing out of the ordinary— except the fact that your watch, which you would very much like to wear to work, is in there with him. 

You sigh. 

You’re already going to be late as it is, but you can’t very well barge in on him in the loo, now can you? The poor man would have a heart attack.

You contemplate your options, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, and you have to resist the impulse to tap your feet like some grumpy old biddy. Trying for patience, you take a few steps back, dragging your eyes away from the bathroom to stare blindly off towards the empty kitchen corner. 

There’s not much to look at, just the morning sun streaming in the window to illuminate the pile of sauce-stained dishes waiting to be washed. Your eyes linger anyway. Your mind fills in the gap with an echo of Marc as you’re used to seeing him, standing at the sink or stove, his back to you, outlined in the soft early light. All that’s missing is his voice calling out a soft greeting.

And for a moment, you think you can hear him—his all-familiar American accent echoing from your memories. Better his than yours. Better the voice you've been missing like an amputated limb this entire time he’s been gone. 

“You need to stop.”

You jerk upright because that’s new. 

You’re no stranger to the flat, demanding tone, but you can’t trace the words back to any memory of what Marc has said to you before. 

That means it’s real.

You whip your head back in the direction of the loo where the voice is coming from. 

It’s muffled. The volume muted by the door, but you’d recognise that grumpy, impatient voice anywhere. Been replaying it enough in your mind, that you could pick the owner out of a blind lineup based on sound alone. And you can definitely identify it now in the quietness of Steven’s flat, where it’s just you and him. 

Marc. 

The room seems to narrow to a needle point, the colours blurring into each other until all you can see is the bathroom door. Excitement rushes to your head and everything feels fast and slow all at once. 

Marc is in there. 

Your legs threaten to buckle, and the wooden flooring underneath your feet seems to sink and warp into porous sand with each step forward. Then you’re standing there, in front of the loo, separated from him only by a few feet and the thin wood panelling of the accordion door, so ancient and flimsy-looking that a gust of wind could knock it down. 

You want to knock it down. You raise a shaky hand to hover just above the surface.

All you want is to grab the handle, fling it open and see Marc again. Not as you have these past months, through the lens of the memory—either your own wistful, wishful thinking or the echoes of him that have been haunting your daily life. 

You need the reality of him. To see him in the flesh and bone. Marvel at the ever-present scowl as he tips his head in irritation. That deep furrow between his brow when he’s consumed in some task. The rare half-smile that never fails to make you feel like you’ve won a rare prize at the carnival when you’ve manage to coax it out of him. 

But you can’t. 

Because you know how that will go. Even if Marc is in there, cornered in the loo, the moment he knows you're here and aware of him, he'll spirit himself away like he did last time.  

So you stay there, hand raised, feet frozen to the floor, staring down at the shifting shadow visible through the wide gap like it’s shadow puppet theatre, trying to discern the plot as you listen in. 

“This is how things are now. It’s better for both of you that I’m not around.” 

He sounds tired, weariness weighing down his words, and your throat aches. You don’t need X-ray vision to guess how Marc’s shoulders must be slumped, his hand rubbing over his face and jaw in frustration. 

The worst part is that you know Marc well enough to know that he truly believes what he is saying. Believes that his presence is a burden. That just by being here, he’s causing everyone trouble. 

He thinks he’s doing everyone a favour by not being around, and there’s nothing you or Steven can say that will make him believe otherwise. You know that. But it doesn’t mean you want to say it any less.

You want to break down the door, take him by those broad shoulders, and shake him until his head wobbles as you scream that he’s wrong. That he would be nothing but good for you. 

Because being around Marc makes you happy. Sitting next to him, watching him sip the “rubbish” coffee you’ve made him, makes your chest light up.  Seeing his puzzled expression when you make a pop culture reference he doesn’t know makes you smile.  And even though you’re not a morning person, he makes you look forward to waking up early because you know you get to spend those extra ten minutes with him. Marc makes you happy.

It goes quiet behind the door, and you can’t hear his voice anymore. Maybe Steven is arguing back. You hope so. You hope that Steven is rebutting Marc’s misguided beliefs the way you desperately want to. 

Maybe for once Marc is actually listening. 

"She doesn't know what she's asking for, Steven.” 

Maybe not, the stubborn bastard.

His voice is pained, and you tilt your forehead forward until it makes contact with the doorframe, hovering as close as you dare. It’s not like it makes any difference; not like he can sense you from behind the door—nor would you want him to, given the flight risk. But your heart hurts for him, and you just want to be closer to him in any way you can, despite the divider between you. 

“If I'm around it'll just mess everything up for–” He stops suddenly like maybe Steven has cut him off. Then there’s a grunt of protest, followed by, "Steven… That's not– Steven."

"You don't know what you're talking about, Steven!" This time he sounds almost angry, his voice is low and venomous. And whatever Steven says next must really strike a nerve, because Marc hisses, “Shut up, shut up! Shut UP!" the volume rising to a crescendo with his agitation.

It takes you by surprise, and you jump back, nearly tripping over your own feet in the process. Then you scramble back to the door, pressing as close as you dare. Worried that you’ve missed part of the conversation because you can’t hear Marc anymore. 

“Look, maybe if you just, like... chill the eff out for a second, we can talk things over, yeah?” 

That’s not Marc at all. 

Instead, it’s Steven's warm South-Londoner accent spilling through the door. They must have switched.

“You can't keep doing this. You know that right?” Steven demands. “What's your grand master plan here, mate? Hiding during the day and sneaking out like a burglar in the dead of night...? A bit cowardly, isn't it? You have to know that’s not gonna work long term."

If Marc was angry, then Steven sounds properly hacked off, his patience on the last string, worn so thin it’s a surprise it hasn’t already snapped. This is clearly not the first, or even second time, they’ve had this conversation. Apparently the fact that he's been talking to Marc is one of those things Steven "can't tell you right now." You wonder how many times they've had this same argument. From the sound of things, you wouldn’t be surprised to learn that Steven has tried again and again without being able to even inch Marc to budge from his stubborn position.

"It's not the perfect life though, is it? Not when you’re being a right proper idiot about all this. She wants you here. I want you here, you great pillock!” Steven’s voice is loud and indignant, and you can hear a rattle in there that you’re pretty sure is Steven grabbing onto the sides of the mirror in a frustrated attempt to throttle Marc through it. “And you can stop trying to peddle ‘normal,’ all right? Nothing about this situation is normal, and I for one am perfectly okay with that!” 

You can always trust Steven to come through with the honest truth.

God, you love that man. 

You can’t help but smile as he quite loudly voices everything you’ve been dying to say to Marc in this moment. You agree with all of it, even the throttling. Because Steven’s so very right. Who needs ‘normal’ when you can have something better together? 

“Just–” Steven cuts himself off, and you hear the deep inhale as he takes a calming breath before he continues.

“Listen, Marc…” His voice is softer now, almost cajoling. Trying to negotiate and soothe. 

You lean up on your tiptoes and in closer to the door, until you’re practically pressed against it. In your eagerness, you forget about how flimsy the material is until it gives slightly under your weight, and you flinch back. Honestly, it’s probably a miracle the flimsy thing didn’t collapse altogether.  

“You’re not fooling anyone, all right? I can feel what you feel when you’re around her.”

You wait with bated breath for Steven to continue, selfishly hoping that he’ll spell it out further because you desperately want to know what exactly it is that Marc feels around you. For you. 

“When you wake up next to her, and–” his voice spills from the bathroom, the dry sarcasm unmistakable, “when you drink that bloody awful coffee.” 

Again with the sass about your coffee! 

You scowl at the door, any goodwill towards Steven’s efforts in this conversation quickly evaporating. Surely, your coffee can’t be as terrible as all that. It’s just beans and water! How much of a difference can the ratio make anyhow? 

“Or… Or the way you clutched onto that jacket for weeks after she wore it. Treated it like some bloody teddy bear, didn’t you?” 

His jacket? The one that gave you so much grief and guilt after the almost-kiss in front of the fishtank? And Marc had… what? Snuggled with it? Your mind boggles at the very idea, even as it warms your heart.

“‘Don’t?’” Steven challenges, obviously repeating something you can’t hear. “Don’t what, exactly, Marc? Don’t state the obvious?” He barrels on, apparently unwilling to give Marc time to reply, "I know how you feel about her. And I know what you think about when you spend those extra ten minutes in the shower." 

Extra… minutes? You frown to yourself. You don't understand. What could Steven possibly mean by ‘ten extra minutes’ in the– 

Oh. 

An invading image pushes to the forefront of your mind. Of Marc's stern and focused eyes closed in concentration. Wet curls plastered to his forehead. His fingers wrapped in a tight fist over his hard cock. It’s true that you’ve not ever seen Marc less than fully clothed, but you’ve seen Steven without a thread on his body, and your brain is more than happy to fill in the blanks.

Heat curls into your stomach and settles there. Your chest feels tight, as though the thought of Marc in the shower is squeezing the breath out of you. Your vivid imagination clings onto the image, no matter how hard you try to think of something else. Your brain is too enamoured with it and refuses to let it go. 

All you see as you close your eyes are his perfect cheekbones flushed a rosy crimson as he shudders in pleasure. 

"Well if you don't want me to tell her, you’d best stop playing hide and seek then," Steven continues, clearly exasperated, "You’re being ridiculous, you bloody plonker."

Despite the fact that he's still technically whispering, he's so agitated that he might as well be shouting and the volume would be comparable. Steven never could keep a lid on his emotions. You can just picture the animated expression on his face. 

“She wants you too, you know.”  It’s quieter, comes after a second or two pause, as if Steven’s deliberately tamping down how loud he was.

More silence follows. 

You wait for several torturously slow seconds, but there’s still nothing from behind the door. Is it because Marc has been replying to Steven, you wonder. And if he has, what has he been saying? Is he angry? Brushing Steven off? Or is it like it was on the phone last night—silent because he’s not replying back at all.

Why is that somehow the worst scenario? 

You don’t hear anything else. Perhaps this is how it’s going to end today as well. Another stalemate. Stuck in a loop, like Gus II’s endless pilgrimage back and forth across the tank, forever spinning in this box that you have gotten yourselves into, with no way out. 

How long can the three of you keep doing this for? 

“Did you know… she had a sex dream about us?" Steven says. 

A cold shock grips the entirety of your spine, and you jolt like someone threw a bucket of ice water over your head. 

"That’s right, about both of us, together—said she couldn't choose." 

Oh god. God! What on earth is Steven saying? Has he lost his fucking marbles? He can’t tell Marc that! 

Embarrassment burns with a fury in your cheeks. You bite down on your tongue, trying to keep yourself still, fighting every nerve in your body that wants to ram down the door. 

“Actually, I quite think you do need to be hearing this, mate. If you would just–” Steven breaks off, then tries again, raising his voice like he’s trying to talk over and overpower someone else in volume. 

“If you would just come back and talk to us about it, I'm sure she would… Marc. Take your hands off your ears, Marc. If you would just listen for one bloody second. Can you please just– Oh, right, that’s really mature!” 

“Oh, that is bloody well it!” Steven shouts, and harsh fluorescent light floods your vision, momentarily blinding you, as the bathroom door is flung open. 

You stumble forward, nearly falling through the doorway. The only things that stops you from going arse-over-tits are Steven's solid frame and the fact that you faceplant square into the middle of his chest.

His hands go to your shoulders, helping to steady you, and it only takes a second to regain your footing. And then you find yourself staring up at your fuming boyfriend. 

Steven’s cheeks are flushed, chest heaving, and his beautiful messy curls are bouncing wildly on top of his head. He must’ve been well and truly hacked off at Marc, but at the sight of you the anger melts off of him. 

"Oh,” he says, blinking down at you in surprise, “hello, love. You’re back?” 

Turning back to the bathroom, Steven narrows his eyes pointedly at the mirror, then turns off the light and slides the door shut firmly behind him.

"How... uhm… how much of that did you overhear?" 

"Quite a bit," you admit, not bothering to beat around the bush. "I'm guessing Marc’s still refusing to come home then?" 

Steven gives an exasperated shake of his head. 

"He's being stubborn, as always."

You nod, but there’s a bitter clump stuck in your throat that you can’t quite swallow down. Steven must notice your struggle, because his hands trail down the length of your arms until he finds yours and weaves your fingers together, squeezing lightly. 

"Don't worry, love. He'll come around eventually, yeah? He just needs time." 

Steven likes to say the two of you have all the time in the world, but you're beginning to wonder if even that would be enough.

The flickering light from the telly is swathing the bed and surrounding surfaces of Steven’s bookshelves in blues and whites. You’re staring blindly at the ocean scenery playing out before you, without really hearing any of the narration as Attenborough drones on about whale wildlife. 

You feel listless. You try to tell yourself that it’s just been a long day at work. Between Poppy stealing your lunch, (which she denies) and that three hour Teams call that nearly ended your will to live, it’s no wonder you’re ready for this day to end. 

But it’s more than that. 

‘It’s better for both of you that I’m not around’.

Marc had sounded so tired in the loo this morning, like he’s exhausted to the depths of his soul, and you hate that for him. Guilt swirls in your stomach, simmering until it curdles into irritation and then anger. 

You’re furious at the whole situation. 

You hate how angry and defeated he sounded. Can't stand the thought that he's doing something that hurts him to keep you and Steven “happy.” But most of all you hate that he’s alone again. By himself, trying to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders like the victim of some tragic Greek myth, condemned to a solitary existence by the gods for all of eternity. 

But your anger isn’t helping you right now, and it certainly doesn’t help Marc.

In fact, nothing you’ve been doing has helped him, has it? All your efforts to get him to come back: spam texting him, poisoning him with your toxic coffee, confessing your feelings… The only thing any of it has achieved is to make him feel cornered and miserable. 

It needs to stop. 

You need to stop. 

“You all right, love?” Steven’s voice near your ear pulls you out of your spiralling thoughts. 

“Hmm?”

Steven frowns at you from where he sits beside you on the sofa. 

“You seem… distracted. Is there something on your mind, love?” 

“Yes, sorry, I think I’m just–” you trail off mid-sentence, the screen catching your eye when you lift your head. The credits are rolling and must have been for quite some time without you even noticing. 

“Let’s go to bed, love. Call it an early night, yeah?” he asks with a gentle smile on his lips. 

Curling up in bed with Steven sounds perfect to you in this moment and you nod at him.  

It’s all he needs to start moving,  Steven stooping to gather up the blanket that’s pooled by your feet and reaches over your lap for the remote to turn off the telly. The room dims without the brightness of the screen, and Steven takes your hand, pulling you to your feet. He watches your progress surreptitiously, keeping his hand steady over yours like he’s a guide dog worried you’re going to trip over your own feet. 

He doesn’t let go until you’re safely sat down on your side of the bed, and even then he stays standing there with an uncertain look on his face, one hand hovering in mid-air, the other hanging by his side, fingers fidgeting. 

“Would you like to talk about it?” Steven finally asks, the words bursting out of him as if he’s unable to hold them in any longer. “What happened today, that is. About Marc, and what you overheard.” 

“Marc…,” you begin, and his name barely even leaves your lips before Steven is already nodding enthusiastically for you to continue. “He sounded really quite tired today, didn’t he? It must be hard for him to keep this up. I don’t know why he thinks he has to keep hiding like this.” 

Steven’s chewing on his bottom lip, and there it is again, the feeling that Steven knows so much more than he’s been telling you. You can practically see the weight of the phrase ‘I can’t tell you right now’ perched heavily on his features. 

You look down at your lap, fingers twisting into the blanket. But maybe, it isn’t hard to guess what it is neither of them are telling you. It’s Occam’s razor isn’t it? All things being equal, the simplest explanation is usually the correct one. And maybe the simple explanation here is that Marc just… doesn’t want to see you. Whatever the reasons, he’s made that much abundantly clear, and you’ve gone and ignored all signs and pushed forward regardless. You told the man you loved him, and he didn’t say anything back. 

“I think that what I said on the phone–me telling him I love him—has probably only made things worse.” 

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself as you raise your eyes towards Steven again. 

“I just want him to know it’s okay if he doesn’t feel the same about me. It’s all right if he doesn’t want this or– Or me. He doesn’t have to hide to avoid rejecting me or to spare my feelings. I don’t want him to be alone because of that. Can you… can you tell him that?”

Steven's eyes widens, and he shakes his head vigorously.  

“No. No, no, no, love. That is not what's happening here. That's not– The problem is– Marc is just–" He stumbles over his words a bit before spitting out tartly, "Just a right twit, is what he is." 

You can’t help the grunt-like snort that escapes, and the levity feels good. It’s nice to be able to laugh with Steven, even as glum as you are over the situation that you’re all stuck in. 

Your laugh must’ve pleased him, because he smiles back at you, eyes crinkling adorably. His shoulders relax too, and his hands stop their nervous fidgeting. 

Climbing knee-first onto the bed, Steven sits in front of you. His hand comes to yours, and he settles both your hands on top of your lap.

“Marc isn’t hiding away because he doesn’t feel the same about you.” 

Your face must show your scepticism, because Steven squeezes your fingers between his reassuringly as he continues. 

“Same body and all that, remember? I’m aware enough nowadays that I can usually feel what he feels when I’m not the one fronting.” 

"What does he feel?" You blurt out. It's a question that has been haunting you since your impromptu phone call confession. Longer even.

Steven hesitates, clearly torn, and it’s enough to make you realise what you've just asked of him. How unfair of a question it is.

"Sorry.” You grimace, your shoulders sagging. "I know you don't feel comfortable sharing things about Marc without him here. And I understand. It's okay. Really it is. It's..."

It's only right, isn't it? Of course it’s not for Steven to out Marc’s private matters. And what can be more personal than one’s inner thoughts and feelings?

"Oh, love," Steven says, voice impossibly gentle, “You're right that it's not my place to tell you.”

You nod, looking down at your lap, feeling like your whole chest has deflated. You know it's the right thing for him to do. You’re glad for it even—that he's looking out for Marc when Marc's not here to look out for himself—but you can’t help but feel disappointed all the same.

“Buuuut…” he continues, and your head whips up, searching his face with a tiny sprinkle of hope that perhaps there's still something Steven can share with you. 

“You heard what I said to him in there, right?” Steven prompts, and you nod. His fingers brush over yours, giving you the time to process. 

You try to remember everything you overheard, any other hints you’ve gleaned. How Marc always drinks your “awful” coffee. That he’d clutched onto his jacket after you’ve worn it. The shower. Your fingertips tingle all over again as the image of him in the shower tries to resurface in your mind. 

“Surely it’s obvious by now how Marc feels about you, isn’t it?” 

Steven looks so certain—like he can’t even begin to fathom why there would be any doubt about this—and you desperately want him to be right. Desperately want to think that Marc might care for you in return. 

He says it like all of the pieces of the puzzle are plainly there for you to see. And they should be, you suppose. Marc has shown you so many different sides of himself, and the conversation you overheard revealed more. The problem is that no matter how hard you try to mash the pieces together to make them fit… They don’t.

