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teyamsatan · 9 months

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ꜰᴀʟꜱᴇ ɢᴏᴅ | ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪ: ɪ'ʟʟ ꜱʜᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ᴠᴇʀꜱɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱᴇʟꜰ ᴛᴏɴɪɢʜᴛ

pairing: dilf!Jake Sully x (f)human/avatar!reader

synopsis: It took a lot of time and advancements, but, with the humans' return to Pandora 8 years ago, and thanks to the constant raids of the Omaticaya, the scientists managed to make you and Spider an Avatar. Unlike him, though, you know nothing about and want nothing to do with it, and when your struggle to adapt becomes too overbearing, Jake decided to take matters into his own hands.

this story will contain an unhealthy, co-dependent relationship, and dark themes (smut, mental health, death, violence, infidelity), so pls read at your own discretion.

warnings: 18+ minors DNI, angst, age-gap (23 vs 43), pet names.

wc: 4.5k words

a/n: hi besties, and welcome to my first jake series! i have had this series in my mind for so so long, and it feels good to bring it to life finally. i am excited to get back into writing - i needed a little time to recharge after monster in me, and take a break and actually sleep and live my life hahahaha. anyway, i hope you enjoy this story, i'm so excited to write it and see where it takes me! xx

ps: this story will move perspectives and timelines a lott, so i hope it's not too confusing but pls do let me know if it is and i'll figure something out xx

replies and reblogs are massively appreciated, i loveee to hear from you so much!

na'vi compendium: tanhi - bioluminescent freckles, tsamsiyu - warrior, tawtute - human

series masterlist (x)

I want you to know, I’m a mirrorball I’ll show you every version of yourself tonight

It was excruciating, the pain. It was never-ending, never relenting, it was enough to warrant the current position you found yourself in, curled up on your bed, knees brought close to your chest, hands grasping at your worn-down pyjamas, that much like everything else in this room, smelled like him, felt like him, was imbued with his presence and the memories he’s left that you’d never be able to forgive or forsake. Glossed-over eyes moved slowly through your room, at all the little trinkets you now had that you didn’t just a few months, all of them sharp and painful as they felt like they were digging painfully in you, leaving cuts and bruises in your already broken heart. Eventually, your gaze settled on a feather you were given the first day in your Avatar body, and it was an appropriate place to stop, as this was when it all began - this whole mess, that you were still debating whether it was worth it, worth all this, but which, at the time, was a pure and innocent new start, in a new body, in a new life.

I'll get you out on the floor Shimmering beautiful And when I break it's in a million pieces

“Come on, honey, it’s late already. You know life in the village starts early.”

The dragging of your feet did very little to make you appear more enthusiastic than you were feeling currently, and Norm sighed as he took it your deflated predisposition. It should be a happy time. You knew that. How many people can say that got a new chance, at a new life, on this planet that felt weirdly in between a home and a prison? A new chance to belong - the first one, actually. A chance to thrive and to experience this world the way it was meant to be experienced, the way that the natives experienced it. And yet, a few weeks in, you still felt like a complete stranger in a body you couldn’t recognise, in a culture that has never been your own, in a village that has never accepted you, that never ceased to look at you and see through you, right to the flimsy core of insecurities and self-doubts that plagued you constantly, that followed you everywhere you went, like a shadow in a dimly-lit room.

You looked across the room where the other neuro-link pod was being prepped, and next to it stood the only other young, human, adult on Pandora - your brother for all intents and purposes, the boy who you loved always, but hated in the moment, as you watched his lively and animated body language, practically beaming with anticipation. Spider, unlike you, settled in his new taller, bluer, shinier body almost immediately - a born acrobat, a made warrior, even before the Avatars were complete. He had no such compulsions, no shame or guilt, no embarrassment or anxiety, no feelings of inadequacy or imposter syndrome, just a pure, unadulterated joie de vivre and unquenchable fear of missing out. He got everything he’s ever wanted with that Avatar, and unlike you, he didn’t seem willing to squander the opportunity. You knew you should be more like him, and you were trying. The effort just wasn’t enough to overthrow the paralysing fear you felt every time you stepped foot in that village. You wondered if it ever will.

“Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!” With a sigh and a roll of your eyes, doing your very best to ignore the racket coming from just a few pods over, you allowed Norm to close the lid on top of your caged body, doing your very best to clear your head of the screaming voice that got louder by the second, the harder you tried. You’ll never make it. You will never be one of the people.

Hush When no one is around, my dear You'll find me on my tallest tiptoes Spinning in my highest heels, love Shining just for you

Life in the village did indeed start early, and while you walked away from Hell’s Gate and through the thick forest that surrounded you, you could already hear faint sounds coming from the general direction of the Omaticaya settlement, a dead giveaway people were preparing for what the day would inevitably bring, from training in the healing practices of the Tsa’hik or the warrior skills of the tsamsiyu, it was the relentless will to improve and contribute to the overall wellness of each other and their planet that fuelled Na’vi every day.

Soon enough, the carefully crafted tents came into view, each one unique to the owner, with pieces of bone or hides that gave it a personal, intimate appeal, and it was easy enough, once you knew the people, to be able to tell who each tent belonged to. You smiled as your eyes fixed on one tent in particular, small and understated, despite who it was inhabiting it - Neteyam, future Olo’eyktan, never found any use for unnecessary embellishments, be it on his person or any of his belongings, always preferring to keep the showing off to the actual battle or training, his impressive skill set and his ability to thrive in every challenge his brightest adornment. When he came out of it, like he could sense you were near, your smile widened taking him in, in all his tall, blue, muscular beauty. He was a handsome young man, the perfect mix between Neytiri and… him. He used to look more like his mother when he was younger, but now, all of 23 years old, he was more and more Jake with each passing day, and the thought both intrigued and scared you, almost in equal parts.

It intrigued you because, well… because there was something special about Jake, there always has been. Not just because he was the first and only human to do the consciousness transfer, to be accepted into the clan, to become one of the people, or that he was Toruk Makto, one of only 6 to have ever existed; not because he was Olo’eyktan, and a revered warrior and leader… but because he was him. He was kind and patient, he was sweet and caring, he was funny and fun… he was everything.

On the other hand, it was for the exact same reasons that Neteyam’s resemblance to his dad scared you. Because every time you looked at him, you saw Jake, and the feelings you harboured for him since you were old enough to pay attention, that dwindled in time, were mingled with the deep familial affection you felt for Neteyam, who has been your best friend since you were old enough to... well, have memories. You didn’t want your relationship with him to be marred by feelings you couldn’t, wouldn’t ever feel for him, you didn’t want your history erased by the possibility of more, not when it would be wrong - not when, at your core, you would just settle for him because you couldn’t get the person you really wanted.

“Oi! A little late for the mighty warrior to be coming out of his tent, isn’t it?”

Neteyam snickered as he noticed you and Spider approaching, and shook his hand in Spider’s direction.

“Why is she this mean only to me?”

Spider shrugged and patted Neteyam on the shoulder simpathetically.

“Girls, man… Am I right? Anyway, going to find Lo’ak and Kiri. See you guys on the training grounds.”

Hush I know they said the end is near But I'm still on my tallest tiptoes Spinning in my highest heels, love Shining just for you

As Spider took his leave, almost skipping to the Tsa’hik’s tent, where he knew Kiri would be, you started walking quietly, anxiety rising in your chest with each step taken towards the grounds, where you’d once again, as you have for the past few weeks, prove to yourself and everyone around you that you weren’t made for this - the fighting, the battles, the wielding of death machines, be it a gun or a bow, none of it was yours to take, yours to concur. You were made for the labs, for the quiet, analytical lifestyle. You were made for wielding a guitar, and playing it until the strings broke, you were made for daydreams and illusions and fantasies you could only fathom yourself part of, for a happier, easier world that would allow you to be all of those things without incursions. Alas, the world was not what you envisioned for yourself when you were younger, and with this great opportunity, came sacrifices you hoped time would lessen and sweeten, and turn them into blessings in disguise.

“Are you ready for today?”

“Does that make a difference?”

Neteyam’s sigh was answer enough for you. He tried to help, he really did. He went above and beyond for you and you were grateful. He was a patient teacher and a great friend, and his determination, as always, came at a cost, the cost of another burden he had to carry, another person he had to parent and take care of, and while it was not lost on you, it didn’t matter. None of it mattered.

“You’re going to be okay. You just have to give yourself time to grow. You can’t compare yourself with Spider, who’s been in the village with us his whole life. It’s going to take you time and effort, but you can do this, Tawte. And I’ll be here, at every step, ready to catch you if you fall.”

You smiled a little, slightly distracted, as you always were, by his sweet nickname, and your thoughts flowed gently at the memories that stirred in you whenever he said it, at the way the first word he ever uttered as a babe was a slurred version of a word he heard all the time from his mother: tawtute... human. From her mouth, it was laced with poison and disdain, but not from Neteyam's, who loved you, ever since you were young, who accepted you for who you were. Tawte was a gentle reminder of how far you've come, and how the familial love between the two of you hasn't faltered through time, but only blossomed and deepened, much to your eternal gratitude.

And they called off the circus, burned the disco down When they sent home the horses and the rodeo clowns I'm still on that tightrope I'm still trying everything to get you laughing at me

Your eyes, hidden behind a sea of glossy tears settled on the next item, the broken tip of an arrow, that you kept since that day, when you somehow did so poorly in bow practice, you managed to break an incredibly sturdy arrow, much to Spider and Lo'ak's amusement, and much to your deep dismay. You thought how about your feelings of inadequacy were exacerbated by the Olo'eyktan's watchful eyes, who observed you intently the whole time, and how that inadvertently set everyone's gaze on you. So many eyes - watching, judging...fearful; so many words - whispered and snickered, and it hurt. It all hurt. But then... he changed everything, not just in that moment, so far removed from you now, but for the rest of your life, with just a few simple words.

“What?” the shock couldn't be shaken off your face, no matter how hard you tried. You knew you needed to get a grip of your emotions, but that was always easier said than done for a girl who was aptly described her whole life as "wearing her heart on her sleeve".

“Ouch, kid. You’re hurting my feelings. I would have liked to think anyone would be honoured to be personally trained by the Olo’eyktan, but I think I’ve been humbled.”

“No, Jake… of-of course I am, I just think… your efforts are better spent on someone else, someone… who’s worthy of it.”

It was minuscule, the change, but it was there - his eyes, his smile had an edge to them, that wasn't there before. He wasn't happy with your words, and yet, he remained calm and maintained the easy, outgoing, friendly nature of his tone.

“How about you let me decide what my efforts are better spent on, kid?”

That was enough to shut you up, but when he noticed the purple tinge in your cheeks, and the way your gaze dropped in shame, his expression softened. He brought a hand to your face, his thumb grazing your chin so that you'd look up at him, and you hoped the shudder that tried you went unnoticed to him, and to the rest of the clan.