What Steven’s implying makes sense, and yet here the two of you are, alone. And Marc is still refusing to join you.

Despite everything, the picture before you is still somehow… incomplete. You can’t help but feel that there’s at least one more vital piece of information that you’re still somehow missing. 

“So why is he still hiding, then?” 

And there’s something there, in Steven’s reaction when you ask him. A quick, blink-and-you’d-miss-it flicker towards the direction of the fish tank. The only reflective surface, lit up as it is in the darkness of the room. 

“Steven?” you prompt loudly, fully intent on interrupting whatever tirade Marc is shouting at Steven. You lean forward, squeezing his hand for attention. “What is Marc saying to you? Why won’t he come back?”

Steven’s head whips back in your direction. His mouth is works, but no words come out, and he’s hesitating like he’s trying to decide how much he should tell you. 

“There are things that we—that Marc hasn't told you,” Steven finally says, eyes flicking to the fishtank again, then back to yours, holding your gaze earnestly. “Things that you ought to hear about from him. He doesn’t think he deserves– Well. He thinks that once you know about everything, you’ll walk away from us both. So he’s staying away. I guess in some way, he thinks he’s protecting me again. Buying me some time before it ends."

“That’s ridiculous!” you shout before you can stop yourself. “He can’t possibly know how I’ll react until he’s told me!” 

Your ears burn and you wouldn’t be surprised if there was steam coming out. Why can’t Marc just sit you down and tell you these things instead of making assumptions about what he thinks you would want? What he thinks would be best for you? It’s Steven and the goldfish all over again. 

“And, Steven,”—you look him right in the eye, because you don’t want there to be any doubt about this next part—”I love you. There is nothing Marc could tell me that would make me want to leave you, all right.”

Steven smiles, and even in the dark it’s warm enough to light up the whole room.

"Yes, love, I know.” His smile turns wry, “Like I said… a right twit."

It’s dark. 

Quiet. 

The world isn’t awake yet, and you’re not sure if you are either. You can’t even hear the London traffic outside. There’s too little light in here, and you can’t make out anything except vague shapes in the inviting darkness. You close your eyes again, ready to drift back to sleep. 

Fabric rustles nearby, a soft white noise like the raising of sails. It reminds you of visiting the beach as a child and putting your ear to the opening of a seashell. Everything sounds like it’s underwater.

The surface under you moves, rolling slightly, and then settles again, and it feels like you are out at sea on a small boat. Behind your eyelids, all you see is purple skies dusted with sugared stars. 

Someone is here on the boat with you, warm and sturdy against your side. For a moment or two, drunk on sleep as you are, you don’t quite know where you are or who the person is. All you know is that you feel happy and safe with them. 

The boat rocks again, the surface under you shifting, and the warmth moves away. You want it back. Before you can reach out, the soft weight covering you shifts like a wave, dragging against your hip as it rises up over your torso before settling again, tucked snugly under your chin. 

There are quiet, almost careful footsteps on wooden planks. Then the clink of metal like chains being dragged across the floor. 

It’s all so familiar somehow. 

Didn't there used to be a time when you'd often find yourself like this? Drowsy and half-conscious, pulled towards awareness by the quiet sounds of someone moving next to you, but too far under to fully wake? 

When did it stop?

Oh. Right. When Marc disappeared. 

This must be a dream then. Your brain processing and recycling old memories. Why else would you be out on the open sea? 

The noises stop. 

You can feel the moment drift, pulled away by the currents, but you’re not ready to wake up yet. There’s a long silence, where the dream threatens to slip beneath the inky depth of a wave. 

Squeezing your eyes firmly shut, you try to let yourself float gently on the current, hoping you can relax and prolong this dream. 

The surface you’re resting on dips, and something settles onto your shoulder. A solid, comforting weight. You know this feeling. It’s Marc’s hand, and it inspires the same feeling of safety it did last time, the last time you and Marc were together in person, after you'd cried yourself into exhaustion and he'd agreed to let you fall asleep in his bed. 

It feels nice. More than nice. It feels right.

You nuzzle your cheek into billowing warmth surrounding you that feels like a soft pillow and smells of fresh laundry detergent and coffee. You inhale deeply, sighing contently at the scent, trying to enjoy it while it lasts. 

You don’t want to give this up.

The weight lifts from your shoulder, and you almost rise up in protest, but something sweeps softly across your forehead. Those gentle fingertips, brush the hair from your eyes before coming to linger on your cheek. 

It's a bit funny, isn’t it? A bit cruel even, of your subconscious to conjure up a scenario where Marc’s touching your cheek tenderly like this. After all, isn’t this what you’d thought he might do that night? What you’d wanted him to do, even if you hadn’t known it then? To cup your cheek in his strong, warm hand; to hold you like you're precious to him, beloved, the same way that Steven does?

Marc’s hand moves away again, replaced by the gentle brush of soft lips and bristly stubble against your temple. It’s a barely-there touch, so light and fleeting that you might have imagined it, yet everything inside you aches like a tender bruise. Your skin tingles with an echo of lingering warmth.

You don’t dare to move; barely dare to breathe for fear that you’ll wake yourself up. Your chest constricts with a bittersweet longing that feels large enough to bury you whole. 

"I love you too," his quiet voice says, filling the silence.

Warmth blossoms in your stomach, pouring and pouring through you until you feel filled to the brim with happiness. You think you would be content to stay here, in this safe, quiet space, just basking in his loving presence forever.

For long moments, you do, sinking into the feeling of being loved by this grumpy, stubborn, confusingly gentle man.

Then you hear the heavy sigh.

"That's why I can't come back," he says, voice quiet, resigned, “I need you to be safe. And happy. I’ll make sure of that.”

The sea rises as his weight lifts away from you. The whole of the boat shifts unsteadily beneath you, tilting with the tumultuous waves. Set adrift by the unexpected and unwelcome turn the dream has taken, you’re convinced that the boat is going to tip over and capsize. That you’ll slip into the cracks between the planks of the deck and fall into the abyss, never to be seen again.

You reach out to grab the railing, trying to steady yourself. But where you expected a wooden ledge, hard and wet from seawater, your fingers grasp onto something soft and warm instead. It gives way easily under the grip of your hands, like cotton. Like sheets. 

Still you hold on tightly, bracing yourself for the inevitable descent, and then…

Nothing.

Nothing happens. You’re still on steady ground. Still surrounded in the stillness of the dark night. The only sound is that of soft footsteps moving away and then the unmistakable click of the front door. 

Wait, what kind of dream is this?

Your eyes fly open, and you’re greeted to the sight of the wooden planks, mostly lost in shadow. The bottom of the deck? Are you in the ship’s hold? 

No, it’s the  lowered ceiling over Steven's bed. You’re in his flat.

There’s an ache in your shoulder from having rested on it too long, and you force yourself upright. Your eyelids feel crusty and dry, as though a desert has sprung up behind them overnight. They sting as you blink, wanting to seal closed again. 

Are you awake now? Or is this just another part of a dream? Ten seconds from now, will you find yourself back down on the mattress, forcing yourself to open your eyes all over again?

It’s dark in here, but that tells you nothing. In wintertime, dark can mean 5pm or 7am or anything in between. Turning to the side of the bed, you pat at the nightstand until you find your watch and raise it to your face, squinting in the darkness to make out the dials. 

Eight-thirty? That can’t be right. You and Steven fell asleep well past eight last night, and it’s too dark outside to already be eight in the morning. You reach over to the small lamp, holding the face of it up to the dim light. The arms counting the seconds is taking much longer than a second to hobble forwards. It’s desperately trying to tick along but it’s not doing a great job at keeping time accurately. 

You really need to fix the bloody thing. Or better yet, get a new one. Everything about it is falling apart. Still you fasten it to your wrist by habit before you move to get out of bed. 

With a heavy sigh, you dip one foot onto the floor, and hiss out an involuntary breath at the chill of it. Your shoulders clutch at the quilt tugging it closer around your shoulder.

Wait, this is…

Real.

The biting cold is definitely real. Not a dream; not your imagination. As fantastical as your dreams can sometimes be, your subconscious wouldn't have the attention to detail to replicate the energy bill crisis. 

Turning your head, your eyes drift to Steven’s side of the bed where he fell asleep curled up next to you. Except, he’s not there anymore. 

You reach out your hand, resting it on the spot of the mattress where he would have been lying. 

Still warm and toasty. 

He must’ve gotten up mere moments ago. The door to the loo is open and dark, so Steven’s not in there. He’s not anywhere, and Steven wouldn’t have left the flat without telling you. Must’ve been Marc then, gone wandering off into the night again.

Your neck prickles.

And all of a sudden you’re wide awake, realisation slamming into you like a runaway lorry.

Oh bloody hell, that wasn’t a dream. It was real. 

Marc was really here. 

He really– 

Oh god!

Shoving the comforter away, you leap to your feet. The cold draft in the room punches the air out of your lungs, but you ignore it and focus on trying to find your clothes and dress as quickly as possible. In your haste, you ricochet off one of the bookcases and have to clumsily pat things back into place to avoid an avalanche of Steven’s mess, picking the first pair of boots that is within reach and your coat. Then you’re out of the front door with a loud slam behind you. 

~ Continue ~

a/n: to be notified of new writing updates follow @astroboots-writes and turn on notifs 🤡💖🤡

#oscar isaac #moon knight #marvel #marvel mcu #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #steven grant #marc spector #moon knight fanfic #moon knight fic #moon knigh fanfiction #jake lockley #steven grant x you #marc spector x you #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley x you #moon knight x reader #moon knight x you #cici writes

[mauvecherie-writes]

endless melodies - l.hamilton

pairing: lewis hamilton x fem!oc;jamilah riley

part: [i] ii

summary: lewis slides in the dms. also, jackson weller who?

warning: 18+, talks of past cheating, lewis being a lil cornball.

notes: don’t forget to like,comment and re-blog!

tags: @queenshikongo3 @dhlfastestlap @hersinsarescarlet @emjayewrites @saintslewis @serpenttines-library @hopefulromantic1 @cocobutterqwueen @bluesole16 @chaneajoyyy @melodichaeuxx-lacritquexx @felicity-x0 @lewisroscoelove @lh44adore @hellomadamebutterfly @scorpiobleue @qveenmelanink @tremendousstarlighttragedy

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jamilah.riley writing, working, looking pretty.

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thatgirljodie the prettiest girl ever!

⤷jamilah.riley thatgirljodie 🥺 no, you!

amalriley when are you back in London? i miss you

⤷jamilah.riley amalriley I’ll call you soon mama. missing you too.

j.rfanpage we working on #that song girl? 👀

⤷ jamilah.riley j.rfanpage oh that one is already done! will be dropping soon!

⤷ j.rfanpage jamilah.riley oh we’re ready!

user18 oh we are going to be eating good this year!

user21 Jackson Weller is going into hiding as we speak.

⤷ user112 user21 Jackson will be fine 😒.

⤷ user21 user112 Not for long!

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jamila.riley • 10 minutes ago

lewishamilton liked your story!

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jacksonweller courtside only

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rileyryder1 BOOOOOOO 🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅

rileyryder2 it’s giving cheater. yuck.

vanessahill 🖤

⤷ rileyryder3 vanessahill this is not a good look for you girl.

user309 how you can move on so quick is beyond me

⤷ user49 user309 because he was CHEATING before Jamilah dumbed him!

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jamila.riley • 5 minutes ago

ru’s letters: i forgot how fun these were to make 🤣

#mauvecherie writes #endless melodies series #lewis hamilton x black oc #lewis hamilton smau #lewis hamilton x black reader #sir lewis hamilton x black!reader #lewis hamilton fanfiction #lewis hamilton fic #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton fluff #lewis hamilton x reader #f1 smau #lewis hamilton #lh #sir lewis hamilton

[talesofesther]

sweet calamity | ch 5

Wednesday Addams x Reader

Series Summary: It was something people described as the sweetest pain, the feeling of when the soul that's destined to find yours is closer to you. Wednesday saw it as a curse, promised herself she would hate whoever was chosen for her; but it's easier said than done.

A/N: I think this might be my favorite chapter yet. Let me know what you think. <3

Masterlist | Read ch 4 here

The clock on your bedside table read 1:16 AM. It was a little late, but also the only time when, technically, everyone was asleep.

You snuck out — well not really, considering you're not leaving the school, only your dorm — with careful and calculated steps, you made your way down the dark stairs and to the quad.

The reason for that, is that a particular flower you want to add to the quad's flowerbed only blooms at night. And you need to make sure that its color fits in well with the rest of the plants already there. Maybe it was futile and maybe it was your perfectionist side speaking, but you genuinely wanted the place to look nice when you were done.

Or you were just taking any small excuse you could get to keep your mind busy.

You could use your abilities if you wanted to, make the flower bloom during the day so you could see it in its full glory, but it didn't sit well with your heart to disturb its natural cycle.

So here you were, in your pajamas, shivering because of course you forgot your jacket, sneaking out into the night only to watch a few flowers bloom. It reminded you of the times that you'd do the same thing when staying over at your grandparents when you were younger; a smaller you hugging a huge cardigan around your shoulders, your bare feet feeling the grass between your toes as you sat down on the lawn and just waited for it to slowly happen.

The moon was high in the sky when you reached the quad, almost full and casting a pleasant glow for you. The air was cold, much colder than it was during the day but there was a certain comfort to it, you realized.

You closed your eyes for a moment, tilting your head up and breathing in deeply.

Quiet moments like these have always been some of your favorites.

She would probably enjoy it too.

Your mind drifted. You opened your eyes only to see a blanket of stars above you; endless, timeless.

Maybe she would complain about the colors, but you'd gladly add a few black flowers to the mix if she asked you to.

You shook your head, scolding yourself for missing someone who wasn't even yours, to begin with.

Five days ago, Wednesday found out you are her soulmate, and you haven't spoken with her since. It could be wishful thinking, but sometimes you had the feeling that she wanted to speak with you, however, you didn't feel much ready for that. The changes were small, like finding a new partner for a few classes that you used to sit with her, taking the longer path to some of them so you wouldn't end up bumping into her; little things to postpone what was most likely inevitable — you live in the same place after all, it was bound to happen — but for now, you didn't know what else you could do, other than avoid her.

With a soft sigh, you sat down on the ground, eyes fixed on your flowers in the middle of the quad. You hugged your knees close to your chest… and waited.

The night was serene, you could hear the rustling of leaves in the distance, crickets singing, and music.

A beat passed, and you frowned.

Music?

The melody was a little distant, but not much, you could hear it pretty clearly; soft notes coming from the cords of a cello.

You couldn't put a name to the song even if you tried, but you could tell it wasn't a happy one. The melody was somber; not creepy though, closer to sorrowful. It comes from the tallest room in Ophelia Hall, echoing through Nevermore's corners and undoubtedly waking a few students from their slumber.

You know it's Wednesday. Enid has complained to you about her cello solos in the dead of night one too many times already.

If you close your eyes and focus hard enough, you can picture her fingers moving with the cords, shaping the notes of the song.

From your spot on the quad, you look up at what you can see of the half-colorful round window. You stay there until her song ends and a little bit after, part of you knows she's still out there too. In times like these it feels like the universe is fighting to keep you close to Wednesday; you wonder when it'll see reason and give up — though secretly, part of you doesn't want it to. Because you could pretend you shared this little moment with her, after all, it was just you and her who were awake and out at this hour.

The thought of somehow feeling connected to her made you smile.

—

Wednesday dragged out the end notes of her song, the tip of her fingers burning and stinging over the cords; a pleasant, grounding feeling.

Thing closed her sheet music book, gesturing softly at her after.

"That's a silly question," Wednesday told him, setting aside her cello, "considering I have nothing to be worried about."

The disembodied hand gestured again, causing Wednesday to narrow her eyes at him.

"Her childish behavior does not bother me, I'm not sure why you would even assume that." She huffed, looking away from him with a clenched jaw, "she's the one who chose to keep it from me in the first place, so if she wants to keep her distance now…"

Wednesday breathed in deeply, she got up from her chair, and walked over to the edge of the balcony to let the cold wind kiss her cheeks, "it's just less work for me," she finished then.

Wednesday feels stuck in limbo sometimes, she doesn't understand the weight on her chest whenever she thinks of you, can't decide on how to feel about you nor why she even cares at all. She detests not knowing things, yet when it comes to soul bonds and flower perfumes, she sees herself walking blindfolded on a tightrope.

Thing came to her side carefully, he tapped her elbow, waiting until Wednesday's dark eyes settled on him. He gestured gently, his fingertips tapping the back of her hand once he finished.

In a quick move, Wednesday pulled her hand back and took a step away from him. She shook her head, breathing in deeply. "That could never be true," she pointed a finger at him, "say it again and I'll pick out each of your nails."

Wednesday turned around and walked back inside, leaving Thing alone in the night; but she laid in bed wide awake, staring at her ceiling for hours on end until the first birds started singing, his words replaying over and over in her mind.

———

The tall doors of the fencing room creaked when Wednesday pushed them open, the sunlight coming from the huge windows reflected on the pristine white walls and made the clashing blades shine.

The Addams girl walked between her peers, helmet in hand and chin held high. She could see their teacher instructing Xavier on his poor stance, holding his own blade in the correct position so the boy could copy. Wednesday scoffed when he failed again. He should stick to the bow and arrow, she thought.

Wednesday's gaze still looked for you in the crowds — while the teacher was busy getting frustrated with Xavier, she found you adjusting your uniform in the far corner of the spacious room.

She stalked closer, closing the distance between you and her. Your eyes found hers just before you lowered your helmet on your head and Wednesday could almost see the way your breathing faltered. She had caught you off guard.

You make to take a step back but your boot hits the wall, and it's suddenly very familiar to a recent memory that has been plaguing Wednesday's nights. She should hate you for it, for making her care about something she promised she wouldn't; but oh, she can't.

It's okay if you like her, there's nothing wrong with that.

Thing's words still echo in her mind.

Wednesday is quick to reach beside you, grabbing a blade for herself from the support on the wall and turning around to give you your desired space, because the image of you running away from her makes her stomach turn unpleasantly.

"Ready?" Bianca's voice caught Wednesday's attention and she looked up, only to see that the siren wasn't speaking with her, but with you.

You walked in front of her slowly, blade in hand as you took your stance, "yeah, ready."

Wednesday's grip on the steel handle of her own blade tightened; who was the absolute moron who paired you up with Bianca?

You were awful at fencing and Bianca was, arguably, even more competitive than Wednesday; and as much as she didn't want to admit it, the siren was good.

Your blade clashed with Bianca's for the first time, and a foreign feeling took over Wednesday's body as she watched the sparring unfold. She was restless, chest tight as she anticipated your every move.

Her lungs had a distant ache, because she's been holding her breath. Bianca's blade grazed the side of your head and Wednesday didn't know where to focus her unblinking eyes. She took a step closer when you almost lost your footing.

What the hell was happening to her?