“Here’s the deal. I think part of the reason you are having such a hard time is because you’re here, in this village you’ve never truly been a part of, with so many watchful eyes on you. You feel the pressure of performing well in front of the people, in front of my kids… in front of Spider. You shouldn’t have to do that. So, my solution is simple: you and I go for a few days’ hunt. I will teach you the basics, like I learnt when I first joined the Omaticaya. This way you get to relax a little, get to remove yourself from this place for a while and enjoy the beauty of Pandora, and who knows, kid? Maybe you'll find it's easier to be a part of us than you ever could have imagined. What do you say, mm?"

I'm still a believer but I don't know why I've never been a natural All I do is try, try, try

How could you have said no to such an offer? Even now, with all this hindsight, standing on the edge of a cliff with so much room beneath you to fall, with one foot on the ledge and the other on a banana fruit peel, able to look at the situation from a vantage point you only got with all the months of history you've amassed, even now... you still would say yes. Because no matter the pain and the hurt that now seeped into you like rain through the cracks in the withered, dry ground, soaking into every facet of it... just like the rain, his presence and memory also gave you life, a purpose, a way to go on. And you wouldn't give that up, not while there was still breath in your lungs.

So you said yes. And you left, that same day, on the back on his beautiful ikran, for a long ride that would take you somewhere deep in lands you've never experienced before, away from whispers and prying eyes, away from the doubt and the fear. As you were flying far above the world you've known and loved your whole life, that scared you your whole life, you couldn't help but think of what Jake was doing, and feel grateful for it. You thought about how it only consolidated the way you've always viewed him, as a great warrior, a great father, a great mentor... a great man. You thought about your crush, and how it embarrassed you as a teenager, and how you couldn't look him in the eye whenever he came to the lab and asked you a question, how you couldn't be around him without thinking you're gonna catch fire. That was long ago.

It passed, you thought. The crush, slightly weird and completely unattainable, passed through time. Yet here you stood, bare back, yet another foreign feeling you were trying to get used to, flush against his muscular chest, his palm protectively wrapped around your abdomen, and somehow, you forgot to take in the beauty of this world you’ve never seen from such a high vantage point, forgot to enjoy the fact you were literally flying, the air flowing through your luscious, thick hair… you forgot to breathe.

“You okay there, kid? Tell me if this is overwhelming, we can take a break.”

“N-no. I’m alright…Thank you.”

“Good girl.”

I'm still on that trapeze I'm still trying everything To keep you looking at me

Jake struggled to rationalise how things could have ever ended up this way. How did this happen? A few short months ago, it seemed, his life was... normal, or as normal as life could be in the middle of an ongoing territorial war with a species that was once his own, that he now disowned, that he now despised most days. Still. Normal. The same way it had been since he arrived on Pandora, since he mated with Neytiri, since he had one kid, and then another, and another...

He's known you since you were born. He took pity on you, much like he did Spider, for the cruelness of the Universe, for whatever it took for you to be born on this planet he loved, but knew was inhospitable to those who weren't made for it. Aliens. That was about the extent of your similarities to Spider, though. Unlike him, you were sweet, docile, quiet. You never came out to the village, and the few times you did, you just stood in a corner, on some tree stump, clinging to Neteyam like a little lost puppy.

How did it end up this way? It was wrong, it was all wrong. He knew it in his heart he had to stop, and he's been trying... so hard, it was all so hard. In these months, despite his mind telling him otherwise, urging him to consider all he stood to lose, he still ended up putting his life, everything he's built up on the line for you, doing things that frightened him, ashamed him, embarrassed him, but that he couldn't stop doing because it was you. And you were everything, and the way you made him feel was everything. And it all started that night.

The training was not necessarily any less painful than it had been, but he was right - it was easier. He was a good teacher, you told him. You say you understood now where Neteyam got it from, his penchant for imparting wisdom in a calm, collected and patient manner. He went through all the basics, and after a good few hours, he felt like you were almost... relaxed. By eclipse, you were hunched over food that he was preparing over fire, while practicing your Na'vi - the only thing you felt comfortable enough to call yourself good in, and for the first time since you got your Avatar, you looked... happy. You needed this and he knew it. You didn't even know it for yourself, but he knew. And thinking about it, and him, made you blurt out a secret you held in your soul for years and years, before your mind had enough time to talk you out of it.

“I used to have a crush on you, you know?” You chuckled a little, and Jake was fascinated by the sound, which sounded less like a laugh and more like bells chiming in the wind, and by the purple tinge of your cheeks as you confessed something that he couldn’t believe his ears, that were now pushed back flat in shock.

“You used to have a crush on me?”

His tone amused you even further, it seemed, because you brought a hand to your mouth to stifle the sound Jake felt a sudden desire to continue hearing for the rest of his life.

“Why do you sound so surprised?”

“I don’t know, kid, just… never thought out of everyone in this village, and the labs, people your own age, including my kids and Spider, you’d ever have a crush on an old man like me.” He chuckles his own rugged, awkward laugh and looks over at you, the way he couldn’t stop himself doing, it seemed, to gauge for a reaction that he didn’t know whether he wanted to see.

“I think that was part of the charm, actually.” As you catch yourself talking, you stop and turn, the tinge in your cheeks no longer a tinge but a splash of violent colour as you pat yourself aggressively with both hands, to release some of the heat that pooled unwelcome in your face. “I… I really should not… say things.”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly amused and intrigued at the new development. “So you like ‘em older, huh, kid? Always the shy and quiet ones, ain’t that so?”

You retreat further in yourself at the way he just called you out, unconsciously making yourself smaller by bringing your knees in and wrapping your arms around them, your face buried in between your legs in embarrassment and you let out a small groan. You couldn’t believe this was happening to you. First time in your life you were fully alone with this great man, this man that is a legend, that will have history books written about him even back on Earth, this man that knew so much and achieved enough to last lifetimes and instead of learning from him, instead of doing what you came here to do to begin with, here you are, running your mouth faster than your brain could catch up, making sure you would never be able to look him in the eyes ever again.

“Are you still playing that guitar of yours? You used to drive Neytiri crazy with that thing when you were young.”

“Yeah, I still play, just, I keep it to the rec centre mostly.”

“Why?”

“I just... don’t want to bother anyone.”

You sounded sad, too sad. He saw your eyes swimming with tears and he cringed at the way he was unable to make you feel fully comfortable around him. This shouldn't be this hard.

“Ah, kid… you can play in the village. The Omaticaya love music, they’re called the Flute Clan for cryin’ out loud. They just need time.”

“It’s been 23 years.”

Jake didn’t push anymore, not when you were right. It’s been a long enough time, but some things… some things don’t get better with time. Jake’s always hated that stupid old saying anyway.

“Y’know… I play a little guitar, too.” He scoffs a little as he thinks more about it. “Well, used to play. Probably not any good anymore, but at some point, I used to be.”

Your eyes shoot to him and the glimmer in them makes Jake’s mind come to a standstill - they were so beautiful. You were so beautiful.

“Really? That’s amazing!” And just like that, your previous outburst was swiftly forsaken and forgotten, the new piece of information far too exciting for you to dwell on anything else. “How come I’ve never heard you? You should play for us sometime.”

Jake smiled a sorrowful smile that stopped short of reaching his eyes. “Just… haven’t had the chance.”

There were a lot of reasons Jake hasn’t done so many of the things that used to bring him joy when he was human. But ya win some, ya lose some, that was always his philosophy for life anyway. He had so much to be grateful for in this life, so much more than he ever thought possible for a grunt like him. The Universe has been more than generous in compensating him for a lifetime of resentment and regrets, and so if he had to give certain things up, that he did so without thinking twice about it.

“So how did you learn?”

“My old man taught me, probably the only thing he ever taught me, unless you count how to run a backdoor draw while high off your ass.” Jake lets out a humourless laugh, enjoying the look of confusion plastered all over your face, and the way your tanhì seemed to shine brighter when you ruminated over something in your head. Your nose crinkles a little, as his words register fully in your ears and they twitch, and the humourless laugh quickly evolves in a warm, inward smile.

You were beautiful, he ends up acknowledging yet again, taking in all the mannerisms that somehow escaped him all these years.

“A what?”

Jake chuckles, shaking his head. “Nevermind.”

“Did you not… get along with your dad?”

Jake finds himself, for the first time in years, too many years, thinking about his dad and his life as a young kid back on Earth, and all the shitty memories that came along with that thought, memories he’s tried to repress most of his life. He catches yet another sigh before it escapes him, a habit he’s seemed to have quickly picked up in your presence, as you asked questions most people never did, questions he didn’t want to answer, questions he wanted nothing more than to be asked.

“My dad was a mean ol’ dog, who liked women and booze more than he ever liked Tommy or me. I could never find it in me to care when he died.” That was morbid, he recognises, but it needed to be said. Something about you just makes him want to just… confess things he shouldn’t be feeling, and shouldn’t be saying out loud, and yet here he was, heart thumping and palms sweating almost nervously, and the word vomit didn’t seem like it was anywhere close to over.

“He made mean sloppy joes, though. And he played the guitar like he was born with a six-string in his hands.” There were some good memories. The memory of his dad teaching young squirt Jake Future Days, his old, cigarette-imbued hoarse voice singing the lyrics that still had the power to bring tears to his eyes… that was one of the good ones.

You smiled as he spoke, a warm, inviting smile, that made the breath catch in his lungs and begged him to spill all the secrets that he tried so hard to bury deep inside, and he feels his stomach drop when he realises the feelings you invoked in him, for the first time in his life, were no longer ones he could justify or explain, but ones that demanded to be felt.

The silence was heavy and awkward after that, or so he thought, and he watched you as you ruminated over his words, as you nibbled at the fish he managed to catch while teaching you the basics of fishing. He shouldn't have said it, any of it. What the hell does he think he's doing, going around confessing the depths of his somewhat bitter soul to a kid who knew nothing about life, and who shouldn't have to carry his burdens to begin with. Maybe coming here was a mistake. Maybe being alone with you... was a mistake.

"You should go to sleep, kid. There's a long day ahead of us tomorrow, and the sooner we're done, the sooner your life can go back to normal."

You nodded gently and obliged.

“I think you’re lying.” You say, as you turn your back to him, closing your eyes and preparing yourself to return to your human body, as soon as sleep would find you. “I think you cared. I think you still care. And it’s ok to care. Sometimes… people are horrible and they suck… and we love them anyway. And I think that’s what makes humans special… and good.”

Jake was too stunned to be able to say anything else, as he stared mouth-agape at your back.

“Sleep well, Jake.”

Maybe he did lie. Maybe life will never go back to normal again and the thought... the thought terrified him.