Bianca was fast, too fast for you to follow. She striked, and you ducked out of the way but the movement caused the tip of her blade to scratch the side of your free hand.

Droplets of crimson red were quick to fall on the floor, staining the polished wood. The sharp pain made you wince, dragging your attention to the blood slowly flowing from the recent cut.

It was a blink-of-an-eye kind of thing. Bianca didn't see your wound, and you didn't see her going for the next blow until it was too late to defend yourself.

All that was heard was the loud clashing of steel against steel.

Wednesday stood in front of you, her blade holding Bianca's in place, with a look in her eyes that could send the bravest man running for the hills.

"What the hell, Wednesday?" Bianca snapped, lowering her weapon.

"This fight is clearly over," Wednesday tilted her head towards your bleeding hand, she still had her blade pointing to Bianca, daring her to object.

Bianca shifted her attention to you, her eyes softening, "shit, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"It's alright," you cut her off with a wave of your hand and a small, reassuring smile, "I'm alright."

"Addams," the teacher called, walking over to where you stood, "you're not allowed to interfere when other students are sparring".

Only when Wednesday saw Bianca walking away, did she lower her weapon. "Then you should learn how to properly pair up your students," she bluntly stated, raising an eyebrow at him.

The older man huffed, turning his gaze to you, "go to the infirmary." Was all he said before walking away.

You angrily took off your helmet, messing up your hair. "I had it under control," a frustrated scoff escaped you as you threw your blade to the floor. You refused to look up and meet Wednesday's eyes.

"Obviously not," she countered, "given how she was about to impale you with her sword had I not stepped in."

"Whatever, it's not like I asked for your help," you argued back a little too loudly and felt warmth rush to your cheeks when it attracted a few curious glances.

Wednesday flinched at your sudden tone, blinking a couple of times. You never snapped like that. After a beat of silence, she tried reaching out, "let me see it."

Only for you to take a big step back, holding your bleeding hand close to your chest as if trying to protect it. This distance, this brick wall you were trying to build up between you and her; it got Wednesday striving to keep her face impassive, to pretend like it wasn't taking away her sleep.

"I don't need you pretending like you care, Wednesday," you told her quietly, turning around to walk to the door, and Wednesday watched you leave. Again.

Her classmates were anything but subtle with the way they watched the two of you, no doubt wondering what about you was so special that prompted Wednesday to do what she had just done. To be honest, she was wondering the same thing.

With each of your steps — morning sunlight bathing you aureate as you walked — Wednesday could feel the thudding beat of her heart against her ribs, trying to escape her, trying to go after you.

Wednesday closed her eyes, mumbling a thousand curses under her breath as she shot down her ego. Damn you. She discarded her blade and helmet, hurrying to fall into step beside you.

"You're mine even if I don't want you to be," she forced out, sparing a single annoyed glance at you; her hand took hold of yours in a strong grip as she pulled you along, "I'm not letting anything happen to you."

—

The cut on your hand wasn't big, but the antiseptic still stung like a bitch.

You sat on one of the hospital beds of the infirmary, swinging your feet back and forth as the nurse wrapped a small bandage around your hand.

Wednesday was leaning back against the wall to your right, you could feel the weight of her eyes on you, unmoving; you felt like a deer under a panther's gaze.

But that analogy didn't work, did it?

You dare to steal a glance at her; you catch her straightening her posture, clearly not expecting you to do what you just did. Her eyelashes kiss the corner of her cheeks as she looks down at her boots, her arms crossed over her chest. There's something about her that wasn't there before, you just can't put your finger on it yet.

I'm not letting anything happen to you.

Why? You thought to yourself as you looked back at your hand, the white gauze now slowly turning a soft shade of pink. Why did she have to say that?

"You can come back later to change it one more time if you want to, but you should be fine by tomorrow," the nurse gently told you.

"Thank you, I will," you smiled, flexing your hand to test if the pain was still there. It was.

The older woman smiled back, before turning around to attend to a vampire girl who's accidentally eaten garlic.

You didn't move, only pursed your lips and gripped the edge of the bed; you had a feeling of what would happen next.

And it did.

Wednesday pushed herself away from the wall, her steps slow as she came to stand in front of you. She stopped closer than you thought she would.

"Lemon and salt will help," Wednesday told you.

Your head instantly snapped up to look at her, you frowned, eyes a tad too wide. "It'll sting like hell."

There's a ghost of a smile on Wednesday's lips that she never intended for you to see. She reached a hand to you, slowly, carefully, half expecting you to reject her touch again.

You didn't, and you're not sure why. But you did hold your breath before she even touched you.

She took hold of your injured hand, her fingers holding yours with a gentleness even she didn't know she was capable of. Wednesday turns your hand around, and somehow she knows you're back in that moment too.

She gulped, her thumb brushing over the dried blood stain on your uniform; "for the stain," Wednesday simply said.

"Oh," is all you can breathe out, afraid to break the spell that's holding this moment.

You allow yourself to savor her touch just for a second more before pulling your hand back.

Wednesday didn't comment on it, she refused to acknowledge the effect you have on her. She sets her jaw tight before saying; "I've been meaning to apologize."

You raised an eyebrow at her.

"For what I said when we first met," she continued, and you closed your eyes, because you were done crying.

"Had I known it was you I'd-"

"You what?" You interrupted her. "You'd tell me I'm not a burden? Or maybe that I shouldn't grow attached to you because you hated me before even knowing me?"

Wednesday's lips parted yet no words came out. This is wrong, this is all so wrong. She decides. This is not how our story should go.

You pushed yourself off the bed, picking up your bag to leave the infirmary.

And Wednesday follows, because that's all she can do now.

"Listen, Wednesday," you started after a sigh, pushing open the door and being welcomed with the chatter of Nevermore's busy hallways, "we can be friends if that's what you want us to be."

The students walking around you caused Wednesday to move closer, her shoulder bumping into yours with each step.

"But right now… I need time. And I need space." You shrugged, a melancholic smile coming to your lips.

Wednesday can't decide on how to feel, the thought of it brought a sour taste to her mouth. She should be glad, but that doesn't sit right with her either. And she thinks she should probably say something anyway, but before she could, someone else called out your name.

Both you and Wednesday turned to see Andrew waving animatedly to you as he molded his way between the students until he could reach you.

"Hey you," he greeted with a smile, then turned to the girl beside you, "Wednesday." He gave her a nod, and when she didn't answer, he looked back at you, "ready to present our work?"

You breathed in deeply, you hated talking in front of the class. "As I'll ever be."

"Relax, I'll be by your side the whole time." He offered.

You glanced at Wednesday before following him, the glint in your eyes resembling something akin to longing; "I'll see you around, yeah?"

Affection isn't a word Wednesday uses much, but she thinks of it a lot when it comes to you.

"Okay," she uttered quietly, and as you walked off with the guy, Wednesday managed to catch on to little bits of your next conversation;

"Hey so, you know how the Rave'n party is less than two weeks away, right? I was wondering if you'd like to go with me?" The annoying boy asked.

"Uh, yeah sure, I- I'd love to," was the last of your words that Wednesday could hear.

And she felt the strange urge to grab your hand and drag you away with her all over again.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Read ch 6 here

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keep me motivated to continue posting here, so I'd appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment if you want. <3

Wednesday’s taglist: @milkiane @bookfrog242 @heelaechan @imagine-reblog @simp4wanda26 @sakurarukas @bluetreecloud20 @the-night-owl-blr @imlike-so-gaydude @user284747 @dreifhraniquo29 @emeraldevan @simp4nat @boobabietch @impossibleliv1031 @deadpool-in-a-snood @rainbow-love4ever @maria-403 @pompompuri @halleest @wandaromanova @marveloussimp @rainbow-hedgehog @left-and-right-up-and-down @get-the-fuck-outta-here @awolfcsworld @elduster @alexkolax @georgi-salva @imdumbhi @ladey @youralphawolf72 @reginassweetheart @justyourwritter69 @yangsroboarmm @8e-h-e8 @irish-piece-of-trash @femalehomosexual666

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams imagine #wednesday addams x fem!reader #wednesday addams #wednesday #wednesday addams x you #wednesdayedit #imagine #fanfic #fluff #angst #wednesday addams fanfic #jenna ortega #wednesday x reader #my story

[callsigns-haze]

Lose you to love you

Pairing:Rhysand x reader Warning: This chapter contains explicit sexual content and emotional turmoil SMUT. Summary: In a moment of passion and vulnerability, Rhysand implores YN to come back to him, but she grapples with the weight of her responsibilities as High Lady of the Court of the Lost Gods and yet returns to him. But now with the queen under the mountain things change Series master list (but can be read alone)

As the golden rays of dawn filtered through the windows, casting a warm glow over the room, YN stirred from her slumber, her eyelids fluttering open to reveal the sight of Rhysand lying beside her. A contented smile curved her lips as she shifted closer to him, revelling in the comforting warmth of his embrace.

Feeling the gentle rise and fall of his chest beneath her fingertips, YN couldn't help but reach out to trace lazy patterns against his skin, her touch light and affectionate as she played with the light chest hairs that dusted his torso. Rhysand stirred at her touch, a soft murmur escaping his lips as he shifted closer to her, his arms instinctively wrapping around her in a protective embrace.

With a soft chuckle, YN leaned in to press a tender kiss against Rhysand's chest, her lips lingering against his skin as she savored the intimacy of their shared moment. The years they had spent together had only deepened their bond, strengthening the connection that bound them together as mates.

As she lay there, basking in the warmth of their love, YN knew that she had found her home in Rhysand's arms. And as they faced the dawn of a new day together, she couldn't help but feel grateful for the love and happiness they had found in each other—a love that would endure for all eternity, a beacon of light to guide them through the trials and tribulations of life.

Feeling the gentle tug of YN's fingers playing with his chest hairs, Rhysand stirred from his slumber, his senses gradually returning to him as he emerged from the depths of sleep. A soft groan escaped his lips as he stretched languidly, the sensation of YN's touch sending a jolt of warmth coursing through him.

Opening his eyes, Rhysand found himself greeted by the sight of YN lying beside him, her smile radiant in the soft morning light. His heart swelled with affection as he reached out to pull her closer, relishing the feel of her body pressed against his.

"Good morning, my love," he murmured, his voice husky with sleep as he brushed a strand of hair away from her face. "What has my beautiful mate so awake and playful this early?"

YN's laughter danced through the air like music, a melody that filled Rhysand's heart with joy. "I couldn't resist," she confessed, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she continued to play with his chest hairs. "You looked so peaceful, I just had to wake you up."

Rhysand chuckled, his fingers trailing along her spine in a gentle caress. "Well, I'm certainly glad you did," he replied, his voice filled with warmth and affection. "Waking up to you is always the best part of my day."

As they lay together, basking in the intimacy of their shared moment, Rhysand knew that he was exactly where he was meant to be—in the arms of the woman he loved, surrounded by the boundless warmth of their love. And as they faced the dawn of a new day together, he couldn't help but feel grateful for the gift of YN's presence in his life—a gift he cherished with every beat of his heart.

As Rhysand's mind wandered through the memories of their incredible 48 years together, a sense of peace settled over him like a warm embrace. From the moment YN had entered his life, she had brought with her a light that had chased away the shadows of his past, filling his days with laughter, love, and endless joy.

Lost in his thoughts, Rhysand felt YN's playful touch rouse him from his reverie, her fingers dancing along his skin in a teasing caress. With a grin, he retaliated, tickling her side gently as he elicited a delighted squeal from her lips.

"Careful now, my love," he teased, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he continued to tickle her. "You know what happens when you start a tickle war with me."

YN giggled, squirming beneath his touch as she tried to wriggle free from his grasp. "Oh, is that a threat?" she teased, her eyes sparkling with laughter as she reached out to tickle him in return.

Rhysand chuckled, his heart swelling with affection as he gazed into her eyes. "Consider it a promise," he replied, his voice filled with playful determination as he redoubled his efforts to tickle her.

And so, amidst peals of laughter and playful banter, Rhysand and YN whiled away the morning, their love and laughter filling the room with a warmth that chased away the lingering traces of the night. In each other's arms, they found solace, joy, and an endless wellspring of love—a love that would endure for all eternity, a bond that could never be broken.

As their playful teasing gradually subsided, Rhysand and YN found themselves wrapped in each other's arms, the lingering echoes of their laughter fading into the quiet stillness of the morning. Contentment washed over them like a gentle wave, their hearts overflowing with love and gratitude for the precious moments they shared together.

With a soft sigh, YN snuggled closer to Rhysand, her head resting against his chest as she listened to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. The rise and fall of his chest beneath her fingers filled her with a sense of peace, anchoring her to the present moment as they savored the simple pleasure of each other's company.

Rhysand brushed a tender kiss against YN's forehead, his fingers tracing delicate patterns along her spine as he held her close. "I love you," he whispered, his voice a gentle murmur that wrapped around her like a warm embrace.

"I love you too," YN replied, her voice soft with emotion as she lifted her gaze to meet his. In that moment, as their eyes locked and their hearts beat as one, she knew that she was exactly where she belonged—in Rhysand's arms, surrounded by the boundless warmth of their love.

As YN gently tried to extricate herself from Rhysand's embrace, a soft chuckle escaped his lips, his arms tightening around her in a playful tug-of-war. "Where do you think you're going, love?" he teased, his voice laced with mock protest as he pulled her closer.

"I have to get up," YN protested with a laugh, her fingers dancing along his chest as she tried in vain to free herself from his grasp. "We can't stay in bed all day, much as I'd love to."

Rhysand grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Who says we can't?" he countered, his voice low and suggestive as he nuzzled against her neck. "I can think of a hundred reasons to stay right here, in bed, with you."

YN's laughter bubbled up from deep within her, a melodic sound that filled the room with warmth and joy. "As much as I love spending time with you," she replied, her voice tinged with affection, "we really do have to get up. Duty calls, remember?"

Rhysand sighed dramatically, his lips forming a pout as he released her from his embrace. "Fine," he conceded with a playful wink. "But only because you asked so nicely."

With a grin, YN leaned in to press a lingering kiss against his lips, her heart overflowing with love for the man who had captured her heart so completely. And as they finally untangled themselves from the warmth of the bed, ready to face whatever the day might bring, they did so hand in hand, their love shining like a beacon to light their way.

----

As the day unfolded, YN found herself accompanying Cassian on a journey through the rugged terrain surrounding their court, the two of them embarking on a mission to map out the land and chart the hidden paths that crisscrossed through the wilderness.

With Cassian leading the way, his expertise in scouting and navigation guiding their every step, YN eagerly followed along, her curiosity piqued by the opportunity to explore the untamed beauty of their homeland. As they trekked through dense forests and winding trails, she marveled at the breathtaking vistas that stretched out before them, her heart swelling with a sense of wonder at the sheer majesty of the natural world.

Throughout the day, Cassian patiently taught YN the intricacies of mapmaking, showing her how to identify landmarks, plot coordinates, and mark their progress as they ventured deeper into the wilderness. With each lesson, YN's skills grew, her confidence blossoming under Cassian's guidance as she embraced the challenges of their journey with determination and enthusiasm.

But amidst the serious task of mapping out the land, there were moments of light-heartedness and laughter, as YN and Cassian shared stories and jokes, their camaraderie strengthening with each passing mile. Whether it was navigating treacherous terrain or taking a well-deserved break to enjoy a picnic lunch beneath the shade of a towering oak tree, their bond grew stronger with every shared experience.

As they paused in their mapping efforts, YN turned to Cassian, her brow furrowed with concern. "Have you noticed anything... off about Rhys lately?" she asked, her voice soft with worry. "He's been acting strangely—stressed, almost clingy at times. It's not like him."

Cassian's expression grew serious as he considered YN's words, his mind racing with possibilities. He knew all too well the dangers that lurked in the shadows, the ever-present threat of the witch under the mountain and her insidious schemes. And he couldn't shake the feeling that Rhys's recent behavior was somehow connected to those dark forces at play.

"I've noticed it too," Cassian admitted, his voice grave. "And I think I know what's been weighing on his mind." He paused, choosing his words carefully before continuing. "The witch under the mountain... she's been making moves, trying to gain a foothold among the High Lords. I think Rhys fears that she's getting closer, that her influence is spreading."

YN's eyes widened in alarm, the gravity of Cassian's words sinking in. "But what can we do?" she asked, her voice tinged with uncertainty. "How do we stop her?"

Cassian's jaw clenched with determination as he met YN's gaze, his resolve shining bright in the depths of his eyes. "We stand together," he declared, his voice ringing with conviction. "We protect our own, no matter the cost."

With a nod of understanding, YN took Cassian's hand in hers, their fingers intertwining in a silent vow of solidarity.

And as they resumed their mapping efforts, their hearts fortified by the strength of their bond, YN and Cassian knew that no matter what trials awaited them, they would face them together, their resolve unyielding in the face of adversity. For in each other, they had found not only allies, but also friends—friends who would stand by their side through every battle, every hardship, and every triumph that lay ahead.

----

As the evening descended and the court gathered for dinner in the grand dining room, the atmosphere was alive with the vibrant energy of camaraderie and friendship. Mor, Cassian, Azriel, Armen, Rhysand, and YN took their seats around the long, ornately carved table, their laughter and banter filling the air like music.

Armen, with her infectious laughter and quick wit, added her own flair to the lively conversation. Her presence brought a unique dynamic to the table, her playful teasing matched only by her unwavering loyalty to her friends.

As the first course was served, the conversation flowed freely, punctuated by Armen's witty remarks and sharp retorts. Mor and Cassian engaged in their usual banter, their friendly rivalry adding an extra layer of amusement to the proceedings.

Azriel observed the lively exchange with a fond smile, his quiet demeanor a calming presence amidst the spirited conversation. Meanwhile, Rhysand and YN shared knowing glances, their love for each other evident in the gentle touches and affectionate gestures they exchanged.

Throughout the meal, Armen kept everyone on their toes with her quick wit and sharp tongue, her playful banter drawing laughter and smiles from the others. Despite the occasional small argument or teasing remark, there was an undeniable warmth and affection that bound them all together—a bond forged through countless shared experiences and unwavering loyalty.

As the dinner progressed and laughter filled the room, Rhysand couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss. His keen eyes noticed the uncharacteristic quietness of YN, a subtle shift in her demeanor that didn't escape his notice. Sensing her unease, he reached out to her telepathically, his mind brushing against hers with gentle concern.

"Are you okay, love?" Rhysand whispered silently, his voice a soft murmur in the depths of her mind. "You seem... distant tonight. Is there something on your mind?"

YN's heart skipped a beat as she felt Rhysand's presence in her mind, his words a comforting reassurance amidst the swirling tide of her thoughts. With a sigh, she allowed her mental barriers to lower, inviting him into her thoughts with a sense of relief.

"I'm fine, Rhys," she replied, her mental voice tinged with a hint of vulnerability. "Just feeling a bit... overwhelmed, I suppose. It's nothing, really."