Because I'm a mirrorball I'm a mirrorball I'll show you every version of yourself Tonight

taglist: @yagirlheree @mashiromochi @deepdarktower @tojisleftarm @childofgod-05 @youngpersonaathletebear @cinetrix @hinataashoyos @i-live-in-a-fantasy-daydream @misscaller06 @v1l-ismissing @legendarynoodlebowl @analuw @imjustcal @the-fractured-eye @pandoraontop @sweetirilly @kouyoumarryme @blxkstar @ok-boke @myheartfollower

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koqabear · 2 years

Text

Take It!

✭ Playlist! ✭

Summary:

Choi Beomgyu was rich, spoiled, and couldn’t take no for an answer. Kang Taehyun, however, was the exact opposite. So, what’s one to do when both take an interest in you? It seems like you’ve become the new subject of their rivalry, and neither will accept a loss.

chaebol!Beomgyu,chaebol!Taehyun! x fem!reader

Genre: fluff, angst(questionable), smut

word count: 22K

warnings: mc wears glasses, beomgyu is fucking mean, mc is shy/ easily flustered, constant teasing, and cockblocking, bg thinking with his dick half the time, mc is a coward, mentions food/alcohol

smut warnings: dub-con (in one scene), exhibitionism, fingering, bg is a perv, a ton of kissing, soft dom!tae, hard dom!gyu, sub!mc, threesome, oral, (f&m receiving) handjobs, raw sex, manhandling, multiple orgasms, degradation, praise, mouth fucking, hair pulling, dacryphilia, dumbification, creampie(s), sloppy seconds, overstimulation, marking, aftercare

(lemme know if I should add anything !)

Notes: i don’t know why I’m doubting this fic so much— but the thought of rich taegyu literally plagued my mind.. this was originally supposed to be really short, then I found myself staying up late to write more scenes. Anyways, feedback is always appreciated, I hope you guys enjoy !! <3

In your campus, three mysteries swarmed the minds of those who attended.

One— what was in the library’s closed off area that made it so heavily protected? Two— did the economics and the psychology professor really hook up due to one’s messy divorce?

And lastly, what were Beomgyu’s true intentions with you?

Beomgyu was a young chaebol who was currently studying in preparation to take over his father’s company one day; the said company being shared with his longtime best friend. While he may have insisted that he couldn’t care less about taking over for his father, but the fiery glint in his eyes that appeared at the mention of the other potential candidate said otherwise.

He was young, attractive, born into wealth, and had his whole life planned ahead of him; he was the whole package. So, naturally, Beomgyu often found himself in the spotlight, whether that be because of new rumors that spread, or because of something outrageous he had done.

Which is exactly why he wasn’t fazed when people started calling you Beomgyu’s new plaything.

“Come over tonight,” Beomgyu said, voice monotone, bored even, as he wrote down notes from a website that you showed him earlier.

You looked up, eyes wide as you looked around frantically, already spotting a few of Beomgyu’s fans gossiping amongst themselves, just a few tables away from where you sat. He watched you, eyes scanning as you flushed with embarrassment at his request, pushing back your glasses as you tried to hide the way his words clearly affected you.

It was so interesting, the strange arrangement you two had— granted, it was simply because of a project that you were stuck doing together, but it still managed to pique the interest of Beomgyu’s potential suitors once they realized that Beomgyu hadn’t simply divided the work in half and left you on your own.

You were— well, you. So quiet and reserved that sometimes, some classes would forget that you were there at all. You kept to yourself yet were so sweet and went out of your way to help others— you had the reputation of an angel.

And Beomgyu, he couldn’t be farther away from that image even if he tried. He was reckless, always found at parties with a new eye-candy hanging from his arm, despite the warnings and scoldings of his father to not ruin his reputation. He was ruthless and apathetic, never making any deep connections no matter how hard others tried, and he wasn’t exactly above paying others to get his way either.

So, it couldn’t have been more shocking to others once they realized that Beomgyu was hanging around you more than usual— much to your dismay.

Because as you would make your way to classes, there would be times when you would run into Beomgyu— and he would greet you. The unnecessary attention was driving you mad. You weren’t oblivious to the whispers that would follow your every interaction; he’s using her, they’re probably only doing this to get his fangirls off his back, they’re probably hooking up.

Those particular rumors would never fail to make your heart stop with stress for a second. Hooking up? With Beomgyu? Never! You barely had time to yourself anymore, and any type of messy relationship like that would only get in the way of your studies. And the last thing you needed was to slip up, leaving you to say goodbye to the very scholarship that landed you a spot in the university in the first place.

You knew you were being a prude; mostly because your friends always told you. Wow, you seriously haven’t found anyone? When was the last time you got laid? They would tease you endlessly for your absolute lack of experience in anything, blaming your lack of game for the cause of not having any prior experiences of past relationships to lean back on.

“No, middle school relationships don’t count. You guys couldn’t even hold hands without breaking into a sweat— and we don’t talk about your first kiss,” Chaeyoung would say, her teasing absolutely ruthless even as you begged her to stop. Taehyung would only laugh along, acting as though the ten years of friendship under your belts meant nothing to him.

“What? Why?” You said, voice brisk as you snapped out of your trailing thoughts, eyes lowering back to your laptop screen as you realized Beomgyu had been waiting for a response, eyes sharp and narrowed as he stared you down.

“The project,” he drawled out, as though you weren’t capable of following along. Honestly, it’s more of a mystery to you as to why people think the two of you might be something; have they not seen the way he talks down to you?

Inhaling slowly, you close your eyes for a moment, biting at your lip to keep yourself from saying anything— you don’t want to start anything at the library, you already learned your lesson the last time you tried to snap back a witty remark.

“I won’t have time to meet at all next week, so I want to get as much work over with now,” he explained, uncaring of the way his voice was a little too loud for a library. But you secretly appreciated it nevertheless, knowing that the table a few ways from yours was tuned into his every word.

“You won’t? Why not?” You really couldn’t help the way you prodded into his life, but, as your friends always say, “the worst thing about you is that you never realize when you’re being nosy.”

And, as expected, he gave you a sharp look, your curiosity withering as you realized you were probably overstepping some kind of line with him once more. Ducking your head behind the safety of your laptop screen, you clear your throat awkwardly, attempting to find something to write down in order to distract yourself from his eyes that were seemingly locked on you like a target.

“Be there by five pm. Don’t keep me waiting, either.” He said, leaving you to gape at him as you looked up from your screen, only to see him standing, ready to leave as he spared you one last look.

“What— you can’t be serious—“ but no, he definitely was. At least, that’s what the look in his eyes said, shutting you up with ease as he turned around, leaving you without another word.

Choi Beomgyu himself could count as your university's fourth mystery.

☆♡☆

“I can’t believe you. You’re weak!” Taehyung said, disbelief spread across his face as he watched you pick out an outfit, laying on top of the piles of clothes that you had rejected. “But also, send me pictures of his house.”

Shaking your head, you threw aside the shirt you were debating, landing on Taehyung’s head and successfully cutting off his running imagination.

“Shut up, you know how he is,” you say weakly, turning around and grabbing the top that Taehyung suggested, “He’s so… I don’t know… persuasive?”

“Threatening,” he corrects, shaking his head at the outfit, rummaging through your closet as he looked for something else for you to wear, his voice muffled. “He has money, he has power, he can’t stand it when he doesn’t get his way.”

Turning around, he handed you his next choice, shoving it in your hands the moment you gave him a doubtful look.

“He’s insufferable, that’s what he is,” urging you to put the outfit on, he sat at the edge of your bed, already eyeing your shoe rack for options, “I hate the way he commands you around just because— because—“

“Just because he could buy our whole existence,” you sigh, adjusting the skirt that Taehyung decided to dress you in. It was a very feminine outfit, and you could already feel the anxiety building up at the thought of Beomgyu or his family (hell, even his maids— if he had any… who were you kidding, of course he did.) seeing you in such an outfit. Honestly, you had probably read the text he sent you about a million times now, his address memorized by now (regrettably) and the possibilities of “dress appropriately” already giving you the first three breakdowns of the day.

Dress appropriately? What do you mean? You had messaged him, albeit only because Taehyung had been sick of hearing you freak out and had been the one to force you to message him that.

Context clues. Was the only thing that he had replied.

You could have sworn that Taehyung was about to go with you to personally tear him a new one.

“I mean, true,” Taehyung said, frowning at your words, “But that doesn’t mean that he can still act like an entitled bitch.” Checking his phone for the time, he put the cute platform shoes that he had been eyeing the whole time in one hand, putting the jewelry and accessories that he had chosen in your other hand.

“Rich people,” he said condescendingly, patting your shoulders in reassurance as he led you to the entrance of your shared apartment.

“Rich people,” you agreed, slipping your shoes on before giving him a goodbye hug. “Clean my room for me?”

“Only if you tell me what cologne he uses.”

Scrunching up your face, you give him a judgemental look, only for him to shrug you off defensively.

“What? The guy knows his fragrances, alright?” He says, watching fondly as you laugh at his idiocy. “But I’ll also do it if you keep a lookout for any cute guys.”

Nodding, you slip on your jacket, opening the door, only to look back to him once more. “It’s a deal.”

Closing the door, you hear him yell one last “good luck!” The words sticking to you as you put down Beomgyu’s address into the GPS, only to gawk at the time it would take to get there.

Luck would definitely be needed.

☆♡☆

Aweing at the enormous gates before you, you realize that you could probably get away with asking for compensation on gas.

Because holy shit, why would anyone need this much space? Or rooms? And is there such a thing as too many windows? Because as you walk to the entrance after being permitted to come inside, the valet (valet!!) taking your car for you, you can’t help but be floored at the fact that you could practically see into their whole house.

What is it with rich people and light fixtures, you wonder, unable to take your eyes off from the ceiling that’s decorated with what could possibly be the world’s most intricate chandelier, unaware of the fact that you’re literally staring into their home right now— but hey, not your fault.

You wonder how their doorbell works. It was a bit of a ridiculous thought, but you couldn’t help but let your thoughts wonder on how a doorbell could possibly alert a house of this size of their guest. But thoughts such as those would be saved for another day, because as you continue to stare shamelessly into the entrance windows, you can see a figure coming down the stairs.

Must be Beomgyu, you think, shifting side to side as you become self conscious about your outfit once more, the cool fall air nipping at your skin as you wonder what he might show up in. Finally tearing your eyes away from their windows, you find yourself regressing as your eyes find themselves glued to the floor, much too nervous to be able to accept any cold comments from him at the moment.

“___? You’re here,” You watch the way the light from inside illuminates the rest of the porch, one of the double doors opening to reveal the owner of the voice. But as you look up, confused as to who it might be, you find yourself feeling more self conscious as the man before you stares at you questioningly.

Kang Taehyun, you realize with horror, is dressed in comfortable sweatpants and a loose white shirt, his blonde hair messy and unstyled, while you stand at the doorway dressed to impress. You’ve heard of the fact that the two families practically raised the two boys side by side, but you hadn’t expected to actually see him, much less in such a casual outfit.

How casual was this supposed to be?