Rhysand's brow furrowed with concern at her words, his mind reaching out to gently caress hers in a silent gesture of comfort. "You know you can tell me anything, right?" he murmured softly, his voice filled with warmth and understanding. "I'm here for you, always."

Feeling the weight of his love and support wash over her like a soothing balm, YN couldn't help but feel a surge of gratitude for the man who knew her so well, who could sense her emotions even when she tried to hide them. With a small smile, she allowed herself to lean into his mental embrace, finding solace in the unspoken bond that connected them, heart and soul.

And as they shared a moment of quiet understanding amidst the bustle of the dinner table, Rhysand and YN knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, they would face them together, their love a guiding light in even the darkest of times.

As the dinner conversation gradually quieted, Rhysand rose to his feet, his expression grave as he addressed the assembled company. The weight of his words hung heavy in the air as he spoke of Amarantha's rise to power under the mountain, her newfound control over the lands that lay beyond the borders of Velaris.

"As a High Lord, it is my duty to protect our people, our lands, and our way of life," Rhysand began, his voice steady despite the turmoil that churned within him. "But with Amarantha's ascension to rule under the mountain, our very existence is threatened. She holds sway over Velaris, and if we are to survive, we must tread carefully."

His words hung in the air like a dark cloud, casting a pall over the gathered company as they absorbed the gravity of the situation. Rhysand's gaze lingered on YN, his heart heavy with the weight of the decision he was about to make.

"And so, I must make a difficult choice," Rhysand continued, his voice tinged with regret. "I must join Amarantha's side, for the sake of our people, for the safety of Velaris. But in doing so, I leave behind a void—a void that must be filled."

Turning to YN, Rhysand's eyes softened with a mixture of love and concern. "YN," he said, his voice gentle but firm, "I ask that you take over the stewardship of Velaris in my absence. You know the city better than anyone, and I trust you to keep it safe until I can return."

But YN's response was swift and unwavering, her eyes flashing with determination as she shook her head. "I can't," she replied, her voice steady despite the tumult of emotions that roiled within her. "If the courts are in danger, then I have to go back to mine. I can't abandon my people for good, I'm still their lady, not after everything we've been through."

Rhysand's heart clenched with anguish at her words, torn between his duty to his people and his love for YN. But deep down, he knew she was right. He couldn't ask her to make that sacrifice, not when he knew the depth of her commitment to her own court.

With a heavy sigh, Rhysand nodded in understanding, his gaze never wavering from YN's. "I understand," he murmured softly, his voice thick with emotion. "But know that no matter where our paths may lead us, my love for you will never falter. We will find a way to overcome this, together."

And as the weight of their shared burden settled upon them, Rhysand and YN knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, they would face them side by side, their love a beacon of hope in the darkness that threatened to engulf them. For in each other's arms, they found strength, courage, and the unwavering determination to fight for the future they believed in, no matter the cost.

As Rhysand grappled with the weight of his decision, a pang of guilt gnawed at his heart like a relentless tide, threatening to consume him with its relentless grip. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was abandoning YN, leaving her to shoulder the burden of his responsibilities while he pursued his own path.

Denial clawed at the edges of his mind, whispering that he was doing what was necessary to protect their people, to safeguard the fragile peace they had fought so hard to maintain. But deep down, he knew the truth—he was running away, fleeing from the guilt that threatened to drown him in its suffocating embrace.

Turning to Mor, Rhysand's voice wavered with uncertainty as he made his plea. "Mor," he began, his words a whispered confession, "I know this is a lot to ask, but... I need you to take my place. To lead our people, to protect Velaris, to... to be everything I cannot."

Mor's eyes softened with compassion as she reached out to place a comforting hand on Rhysand's shoulder, her touch a silent reassurance amidst the storm of emotions that raged within him. "Of course, Rhys," she replied, her voice gentle but resolute. "I'll do whatever it takes to help you, to help our court. You're not alone in this."

But even as Mor offered her support, Rhysand couldn't shake the guilt that weighed heavily upon him, threatening to crush him beneath its unforgiving weight. For in his heart of hearts, he knew that no matter what path he chose, he would always carry the burden of his decisions, the weight of his guilt, and the knowledge that he had left behind the one person he loved more than life itself.

And as he faced the uncertain future that lay ahead, Rhysand knew that he could only pray for forgiveness, for understanding, and for the strength to carry on, even in the face of his deepest regrets. For in the end, all he could do was follow his heart, wherever it may lead, and trust that love would light the way through even the darkest of nights.

As Rhysand made his request to Azriel and Cassian, asking them to continue their duties in the Night Court in his absence, YN's voice cut through the air like a blade, her question hanging heavy in the silence that followed.

"When are you leaving?" she asked, her voice tinged with a mixture of apprehension and resignation.

Rhysand's gaze softened as he met YN's eyes, the weight of his decision heavy upon his shoulders. "In a week," he replied quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

YN's heart clenched at his words, the reality of their impending separation settling over her like a suffocating blanket. She knew that Rhysand's duty called him away, knew that he had to do what was necessary to protect their people. But that didn't make the prospect of his departure any less painful.

Rhysand reached out to take YN's hand in his, his touch a comforting anchor amidst the storm of emotions that raged within her. "I promise I'll come back to you," he whispered, his voice filled with determination. "No matter what it takes, I'll find my way back to your side."

A tear slipped down YN's cheek as she nodded in silent acceptance, her heart heavy with the weight of their impending separation. But even as the shadows of uncertainty loomed large on the horizon, she knew that their love would endure, a beacon of hope in the darkness that threatened to engulf them.

As the dinner drew to a close, YN felt a lump form in her throat, her emotions threatening to overwhelm her as tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. Without a word, she rose from the table, her movements swift and determined as she made her way to the door, the weight of her sorrow pressing down upon her like a suffocating blanket.

Rhysand watched in silent anguish as YN fled from the room, her departure leaving a gaping void in his heart. With a heavy sigh, he turned to the group, his voice thick with regret as he offered a hurried apology for her sudden exit.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, his words barely above a whisper. "I'll be right back."

With that, Rhysand dashed after his mate, his heart pounding in his chest as he raced to catch up with her. He found her standing alone in the hallway, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs as tears streamed down her cheeks.

"YN," he called out softly, his voice filled with tender concern. "Please, love, don't cry."

But YN couldn't hold back the flood of emotions that threatened to consume her, her tears falling unchecked as she struggled to contain the overwhelming grief that consumed her.

Rhysand gathered her into his arms, holding her close as he whispered words of comfort and reassurance. "I'm so sorry," he murmured, his voice filled with remorse. "I didn't mean to upset you. Please, forgive me."

YN buried her face in his chest, finding solace in the warmth of his embrace as she allowed herself to release the pent-up emotions that had been building inside her. In that moment, she knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, they would face them together, their love a guiding light in the darkness that threatened to engulf them.

And as they stood there, wrapped in each other's arms, Rhysand and YN knew that no matter what trials awaited them, they would overcome them, united in their unwavering devotion to each other. For in the end, their love would always be stronger than any obstacle they might face, a bond that could never be broken, no matter the distance or the tears that threatened to tear them apart.

Tagging some:

@callsign-magnolia

@kmc1989

@hardballoonlove

@senawashere

@hookslove1592

@marvel-molly

@lucky7rosie

#acotar x reader #rhys x reader #rhysand x reader #acotar x you #acotar x y/n #rhys x y/n #rhys x you #rhysand x y/n #rhysand x you #rhys x you smut #rhys smut

[dee-writes-smut]

SUMMER

FEATURING Azriel x Illyrian!reader

SUMMARY healing is a long journey that can't be summed up in just four simple seasons, but it seems with the help of a certain shadowsinger at your side, you've seemed to do it.

CONTENT WARNINGS mentions of nightmares, apologies, scared reader, comforting Azriel, Cassian POV, and mentions of wingspans ;)

AUTHORS NOTE the finale you've all been waiting for is finally here as promised! Thank you all so much for your support during this series, I am excited to be back and writing for you all again! Love you all and I hope you enjoy! <3

Summer arrives like a promise fulfilled, a canvas awash with vibrant hues of green and gold, as if nature herself has donned her finest attire. The air hums with the gentle whisper of transformation, carrying the scent of freshly cut grass and the promise of new beginnings on its warm breeze.

As the sun stretches its golden fingers across the land, casting long shadows that dance in its radiant glow, there's a palpable sense of rejuvenation in the air. It's as if each dawn heralds a new chapter, a chance to shed the burdens of the past and embrace the endless possibilities of the present.

In this season of abundance, life bursts forth with an exuberance that is both intoxicating and invigorating. The world awakens from its slumber, blossoming with a riot of colors as flowers unfurl their petals in joyful defiance of the lingering chill of winter. Leaves rustle in the gentle caress of the wind, their verdant whispers carrying tales of resilience and growth.

Amidst this symphony of nature's symphony, there is a sense of newfound strength coursing through every living thing. Like a phoenix rising from the ashes, the warmth of the sun infuses each day with a sense of possibility, igniting a fire within the soul that refuses to be extinguished.

In the heart of summer, time seems to slow, allowing moments to linger like the last rays of sunlight on a balmy evening. It's a season of exploration and adventure, where every day holds the promise of discovery and every sunset marks the end of one chapter and the beginning of another.

And as the days stretch languidly into twilight, there is a quiet resilience that takes root, a deep-seated belief in the power of new beginnings and the strength that comes from embracing change. For in the heart of summer, beneath the sweltering heat and the endless blue skies, lies the untold promise of tomorrow, waiting to be seized with both hands and forged into something beautiful.

(Mid Summer, Velaris)

The afternoon sun poured into the training ring, casting long shadows of the figures sparring lightly within it. Cassian was across from me, a patient yet mischievous grin on his face, as he handed me a training sword. “Ready to get your ass kicked, or are you going to make me work for it today?”

I smirked, feeling the flutter of my old spirit stirring within. “Dream on, Cassian.”

The clash of our swords sang through the air, a melody of metal that resonated with the pounding of my heart. Each strike, each parry, felt like shedding layers of fear that had cocooned me since losing my wings.

“Focus,” Cassian said, his voice a mix of sternness and encouragement. “Remember, it’s not just about strength. It’s about knowing your opponent.”

I nodded, gripping my own wooden sword a little tighter. As I lunged forward, Cassian parried easily, countering with a swift movement that I barely blocked in time. We moved in a rhythm, the clack of our swords punctuating each maneuver. My muscles remembered the dance, even if they ached from disuse. Cassian’s style was a flurry of motion, designed to overwhelm, but today he tempered his usual ferocity, giving me room to find my footing again. The physical exertion was grounding, pulling me further away from my mental ghosts.

Laughter and shouts from Mor, watching from the sidelines, filled the arena, her cheers a buoyant soundtrack to our dance of blades and as we paused for a break, Mor jogged over with a waterskin and a smirk. She threw an arm around my shoulders, squeezing tightly. “Look at you! You’re almost back to your old self,” she beamed, her pride evident.

The warmth from her compliment soaked through me, loosening some of the tightness still lingering in my chest. “Feels good to move like that again,” I admitted, allowing the truth of my words to wash over me. It did feel good—like claiming back pieces of my soul, piece by piece.

“You two look like you’re having fun,” she smiled, squeezing me close again as she handed me the waterskin. After I took a long drink, she shot me a sly glance. “Speaking of fun, have you noticed how Azriel can't seem to stay away from your side?”

Mor’s eyebrows wiggled as I coughed on the water, wiping my mouth as I tried to compose myself. “He’s just being supportive,” I muttered, feeling my cheeks heat up.

Cassian chuckled, leaning on his sword. “Oh, he’s being supportive, all right. Haven’t seen him this glued to someone since… well, ever.”

I rolled my eyes, but the seed of awareness began to sprout in my mind. Azriel had indeed been a constant presence, his quiet strength a comfort I hadn’t realized I’d leaned on so much.

“Do you think it might be a mating bond?” Mor asked casually, too casually, as she inspected her nails.

The question halted me, the weight of the implication settling in my stomach like a stone. The mating bond was sacred, profound—was I ready for something like that? The very thought made my heart race, not just with fear but with a blossoming hope I hadn’t acknowledged until now.

“Maybe he’s just being a good friend,” I countered, but my voice lacked conviction.

Cassian raised an eyebrow, giving me a knowing look. “When you know, you know,” he said simply. “And it looks like you’re starting to realize something there.”

We resumed training, but his words echoed in my mind with each strike and block. Azriel’s face appeared in my thoughts, his smiles, the gentle touch of his hands, the way his eyes lit up when he looked at me lately. My feelings for him, which I had shelved as mere gratitude or the simple need for companionship during recovery, seemed to be deepening into something richer, more profound.

As we finished and walked back towards the House of Wind, Mor looped her arm through mine. “You don’t have to figure it all out at once,” she whispered. “But don’t close your heart to the possibility of something beautiful. Azriel cares for you deeply, more than just as a friend or protector.”

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden glow that bathed the world in a soft, forgiving light. It felt symbolic, reflective of my own internal dawn. Maybe, just maybe, I was ready to consider that what lay between Azriel and me could be the kind of love that songs and tales were spun from. As fear and doubt receded, leaving room for this new, tender hope, I realized that my journey of healing was also leading me down a path of rediscovering my capacity to love—not just Azriel, but myself and this new life I was slowly, bravely building.

(Mid Summer, The River House)

That evening, the dinner with the Inner Circle was held at the sprawling, candlelit table in the River House. The atmosphere was thick with laughter and the clinking of glasses, a symphony of friendship and familial bonds. The windows were thrown open, allowing the crisp, cool air of Velaris to sweep through the room, mixing with the scent of jasmine and roasted meats.

As I entered the dining room, a subtle change in my demeanor didn’t go unnoticed by the group. Rhysand was the first to catch my eye, giving me a nod of approval and a warm, welcoming smile. Amren, ever observant, watched me with her piercing gaze, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of her lips, acknowledging the shift in my spirits.

Azriel, standing slightly apart, offered me a soft, encouraging smile as I took my place next to him. His quiet strength bolstered my newfound resolve to engage more fully with those around me.

Dinner began with a lively discussion led by Feyre about a recent exhibition at the art gallery in the city. Her eyes sparkled with excitement as she described the vibrant colors and revolutionary techniques of the new artists showcased. I listened, chiming in with my thoughts on the integration of night and day themes, which earned an approving laugh from Rhys.

As the meal continued, Cassian, true to form, began recounting one of his training escapades, embellishing the details to make his tale more dramatic. “And then, just as I was about to execute my perfectly planned maneuver, an Illyrian baby sneezed on me. Totally threw off my game!”

Laughter erupted around the table, and I found myself genuinely chuckling, the sound surprising even to me. “Only you, Cassian, could be outmaneuvered by a baby’s sneeze,” I teased, earning a round of applause and a mock bow from Cassian.

“See, she’s got jokes now! Our girl’s coming back to us,” Mor exclaimed, her face alight with joy. She reached over to squeeze my hand, her gesture warm and reassuring.

As plates were cleared and desserts were served, the conversation shifted to lighter, more personal stories. Feyre shared anecdotes about her latest painting misadventures, while Mor detailed her plans for the upcoming festival in the city. Each story, each shared laugh, felt like a stitch mending the frayed edges of my soul.

As the dinner party began to wind down in the warm, laughter-filled hall, a soft coo from the corner caught my attention. Nyx, cradled gently in Feyre’s arms, was awake and curiously peeking over her shoulder with wide, starry eyes. I felt my heart tug softly. It had been too long since I had held him, too long since I’d allowed myself to be part of these simpler, beautiful family moments.

Feyre caught my gaze and smiled, understanding immediately. “Someone wants to say hello,” she said softly, walking over with Nyx. His small hand reached out, and I couldn’t help but smile as his fingers grasped at the air between us.

“May I?” I asked, my voice a whisper of excitement mixed with a hint of uncertainty.

“Of course,” Feyre replied, carefully transferring Nyx into my arms. The baby settled against me with ease, a soft sigh escaping him as if he found comfort in my embrace. His tiny hand reached up, touching my cheek gently, an innocent gesture that felt like a reassurance of missed affection. It was as if he was saying he remembered me, that he too had felt the absence of our connection.

The moment wasn’t lost on Azriel, who watched from a short distance. His shadows flickered subtly around him, a telltale sign of his emotions stirring beneath that calm exterior. Since the conversation with Cassian and Mor earlier today, every glance, every small interaction with him seemed charged with a new, silent tension. My newly admitted feelings for him amplified each shared look, adding weight to the air between us.

As I rocked Nyx gently, my thoughts drifted to Azriel again. His presence at my side had become a constant, his support unwavering. The depth of my affection for him had crept up silently, weaving itself into the fabric of my daily life until it was indistinguishable from my other truths. I found myself stealing glances at him, each look a quiet confession of the feelings I was only beginning to allow myself to acknowledge.

Azriel eventually made his way over, his gaze softening as he looked at Nyx in my arms. “He’s missed you,” Azriel murmured, his voice barely audible over the low hum of conversation around us.

I met his eyes, feeling a flush of warmth at the intimacy of the moment. “I’ve missed him, too. Missed all of this,” I admitted, my voice thick with emotion. The way Azriel looked at me then, with such warmth and depth, made my heart skip a beat.

“Looks good on you,” he said after a pause, nodding towards Nyx.

The comment, simple and offhand, thrummed with unspoken meanings. It was a nudge against the boundaries we had maintained, a gentle probing into the new spaces of my heart that had begun to open to him.

As I handed Nyx back to Feyre, I caught Azriel’s arm gently. “Stay for a moment?” I asked, my voice hopeful, laden with the weight of all the things I hadn’t yet said.

He nodded, his usual reserve melting away for a moment as he stayed by my side, his presence a silent promise of things perhaps soon to be explored. We both knew something unspoken was shifting between us, and while neither of us was ready to dive into those waters just yet, acknowledging it—even in silence—felt like the first step toward a new horizon.

(Mid Summer, The House of Wind)

The following week, Feyre, Mor, Nesta, and I revived our "book club"—a ruse for nights filled with wine, wild discussions about our latest reads, and shared secrets under the cloak of night. As I sat curled up on a plush couch, a glass of wine in hand, surrounded by these incredible women, a profound sense of belonging enveloped me. Here, in these moments, I was safe to just be; to heal, to laugh, to grow.

The cozy nook tucked away in the House of Wind had become our sanctuary, a place where the Inner Circle’s book club convened to discuss literature, life, and everything in between. Tonight, as the flickering candlelight cast soft shadows across the room, I settled into my usual spot among the plush cushions, surrounded by my closest friends.

Feyre, Nesta, and Mor lounged around me, each with a book in hand, their faces alight with anticipation for our weekly gathering. The atmosphere was charged with excitement, the air buzzing with the promise of lively conversation and shared insights.

“So, what’s everyone reading this week?” Mor asked, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she glanced around the circle.

Feyre held up a worn copy of her latest find, a tale of forbidden love and political intrigue. “I’m revisiting an old favorite,” she said with a smile. “It’s like catching up with an old friend.”