“I’m… just here to work on a project with Beomgyu,” you explain, eyes downcast as you try to hide your embarrassment. Were you overdressed? Did he think you were trying too hard? What if he got the wrong idea about you and Beomgyu?

“Ah, right,” He said quietly, running a hand through his hair, a moment passing as you shuffled awkwardly outside. Eyes widening in realization, he steps aside, gesturing for you to come inside frantically.

“Come in, come in, you must be cold,” he says, ushering you inside before closing the door, locking out the cool wind that was picking up. Taking off your shoes, you accept the guest slippers he hands you gratefully— woah, are these brand new? “Can I get you anything? Something to drink, anything?”

You couldn’t help but smile at the difference in the behavior— Taehyun, you heard, wasn’t anything like your stereotypical, cruel and uncaring rich man— like Beomgyu. He always tried to keep a humble attitude, his kind and patient behavior just another reminder of their differences.

“No, I’m alright, thank yo—“

“Taehyun, if you’re done flirting with my guest, I’d like to get some work done.” You didn’t even need a second to think of who that could be, his cold voice and colder presence almost bringing down the room temperature by a couple degrees.

Turning to the huge stairway you had been observing from the outside, you couldn’t help but feel a slight relief as you watched Beomgyu come down in his usual, sleek attire, his cold eyes taking a moment to observe you.

“Interesting,” he mutters, stopping at the bottom of the staircase, raising a brow questioningly as a moment passes by, watching your tense behavior with amusement.

“Well? Are you coming?” You can’t help but flinch at the realization that you’ve been standing at the entrance awkwardly, and with one last smile sent to Taehyun, you follow him up the stairs, holding back a remark on how you couldn’t just prance around his home without his permission; unfortunately, you were his guest.

You almost feel as though Beomgyu is trying to get you lost on purpose, because as you follow him around the endless hallways and corridors, you can’t help but feel like this house is more of a maze. Eventually, you’re led into a room, left in confusion as you take it in.

“My study,” he says, as though having a personal study is a basic necessity. You look at him, and it’s almost as though he can hear your thoughts, taking one look at your face before he scoffs, amused almost, as he gestures for you to take a seat.

“What, did you expect to be taken to my bedroom?” He asks, voice low and teasing as he watches you become flustered once more, your reactions much too entertaining for him as he watches you fumble for your laptop. Shaking your head, you remain silent as you open up your shared document, ready to continue your research.

But you can’t help but shift uncomfortably as time passes, unable to get rid of the feeling of Beomgyu’s eyes on you from time to time. His stare is just so intense and obvious, and you can’t help but fret and wonder if he was staring at you in a good way or a bad way.

“___. Come here.” He says, eyes already on you as you startle, looking up at him to see what he wants. You hum, raising a brow expectantly as you wait for him to elaborate. But, as impatient as he is, he simply rolls his eyes, standing up abruptly as he rounds his desk over to you, planting his laptop beside yours as he shows you his screen.

“I found a good website that could help our research,” he says, towering over you as he scrolls slowly, showing you the contents of the page. Placing a hand on the back of your chair, you try to ignore the feeling of him completely encasing you. You also try to ignore the deep purr of his voice, his quiet words only making you feel more nervous— was this too intimate?

And damn, Taehyung was right— he smelled like heaven.

“___.” You’re snapped out of your wandering thoughts as you look up at Beomgyu, heart beating roughly against your chest as you take in the way his bangs fall over his eyes, long hair tied up in a half up half down, his eyes narrowed and looking down at you in a way that only made you even more anxious.

He leans down, and you can’t help but lean back against your chair, the feeling of his hand on your back only startling you further— being this close to Beomgyu was only making you short circuit. Averting your eyes, you tried to ignore how close his face was to yours, how, if you wanted to, you could probably lean in and connect your lips with his.

“You’re not listening,” he mumbles, watching as you continue to entertain him with the way you try to keep yourself together, shoulders curled up around you as you try to make yourself smaller, “Are you?”

“I am…!” You breathe out, flustered at the way he’s looking at you; it’s mocking, condescending almost, but wow… you simply can’t help but be drawn to him.

“You are?” He echoes, voice mockingly sweet as the hand that was pressed behind you slowly begins to move, traveling across your back, sending shivers down your body as it retracts over your shoulder, slowly making its way up until he’s got you in his hands, tilting your chin up softly, his face filled with amusement as you try to not die of embarrassment.

“Doesn’t seem like it,” he says, and damn, was it just you or was he getting closer? Or, were you getting closer?

“If I didn’t know any better, I would say you were thinking about someone else,” he whispers, voice so soft that if you hadn’t been hooked onto his every word, you would have missed it. It was too much, his breath fanning against your face, the deep rise and fall of your bodies, the way that if he got any closer, you would finally be able to get a taste of him.

You fall silent, unsure of what to do. What if he was messing with you? The thought occurred to you abruptly, body flushing with heat as you remembered the amount of times he would get a new girl just to dump her after he got his fill; and you refused to be next.

But before you could pull away, a knock rang throughout the room, Beomgyu pulling away from you so smoothly that he seemed to be the only one unaffected, his cool composure drastically different from your own.

You almost kissed Choi Beomgyu.

That thought alone was enough to keep you silent, trying your best to keep it together as the door opened, revealing the one person Beomgyu wanted to see last.

“Come down for dinner,” Taehyun said, voice so cold and uncaring, the contrast of when he had spoken to you making you perk up curiously. You look at him, seeing that he has now changed into something more proper, the tension between the two not left unnoticed by you. You glance at Beomgyu, shivering at the cold expression that had overtaken his features. Briefly, he glances at you, having felt your stare, and you can’t help but become embarrassed that you got caught.

“___. Stay for dinner, will you?” Your eyes widened at Beomgyu’s request, Taehyun’s expression matching yours as the two shifted their attention on you, watching as you tried to formulate a response.

“I couldn’t, I wouldn’t want to intrude,” you say softly, looking down as the feeling of their gaze becomes way too much for you. Honestly, you’re surprised someone as sweet as Taehyun could pull this off; he had that cold chaebol stare locked down.

“Nonsense,” Beomgyu says, and you try your best to not let your jaw drop at his words, “You’re our guest. Let us treat you as such.”

It was borderline scary to hear Beomgyu sound so hospitable, so you knew better to refuse his offer as your eyes met his again, his brow raising as he waited for your answer.

“Oh… alright,” you mutter, trying to not flinch at the way he suddenly grabs your hand, pulling you up and linking his arm with yours, leading you to his doorway where Taehyun stands, taking one moment to look at his eyes before he scoffs, heading to the dining room on his own.

“Excellent. Let’s go.” You try to keep your gaze away from Beomgyu, taking this time to look around the endless hallways and rooms once more. Taehyun is a few steps ahead of you, allowing you to take in his tall and broad frame. You let out a soft sound of surprise as Beomgyu pulls you in closer, and you look up at him questioningly, only to see that his eyes have never strayed from the path ahead of him.

What was Beomgyu plotting?

☆♡☆

The dinner table was much too big.

It was a long, rectangular table, and though there were more than enough chairs on each side, only seven of them were currently occupied, Beomgyu and Taehyun’s parents taking four on one end, with you sitting on the other, Beomgyu making you sit next to him, not accepting any excuse you might have prepared. Much to his dismay, Taehyun had sat down across from you two.

You expected the dinner to be tense and for Beomgyu’s parents to be irritated that someone who wasn’t of high status was currently in their home, but you were surprised to find yourself talking to the adults for half the time. You spoke of your major, of your family, and of your plans for the future.

“So you aren’t with Beomgyu, honey?” Taehyun’s mother had asked, catching all three of you off guard as you smiled awkwardly, ignoring the looks that the two sons were throwing at their parents.

“Mom, you can’t just ask that—“ Taehyun said, embarrassed at the straightforwardness of his mother. Shaking your head, you laughed, reassuring the man across from you.

“It’s alright,” you reassured, looking back to the other end of the table as you met Mrs. Kang’s kind eyes— she clearly didn’t mean anything by it. “We’re not together, I just came to work on a project with him.”

She nodded, letting out a small “ah,” at your words, eyeing Beomgyu with a teasing glint as she continued. “It’s just, this is the first time I’ve seen him invite a girl to stay for dinner— usually they don’t stay for long.”

“Oh please, you’ll scare her off,” Beomgyu’s mother said, the two women laughing as they continued to poke fun at the situation, seemingly aware of Beomgyu’s reputation.

You could tell that she saw something you didn’t, because as Beomgyu cleared his throat, shifting in his seat as you looked at him curiously, you couldn’t help but notice the hesitation in his response.

“That’s because there’s nothing going on. She’s a guest, nothing more.” He says, taking a drink of water to deflect your burning stare.

“Hmm, alright. Honey, how was work today?” Mrs. Kang was quick to drop the subject, turning instead to the man seated next to her, the quiet man that had yet to say anything other than the greeting he said when he first saw you opening up immediately, turning to her as well as they shared the details of their day.

Although the conversation was cut off suddenly, you couldn’t bring it in yourself to care as the two couples conversed and told the others about their day, talking and joking carelessly as if they were teenagers. It took a brief moment before you realized what they were actually doing— they were giving the three of you space to talk privately.

But you didn’t talk. You couldn’t find it in yourself to utter a single word as you felt the unspoken tension between the two men return. Beomgyu wouldn’t bother keeping up an interesting conversation with you, and you were highly doubtful that Taehyun was very talkative himself.

So you remained silent instead, looking down at your plate with boredom as you began to think of things to tweak on your project instead.

Just as you were about to share an idea with Beomgyu, you stopped mid bite as the feeling of Beomgyu’s hand brushing against the skin of your thighs, immediately looking at him, only to see him continue to eat, unaware of your burning stare.

“___, where do you work?” You were caught off guard by Taehyun’s sudden question, forgetting about Beomgyu’s lingering touch as you finally allowed yourself to participate in a new conversation.

“Ah, I work at Jin’s, the diner just a couple blocks from the campus,” you said, watching as his eyes lit up, the gracious demeanor that had greeted you at the entrance returning once more.

“That makes sense! My friends and I go there all the time, I thought I recognized you from somewhere,” he says, before adding in, “that, and the fact that we also have a class together.”

You nodded, sending him a smile as you asked, “yeah, how’s your project going so far?”

Listening to him go on about how useless his partner was, you laugh along to his story and can’t help but get enraptured by his charisma. He’s so easy to talk to, unlike the black hole of happiness that sat beside you, quiet as ever as he continued to eat. You surprised yourself with how easily you got along with Taehyun, before remembering that he hadn’t let his status and power go to his head, allowing him to be more approachable.

It was almost as Beomgyu wasn’t even there— almost. Because as Taehyun told you about his thoughts on the campus mysteries— apparently, there was more to the second mystery than you thought— you couldn’t help but pause as the fluttering touch on the hem of your skirt returned.