Nesta, with a smirk playing on her lips, produced a rather scandalous-looking novel with a provocative cover. “I’m exploring the more… sensual side of literature,” she declared, her voice dripping with amusement.

As the conversation flowed around me, I couldn’t help but chuckle at Nesta’s choice. Leave it to her to bring a little spice to our book club discussions. I was hesitant to share tonight, scared to share my feelings so blatantly, to say them out loud in a space with women who would not so soon let me forget. Tonight felt different, though, I felt stronger, able to seize this chance to share with my friends the tumultuous emotions swirling inside me.

“I’ve been reading this collection of poetry,” I began, my voice tentative at first. “It’s funny how words can capture the complexity of human emotions so beautifully.”

Mor’s eyes gleamed with interest, her grin widening. “Ah, poetry—the language of the heart,” she said, her tone teasing yet tender. “Any particular poem speaking to you?”

I hesitated, my gaze flickering to the empty spot where Azriel usually sat. His absence was keenly felt, a reminder of the unresolved tension between us. “There’s one poem that resonates with me,” I admitted, my voice growing stronger with each word. “It’s about…” I faltered, the weight of my confession heavy on my tongue.

Feyre leaned forward, her eyes warm with understanding. “About love?” she prompted gently, her hand reaching out to squeeze mine in silent support.

I nodded, the words spilling forth in a rush. “About love, and fear, and the courage to open your heart to someone—even when it scares you.”

Nesta regarded me with a thoughtful expression, her gaze piercing yet compassionate. “Love is a battlefield,” she said, her voice soft yet firm. “But sometimes, the greatest victories come from facing our fears head-on.”

Mor chimed in with her trademark humor, lightening the mood with a well-timed joke. “Who knew our stoic Shadowsinger had a soft spot for you?”

Feyre smiled knowingly, her eyes dancing with mischief. “Maybe it’s time to confront the shadows and see what lies beneath.”

Nesta couldn’t resist adding her own brand of wit to the conversation. “Speaking of shadows,” she said with a sly grin, “has anyone else noticed Azriel’s wingspan lately?”

We all laughed at Nesta’s comment, the tension in the room dissipating as we embraced the camaraderie of our little gathering. Despite the challenges we faced, tonight was a reminder that with the support of friends, even the darkest shadows could be chased away.

As the evening wore on, our conversation drifted from books to more personal topics, each of us sharing snippets of our lives and experiences. It was a rare moment of vulnerability, a chance to peel back the layers and reveal the raw truths hidden beneath.

Nesta, ever the enigma, shared tales of her latest adventures in the human lands, her sharp wit and cunning intellect shining through with every word.

Mor, always the life of the party, regaled us with stories of her escapades in the Court of Nightmares, her laughter contagious as she recounted her misadventures.

And Feyre, with her quiet strength and unwavering compassion, offered words of wisdom and encouragement, her presence a soothing balm to our troubled souls.

As for me, I found solace in their company, the weight of my burdens eased by the warmth of their friendship. In their laughter and shared moments, I found the courage to confront my fears and embrace the possibility of a brighter future.

And as the candles burned low and the night grew late, I knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, I would face them with the unwavering support of my sisters by my side.

The support of the entire Inner Circle was a force as tangible as the magic that coursed through our veins—a constant, steadfast presence that fortified me against the darker moments. Their belief in me, their unyielding backing, gave me strength, and little by little, I began to feel not just the shadow of the person I once was, but someone stronger, resilient, reborn from adversity.

In these gatherings, these moments of shared vulnerability and joy, I was not just healing. I was transforming—emerging not how I was before the kidnapping, but perhaps even brighter, tempered by trials and warmed by the unwavering light of the family I chose and who had chosen me in return.

(Late Summer, The House of Wind)

The night pressed heavily around the room, its silence a thick, oppressive blanket punctuated only by the soft, rhythmic breathing of Azriel beside me. In the comfort of his proximity, sleep had finally granted me a temporary reprieve from the relentless torment of my nightmares. Yet, the peace was fragile, vulnerable to the slightest disturbance—a reality proven as a sharp, inexplicable chill sliced through the room's stagnant warmth.

The temperature plummeted, wrapping its icy fingers around my spine, jolting me awake. My eyes flicked open, instantly scanning the familiar contours of the room bathed in the ethereal glow of moonlight. Shadows clung to the walls like dark, silent sentinels until one stirred coalescing into a form far too human, far too familiar.

Lyris emerged from the darkness as though materializing from my deepest fears, his presence a tangible echo of past horrors. His eyes, sharp and merciless, locked onto mine with the precision of a hunter sighting its prey. The sheer malevolence in his gaze sent a visceral shudder through me, yet it was no longer solely fear that stirred within my veins. Anger, raw and blazing, kindled within, fueling a burgeoning defiance I hadn't known I possessed.

"Thinking you could escape me?" Lyris's voice was a venomous hiss, his form inching closer with predatory grace. His smirk was twisted, a grotesque mask of sadistic anticipation.

But then, with the seamless reflexes honed by centuries of battle, Azriel was between us. His body moved with lethal precision, his hand snapping out to seize Lyris by the wrist, halting his advance with unyielding strength. "She's under my protection," Azriel snarled, his voice a dangerous, low rumble. His other hand flicked to his side, the sound of steel sliding from leather slicing through the tension as he brandished a dagger, its blade catching the moon's silver light.

Lyris recoiled slightly, his eyes darting to the blade then back to Azriel’s unwavering stare. "You think you can keep her from her fate?" he spat, struggling against Azriel's iron grip.

“Her fate is her own, and you have no part in it,” Azriel retorted, his wings unfurling menacingly. The air around us thickened with dark, swirling shadows, responding to the raw power emanating from him. In that moment, he was not just my protector but an avenging angel cloaked in night's embrace.

The room filled with a heavy, expectant silence, thick with the weight of unspoken threats. Breaking the tension, I found my voice, though it trembled with the force of my emotions. "Where are my wings, Lyris?" The question tore from me, a desperate plea tangled with a demand.

"Your wings?" he mused mockingly, his eyes glinting with cruelty. "Such a precious prize… Let's just say they're kept in a place where they await their true destiny—far from your reach.”

"Give them back," Azriel demanded, his tone lethal, a stark contrast to the deceptive calm of his posture.

Lyris's laugh was cold and chilling, like the howl of the wind outside. "You overestimate your power here, shadow singer. I could take her now, and you wouldn't be able to stop me."

Azriel's response was swift and deadly serious. "Try it, and it will be the last thing you do." His wings unfurled dramatically as he snatched Lyris’ wrist in a powerful grip, the span of dark membrane filling the room with a sense of otherworldly power. The shadows around him deepened, swirling in response to his anger and the protective fury that laced every syllable.

The standoff stretched, a moment suspended in time where every breath, every heartbeat was laden with potential violence. Then, with a jerk, Lyris wrenched free, stepping back into the protective shroud of darkness. “She will never be free from me," he hissed, his presence oppressive, suffocating. "And neither will you."

Then, as suddenly as he had appeared, he dissolved into shadows, leaving a cold void in his wake. His final words echoed ominously, a malevolent promise hanging in the air. As the immediate threat vanished, Azriel’s demeanor shifted, the lethal warrior receding to reveal his concern. He turned to me, his intense gaze softening. “Are you alright?” His voice was now a gentle whisper, a stark contrast to the deadly thunder from moments before.

I collapsed back against the pillows, my body trembling uncontrollably. The fear wasn't just about the physical presence of Lyris—it was the emotional and psychological terror, the deep scars he had left on my soul, that overwhelmed me.

Azriel sat beside me, enveloping me in his arms, his presence a solid, reassuring force against the lingering echoes of dread. "I'm here. You're safe," he murmured against my hair, his voice a soothing balm.

Tears streamed down my cheeks, sobs wracking my body as the terror slowly ebbed away, replaced by immense fatigue. "We have to get them back, Azriel. I need to feel whole again."

His embrace tightened, a silent promise of unyielding support. "We will," he assured me quietly. "No matter what it takes, we will bring them back.” He took a deep breath, his arms tightening around me as if he were scared that I might run from him. “Always, I will protect you. From him, from anyone who dares to threaten you,” he murmured into my hair, his breath warm against my scalp. His wings, now gently wrapped around us, formed a cocoon that felt impenetrable.

Settling back against him, I allowed the warmth of his embrace to seep deeper into my bones, expelling the lingering chill of Lyris's visit. His presence was a bastion, within which I found not only protection but a profound sense of belonging.

As we lay back down, the room once again shrouded in the soothing silence of night, a new resolve fortified my spirit. Lyris had found me, yes, but he had not found me alone, nor would he ever. Azriel’s vow to protect me was more than a promise—it was a declaration, a sentinel set against the darkness, both within and without. As sleep beckoned once more, the shadows no longer seemed an ominous threat lurking in the corners but allies, guardians cloaked in the same darkness that wrapped around us, a shield against all that would do harm.

(Late Summer, Cassian)

The morning after Lyris's intrusion, the House of Wind seemed to hold its breath, an unspoken tension palpable in the air. Everyone had shared their worries for her, our friend who had clawed her way back from that bastard's torment. We all worried, we all loved her so greatly, enjoyed the way her presence warmed Azriel’s cold exterior and to see her fall back into that dark place she had fought her way out of, to take Azriel unknowingly with her again, it poured a dark sense of grief over the house.

But amidst the uncertainty, the deep seeded fear of losing our friend once more, there was a glimmer of light, a beacon of hope cutting through the darkness. Entering the kitchen, I was met with a scene that caught me off guard—our friend, her laughter ringing out like a bell as she shared a moment of levity with Azriel. It was a rare sight, one that stirred a mixture of surprise and quiet satisfaction within me.

Azriel, usually cloaked in shadows both literal and metaphorical, had a small, genuine smile playing at the corners of his lips. His usually guarded demeanor seemed to soften in her presence, and I couldn't help but notice the subtle shift in the air between them.

Their interaction spoke volumes, a silent language of understanding and companionship that transcended words. Despite the trials they had faced, there was a sense of comfort and familiarity in their shared laughter, a reminder that even in the darkest of times, there was still light to be found in the company of those we held dear.

As I joined them in the kitchen, a silent witness to their shared moment of joy, I couldn't help but feel a surge of gratitude for the bond that had formed between them. Their friendship had weathered storms that would have broken lesser souls, and yet here they were, laughing together as if the weight of the world had been lifted from their shoulders.

And as I observed them, surrounded by the warmth of their laughter and the comfort of their companionship, I couldn't help but feel a surge of hope for the future. For in the bond between her and Azriel, I saw strength, resilience, and the promise of brighter days ahead.

(Late Summer, The House of Wind)

The day had been long and daunting, with every passing moment feeling like a test of endurance. The worry from my friends was palpable, their concern etched into every glance and every word. It wasn’t that I didn’t appreciate their care—it was their hovering, their treating me like a fragile thing, that grated against my newfound sense of strength. But amidst it all, there was Azriel.

He stood as a steadfast anchor amidst the storm, a silent guardian who watched over me with unwavering determination. While others fretted and fussed, he remained at my side, a silent sentinel who seemed to understand without the need for words. His presence alone was enough to bolster my spirits, to remind me that I was not alone in this struggle.

Throughout the day, I found myself stealing glances at him, marveling at the depth of his care. How had I not noticed it before? His gaze lingered on me with a mixture of concern and understanding, his eyes a window to the depths of his soul. It was as if he saw straight through the facade I presented to the world, recognizing the strength within me even when I doubted it myself.

As evening descended and the weight of the day settled upon us, we retreated to the familiar sanctuary of my room. Azriel had made it his own, his presence a comforting presence in the darkness. The routine of preparing for bed had become second nature to us—changing into pajamas, brushing our teeth side by side, and slipping under the covers as Azriel performed his meticulous check of the room.

In the quiet moments before sleep claimed us, we lay in silence, each lost in our own thoughts. I couldn’t help but feel a sense of gratitude for Azriel's unwavering support, for his steadfast presence that had seen me through the darkest of days. It was a bond forged in the crucible of adversity, a connection that defied explanation yet felt more real than anything I had ever known.

“Azriel?” I called softly into the night, my voice barely a whisper.

He turned to me, his eyes reflecting the soft glow of the moonlight filtering through the window. For a moment, we simply gazed at each other, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. And then, with a small smile, he reached out, pulling me closer until I was nestled against his chest.

At that moment, as I lay nestled against Azriel's chest, something shifted between us—a subtle yet profound change that altered the very fabric of our connection. It was as if the air crackled with an invisible energy, a tangible tension that seemed to draw us closer together.

I felt it first, the unmistakable sensation of the mating bond snapping into place with a sudden clarity that took my breath away. It was as if a veil had been lifted, revealing a truth that had always been there, hidden beneath the surface. The primal need to be close to him, to feel his presence as an extension of my own, suddenly made perfect sense.

And then, as if in response to my realization, Azriel let out a small gasp, his arms tightening around me with a fierce urgency that mirrored my own. It was a primal, instinctual reaction, as if some ancient part of him recognized the significance of this moment and refused to let me go.

In that instant, all doubts and uncertainties melted away, replaced by a profound sense of clarity and understanding. We were bound together, our souls intertwined in a way that transcended the physical realm. And as I gazed into Azriel's eyes, I knew that no matter what trials lay ahead, we would face them together, united by the unbreakable bond that now bound us.

"I'll protect you, ensure you are safe and happy and loved," Azriel vowed, his voice a soothing melody that wrapped around me like a warm embrace, promising sanctuary in the depths of his love.

Tears welled in my eyes as his words washed over me, a flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm my fragile resolve. "As will I," I replied, my voice trembling with the weight of my own commitment, my heart laid bare before him in a moment of raw vulnerability.

His eyes, pools of darkness tinged with golden fire, bore into mine with a fierce intensity, piercing through the walls I had built around my heart. "Throughout all the seasons you will be mine, if that is what you want?" His voice was a whisper, yet it echoed through the chambers of my soul, stirring something deep within me that I could no longer deny.

With a trembling breath, I reached out to him, my fingers trembling as they traced the contours of his face, memorizing every line, every scar, every shadow that danced across his skin. "There is no one else I would rather share them with," I confessed, my voice barely above a whisper, the truth of my words ringing out in the quiet room like a sacred vow.

And in that moment, as our souls intertwined in the golden threads of the mating bond, I felt a surge of emotion wash over me, overwhelming in its intensity. It was as if the weight of a thousand lifetimes had been lifted from my shoulders, replaced by a sense of peace and belonging that I had longed for all my life.

With tears streaming down my cheeks, I pressed my forehead against his, our breaths mingling in the space between us as we stood on the precipice of eternity. In that sacred embrace, we found refuge from the storms that had battered our souls, forging a connection that would endure the trials of time. And as we surrendered to the pull of the mating bond, our hearts beat as one, a symphony of love and devotion that echoed through the halls of the House of Wind.

Together, we would face the challenges that lay ahead, our bond a beacon of hope in the darkness, guiding us through the labyrinth of life with unwavering strength and unwavering love.

For in each other's arms, we had found our home, our sanctuary, our forever. And as the night enveloped us in its embrace, we knew that no matter what trials awaited us, we would face them together, united in a love that was destined to last for all eternity.

[PREVIOUS]

#fanfic #x reader #acomaf #acotar #acourtofthornsandroses #acowar #azriel x you #azriel #azriel fanfic #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #fluff #mating bond #healing journey #healing #rhys acotar #rhysand #feyre archeron #feyre x rhysand #feyre acotar #feyre cursebreaker #nesta x cassian #nesta archeron #nesta acotar #nesta acosf #pro nesta #a court of silver flames #cassian #acosf

[puffein]

UNMENDABLE THING | late spring [x.]

summary: wanda seeks out the only person who knows all the answers to her questions. pairings: wanda maximoff x fem!reader, wanda maximoff x natasha romanoff (platonic) warnings: angst word count: 2104 a/n: please enjoy!!

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Westview, New Jersey

Early-February 2024

Natasha always knew her life would be a constant moving car on an endless highway to chaos. She planned it herself to have a life she's having now. To continue studying even just after receiving her bachelor's degree, well, that was a year ago but it's still as fresh as what her mind thought of. 

You have suggested her to take a year to rest, to start law school in the year 2024 but Natasha didn't want to waste more time. She wants to have the chaos she desires even if it will want her to pluck her hair out in the near future, but that is what she wanted. You have called her mental for starting researching schools for law a year before graduating and even called her a beast when she started studying for the admission test just a month after receiving a degree.

Everything is quiet right at this moment for Natasha. The only sounds emitting in her cozy apartment were the tunes of paper rustling and a low melodious classical music she had played in the background. Her eyes are downcasted in her desk, focused on a thick book that she had carried with ease. Everything is just in place for her. Quiet and peaceful.

So, when her front door was giving a frantic continuous loud banging of fist. She uttered a silent profanity in hopes for the noise to vanish but of course, the world is not a giving mother, it's a greedy one so she was left to fend off the banging of her front door. 

Pushing herself off the chair she's residing in, she shouts a gritted, "Wait a minute!" 

And when she thought chaos would start after her admission in her desired law school, she was wrong. Because standing in front of her, in her front door was the epitome of chaos. 

Wanda stood rigid in front of Natasha with her dishevelled auburn hair, green eyes imitating a sight of turmoil and confusion, hands fisted so tightly that Natasha made a mental note to check if it was bleeding. 

They stood looking at each other for a few seconds, when the stoic redhead finally spoke up, "What are you doing here, Wanda?" 

Natasha's voice was gentle like a calm weaving waters because she knew why Wanda is here. She had argued with you about this, about this exact event that will happen right before you fly away to Scotland but alas to her, you are one hell of a brickened being so, she was left to face Wanda with answers she had prepared. 

"Can I come in?" Natasha was shocked to hear the calmness of Wanda's voice, it contradicts her appearance. But Nat knew better, it was the calm before the brewing storm.

She opened her front door wider, inviting Wanda to a space she has never set foot before. When the two figures placed themselves comfortably in Natasha's living room, Wanda's travelling gaze set right at a picture frame of what she makes out an image of you and Natasha in graduation. It made the green-eyed woman taste bitterness in her mouth. 

"I'm sorry for intruding so suddenly, I know we have never been close before and I– uh want to thank you for coming to my wedding. The gift you and Y/N gave was something we needed." 

Wrong, that gift was everything Wanda hated. She hated that instead of a gift just from you, the small card glued onto the gift was written with 'from Y/N and Natasha'. 

Everything just seems to be you and Natasha, even in this little space of a place she never set foot in screams you and her. 

She saw little remnants of you in Natasha's place, like the small silver box that was always on top of your desk is now placed nicely on Natasha's shelves, the all too familiar vase you have decorated yourself sits rightfully in the redhead's coffee table, hell, even your favorite book is placed at her desk.  