Heart pounding, you look beside you to find Beomgyu already staring back, his fingers toying with the hem of your skirt, his eyes dark and challenging as you quickly looked away, glancing back at the other end of the table in embarrassment— only to find them talking cheerfully, their conversation so closed off that you wondered if they forgot you were here as well.

Looking back at Taehyun, you nod at his story, laughing along as you place a shaking hand over Beomgyu’s in a weak attempt to stop him, which only makes his touch on your skin more prominent as you press his hand down.

You were practically shaking. What was wrong with you! His whole family— and Taehyun’s— was right here, yet… you were hesitating to pull his hand off of you.

He raised a brow, looking at you curiously as he waited for your next move. Slowly, his fingertips traced lines along your skin, the slight pressure of his nails leaving you a flustered mess.

You gulped— what was he thinking? There was no way he would go any further, right? Plus, as much as you hated to admit, his touch was slowly becoming more and more welcomed. Yet, just as you were about to gather the courage to pull his hand away, you knock your glass of water over, letting out a small gasp as the water spills over your lap.

“Oh no, I’m so sorry!” You say, reaching for a napkin and immediately going to wipe down the table. Taehyun only reassures you, his kind smile and soft voice managing to calm you down, the embarrassment of your actions leaving you to frantically clean up your area.

“Tsk. What a mess.” The used napkins are left beside you in a sulking pile, and you can’t help but tense at the reminder that the water had spilled all over your lap— the reminder being the way Beomgyu was currently helping you clean up.

Gulping, you watch tensely as he pats down your skirt, the napkin in his hands doing nothing to provide a barrier from the warmth of his skin as the paper absorbs the water. Your breathing is shaky as he slowly pats down your thighs, your skirt having ridden up and exposed more of your skin. Looking up, you glance at his parents as a reflex, only to see them already back to their conversation after having reassured you that it was nothing to worry about.

The water had trickled down all over your skin and in between your thighs, but Beomgyu only ignored those parts as he went back to eating, eager to get the attention of the other pesky person off of him. Your eyes met with Taehyuns, a sheepish smile on your face as you took in the way he stared at you, lips parted slightly before you apologized once more, snapping out of his thoughts as he reassured you once more.

“Seriously, it’s no big deal,” he said, a kind smile on his face as the two of you resumed your conversation. You tried to ignore the remaining moisture on your thighs, knowing that it would be extremely awkward to go ahead and wipe in between your legs in front of them, left to shift uncomfortably in your seat as your thighs rubbed together.

But as the maids bring out the next course, leaving you gaping in awe at the thought of someone eating like this all the time, you realize that you weren’t the only one who was bothered by the remaining water. Because as you stutter mid comment on how delicious the food looks, you can’t help but let the words fall dead on your tongue as Beomgyu’s hand sneaks in, gently prodding your legs apart— and you, in your dumbfounded state, allow him to.

The napkin in his hands is ticklish and leaves a feather-like touch as he wipes down your skin. Taehyun is too busy eating to notice the way you’re staring at your food like an idiot, eyes widened in panic as you stiffen, unsure what to do.

Should you… stop him? You can’t help but debate that thought for a second, part of you grateful of the fact that he really did dry you. But the other part is currently panicking at the way the napkin has been discarded by now, replaced by his hand as he slowly runs his fingers up and down your inner thigh, the feeling already too much for someone like you.

This whole day, Beomgyu has been driving you crazy. In the library, in the study, hell, even here! His teasing is constant, yet he always stops right before he can do anything incriminating— anything that would change the way you see each other.

Which leaves you to wonder; How far is Beomgyu willing to go? Because as you slowly pick up your utensils, you can’t help the way you relax at his touch, the neediness going to your head and allowing you to go along with whatever he tries to do— you doubt he’ll really do anything.

Beomgyu glances at you, and truly, it’s almost as if he can read your thoughts; because what started off as simple teasing has turned into a challenge, and Beomgyu is not one to back down.

He’s abandoned his spot in your inner thighs. Now, he’s found a much better purchase in the apex of your thighs, his index finger taking its time to run over your clothed slit. Choking on your food, you wave off Taehyun’s worried questioning, reassuring him before you throw Beomgyu a panicked glance— he simply shrugs.

You think that if either of the two strained their ears, they would be able to hear your heart pounding against your chest. You’re nervous, shaky even, as you try to remain cool, trying your best to converse with Taehyun as you realize that wow, this feels really good.

Something about Taehyun, kind, handsome, welcoming, talking to you eagerly while Beomgyu sat next to you, hand hidden beneath the tablecloth and playing with you like he knew what was best for you, drove you absolutely crazy.

God, you really were a total prude. You realized, biting down on your lip as you realized with shame just how turned on you were. Beomgyu had yet to do anything to you, yet you were driven crazy by a few simple touches— which is exactly why you couldn’t help the way your breath hitched at the feeling of his finger circling slowly on your clit, the cloth of your panties beginning to stick uncomfortably to you as he continued his ministrations, your eyes widening as he began to teasingly push against your entrance.

You might just go insane. It was so overwhelming, yet it wasn’t enough, the way that Beomgyu stimulated you with ease, yet refused to go further. The barrier between the two of you drove you mad, and before you could stop and think over what you were doing, you reached down to grab at his wrist, stopping all of his movement.

He looked at you, waiting for your next move, eyes darkening as he inhaled slowly, trying to remain unfazed as you pushed your hand against your pussy, grinding down on him as you guided him to push your panties to the side— a switch had been flipped between the two of you, and there was no going back.

Beomgyu’s fingers were long and slender, his movements confident and experienced as he pushed inside, jaw clenching as he took in just how tight you were. Taking a sip of your now refilled water, you tried to choke down the sounds that were fighting to escape from your lips, the foreign feeling of someone else’s hands on you making you dizzy.

You waited patiently for him to do something, anything, your thighs shaking with need the longer he waited, your hips grinding down on him subconsciously as the need in your stomach grew even more. Yet just as you were about to gather the courage to look at him, you looked to the end of the table, watching as Beomgyu and Taehyun’s parents stood up, making their way to where the three of you sat.

Stopping behind Taehyun, you waited expectantly for Beomgyu to pull out of you, only to realize with horror that Beomgyu wasn’t planning to. You were beyond ashamed as you flashed them all a small smile, watching as they adjusted their outfits before turning to you.

“We have a business meeting to attend, so we’re going to be leaving early,” Beomgyu’s mother said, directing her words to all three of you as her husband stood next to her, nodding silently. “It was a pleasure meeting you, ___. Feel free to come back to visit,” she said, and you nodded, bowing gratefully at her words.

“Thank you, it was a pleasure meeting you as well. Thank you for having me,” you meekly reply, afraid that if you make a wrong move, they’ll find out just what the two of you are currently up to. You watch stiffly as they say goodbye to their sons, telling them teasingly to behave before they’re off, chatting eagerly amongst themselves as they don’t bother glancing back at the three of you again.

It was silent— and so, so awkward. Maybe it was just you, but you’re sure that if you weren’t careful, you could probably choke on the tension in the room. Your hands were shaky as you reached for your water once more, a thick wave of embarrassment washing over you as you took in the reality of the situation; that being, Beomgyu’s warm hand that was still nestled comfortably between your thighs.

And as the neediness in your stomach cooled down, you realized with a heavy dread what you had done. Despite your usual overthinking and worrying, you had completely given in to the temptation that was Beomgyu, and you couldn’t be more disappointed in yourself if you tried. Carefully, you reached down to grasp Beomgyu’s wrist once more, trying to not pay attention to the way he glanced at you curiously.

“I should get going,” you say, pulling his hand away harshly as you try to not wince at the suddenness. The two men turn to you, watching as you shyly stand before them, avoiding their gazes as if one look could give away everything you were thinking about.

“It’s getting late, and I’ve got a busy day tomorrow.” Sending Beomgyu a polite smile, you fidget nervously as you ask, “Could I go back to your study to get my bag?”

“I’ll take you there,” he says, and before you can protest, he’s standing up, not bothering to spare a glance to Taehyun before he’s walking you back to the staircase, trailing behind you without another word.

Your heart is practically pounding out of your chest as you walk up the stairs, the feeling of Beomgyu’s eyes still on you making you flush hotly with embarrassment. He wasn’t even trying to hide it; you could feel him blatantly trying to look up your skirt as you walked, unsure of what to do as you glanced back at him, only to be sent a coy smile in return.

You’re practically running back to the study as you finally reach the second floor, uncaring of whether or not you seem rude as you get to the room before him, opening the door and packing your things as quickly as you can. You’re struggling to make room for your laptop in your bag as you see Beomgyu appear in the doorway out of the corner of your eye, gulping nervously as his silent stare is caught on you once more.

“Why are you in such a hurry?” He asks, taking slow steps towards you as he watches you fumble with your bag. You don’t respond, finding much more interest in the zipper of your bag as you try to get it to close properly.

He slams his hand on the table, and you’re flinching at the sound as you feel him tower over you, placing his hand on the chair that stood between you and the man that set your nerves alight. You can’t bring yourself to look up as you feel him lean in closer, his breath practically fanning on your cheek as you feel him exhale in amusement.

“Thought you might’ve wanted to keep me company,” he says, his voice soft and alluring as he places a hand on top of yours, successfully stopping your fidgeting as you freeze entirely.

“It’s getting late, I should really go,” you say, unsure of what else to say as Beomgyu only takes your word with a grain of salt.

“It is,” he says, his voice soft and sultry against your ear, “I wouldn’t want you going home at such a dangerous hour.”

You’re not given much time to react before you’re being pulled, the small obstacle between you two no more as you find yourself practically sitting on the desk, your eyes wide as Beomgyu quickly slots himself between your legs, his arms trapping you in as he pouts at you mockingly.

“You’ll stay a little longer, right?” He says, watching the way you gulp nervously under his strong gaze, the welcoming scent of his cologne enticing you to give in and become another girl on his roster.

“I have to go,” you say, pushing weakly at his chest, surprised when he lets you pull away from him and reach for your bag frantically. He doesn’t bother following you as you scamper out of his study, your head bowed down and the slippers you were given scuffing against the tiles of the cold home as you’re hurrying your way back to the main entrance. You spot Taehyun on your way there, but all you can do is hurry your footsteps and duck your head further in embarrassment as you try to ignore the way he seems ready to stop you in your tracks.

Beomgyu watches from his window as you sheepishly ask the valet for your car, fidgeting nervously and pacing back and forth as you wait patiently. You’re like a deer in headlights, doe eyes wide and panicked and your legs shaky as you thank the man, climbing in your car clumsily and driving off faster than he expected you to.

You were cute, Beomgyu decided, pausing for a second before also deciding that he didn’t mind playing along to get what he wanted.