She didn't want to get too worked up just by looking at things that is useless from the eyes of an outsider. But she was not an outsider, she knew how these little things mattered to you and it hurts for her to see it in the hands of another. 

"Y/N was the one who picked it so.." Natasha said cautiously, she waved her hand dismissively, "Would you like something to drink?" 

Wanda only smiles, shaking her head lightly, "No, it's fine. I'm not really here to have a drink with you." 

She should have worded it nicely but with the hard thrumming of her chest and the unanswered thoughts resurfacing in her troubled mind, she can't seem to be polite and civilized. 

Natasha sat back, her hands placed cooly at her lap, "What is it, Wanda?"

"Have you.. have you heard of Y/N?" she started, eyes focused on every little muscle of the redhead's strong features. "I just, well. We had a coffee back in December and um, it's been so long since she replied to me and when I called, it, it seemed to me that I was blocked."

Natasha nods, "Wanda, I didn't really know–"

"No. You can't possibly not know, Romanoff. You are her best friend." saying that made her flinch, like a pinch by the hands of a giant right at her chest.

"Look, Wanda. I don't want to come in between what is happening with you two. It's not my business." 

Wanda scoffs, her head whipping to the side as she tries so hard not to shed frustrated tears in front of the very woman she does not like. 

"I don't even know what is happening between me and Y/N. If you are clueless, what am I then? What word could you describe to someone more than being clueless?" she says exasperatedly, tone drawing out in between the lines of being desperate and being angry. But at the very back of her mind, she had a tiny clue of what was unfolding right in front of her eyes. She just wants to be shielded by the comforts of being blind and clueless in hopes of getting more answers.

"Because I don't know, Natasha. I don't know what is happening and it's making me angry that I have come from a place that knows every single detail of her life to nothing at all!" Wanda didn't mean to shout, she didn't mean to look like a crazed woman in front of a seemingly calmed redhead that stares at her with sympathy pooling in her eyes.

When silence ensues, Wanda knew she needed to be calm, to have her head in a space that would work perfectly. "Please, I just want answers that I know you could give." 

"She's in Scotland. She has been a week maybe after you and her met in the coffeehouse. I really don't know the exact date you and her met but she left in December." That was enough for Wanda to straighten her figure against the soft cushions of Natasha's couch. 

Why didn't you tell her?

Was her presence in your life not significant enough for you to tell her you have moved far away?

And without a warning, the self-doubt she had hidden, tucked away in the deepest corners of her soul, came crashing into her being like a canonball that has been shot for the sole purpose of crumbling a safely guarded boat in a harsh waters of the ocean.

"Did she tell you anything at all?" About me? Wanda wanted to say. Her voice was so quiet, the soft tunes of Natasha's music is more loud than the question she had just asked. 

Natasha moves her head in an answer that disappoints her, "I tried to tell her to talk to you properly, I really did, Wanda. But she doesn't want to, she said it's better for things to stay the way it is."

Wanda's strong facade crumbles down fast and rapidly. What did you mean to stay the way it is? What is that supposed to mean? Every answer she has heard just piqued her another question to be answered. And she's getting tired and confused, she thought Natasha would help her shed light on things that have stayed in the dark for too long but instead it just blew out the small illuminating candle in a space so pitch black.

"I-I'll be back, Natasha. I have to go. Thank you." with her weakened knees and the shaking of her hands, she stood tall and at the same time small as she postured herself to walk away. 

Natasha didn't let her go that fast as she rounded up the couch in a haste movement before Wanda could take a step outside. She grips the shaking arms of the green-eyed woman, "Y/N just needed time for herself. Please understand. You mattered to her, you should know that."

Wanda stares at her unmoving, the whipping of her cascading auburn hair was harsh and swift, "And still it was not enough for her to say goodbye?"

"Wanda–"

"No. Everything is just not enough when it comes to me." She gently yanks her arms out of Natasha's soft grips.

"If I mattered, she wouldn't be doing this. I know I have become such a shitty best friend for the past years and I know I have never apologized to her for my actions before graduation and just moved on in hopes for things to settle itself right as it is. But was that too big of a deal for her to just completely forget about me?" 

And there it is. The unspoken broken relationship you two had. She never spoke of it, in hopes that it will vanish and somewhat mend itself as time passes by. But she was clearly wrong. She had ignored things far too long that she knew in the back of her mind that this will never be fixed. It drove you away from her. 

It was in the year 2022, wasn't it? The year everything just fell apart, it was the year she started ignoring, giving you the cold shoulders, became a stranger. Just because she heard a half-finished conversation that hurted her ego and feelings far too deep. A conversation you didn't even know of because she just started doing actions after actions that resulted in a broken friendship. 

Darcy even told her to just say everything she had to say but of course, she had nothing to say and left things unsaid. 

It must've been so painful for you. 

Because pain is an understatement for what she's been feeling right now. Now, that you were the one to have left things unsaid. 

"I really don't know what happened between the two of you. But she was happy when you invited her to your wedding, I just knew she was elated that you somewhat did not forget about her after graduation." Natasha didn't know what she was saying, she shouldn't try so hard to mend things that has been left broken for so long. 

"Here. It's her address, she will kill me for this but the talk you two should have is long overdue, right?" Natasha pushes a small card into Wanda's hand, closing it tightly on the palms of an auburn haired woman.

She had to give you a push, right? Even if it's a push she shouldn't be doing.

Wanda glances away, her face contorts into an image of pain, "Thank you. This means a lot. But I– you wouldn't be saying that if you knew what happened." 

"Y/N kind of implied something about you leaving her hanging but she never told me the whole story. She always tries to shield you from my negative judgements, Wanda. I knew you did something wrong despite that," Natasha wipes her palms hardly on her thighs, "It just seemed the right words to say."

Wanda gave her a smile of appreciation and nods, "Thank you." And with that she started to let her feet lead her away.

Not without hearing the last words Natasha shouted, "Wanda, you should talk to her. Just say everything you had to say." 

She would laugh right now if she can because the words are just the same of what she had heard before. 

The world is a weird place to be living in, isn't it? 

Because she should have listened to that words a year ago when everything was fresh, not now, when everything seems to be in a place so hard to be fixed with.

general masterlist ◄ ►

—୧ taglist: @esposadejoyhuerta @sokovianbaby @vivs46 @kyaraderuwez

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff fanfic #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff angst #wanda fanfic #wanda marvel #wanda #wanda maximov #wanda maximoff marvel #wanda maximoff mcu

[farfromstrange]

Do No Harm

CHAPTER SIX: "You Deserve To Be Happy"

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: Foggy has a bone to pick with his best friend, and you decide to call Matt later that night.

Warnings for this chapter: attempt at humor, slight (very slight) angst, Matt's POV, mentions of sex, suggestive language, flirting, Matt being Matt

Word Count: 3.2k

A/n: I finally finished this chapter. I had more planned, but that would have made the whole thing too confusing. I also realized that I suck at finding the right chapter titles, but oh well. Enjoy this little fluff piece!

Read Chapter 6: "You Deserve To Be Happy" here on AO3

The air is brisk when Foggy and Matt step out of Metro General and into the night. Pieces of gravel stick to Matt’s shoes, and he can feel them digging into his skin through the thin soles protecting his feet from the wet asphalt. The wind resembles a leather whip as it brushes his heated cheeks. He can smell the odor of the city in every breath he takes.

Matt may hate hospitals, but every time he talks to you, the world turns a little quieter. All he has to do was focus on your heartbeat, the faintest hint of vanilla and salt that always lingers on your skin, and listen to the gentle melody of your breathing—your voice builds a bubble of safety around him, but now that he is no longer standing right in front of you, reality begins to seep back in. 

Foggy, whose arm he’s clutching as they make their way across the street, stares at Matt with eyes the size of dinner plates. Matt can feel his gaze burning through the skin protecting his skull, right into his brain. His friend is trying to decipher what he’s thinking, but he struggles to process what happened in the past thirty minutes and what on earth caused him to behave the way he did. 

The thought of you must have possessed him, he’s sure of that. You, and you alone. You were right there in front of him, and the part of him that craved some sense of normal took over when all he wanted was to stay away and forget this day ever happened. 

Does he regret it? Matt wants to, but his chest hasn’t felt this light in a very long time. The truth is that the tiniest selfish part of him, the part of him that is a born masochist, wants to see you again. He wants to see you again because he knows that it will inevitably hurt him in the long run. Good things don’t happen to him without a cost. Though, when he thinks about it, he might as well end up hurting you, and he would never forgive himself if that were to happen. 

He’s conflicted, but he’s also oddly happy. He’s excited. He feels… giddy. It’s a feeling he isn’t too familiar with, and he still has to decide whether or not he likes it. It is a contrast to the constant self-loathing and the darkness that surrounds him. 

Foggy finally finds his voice again on the other side of the sidewalk. “Dude!” he says. 

Matt flinches at his voice in his ear. “Foggy,” he warns. 

“Dude!” he repeats, stopping to grab his friend’s arm. 

“Foggy, don’t,” says Matt. 

He can feel the blood rushing to his cheeks. If he sees him blush like a schoolboy with a crush, he will never hear the end of it. But after what Foggy witnessed back at the hospital, he is already one step ahead of his desperate attempts to prevent a tirade of endless teasing.

Foggy shakes his head. “What the hell was that?!” 

“Listen–”

“Why didn’t you tell me you had a hot doctor friend that you met while I was dying?”

“Okay, Foggy, you weren’t dying, you dislocated your shoulder. And besides, how would I even know if she’s hot?”

“You always know! I don’t know if you can smell it, or–or if you have a built-in radar for attractive women with questionable morals, or if you just attract them because you’re a very good-looking guy. Either way, it’s not fair.” Foggy groans. “God, if you could’ve seen how she looked at you, Matt,” he says. “I don’t know if I should be jealous or impressed.”

Matt opens his mouth to respond, but he breaks off into an awkward chuckle instead. The blood in his cheeks has spread, and he knows for a fact that his entire face is red. Thankfully, it’s too dark for Foggy to notice. His ears perked up when he mentioned the way you looked at him, even though it shouldn’t matter to him. He knows you are beautiful because he sees you in a way someone with functioning eyesight could never, but he can’t explain that to anyone. He knows, and that’s enough. 

“She stepped in front of a gun for a stranger who was high off his ass,” Foggy adds. “Who does that other than people with a death wish? Oh, and did I mention that you literally made her swoon after someone punched her in the face? She couldn’t take her eyes off you.”

“Foggy,” Matt tries to stop him again. 

“No,” he says. “Why didn’t you tell me? I thought I was your best friend. Your wingman. The Maverick to your Goose. I deserve to hear all about your crazy love life! Especially if it’s a hot doctor who jumps in front of guns.”

“I–uh–” One hand clutches his cane while the other reaches to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Look, she patched up that bump on my head last week while you were getting your shoulder X-rayed, alright? We talked, but that’s it. I didn’t think it was important.”

“And you didn’t think a stranger offering to patch the reminder of your clumsiness up for free would be worth mentioning to your best friend?”

“She’s a doctor, Foggy.”

“A hot doctor who looked like she was undressing you with her eyes,” Foggy retorts. 

Matt groans. “And how was I supposed to know that?”

“I don’t know. I told you, you always know. It’s fucking creepy.”

His groan turns into an exasperated sigh. “Can we just… walk?” he asks. 

Foggy nods. He offers his arm, and Matt takes it gladly. His cane taps in a steady rhythm against the asphalt. The gravel underneath his shoes is still stuck there. 

He’s not sure why it agitates him so much that Foggy is talking about you as if you are comparable to other women. You’re not. You’re in a league of your own, one that Matt isn’t sure he could ever reach. And you’re different. 

Everywhere he goes, Matt encounters a variety of personalities, a lot of which he comes across often. While that’s not a bad thing, he tends to tune out those who overwhelm him for the sake of his sanity. Your personality can’t be sorted into a category. You’re unique enough to stand out from a crowd. Matt can’t put his finger on it. 

Foggy can think of you what he wants, but he will never experience you the way Matt does.

“You think she’s gonna call?” Foggy asks into the silence that had settled in between the two of them. 

Matt shrugs. “I don’t know,” he says. 

“Do you want her to?”

For a moment, he’s rendered speechless. That’s the dilemma, isn’t it? Whether he wants you to call or not? It would be so much easier if he could just be honest. 

“I don’t know,” Matt says again. 

“I think you do,” Foggy answers. “You two would make a hot couple.” Sometimes, his mouth is faster than his brain. “Not in an “I want a threesome” kinda way, of course. That’s not—I mean, you’re a very good-looking guy. I’d think that if I were, you know, a woman or- or into you, which I’m not, but... I meant ‘cause she’s hot and you two together—well, you know what I mean.”

“If I say yes, can we talk about something else?”

“No, dude. I’m invested.”

“Liv isn’t… it’s not like that.”

“It’s never like that with you, Matt. Until two days later, and I walk in on you two naked with a bottle of whipped cream on your nightstand, and her name written in melted chocolate on your back.”

“Okay,” Matt interrupts him, “that was–” He tries hard not to smirk, but he fails miserably, “that was one time!” 

Foggy shakes his head. “One too many, my friend. One too freakin’ many.”

“To be fair, I couldn’t see what she was doing.”

“I’m just saying,” Foggy says, “if you decide to go for it with Miss I-Jump-In-Front-Of-Guns-For-Fun, I wanna know so I can hype you up and make sure that I don’t barge into your apartment unannounced on a Friday night, at least not without a bottle of bleach to burn the pictures out of my head.”

His chuckle resembles a giggle when he opens his mouth to respond, “Alright, I can, uh, live with that.”

“Hey.” Matt can feel Foggy’s eyes on him. “You deserve to be happy, man.”

That wipes the smile off his face. Happy. He can’t remember a time when he was truly happy. The few times he was can be counted on one hand, and every time he found himself in a place of happiness, it ended up shattering like a fragile wine glass, spilling the maroon contents everywhere and scarring him for life. 

Matt isn’t sure if he can believe Foggy. In his mind, deserving happiness is equal to walking the path of redemption until God decides to forgive him for his sins. He repents every day. He has prayed until his knees are bloody, and still, it is never enough. 

Foggy continues, as if that one display of his never-ending devotion to his best friend wasn’t enough, “If this Olivia chick makes you happy, I think it’s worth pursuing. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Off the top of his head, there are several scenarios Matt has played with, and none of them have a happy ending. There are a lot of bad things that could happen, each worse than the other. But he can’t tell Foggy that. To him, Matt’s disdain toward being happy stems from a desperate need to self-sabotage because of his childhood trauma, and while that is true for the most part, he doesn’t know about the dangers of the second life he’s leading.

He indeed sabotages himself because it’s all he’s ever known, but there is a lot more that Foggy doesn’t know about. Matt has to protect him from the truth. He’s one of the few people Matt can’t stand the thought of losing. If Foggy knows, Karen will know, too, and that is not bound to end well for any of them. 

His phone rings with the name of an unknown number later that night, long after Matt has returned home. He just laced up his boots when the silence in his apartment suddenly gets disturbed by his ringtone. 

“Unknown number,” the automatic voice tells him. 

Adjusting the tight black shirt that has seen better days, Matt walks over to the dining table to grab his phone. His fingertips search along the tabletop for the device. When he’s finally found it, he taps the screen twice before lifting it to his ear. 

“Yeah, this is Matt,” he answers. 

It takes him not even a second to realize who’s on the other end. Something about the way you breathe when you’re nervous strikes him every time. He can hear the faint sound of your heartbeat on the other end of the line. His eyes widen, and he drops the leather gloves he was about to put on.

“Hi,” you finally say. “It’s… it’s Liv. Olivia. From the hospital? You, uh, gave me your number earlier for the, uh, second time. I don’t know if you remember. I’m the girl who got hit in the nose.”

You’re cute when you’re nervous, he notices. He can tell that you probably don’t do this often, calling strangers who have given you their number. There is something oddly endearing about how awkwardly you act around people who aren’t your patients, but behavior like that often derives from a much darker secret. Matt knows all about that. For him, it was the day he lost his sight, his father’s death, and Stick’s relentless conditioning before he left him behind, and then years of self-loathing and wondering, “What if?”. What it has been for you, he can’t help but wonder. 

He snaps out of it when he hears the uptick in your heartbeat. You’re anxious, and he’s been quiet for longer than he should have. He can’t stop his lips from curling into a soft smile. 

“Yeah, I–I remember,” he says, his voice slightly breathless. The things you do to him without even trying… it’s not fair.

Foggy’s words come back to his mind. You deserve to be happy. He still isn’t too sure about that, but you make him feel things he can’t remember the last time he felt them, and it’s… exciting, almost.

You let out a little sigh of relief. “Oh, thank God,” you say. 

Matt chuckles. “I wasn’t sure you’d call.”

“Yeah, me… me neither, to be honest.”

He appreciates your honesty. 

“I’m sorry for not calling the first time. And, um, sorry for today,” you say. “I don’t usually get into that much trouble in one day.”

“Not in one day, huh?” He smirks.

Your laugh reminds him of honey. You laugh, and warmth spreads through his chest, wrapping its comforting hand around his heart and squeezing as tightly as it can. 

“You’re my lawyer. Shouldn’t you advise me to plead the fifth?”

“That depends,” Matt answers, “Would your answer incriminate yourself?”

“Yes, very much so,” you say.

“Then you should plead the fifth in front of a judge, not in front of your lawyer.”

You laugh again. “I still choose to plead the fifth, counselor.”

You may be a threat to yourself, but that’s what he sparks his curiosity, and maybe a little bit of misplaced overprotectiveness. He doesn’t own you, but God, he wishes he did. Matt pushes that thought aside as quickly as it pops up. 

You got into trouble not for the sake of getting into trouble; you got into trouble because that is just who you are. It’s an admirable quality that he can’t disagree with. 

Matt chuckles, directing his unfocused gaze toward the ceiling. “Someone should teach you about the correct use of the amendments, Miss Clarke.”

“I’m well aware of my rights, sir,” your voice drops to an octave, resembling a sultry murmur.

It rolls over him like an avalanche, and the use of the honorific darkens his eyes. A fire starts to burn deep within his soul. The candle tips over, setting everything around it on fire. Matt feels on fire.

“Also,” you add, “It’s not Miss Clarke, it’s Doctor.”

You’ve got him. Hook, line, and sinker. You’ve got him trapped in a chokehold that he can’t escape from. Your foot is on his neck, but he doesn’t care. He would gladly get on his knees before you. Whatever is happening in his body, it’s the brightest inferno the universe has ever seen, and you’re holding the torch. 

Matt exhales a hot puff of air. “Sorry,” he murmurs, “Doctor.”

“That’s better.” 

“I didn’t mean to downplay your achievements.”

“I forgive you.”

“Thank you.”

A moment of silence follows. Matt realizes that he dug his nails into his palms. When he unclenches his fist, the sharp pain brings him back to reality. 

You take a deep breath. If he closes his eyes, he thinks, he might be able to feel it brush against his skin. He’s dangerously and thoroughly obsessed with you. 