☆♡☆

“—I’m so fucked up, like, who does that? His parents were right there!” You’re practically falling apart at the seams as you recite your evening to Taehyung, clutching a pillow tightly against your chest as you try to not look at Taehyung’s reaction from his seat on the couch. It was like word vomit, the story practically escaping you the moment you walked back into your shared apartment, Taehyung’s jaw dropping further and further the more you told him.

“I didn’t think you had it in you,” he breathes out, amazed at your story as he stares at you incredulously, his comment only making you writhe around the couch and whine in embarrassment.

“I don’t, that’s the thing!” You cry out, placing your hands on your face as you feel your skin heating up, “He’s so— I don’t know, He’s just straight up insane, but I can’t help but follow along like an idiot! Why? What’s wrong with me?”

“You got it bad,” Taehyung says matter of factly, his simple sentence making you feel as though a weight dropped on your chest. You turn to him, nervous as you let his words linger in your mind.

“Do not.” You deny, turning back to look at your ceiling, ignoring the way Taehyung only scoffs and rolls his eyes at your claims. The silence, you find, is more unbearable than Taehyung grilling you for details about your experience. You find yourself restless, unable to be too sure of your words as you rethink every interaction that you had with him tonight.

“The valet guy was cute.”

“Tell me more.”

You’re desperate to get your thoughts away from Beomgyu.

☆♡☆

Your thoughts are filled with nothing but Beomgyu.

It’s official— you’ve gone insane. It seems your little inexperienced brain couldn’t handle the feeling of another’s hand shoved in between your legs, because you simply have yet to have a moment where your thoughts aren’t filled with that dreadful day. To make things worse—or better, honestly— Beomgyu also has yet to come up to you again. Just like he promised, he was too busy to even look in your direction; or so, you’d like to think.

There’s no reason for you to care, but what if that was it? What if that night at his home had been enough of a taste for Beomgyu, and he had now decided that he’s had his fill? Was he just tossing you aside now? Did he find you pathetic?

It really shouldn’t be bothering you that much; but it did. It did, and it absolutely tore you apart that it could itch at you that much. For crying out loud, what did you expect? Choi Beomgyu was the last person you should have taken interest in, but sometimes you even found yourself thinking about the expensive cologne that you swore still lingered around you.

“___, I didn’t expect to see you here,” you’re slow to look up as the voice calls out to you, lost in thought as it takes you a moment to recognize the second person that you’d rather not confront at the moment; Kang Taehyun. Throughout Beomgyu’s absence, Taehyun had also seemed to take a liking to you, beginning to approach you more and more often during and after classes. You could already hear the rumors that would bubble up at your sudden interactions, but you couldn’t really bring yourself to care much this time.

“Hey,” you smile weakly, tired as you glance back down at the stubborn stain you’ve been trying to get off for the past minute. This was quite honestly the last place you’d rather meet either of the men in, but Taehyun did say that he came to this diner a lot. “Is there anything I can get you?”

“Ah, just a chocolate milkshake, for now,” he says, watching as you nod before you’re pacing around behind the counter, going back and forth as you begin to make it. Taehyun’s gaze is far more different than Beomgyu’s; it’s less intense, and you don’t feel like you’re in danger everytime you feel his eyes on you. And as you slid the glass towards him, you couldn’t help but feel a bit more welcomed by his presence as he spoke.

“You seem a bit stressed, is everything alright?” He asks, taking a sip from his drink before he continues, “Beomgyu isn’t bothering you, is he?”

“No no, nothing like that,” you say, quick to deny his claims. The last thing you needed was more tension between the two. “Honestly, I haven’t even seen him recently.”

“Hmm, right,” Taehyun hums, moving his straw about absentmindedly as he stirs the whipped cream, “He should be in New York right about now.”

“New York? Really?” You say, pausing your cleaning as you imagine the sight, “What’s he doing all the way over there?”

It’s too late for you to retract and apologize for asking too many questions, but as you watch Taehyun lean on the counter, you’re pleasantly surprised to find that he doesn’t mind answering you.

“He insisted on going with our fathers to a meeting,” He says, rolling his eyes at the thought, “Insisting he has to do it because he’ll be taking over the company soon.”

Sometimes you forget that the two are millionaires— well, mostly Taehyun, but still— but it’s times like these where you can’t help but feel like being partnered with Beomgyu is just a continuous slap in the face. Here you are, working a horrible shift at a random diner in Korea, all whilst your partner is miles away and probably enjoying the night view of a busy city. Life truly is unfair.

“Hmm, of course,” you say, unable to hide the fact that you cannot relate to anything Taehyun is saying, “Must suck that you didn’t go, huh?”

“Oh no, not at all,” he’s quick to shut down your claims, surprising you as he shakes his head at the very thought. “I wouldn’t mind taking over for the company, but I couldn’t care less about it, honestly. I actually have a career I want to pursue, unlike Beomgyu.”

“Really?” You say, unable to hold back your surprise at his words. A quick glance around the diner, and another glance at the clock is all you need before you’re leaning in as well, curious to hear more about Taehyun. “And what is that?”

It’s odd how quickly you’re drawn to Taehyun— but then again, he’s just so charming and charismatic as he tells you about how he wishes to work at his dream law firm, and how he wishes to separate himself as someone independent, and not just someone who’s relying on daddy’s money.

“My father isn’t a bad person by any means,” he’s quick to correct himself as glances back up at you, sending you a sheepish smile as he says so. But as he looks back at his half-drunk milkshake, you can’t help but notice the way his eyes harden into something else as he continues.

“But seeing Beomgyu parade around as if he’s untouchable, it just annoys me.” He’s running his fingers along the glass, drawing shapes with the precipitation of the cool drink, “if it weren’t for his father’s money, he wouldn’t be able to get away with half the shit he does.”

He pauses, looking back up at you with an apologetic smile as he adds, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to dump that on you.”

“No, I get where you’re coming from,” you say, surprised with yourself as you finally admit those words out loud, “He’s definitely a bit hard to handle.”

And for the rest of the night, you’re ashamed to admit that you and Taehyun bonded over your strange experiences with the boy, talking until you no longer needed that common factor to keep the conversation going. You talked until you glanced up at the clock once more, surprised to find that it was time for you to clock out already.

“I gotta go,” you said, sending him an apologetic smile before saying your goodbyes. You were quick to clock out, gathering all your things before you went back up front, ready to leave when you were left surprised at what you saw. You had expected Taehyun to be gone by now, but he was still there, scrolling through his phone absentmindedly as he fiddled with the straw of his empty drink. You pause in your steps, unsure of what to do as he looks up, sending you a smile as you see him tapping at the table nervously.

“Sorry, it’s just, it’s been nice talking,” he says, biting at his lips as he takes in the way you fight back a smile, “I was wondering if you wanted to hang out for a bit longer?”

You’re not sure why, but it’s easier to be bolder around Taehyun; maybe it’s because you actually get an option with him. But you can’t help the way curiosity tugs at you, bringing you closer to him as you take in all his nervous habits.

“Sure, we could go to my place,” you pause, before remembering that Taehyung would probably be there; you didn’t really need him to pry at the poor boy before you, “Or actually, is it alright if we go to yours? My roommate has someone over tonight.”

It’s a small lie, but it’s worth it as you see Taehyun beam brightly at you, leading him to your car as the two of you continue to talk as if you had been friends for years, allowing him to drive as you let him take you to his home. You expected things to slow down during the ride to his house and remain awkward, but you were surprised to find that Taehyun was very good at keeping a conversation going. You spoke of your interests and hobbies, quickly finding out that the two of you had the same taste in music.

It’s scary how magnetic the boy before you is, because as you’re entering the same mansion as last time, much to your surprise, you can’t help but feel intrigued at how much warmer the home has become with him next to you. Your cheeks sting from smiling and you feel light as you walk up the stairs, slightly surprised when you’re led to his own room instead of another unnecessary room.

“You have a room of your own here?” You say, surprised to find that it wasn’t just another guest room. He’s visibly caught off guard by your words, and you can’t help but scold yourself at the fact that you let your mouth run by itself once more.

“Well, I practically grew up here, and our family mostly spends their time here as well,” he says, and you can’t help but feel slightly alienated at his words— again, how many rooms do they have?

“Do you want some clothes to change into?” Taehyun asks, noticing the way you had been fidgeting uncomfortably, fiddling with your clothes mindlessly as it finally clicked in his head that you were still in your work clothes. You’re quick to deny him, but it’s easy to make you give in as he insists, and it isn’t long before he’s showing you to his bathroom (because obviously, he would have a personal bathroom) leaving you alone as you’re given a moment to change.

It’s a simple pair of sweatpants and a white shirt, similar to the attire you saw him in the first time you visited. You put it on, the clothes loose in some places, but fitting nicely overall. You take a second to observe yourself in the mirror, feeling yourself heat up at how oddly intimate this was. You were hesitant to come out, nervous to see what he would think when he saw you.

“There’s this drama that I’ve been wanting to watch for a while now,” he says, glancing at where you stood at the doorway. He made no comments about how you looked, patting the spot next to him softly as he beckoned you to sit next to him. It was oddly reassuring, knowing that you wouldn’t have to walk on eggshells around him— slowly, you made your way to his bed, sitting down as you left a bit of space between the two of you.

“Hometown Cha Cha Cha?” You said, reading the title out loud as you briefly skimmed the description. “I didn’t think you’d watch kdramas.”

“Well, it was my mother who always watched them,” he says, leaning back against his bed frame as he sends you a sheepish smile, “she just seemed to pass on the habit.”

It’s endearing, the way Taehyun looks a bit self conscious as he hovers over the play button, unsure of whether or not you might find his tastes in shows embarrassing.

“I heard that it’s really good,” you say, allowing yourself to lay back against the pillows as you begin to get comfortable, “play it.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see the way Taehyun smiles to himself, the two of you going silent as the show begins to play.

☆♡☆

“Oh my god, this is so embarrassing, I can’t watch,” you say, covering your eyes as you sink into the fortress of pillows that surrounds you. Taehyun only laughs, trying to pry your hands away from your face as you whine, shaking your head no as he insists.

“I would literally die if I did that,” you say, watching as the main character is shown drunk and out of control, blatantly embarrassing herself in front of her love interest, “I would rather forget everything than remember that I acted like that.”

“Personally, I would love to see that,” he says, leaning towards you as he looks down at where you lay, “In fact, can I get you something to drink?”

“Shut up,” you laugh, pushing his face away as he chuckles at your reaction. It goes silent, the two of you too busy watching the show to continue teasing each other. Out of the corner of your eye, you find yourself much closer to Taehyun than you had been when you started— yet you can’t bring yourself to care as you take in his presence, enjoying the subtle scent of his cologne as your thoughts begin to stray once more.

Taehyun was so sweet. He was warm and charming, and you couldn’t help but find yourself wishing that you could get even closer to him as time passed, glancing at him from time to time as you took in the way he looked as he focused on the show, his side profile just as gorgeous as the rest of him.

“Do I have something on my face?” He doesn’t even bother looking away from the tv as he says those words, startling you as you try to think of an excuse to play it off. But before you can say anything, he’s turning to you, resting his face in the palm of his hand as he looks at you teasingly— you can’t help but be reminded of Beomgyu at this moment.

Oh god, you think to yourself, lips parted as you find yourself unable to say anything, helpless to the way he’s leaning closer, to the way his other hand travels to find itself on your waist, allowing him to overtake your senses as you feel his breath fan on your skin.

Not him too.

You’re not sure what to do, and you’re sure as hell not sure of what will come next as you let yourself give in, weak to his charms as his lips land on yours, the show long forgotten as you begin to sink into the mattress below you. He’s hovering over you, the kiss slow and sweet as you feel his hands begin to wander, your own finding purchase on his shoulders as you grip onto him tightly, too afraid to pull away and face what happens next.

He’s addicting, and you find yourself unable to pull away for even a second, the kiss messy and needy as you feel him straddle you, his thigh clumsily prying at your legs before he’s slotted it between you, his hands cupping your face as he hovers over you eagerly.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty,” he says, whispering the words against your lips as you feel your stomach come alive with butterflies, smiling shyly at the compliment as you feel him trial kisses down the column of your neck.

“I’m sorry this is so sudden, but I just… I couldn’t hold myself back.” You can feel the way his hand lingers at the hem of your— his— shirt, playing with the fabric as you lace your hands in his hair. “You just looked so good in my clothes, it was driving me crazy.”

“Was this your plan all along?” You joke, sighing at the feeling of his warm hand reaching under the pesky shirt to hold your waist. He’s quick to pull away at that, eyes wide as he looks at you, practically glowing as the light of the tv shines behind him.

“No— sorry, did it feel that way?” He looks genuine as he apologizes, worried that he may have overstepped a line as he pulls away from you. It’s brief, though, because before you can think twice, you’re pulling him back in, feeling him groan softly against your lips as he lets himself melt against you.

“I was joking,” you clarify, breathless as you feel him shift, his thigh pressing up against you as you gasp at the feeling, allowing Taehyun to take this chance to deepen the kiss. The two of you are desperate and shameless as you let your hands wander, the feeling of his lingering touches leaving a hot trail on your skin. You’re practically suffocating as you’re encased beneath him, the feeling leaving you dizzy and weak to him.

Your hands find his shoulders as you’re pushing him away, the two of you sitting up and taking a moment to catch your breath. His lips are swollen and red as he looks at you, but before he can get another word out, you’re quickly climbing on his lap as you straddle him, taking his head in your hands as he looks up at you.

“You look so good like this,” he says, his hands finding themselves on the small of your back as they itch to venture further down. You hum, smiling at his words as you bring him in for another slow kiss— then another, and another, before the two decide that it’s no longer enough, that you’d rather have more.

You’re not sure where this confidence is coming from, but you can’t allow yourself to stop in fear of crashing down from this high. Yet, as you sit back and watch Taehyun take his shirt off, you can’t help but feel yourself become unsure as you take a second to observe him— unfortunately for you, he’s quick to notice.

“Are you sure about this?” He says, pausing in his touches as he watches you crash down from your wave; you’re flustered, taking in the way his toned skin practically begs to be touched. You sit there, unsure of what to say as his hands remain at your waist, rubbing soothing circles on your skin as he waits for you to say something.

“It’s just— I haven’t done anything like this in a while,” it’s beyond embarrassing to admit, and you can feel your body heating up as you avoid his gaze, looking away and back to the show that was still playing in the background. Your nerves are on fire as you wait for him to say something, inhaling sharply as he cups your cheek, forcing you to look back at him as he sends you a reassuring smile.

“It’s okay, we don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for,” he says, allowing you to take a moment to decide for yourself.

“But you look so good,” you pout, shamelessly checking him out as you feel your hands find their way to his shoulders, letting yourself run one down his chest, taking in the way he shivers at your touch.

“Then I’ll be gentle,” he says, leaning in to give you a soft peck. You’re quick to chase after his lips, ready to throw caution to the wind as he asks, “Are you sure?”

And yes, you are. If it’s Taehyun, then you’re more than sure. He’s been nothing but kind and patient with you, and you can’t help the way you’re completely drawn to him. You nod, whispering your confirmation against his lips, and that’s all he needs before he’s tugging at the hem of your shirt, urging you to take off the clothing as well.

You’re pulling away as you’re beginning to tug the shirt over your head, but before you can do so, a rough knock makes you pull away from him faster than the speed of light. Taehyun, you notice, is beyond annoyed as he does nothing, the glare that he sends the door before him practically deadly as another knock follows shortly.

He sends you an apologetic glance before he’s rummaging around the bed for his shirt, laughing softly as you sheepishly hand it to him, your eyes already avoiding his own as you try to remain calm. Yet before he even stands up, he’s grabbing the back of your neck, a soft sound of surprise leaving you as he quickly pulls you in for a last kiss, the feeling of your hands grabbing at his already wrinkled shirt making him smile against your lips.

“Fucking asshole…” he grumbles, rolling his eyes as another harsh knock interrupts your moment. It’s then, when you realize with horror, just who is outside Taehyun’s door.

You watch nervously from the safety of his blankets as Taehyun opens the door, barely allowing himself or the rest of the room to be seen as he’s standing in the small crack, the opening blocked by his body as he leans against the doorway casually.

“What do you want.” His voice is back to the cold and commanding tone that never fails to set your fight or flight response alight. Taehyun’s voice is octaves lower, and you’re surprised to find yourself enjoying it more than you should.

“I’m trying to sleep, and you’re disturbing me. My trip was very exhausting, you know.” Beomgyu is quick and to the point as he speaks, attempting to glance behind Taehyun to see who else might be in the room. Taehyun only moves, blocking his sight as the thought of Beomgyu seeing you and possibly trying to start something irks him. Beomgyu raises a brow at the other’s behavior, scoffing at his actions as he watches the way Taehyun prickles at his every move.

“What’re you hiding in there,” he says, feeling his curiosity mix in with his annoyance as the man before him is quick to shut him down, glaring at him as he tells him to leave. But then again, Beomgyu loves a good challenge.

It’s so sudden, and all you can see from where you sit on the bed is the way Beomgyu grabs onto the door, pushing it open as he peeks in, eyes apathetic until they land on you.

“___.” He says, and you can’t help the way your body shivers at the way your name rolls off his tongue like honey, a perfect trap as you look up at him with your panicked eyes. Even as Taehyun tells him to leave, he can’t take his eyes off you, taking in the way you’ve seemed to make yourself comfortable in Taehyun’s clothes, in Taehyun’s bed.

There’s nothing truly compromising about your position, but you can’t help but feel self conscious at the way he stares at you, the air thickened with tension as Taehyun stands to the side, jaw clenched as he waits for Beomgyu’s stubbornness to dry out.

“Seems you’ve made yourself quite at home,” his voice is icy and mean as he directs his jabs at you, watching the way your wide eyes silently plead at him to not say anything that might relate to the things he did to you— the things you allowed him to do. To your relief, nothing else is said as he turns to Taehyun, his face empty of anything that could give away how he felt.

The two of them share a look, and unbeknownst to you, they silently acknowledge the fact that there’s a new interest that has hooked them both; you. And with one last glance at you, Beomgyu returns to his room, his jaw ticking with anger as his thoughts are filled with the way you seemed so comfortable in Taehyun’s bed— the way that Taehyun had gained an advantage to your heart.

But Beomgyu wasn’t going to lose— he was sure of that.

☆♡☆

“You! Coward! Why! Are! You! Here! Then!” You’re practically on the verge of losing your voice as Taehyung’s every word is punctuated with a smack of a pillow, left cornered on the couch as he traps you in with his body. Your pleas fall on deaf ears as he continues to scold you, the memory of Taehyung’s face after you had told him what had happened enough to let you know that you hit a nerve.

To your pleasant surprise, the assault weapon is tossed to the side as Taehyung hovers over you, squishing your cheeks together as he glares at you.

“You have,” he says, forehead touching against your as he lets all his frustrations out, “Not one, but two— two!! Hot rich men after you, and you mean to tell me you chicken out both times?!”

“I know!” You say, weakly defending yourself as you’re pushing Taehyung off of you, glaring back at him as you grab onto the discarded pillow, hugging it tightly as you speak.

“But first off, Beomgyu is an asshole,” you say, reminding him that neither of you particularly like the boy, “And Taehyun… Taehyun…”

“Exactly.” Taehyung says, cutting you off as he ignores your glare, “No excuses. He was fine and you wanted him.”

“But Beomgyu, and like, probably the rest of his family, was right there!”

“Didn’t stop you last time!”

The two of you immediately go silent at his words, your eyes wide in shock as you stare at him, jaw to the floor as he stares back, as equally floored as you are.

“That was low.”

“I know. But I have a point.”

“You do…” you sigh, leaning back on the couch as you throw your head back, staring at the ceiling as you try to forget your embarrassing memory. Nothing happened; you couldn’t really bring yourself to do anything as you two were left in a tense silence.

You tried to wait it out— you really did— but you couldn’t help the way your thoughts were brought back to Beomgyu each time, wondering just where his room was that had him being able to listen to the two of you that clearly. (Not that the two of you were even that loud… right?) But the guilt of having him on the back of your mind while you and Taehyun tried your best to go back to normal was too much for you, and before you knew it, you were saying goodbye to him.

It felt awful trying to reassure him that he had done nothing wrong, but you weren’t sure how to explain to him the real reason why you just couldn’t stick around longer. And even as you thought back to that moment, you could still feel the butterflies that swarmed your stomach at the way he seemed so shy as he asked you to stay a bit longer.

“___. Look at me.” If it weren’t for Taehyung’s change in tone, you wouldn’t have bothered moving an inch from the couch. But you complied, curious to what your friend would say as you raised your head, slowly sitting up and meeting his eyes as you waited for him to continue.

“You are going to go up to Taehyun the first chance you get,” he says, taking your hand as you gave him an unconvinced look, “And you are going to ask him out on a date. And possibly get laid.”

“Tae, you know damn well—“

“I do!” He says, stopping you in your tracks as he grips onto your hand even tighter, ignoring the way you wince and try to slip away. But he’s persistent, glaring at you as he waits for you to settle down. “But that man has laid all his cards out for you, and I will not stand by and watch you ruin the opportunity of your lifetime!”

When he was met with nothing but silence and a dead stare, he scoffed, letting go of your hand as he laid back on the couch, arms crossed with annoyance.

“I will literally spend the day outside if you need me to so no one will interrupt you. I’m being serious.”

“Why are you so interested in this?” You whined, caving in as you slouched down, hugging your pillow tightly to your chest as you pouted, “it’s not even that big of a deal.”

“Stop saying that!” He says, throwing the only pillow left by his side at you, much to your dismay, “You know that’s not true!”