He can hear the banging of metal in the background. The sound reminds him of an old, rusty locker in a locker room. You must still be at the hospital. Your hand brushes against the metal, he can hear it, and you take another breath. 

“I, uhm–” you cut yourself off. The question on your tongue seems hard to utter. 

Matt doesn’t think much. He opens his mouth, and he asks what he hopes you have been thinking about. He throws all rationality out the window, even though reality is urging him not to. “Would you like to grab some coffee with me?” he asks. 

Your breathing stutters. Instead of your hand, your back is the next part of you that brushes against the metal of your locker. “I was trying to ask you the same thing,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. 

“I know,” he says with a smile. “So, would you?”

“Tomorrow?” you ask.

“Tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I’m free tomorrow.”

“Are you sure you shouldn’t rest your head?”

You shake your head. The softest brush of air moves against your phone’s speaker. “So far, I haven’t had any complaints about my head,” you answer.

The words go through his ears, through his enhanced hearing into his brain. They take a few seconds to process. Matt isn’t stupid, but this is a side of you not even he expected to experience. Not so soon, maybe not ever. You’re flirting with him. The way you do it is so exceptionally smart yet almost cliché in a way, but your uniqueness makes it so much more attractive.

He’s sweating, and it’s not even warm in his apartment. The blood rushes to his head. He’s drowning, but this time it isn’t because his senses are overwhelmed. He’s drowning because you’re holding his head underwater. 

Matt’s lips part in a chuckle. It’s as dark as it is flustered. “You’re a dangerously intelligent woman, Doctor Clarke,” he murmurs. 

“So I’ve heard,” you retort. 

“Well, does three work for you?”

“Two-thirty and I pick the place.”

He’s about to have a heart attack. His plans for the night momentarily move into the background. “If that’s what you want.”

“Yes, that is what I want,” you say. “I’ll, uh, see you tomorrow then?” The slight crack of your voice tells him that it isn’t leaving you cold either, and that makes him feel a little better. 

Matt nods and says, “Yeah. See you tomorrow.”

“Okay. Tomorrow.”

“Take care, Liv.”

He can hear you swallow. “I will,” you answer. “You too, Matthew.”

The way you say his name sends a shiver down his spine. “I will. Bye,” is the last thing he manages to say before the line clicks, and you disappear. 

You came into his life without warning, and you started messing with his head. Matt is aware that you’re not doing it on purpose—how could you? Still, he can’t get you out of his head, and the phone call didn’t put him out of his misery. If anything, he has fallen into the deep end with nowhere to go. And it’s your fault. 

You deserve to be happy. Sometimes, Foggy’s caring nature becomes a nuisance. He doesn’t want to hear the same statement over and over again, but it’s the only excuse he can tell himself to somehow explain what is happening to him. 

Reaching for his gloves, Matt stretches his aching fingers. The crescent moon indentations on his palms only remind him of the smooth sound of your voice. It’s like a symphony that has a constant residency in his brain. 

He wonders if he could be your muse. He made you laugh. He made you smile. He could do that every day. If he were normal, he could do it and not feel guilty. He doesn’t want to feel guilty for wanting this. Wanting you. And he doesn’t want to feel guilty for falling down the rabbit hole. It feels as if he found Wonderland in a world that also feels like a dystopian drama, but Matt doesn’t go to the movies, and he doesn’t know much about them either. He just knows that you are the closest thing to heaven that he could touch. 

And maybe, after he has figured out what is happening in his city, he can learn how to lead a somewhat normal life with someone like you by his side–and maybe then, he can achieve the happiness Foggy always claims that he deserves but denies himself time and time again. 

Matt Murdock is a masochist, after all. Self-sabotage is the only way of life he has ever known. 

He slides the gloves onto his fingers. His phone lands in the backpocket of his jeans. The billboard in front of his window projects a luminescent disarray of colors onto his skin. He can still feel the blood rushing in his cheeks. 

Going out now feels like the wrong thing to do after that phone call, but he can’t leave Hell’s Kitchen hanging. If he doesn’t go out, Claire will remain in danger, and she has already sacrificed so much for someone she barely knows. If he doesn’t go out, he’s not sure if he will ever be able to stop whatever it is that is keeping his city in shambles. 

So, he pulls the thin layer of fabric of his mask over the upper half of his face, makes his way up the stairs to the rooftop exit that connects directly to his apartment, and steps out into the night, not as Matt Murdock but the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. 

Tag List: @shiorimakibawrites @allllium @siampie @auroraslibrary @roseallisonparker @abucketofweird @thatonegamefish @capylore @kniselle @sumo-b98 @peachstarliight @danzer8705 @kakamixo @littlehappyperson @atemydadforbreakfast @stevenknightmarc @zheezs14 @shouldbestudying41 @kiwwia-wiwwia

#matt murdock #daredevil #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock angst #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock x you #daredevil x reader #reader insert #charlie cox #do no harm #doctor!reader

[anthemofgvf]

Endless Summer: Josh Kiszka x Reader Fanfiction

Part Three

description: you and sammy have been best friends since you were kids, and being around his family was the norm your entire life. when invited to a trip to their family lake house during the summer, you find yourself spending more time with his brother than your best friend. and, one thing has been clear your entire friendship: brothers are off limits.

warnings for this series: alcohol and marijuana usage, explicit content (18+, minors dni), angst, swearing

word count: 7.5k

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The next two days consisted of more physical activity than the prior week. One of the only things you all hadn't filled your time with was a hike, so slotting those into your guys' mornings every once in a while would ensure keeping boredom away.

The morning after the second day, your muscles were beyond sore, barely letting you move from your mattress. It was as if you had fully sunken into the sheets, enveloped in the silk cloth and held hostage willingly by your exhausted body. Your eyes flickered open only for a moment, until realizing that sleep was the only thing that kept you from the aching sensation that ran throughout your legs.

Once you flipped over to the best of your ability, you tapped your phone screen and read the time: 8:30 AM. You exhaled deeply while the back of your hand rubbed the sleep out of your eyes and figured a soak would do your body justice.

And your assumption of just that proved itself to be true once you worked up the strength to maneuver yourself to the bathroom and strip from your clothes. If you had to push yourself through one more day of hiking, you had to soothe your muscles to the best of your ability. Although a slight wince escaped your lips as your toes dipped into the icy hot water, you just continued to clench your jaw and fully submerge yourself in the tub and felt relaxation wash over your whole being.

Whether or not a cold bath would've been more fitting for the current state of your body, that wasn't on your mind. The heat that steamed off the water and created a spa-like aroma was soothing enough, so you just lolled your head back and let your eyes rest shut.

But relaxation can only last for so long, especially if you're trying to achieve it in a house full of boys. Whistling rang throughout the upstairs, along with small steps to accompany the melodic blowing. You were unsure of who was awake, but Sam usually woke up before his brothers, so you ditched another ten minutes of soaking and slipped on the first things you could find in your suitcase.

Your head poked out of your bedroom with your hand finding its way to undo the lazy up-do you had worn to keep your hair from getting wet. But looking down the hallway, left and right, no one had made their appearance known. Sam's bedroom door was shut, and there was no sight of the twins.

Stepping out of your room, you quietly made your way down the stairs and the whistling ran through your ears again. It was coming from outside, and your curiosity led you to open the back door and follow it without thought.

To your surprise, Josh had his hands pressed flat behind him on the ground, propping his body weight onto them and swaying his head from side to side as he continued the melody. The warm wind hugged your body but sang through yours and his hair, and you watched from afar as the curls he spent hours perfecting just defying the position they were supposed to stay in. Your calves did argue with your body to hold you up but propping yourself on the side of the lake house seemed to be beneficiary to the calls from your tense legs.

Josh's whistling faltered, and his head turned over his shoulder. With squinted eyes, his face lit into a content smile, and he returned to overlooking the mountains that contained the lake you all enjoyed.

"Thought I heard someone." He kept his focus in front of him as he spoke. "Surprised to see you up so early."

"Me? I'm surprised to see that you're the first one awake." You repositioned yourself on the exterior of the house, with your back pressed onto it instead of your shoulder and upper arm. "Figured it was Sam out here."

"Are you disappointed?" He let his words sink into sticky air before turning his head to find your expression, and through squinted eyes, he saw you roll your eyes and huff a laugh. Your reaction only let his infectious grin fully display itself and turn back to the scenery. "Glad to know you don't have favorites, y/n."

"Don't tell your brother." You joined Josh on the grass with your legs extended in front of you and resting on your elbows. The temperature of the grass alone allowed you to adjust to the heat that was quickly rising with the sun, but not at its full high.

With the same scrunched expression, you shielded your eyes with your hand and looked to Josh, who had mastered a relaxed face despite being almost directly blinded by the sun. "You excited for another day of hiking?"

Josh tilted his head down, which casted a shadow over your eyes and reduced your scrunched face into a normal state. "My legs tell me no, but I know the view will be worth the pain." His curls slightly shook with the movement of his head as he spoke - always animated. "What about you?"

"My legs are killing me, to be honest. Might stay here while you guys go."

"And do what? Nothing?"

"Possibly. Or go down to the lake on my own. Haven't figured it out yet." You gave him a shrug, removing your eyes from his and looking out into the mountains.

"Well, I'd like it if you went with us." His eyes lingered on you, which was a nonverbal cue for you to look back up to him. "Just think about it, alright? And, if you don't want to go, I don't mind staying back with you to keep you company - if you'll have me."

You gave him a singular nod, mouthing, "okay" before you looked off into the distance and tilted your chin down enough to examine the trees that lined the waters in the small canyon of mountains.

You and Josh basked in the silence, interrupted once or twice by the whistling wind or the birds singing their infamous tune, but it didn't bother either of you. There was something comforting about the silence held between you and Josh; feeling as if there is no need to speak because each other's company was just enough. But although the world was quiet, your mind wasn't.

You remembered that Sam would be awake soon, and you didn't want his morning to be started off with a view of you outside with Josh. Whether he relaxed his feelings about your friendship with Josh, or just learned not to show them as much, you knew it bothered him, nonetheless. So, you left Josh quietly and made your way up to Sammy's bedroom, clinging onto the railing to drag your legs up each step that seemed to be more painful than the one before.

You left a few soft knocks on the door, and with no response, you cracked the door slightly to see your best friend still sound asleep laying on his stomach.

Hushed snores rumbled against his pillows as you tiptoed around the bed and crawl into the other side. Even your movements didn't stir his sleep, which didn't surprise you, so you pressed your palm onto his bare back and spoke his name.

After you shook his body a few times, he sharply inhaled, pushing his body up and whipping his head towards you. When his eyes allowed him to make out the figure in front of him, he was satisfied to see it was you.

"I was sleeping, y'know?" He relaxed his head back onto the pillow and turned away from you.

"Shh, you've woken me up plenty of times. I get a turn, right?"

Sam hummed, rotating his body and letting his eyes flutter shut again. "What time is it?"

"9:30. Not too bad of a time to start your day." Your hands ran through his knotted hair and brushed the stray pieces back behind his ear.

"Guess it's nice of you to have woken me up." He leaned his head into your touch. "Anyone else awake?"

You had to make a quick decision of whether or not to tell Sam that you had just gotten back from hanging out with Josh, or to just say you were just leaving your bedroom for the day. But, without knowing if Josh would say something about this morning, you figured telling Sam the truth was the best decision.

"Yeah, uh, Josh is. Heard him outside when I was taking a bath. So, I joined him for a bit after I got changed and talked with him." Your face slightly squinted as if you were trying to reflect any puncture, but to your surprise, Sam just nodded.

"He's awake?"

"I know! I was surprised to see him, too." You continued to toy with his hair. "Think he's still out there."

"Well, then that means neither of you have eaten yet." He said with a grunt, pushing himself off the mattress and hopping out of the bed. If you and him hadn't been friends for so long, seeing him in his briefs would cause a lot of discomfort on your end. "Do you have any preferences on breakfast?" He slipped into a loose pair of joggers.

"Preferably not limited to vegan." You shrugged.

Sam rested his hands on his hips, tapping at the bones with his pointer fingers. "Well, I guess I'll need some help then if I'm making a grand meal, huh?"

"Sam, I'm not a cook. Can't you recruit your brother?" You said in reference to Jake, who you had known to love cooking since he was little.

Although Sam sighed in defiance, he rolled his head towards the door and his body followed, leaving you to follow him downstairs and into the kitchen.

Jake was already awake, sitting on the couch and absent-mindedly scrolling through his phone when Sam discussed the plan of the first meal of the day with him. He just nodded, waiting for Sam to fully leave the room before he stood up, passing you by with a light smile and tousling the hair on top of your head. While you flattened your hair out, Josh had entered the room quietly, and joined his brothers.

Josh barely helped with the meal, just handing them things they asked for or mixing whatever concoction Jake had whipped up. You just rested your chin on the back of the couch as you watched them all work together, noticing how their work dynamic never really changed from when they were kids. You figured their arguing would lessen, or their teamwork would improve, but they still had hints of their old ways. It was special to see them act as if time never passed, and they were still the same normal guys that you grew up with in Frankenmuth.

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Over breakfast, Jake had mentioned staying another week or two at the lake house, admitting he's missed the second home more than he's realized and doesn't want to let the feeling of serenity go just yet. They all agreed with hums, mouths stuffed full of food, and their eyes landed on you. You were the only one who didn't follow their course of plans, so your decision mattered. Jake had said there was no pressure staying, but you insisted that you were enjoying yourself and the time spent with them, to which they all smiled gratefully to you that you chose to stay longer. However, you did mention that after today, you wouldn't want to take another hike, and Jake hummed in agreement.

After breakfast, you helped the three of them clean up the multitude of dishes they compiled while making the grand meal. You stook to the sink and washed the dishes thoroughly, then handing them to Josh, who dried them. Although there was a dishwasher that could make the job easier, there was something sentimental about making the one-man job into a two or three-man job. Sam only stuck around for so long when helping put away the dishes, until he ran off to take a shower. Jake, who helped you wash the plates and bowls for a few, chose to clean the pans instead and then leaving to get ready for the day himself.

Then there was just you and Josh... again. You swore you promised yourself you wouldn't stick yourself in situations as such that would leave you and Josh alone. Sam seemed to have gotten his feelings about your friendship with his brother under control, and that didn't help. Sam was like a barrier that did annoy you at some points with his aggravation of the platonic relationship between Josh and you, but it helped to keep your feelings sunk into the back of your mind and hopefully forgotten about.

Sure, it didn't help either that Josh came into your bedroom nightly to spend time with you but talking helped keep your thoughts at bay. It's not like you minded hanging around Josh, since he exuded the closest feeling to euphoria you could get. But it was easier to be upset about Sam getting in the way than for him to fully step away and let yours and Josh's relationship take its course.

You didn't let the guilt override your positive mind, and just took a few glances at Josh every now and then when he was putting a dish away or drying them off. His focused face was quite adorable, and not a part of you felt ashamed for thinking that. You chose for at least today to let yourself think or say whatever you want to in your mind about him, since it was the only place that was trustworthy enough to hold such a secret.

His eyes flicked at you once, or at least to your knowledge, and quickly shot his eyes down to the white mug he was drying.

"Were you ever taught that staring was rude?" He teased you with a smile, earning him a bump into his shoulder from your elbow.

"Were you ever taught about sunscreen? Your cheeks are red."

Josh just simply shook his head with a grin that only raised at the right corner of his mouth, taking a few steps to open the wooden cabinets to place the cup into its original spot and returning to your side.

"They always get burnt, no matter how much sunscreen I put on. It's annoying, y'know? Have to walk around looking like a fucking tomato." His hands flew to motion to his face, returning back onto the counter and waiting for you to hand him the next dish. "With that being said, have you decided whether or not you'll be joining us today?"

You placed the small plate into Josh's hands, fiddling with the next bowl and running it under the hot sink water as you thought about the proposition. "Haven't really thought about it to be honest. I'll probably go for the sake of not having to explain myself."

"Well, today's trail is the shortest one. And it overlooks this beautiful forest. You'll enjoy it, I promise." His hand patted your back. "And, if your legs go numb, I'm sure one of us can carry you back down."

"I think one of you will need to carry me the whole way." You giggled, to which Josh returned a light chuckle.

Leaving Josh in the kitchen, you got yourself ready for the day and mentally prepared yourself for the hike. Although you enjoyed the activities and spending time with the boys, your legs were telling you that you should stay in and ditch them. But something interesting always comes out of the day when you're with them, so sucking it up was your best option.

Dressing yourself in a light tank top and a pair of denim shorts, you threw on your tennis shoes and stumbled your way down the stairs, gripping onto the railing with each step you took.

Two bottles of water were laid on the island, to which you chose to grab your own and assumed the boys had claimed those two as their own.

"All ready?" Sam popped into the kitchen, joining you at the fridge.

"Yeah, you?" You closed the fridge door, setting your water bottle on the counter and crossing your arms once you rested your back against it.

"Yeah. Think they're still getting ready, but I've been waiting about 10 minutes." His eyes flicked down at his watch. "Can't wait to do nothing tomorrow."

"Couldn't agree more. Maybe me and you can go out and do something. Just us."

His lips curled into a smile, nodding in agreement at your words. "I'd like that. What would we do?"

"Depends. There's not much to do here, but whatever it is, I'm sure it'll be fun." You took your water bottle off the counter, bouncing it between your hands. "You don't think they'd be upset if we didn't invite them?"

"I'm sure they'll want to go do something on their own, so I doubt they'll feel left out." He opened the fridge, grabbing his own water and shutting the door swiftly. "We haven't had much time alone together. We've got some time to make up for it."

"It's hard when you're constantly on the road and I'm stuck here." You brought your inner cheek into your teeth as your lips turned into a frown. You didn't want him to feel guilty for traveling, or the fact that you and him rarely spent time together. It wasn't his fault that he had a career that called for constant travel. "Just wish you had more time home, that's all."

He rested against the counter across from you, folding his arms as he spoke. "As much as I like touring, I wish I got to stay here more. You don't realize how much you miss home until you come back. I mean, yeah, I get homesick, but it's worth it when I get to come home."

"You've got to have a favorite place you've been to, right? I mean, if I got to travel as much as you, I would be revisiting the places I liked the most."

"We try to hit the best spots that we come across on tour." Josh said from across the room, strutting into the kitchen and joining the conversation. "My personal favorite was probably France. Lovely language; French."

"Eavesdropping in on our conversation?" Sam pushed himself off the counter with a grin splattered on his face.

"Don't talk in a public room if you don't want me joining." Josh mimicked Sam's smile and gestured at his brother with his pointer finger.

Sam just gave him a weak shrug before leaving you two, saying he was checking on Jake after he gave you a pat on your shoulder.

Josh joined you at your side. "What's the best place you've been to, travel-wise?"

"I haven't been out of the country before, so I'd probably say California, which is a basic answer," you admitted, turning your head to him, "but Paris sounds nice. Oh, or London."

"Been to both." Josh gave you a cocky smirk, wiggling his head and straightening his posture. You pushed his shoulder and watched him laugh with a toothy expression. "Maybe I'll take you someday."

You shook your head with a puzzled expression. "Just you and me?"

"I meant when you come on tour with us, if you ever do, that is." His eyes averted to the cabinets in front of him before returning back to your eyes. "Or if you'd prefer an exclusive excursion with just me, I think I'd make the perfect tour guide."

You tilted your head back with a giggle. "I think you'd get us lost."

"Well, I think your expectations of me are too low. You're going to have to fix that if you want to travel with us one day." He positioned his body facing you, resting his hand on the counter beside him.

"You've got some time to prove yourself. Still time to change my mind, Josh." The corners of your lips fell into a downturned smile. And, with the muscles in your face moving so much into that joyful expression, you realized how much your cheeks hurt from smiling so much. It didn't help that the blood quickly rose to your cheeks and flushed them to a bubblegum pink.

"I'll take that challenge gratefully." He gave you a singular nod with a comical smile and wink before grabbing his water bottle and walking off to Jake's room.

You watched him leave and found Jake and Sam meeting him halfway, sharing a few words before they all announced that they were ready to go.

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True to Josh's words, the trail was quite short, so your muscles decided not to give out on you just yet. And, even better, the view was beautiful. The slightly cool breeze whistled through your hair and the leaves of the trees that rested below the hill you four stopped at.

Josh took the liberty to snap a few photos of everyone, a few of himself, and plenty of the view that stood before you four. You couldn't help but watch his eyes light up at the view, seeing him discuss with his brothers how nothing beats the atmosphere of home. His joy for life and everything that surrounded him was contagious, and you couldn't help but feel warm and comfort from the energy that radiated off of him. His wide smile that reached his eyes and created wrinkles at the sides, his animated movements when he spoke or how he deeply examined everything that stood below him and that rested above him. How he felt no shame in just sitting near the edge of the cliff, seemingly trying to meditate, but he was just taking everything in and trying to be one with the environment.

You considered joining him, but you chose not to when Sam pulled you into a conversation with Jake. Josh was just in his own world, appreciating life even if the activity of the day was a small one. You'd say it from time and time that you admired his outlook on life, and aspired to think the way he did. Appreciate things the way he did. See things the way he did. Loved things the way he did. He was always an inspiration to you in the way you should live your life everyday as if it were your last, and just live in the moment.

And that's all you thought about during the hike. You tried to respond to his brothers when they asked you a question, or the conversation grew quiet and you decided to add something or give them your input, but your mind was somewhere else. It wasn't necessarily a bad thing that you loved the way Josh loved the world, but it was a bad thing that you loved the way Josh loved. You had gotten yourself back to square one, and digging yourself out of that hole was going to take longer than you pictured. Because, no matter what he did, he always knew the right things to say or do. It's like he could read your mind, or just knew you more than you knew yourself. And that's another thing you loved about Josh.

And loving those things about Josh was one thing, but loving him, was another.

You four decided after an hour or so that it was best to head back for lunch, so you all made your way down the trail and headed back towards the lake house. While Jake offered to make lunch and started before anyone had any input, you decided on a quick shower to wash off the sweat that accumulated on your body from the hike. Stepping into the cool water felt nice on your sunburnt shoulders, so you let the water run off your back for a few moments as you faced the wall in front of you.

Once you were satisfied with scrubbing your body and your head of hair long enough, you stepped out of the shower and wrapped your towel around your bare body as you ran your brush through your wet hair.

A few knocks tapped at your door, and you peaked your head through the bathroom door.

"Who is it?" You questioned with your ears tuned to any sounds that came from behind the door. When waiting for a response and receiving none, you made your way to the door and opened it.

Josh stood at your door, eyes immediately shooting to your white towel before looking at you with his lips curled into a quizzical grin.

"Lunch outfit?"

"Ha, ha, very funny," you rolled your eyes, "just got out of the shower."

"Didn't quite get that from the towel. Thanks for clarifying, though." He shot you a wink. "Food's ready by the way."

"Thanks. I'll be down in a second." You nodded with a quick flash of a smile, then shutting the door on Josh and let your towel fall to the ground.

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After you all ate lunch and the rest of the day consisted of simple relaxation around the house, Jake came into your room and said that you all were going to watch the sun set around the fire. It had been a few days since you all sat around the firepit, so you gratefully walked with him outside of the cabin and noticed that Josh and Sam were already in their chairs with beers accompanied in their hands.

Sam stood from his chair and embraced you before letting you sit down, handing you a beer after you sat crisscross in the seat.

The routine was the same as it always was: Jake playing a few songs, Sam talking to you about whatever it is he had to say, and then you all splitting off into the cabin after the sun fully rested under the waters and the moon casted its glimmering light. You didn't mind the continuous formula that you all grew accustomed to doing, mainly because you enjoyed relaxation more than constantly being on your toes doing something. Especially since you were surrounded by the three of them, it made the activity that could be taken as boring into something interesting.

And you could say you enjoyed the ritual more because you knew Josh would be joining you for a bit afterwards. It didn't matter that you two talked about nonsensical topics, it was just his presence that made everything feel better. Even if you both smelled of smoke and amber and it would've been best to wash it off, you both didn't care. You had come to enjoy the familiar scent.

He entered your room without knocking, figuring you were decent and just waiting for him to arrive, and he shut the door behind him and locking it.

He hopped onto your bed with a huff, looking at you with a soft smile and eyes that told you that he was thinking of something.

"Why are you looking at me like that, Josh?"

"I have an idea of something we could do instead of staying in here, even though I don't mind it."

You huffed out a laugh, looking away for a moment. "And what's that?"

"You can say no, by the way. No hard feelings," he crossed his hands over each other, "we take my Jeep and go down to the beach." He shrugged with a confident smile, proud of his plan.

"And do what?"

"What we always do: talk. We could swim, too. What else do you do at a beach?" He pretended to insult you with his question but couldn't keep a straight face, so he reserved to a sly smirk.

"Well, I don't know. I never know when it comes to you," you shook your head, "did you want to go now?"

"We can. Or we can sit in here for a bit if that's what you prefer."

You nodded with a hum, glancing at the mirror and then reverting your eyes back to his. "I've always got to choose, huh?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, would you like me to be a bit more assertive?" He cocked his head, his curls following his motions.

You rubbed your lips together. "Would be more helpful. You're always letting people decide things for you. Gotta put yourself and your needs before others."

Maybe you should take your own advice.

"I'm a people pleaser, what can I say? I enjoy doing things others want to do. We don't have to go the-."

"Josh, I want to go." You cut him off with a laugh. "Let's just head out now, alright?"

He gave you a singular nod and a smile, helping himself out of the bed and walking over to the door, waiting for you.

As you joined his side, he reached for the lock, but quickly halted his movements when the doorknob shook. His eyes widened, looking over to you, and seeing you were wearing the same shocked face.

"Y/n? You awake?"

You both mouthed "shit", turning your bodies frantically to figure out what move would be the best to make next. It's not like you could just open up the door with Josh at your side. Although Sam seemed to have his annoyance with you and Josh's friendship at bay, the door being locked wouldn't help with how his mind works. Anyone could assume the worst in that situation.

"Y-yeah, I am. One second!" You stammered as your eyes flashed from the door to Josh. You could hear your heartbeat ringing in your ears, body flaming intensely as your fingertips began to shake.

"What do we do?" Josh mouthed to you, even though his voice was almost audible.

"I-I don't know." You whispered back, scanning your room and finding a solution. "The bathroom, go."

You pointed over to the door, and he looked at you with a puzzled expression.

"Wait, why can't he know I'm in here?" His voice raised into a whisper, and your heart rattled in your chest.

"Because my door is locked and you know how he feels about us hanging out, especially alone. Bathroom, go." You nodded over there, waiting for him to walk with quiet steps and shutting the door behind himself, taking a few moments to slow your breathing before opening the door with a smile.

"Why was your door locked? You never lock it." Sam pointed at your doorknob with furrowed brows.

"I was, uh, changing. And, knowing you, you never knock. Didn't want to risk it." You dragged the words out slowly, nodding and tapping at the doorframe.

"But you're wearing...never mind. I don't think I want to know," he chuckled, "just wanted to see if you wanted to go do something."

"Right now?" You turned your head to the window in your room. "What did you want to go do?"

"Dunno. I'm not tired just yet. Maybe go take a walk, or something." He gave you a shrug.

And here you were again having to choose between your best friend and Josh. You and Josh had made prior agreements to going out, but knowing that Sam wasn't tired, he was probably going to notice you were leaving. Your brain banged in your head as you tried to come up with a quick decision. Either way, you were going to feel guilty.

But you made a promise to yourself that Josh wouldn't get in the way of you and Sam's friendship. And Josh was also just your friend, so why would it matter?

"Yeah, sure. I'm going to finish changing. I'll be a second or two, alright?" You nodded quickly, shutting the door before Sam had the chance to speak.

You rested your back on the door, sprawling your hands onto the wood and exhaling deeply. Composing yourself quickly, you walked over to the bathroom and opened the door.

"Alright, he's gone." You nodded.

"You think we should wait it out, or?"

Your head fell to your feet as your stomach twisted with guilt. You had never seen Josh disappointed, and you didn't plan on seeing it. Not now, at least.

"I'm, uh, I'm actually going out with him for a bit."

"Oh," he pressed his lips together, "okay then. We'll just go on our little trip tomorrow."

"I'm really, really sorry, Josh. I feel terrible. I know you wanted to go and-."

"Why are you apologizing? I get it, it's okay." He gave you a reassuring smile and placed his hands on the sides of your arms. "Just gives me something to look forward to."

"Are you sure? Because I can just tell Sam I'm too tired or make up some lame excuse to get out of it."

"No, no. Go, I insist." He jerked your body forward, then back, and ran his hands up your arms before letting them fall to his sides.

Josh began to laugh, running his hands over his mouth to try and suppress the laughter.

"What's so funny?" You felt a smile creep onto your lips.

"Just thinking about if Sam saw me in here with you how ballistic he'd react. Think he'd kill me?" His laughter grew, and you tried shushing him, but he couldn't stop laughing.

So, your body reacted quickly, clapping your hand over his mouth and giving him a stern glare. His hand grasped onto your wrist in a swift reaction to your own actions. You peaked outside of the bathroom, then met his surprised eyes.

"It's not like we were doing anything, but you know how he is. Now, stop laughing before I kill you. I don't know how thin these walls are, but if he's out there, there's a good chance he can hear you." You whispered to him, slowly removing your hand from his face.

He was in a state of recollecting himself, but once finished, he let a smirk rest on his lips and ran his thumb over his bottom lip. "There are better ways to silence me than that, y/n."

"Well, you weren't keeping quiet, Josh. Now, shut up and wait a few to leave my room." You pointed at him with a stern face, then leaving him in the bathroom. You turned to him again. "And, shut the door. I'm changing."

He put his hands up in defense, closing the door and wiggling his fingers at you in a quiet goodbye.

You stripped off your clothing quickly, throwing on a pair of grey shorts and the first tank top you could find. You left your room after grabbing your phone, grateful that Sam wasn't waiting outside of you room for you, but in fact downstairs on the blue couch.

Sam's pupils shot up at you with a smile finding the corners of his eyes. He stood up and placed his hand on your back to guide you out through the back door.

As you two walked down the familiar trail that led to the lake below the lake house, silence echoed throughout the air. It had been a while since you two had genuinely spent time together without anyone's presence, and talking just wasn't on your mind. You just wanted to soak up the friendship you've held with Sam in the quiet atmosphere, although it was filled with an owl or two calling in the air and trees whispering in the wind.

You couldn't remember the last time you were with Sam in an area as such. You two sat near the lake, near enough to hear the waves trickle in a dance along the rocks at the shoreline. All you could do was just breathe in the same air as him and let your head fall back, eyes shut and giving yourself to the environment.

Your phone vibrated on the ground, and you unwrapped your arms from around your legs pressed against your chest to turn your device over.

Don't forget about our little secret trip to the beach tomorrow night. Goodnight, y/n. Hope Sam is keeping you good company.

You read the text from Josh with a smile, rereading it over twice before turning your phone off and looking over to Sam.

"Who was that?"

"Oh, just my mom saying goodnight." You nodded with your tongue pressed into your cheek. He pressed his lips together and looked off into the water, returning to his silent state. "Everything alright?"

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine. Just...thinking, that's all." A deep exhale fell from his lips. His eyes lifted to the sky, admiring the night sky lit up by glistening stars.

You pressed your cheek into your knee. "Penny for your thoughts?"

He pulled his eyebrows together, bringing his hand from behind him to massage the bridge of his nose. "Dunno. Just missed this, y'know? I don't get to see you as much, and it sucks. I don't like getting all sappy with you, but I've just been thinking about how much fun I've been having with you and all that." He gave you a weak shrug and glanced over to see your reaction had fallen softly into an admirable one, and kept his eyes held into yours.

"Yeah, it's so weird of you to share your feelings." Your eyes widened for a moment with a light giggle. "No, really, I've missed this too. It's not the same when you're gone. Get a little bored sometimes."

He gave you a single nod. "We used to hang out every night. Remember that?"

"How could I forget? Sam, you were pretty much there for everything. Think we hung out until our parents told us to get home, and until we got older, we just slept over at one of each other's houses and drove to school together." You reminisced in the memories that flooded into your brain.

"Can't believe you never got sick of me. I mean, you get pretty annoying sometimes, but-."

"Do not!" You swatted his shoulder. He huffed a laugh, shaking his head and looking back up to the sky.

The silence filled the air once again, and you two just enjoyed the comfort of that noise in itself. The sound of nothing was comforting, and although it wasn't eventful, you didn't mind it.

It was something that you had in common with Josh. But, letting Josh run through your mind was not something you were going to let happen, at least, not tonight. This moment was about you and your best friend, not his brother.

"Thanks for coming on this trip with us. I don't think I thanked you before, so." He gestured with his hand, then reserving it back behind himself.

"Thanks for inviting me. I was a bit nervous that I was going to be a bit bored. Don't get me wrong, I love spending time with you guys, but, I don't know. Was kind of worried you guys changed after a year."

"A year is a long time, but we're still the same," he shrugged, "maybe Josh is a bit more loud."

You laughed at his comment, letting your mind wander only just for a moment to Josh, although you promised yourself you wouldn't think of him. But this was an acceptable time, so you allowed your thoughts to take over for a moment.

"He's a bit more talkative this time round. I mean, we've always been good friends, but he's actually making an effort to talk to me more. It's nice."

All Sam did was nod and kept his eyes locked into the sky. Reading him normally came easy to you, but you couldn't quite pick out how he felt about your words. He had seemed to cool down after a few weeks and become comfortable with you and Josh's friendship, but you knew deep down it still bothered him.

You were hesitant to speak. You tried to come up with a new topic, something that didn't involve his brother.

"Do you think you'll be back for my graduation?"

Sam's eyes shot down to you with a confused expression. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Dunno. Maybe you'd be on tour in late May, or something." You pressed your chin in between your knees and let your gaze relax into the lake.

"No, we'll be back. Don't worry, I'm not going to miss your graduation."

He brought you into his arms, letting you relax into his body. You hummed with delight and rested your head into his chest.

"You know I would hate you forever if you missed my graduation?" You said, causing his chest to rise with a laugh.

"Shut up. You can't hate me. I'm going to be around for the rest of your life."

"Sounds miserable." Another laugh rose in his chest.

"As much as I hate to admit it," he spoke with sarcasm laced on his tongue, "I care about you a lot. Gotta be here for you when I can, and as much as I can. Making up the time we lost when I was gone."

"This trip definitely helped. It's nice that we all decided to stay a few more weeks. But we're going to have to find new stuff to do."

"Unfortunately, there's not much to do in this town. But we always come up with random shit to do to pass time. Comes in handy after being on the road with the same people for months on end." His hand ran delicately along your spine.

"Yeah. Maybe we can take a drive somewhere? Go to Chicago or something." You lifted your head up.

"That's not a bad idea, although Chicago is a bit far. Detroit might be a better shot." He gave you an assertive nod with a grin, and you let your head rest into his chest.

His heartbeat drummed into your ear, comforting and warm on the side of your head as you laid in his arms. You and Sam never found being this close to each other to be uncomfortable or weird. It was just a normality in your guys' friendship. And you never disapproved of the action itself. It was something you often missed when he was gone. Although he was difficult with showing his emotions, you were someone that could always bring everything out of him. And that made you feel a bit golden, to be honest.

"I'm just glad we stay in touch when you're gone." You mentioned to him, exhaling the vulnerability that your words held. Truthful words that sunk into your friend's heart and tugged at the strings. Ones that made his heart race just enough for you to feel the change of the beat of his heart.

"Me too. Don't want to lose you, you know that?"

You lifted your head up again and gave him a singular nod to show him you understood. "You won't, I promise. Just, don't do anything stupid."

"Same goes for you, y/n." He tousled the hair that rested on top of your scalp.

And you knew what he meant when he told you that. You knew who he was referring to when he said that. The journey of burying your feelings for Josh was a treacherous one, but you hadn't finished it just yet. Your mind would make you believe that in some circumstance you could get Sam on board with idea and be okay with it. Maybe, just maybe, you could convince him.

But you knew there was no way to do that. Even if you were someone that Sam couldn't stay mad at, someone that could convince Sam of anything, that was the one thing he'd never be in agreement with you on. And you hated to admit it, but your feelings for Josh grew on this trip.

You were just good at masking them more.

"Mind heading back? Getting a bit tired." You unraveled yourself from Sam's arms.

"Yeah, sure." He said and pushed himself off the ground before lending his hands to you and helping you up from the rocks.

On the walk back, he began a small talk about the stars, something he was always fond of. He told you about things he learned about the galaxy that lit up the sky since he's been gone, things he's seen and picked up on his travels. It was one of the only things you never understood about him - his fascination with the stars, that is. But admiration for the world ran in the family, and he chose the night over the day as his pleasurable hobby. It was an escape from his daily life as a musician.

He even mentioned to you that in some places you can barely see them, which you knew, but you didn't let him know that. You liked seeing his eyes light up talking about this kind of thing, and seeing himself feeling accomplished when telling you something you didn't know or chose not to tell him that you did know.

Sam followed you up the stairs into the lake house, pulling you into a tight embrace before saying goodnight to you and leaving you to enter his own room.

The night had turned to be a memorable one, despite your wishes to have gone to the beach with Josh. You realized that your friendship with Sam was irreplaceable. It couldn't be found in anyone else. It couldn't be created with anyone else. So, with that in mind, it was going to be a bit easier easing your feelings of Josh out of your head and heart and returning your thoughts of him to purely platonic.

You still had the beach trip with him, but that could be a possible test for how you could control your thoughts and just letting things be the way they are. And that reminder was enough to help you sleep that night, mind cleared of any thought that dared to enter.

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-part four-

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