Okay, he was right, and you knew he was right. This was by far the wildest opportunity that had ever been set on your path, and only a fool would pass by such a chance— And while you were more than willing to be that fool, Taehyung was not.

“You got anything going on tomorrow?” You asked weakly.

“No.”

“You do now. Stay out of the house.”

Taehyung brightened at your words, and you tried to tune out his gloating and excited chatter as you tried to steel yourself for what you were going to do— you were going to finish what you started.

☆♡☆

Tae :]

??? He’s not there??

BRO

You couldn’t help the way your mood immediately depleted at the reminder, finding yourself unable to follow along with your professor's words as your eyes found themselves lingering at the place where Taehyun usually sits. Honestly, what cruel coincidence was this? You didn’t even have his number, and the only chance you had to approach him was taken from your hands.

Someone has it out for you, you decided, slouched down as you try your best to write something down. Yet while you were too busy sulking in your own little world, you were too distracted to feel the way Beomgyu sat a few rows behind you, unable to take his eyes away from you as he watched your sluggish behavior.

He knew what you were thinking— it was so obvious, with the way you keep glancing back at the empty space where Taehyun sits— and he couldn’t help but feel himself get more aggravated as time went on.

Honestly, he couldn’t be more pissed if he tried. Beomgyu finally sets his eyes on a new target, and Taehyun takes it as an invitation to pursue you as well? To make things worse, the memory of you in Taehyun’s room never seemed to leave his head. But Taehyun wasn’t there to bother you now; much to the other’s protests, he was currently off to Japan with his parents in hopes to form a partnership with another company.

With Taehyun, it had always been a competition. And although his parents never showed it now, they both knew that they were only born to make sure that there would be someone to take over the company when they no longer couldn’t— what they hadn’t accounted for, however, was their sheer lack of interest in doing it together. It may have worked for Beomgyu’s father and his friend, but Taehyun had never piqued his interest; much less had he become friends with the boy. Their relationship was nothing but a race to the top— and Beomgyu was going to make sure that he wouldn’t lose.

Yet, as the years went by, Taehyun had grown out of his interest in his father’s business. He had no interest in taking over, much to his parent’s disappointment. Although a phantom pressure still lingered, all that was left for the two boys was a tension that would never go away— they were stuck seeing each other as opponents, and nothing more.

So what had started as a game had inevitably turned into more. Beomgyu never had any real intentions in keeping you around, but seeing Taehyun follow you around like a lost dog had Beomgyu quickly changing his mind; it was petty, but he truly couldn’t care less.

He’d have you wrapped around his finger in no time.

He didn’t really have a plan on what to do, but as the lecture ended and everyone started to trickle out of the classroom, he knew that he had to do something now before you slipped out of his clutches.

“___.”

You swear that Beomgyu had a knack of appearing when you least wanted him to.

You couldn’t bother putting up a smile as you turned to him, raising a brow as you waited for him to speak, unamused as you adjusted your glasses. He was silent, much to your annoyance, and it seemed as though he hadn’t a clue on what he wanted to say either.

“I need a favor.”

“A favor? Why? What favor?” To say you were caught off guard would be an understatement, because as you waited for him to elaborate, you could already feel your stomach forming a whirlwind of anxiety— nothing good could come from those words.

“I need a date,” he says, ignoring the way you immediately begin to try to refuse him, “We’re celebrating the success of our new partnership, and I want you to come with me.”

“Why can’t you just get some other girl?” You snap, already walking out of the empty classroom, Beomgyu hot on your heels. He frowns, following you out as you try to shake him off to no avail. It’s a nice fall day outside, the cool breeze that shakes the autumn trees making you shiver involuntarily. Just when you think he might have given up, you stop, the harsh tug on your jacket making you send the boy behind you a scowl.

“I don’t want some other girl.” He says, eyes locked on you as he takes a step forward, keeping you still with the grip on your jacket, “I want you.”

Beomgyu watches you closely— he takes in every change of expression, the way that his words seem to have caught you off guard, your nervous demeanor returning as you try to stutter out an answer. He stares, gaze unmoving as he smiles, eyes teasing as he watches you begin to mold to his will.

“No.”

So close.

It isn’t much, but the small twitch of Beomgyu’s brow is all you need to know— he doesn’t want to hear no. But the thought of agreeing to his offer sends chills down your spine— nothing good can come from this. The two of you are still, unable to leave as the back and forth commences once more; every enticing offer that slips past his lips is met with your refusal.

“No, why are you so stuck on it being me?!” You exclaim, taking a step back as you watch him go quiet.

Honestly, what was he doing? Standing there and begging you to accompany him— this wasn’t how things were supposed to play out; if anything, he should be having you at his feet. But as he stands there, observing the way you’re flushed and annoyed, your eyes glaring at him through your glasses, he finds his stomach twisting at the thought that bubbles in his mind— he’s quick to push it down.

“You— fuck…” he’s running a hand through his hair, long locks parting through his fingers as he stands back, amazed at the effect you seem to have on him. He huffs, watching your sparkling eyes light with that same curiosity that he’s always been secretly fond of; the same curiosity that always seems to want to learn more about him.

And he’s not wrong, because you soon find yourself wondering what he’s thinking, what his true intentions are; what he’s hiding behind that icy persona. You can already hear Taehyung’s words from over here— do it, it’ll be fun, how often do you get invited to things like this?’

You decide to channel your inner Taehyung— just this once, maybe you should loosen up.

“Where is the party…” your words are barely audible, too embarrassed that you’ve changed your mind, and that, once again, Beomgyu has gotten his way. But it’s enough for him, because his demeanor changes in the blink of an eye, and the calm and cool persona that you see on a daily basis comes back.

“We’re hosting it, obviously,” he shrugs off the glare you send him, “and it’s tonight.”

“Tonight?!” You say, eyes wide as you clutch your bag in panic, “what am I even supposed to wear…”

“That’s why I brought this up now,” he says, grabbing your hand before he’s tugging you in the opposite direction of your original destination; you protest as you tell him to let you go, but he doesn’t bother listening as his hold on you only tightens in response.

“Where are we going?” You whine, stomping your feet as he ignores you once more. You’re irritated— for someone who was asking something of you, he sure was as annoying as ever.

“What do you think?” He says, his tone sarcastic as you stop in front of an expensive looking car— truly, you couldn’t care less about cars, but simply being around this one makes you nervous. And, to no one’s surprise, Beomgyu unlocks it, signaling you to get in. “We’re getting you something to wear.”

“Take me to the mall or something, I’m on a budget,” you say, sitting hesitantly in the passenger’s seat; wow, the car smelled so nice. You can’t help but feel a bit depressed as Beomgyu pulls out of the parking lot, upset that you’ll have to splurge on such a sudden event. He simply chuckles at your words, and you can already feel a degrading jab coming your way— but nothing comes.

Instead, the car ride remains silent as you stare out the window, the anxiety brewing inside you only bubbling up more intensely as you realize that he was not heading to the mall, and was instead heading to a much more expensive plaza.

“Hey, hey, what are we doing here?” You ask, sitting up as you watch Beomgyu head to a parking lot, not even bothering to glance your way as you continue to panic, “I was cool with getting a Forever21 or H&M dress— if they’d even have my size— but seriously, why don’t we go somewhere else—“

“I’m not “cool” with those cheap dresses,” he scoffs, proceeding to send you a look that immediately shuts you up. The car is parked but you still remain inside as he looks at you, coming over to your side as he opens the door for you. You refuse to get out, the brand names of the many different department stores rooting you to the spot as you stare up at them in fear.

Seriously, how many paychecks would you have to throw away to get a single item at these stores? The numbers kept rolling in your head, and you didn’t like it one bit.

“Come on, don’t be ridiculous,” Beomgyu was tugging at your hand and pulling you out before you knew it, his eyes already locked on his first store as he tugged you in that direction. You couldn’t help but bristle at his comment, annoyed at how nonchalant he could be while stepping into such a high end store. You tried to avert your eyes at every price tag you saw, and Beomgyu could only watch from the sidelines, beyond amused at your antics.

Of course you weren’t going to be paying— it was just entertaining to watch your eyes go wide as the woman assisting you two continued to pile up dresses in her arms, standing back as Beomgyu surfed through the racks, a bored expression on his face as he did so.

The dresses in the woman’s arms ranged drastically from flowy, light colors, to form fitting, dark colors. You could only eye the fabrics warily, unsure if you would be able to pull any of them off. But before you could protest, the two of you were being led off to the dressing room, feeling yourself grow shy at the intimate setup of it all. There was only one dressing room, the outside being surrounded with floor length mirrors that allowed you to look at yourself from every angle. In front of the dressing room, a single couch was placed, the rest of the area closed off with a velvety curtain— for privacy.

Without skipping a beat, Beomgyu takes a seat at the small couch, glancing back at you expectantly as he did so. You shift, watching as the woman places all the dresses on the hooks in your changing room, sending you a small smile and a bow before she leaves, letting you know that she’ll be nearby if you need her assistance. You thank her, watching her disappear behind the curtain before the two of you are left alone.

“What are you waiting for?” Beomgyu’s voice is deep and soft as he calls out to you, the dressing area silent and closed off as you flinch, glancing at the changing room with unsure eyes.

“I don’t know about this, I can’t afford to buy anything from here—“

“Are you still on that?” With a heavy sigh, Beomgyu sighs, approaching you with slow steps as his narrowed eyes lock onto you. You’re nervous, like always, except this time you can’t bring yourself to look at Beomgyu as he traps you, only a step away from coming in contact with you as he looks up, exhaling through his nose slowly.

“You’re not paying, stupid,” you’re able to meet his eyes then, watching the way his face lights up with amusement at your suprise, “did you really think that?”

“Yes, but this is worse,” you say, and Beomgyu already feels his patience running out. “I don’t want to owe you anything.”

“For fucks sake—“ you let out a yelp at the way Beomgyu’s hands roughly land on your shoulders, steering you to the changing room and rolling his eyes at the way you try to fight back. He pushes you in, blocking the door as you continue to complain.

“You won’t owe me anything, I couldn’t care less if I’d have to buy this whole plaza to get you to come with me,” he says, watching the way you immediately go quiet, “now try those dresses on, unless you want me to help.”

He watched as you jumped at his comment, quickly shoving him out of the room before slamming the door in his face. He can only grin at that, listening to the sounds of rustling and your quiet grumbles from the other side.

It honestly feels like you’re stuck in that room for hours— maybe you actually were. Dress after dress, you would come outside to gauge Beomgyu’s reaction, watching the way he would either shake his his or nod apathetically in approval. More often than not, you would come out to be greeted with more dresses, watching as Beomgyu would ask the assistant to bring more in a certain color or style.

“Beomgyu, please,” you said, wriggling into the newest addition of the pile, “Don’t you think I’ve tried on enough? I think there should be a dress that we can both agree on— oh god…”

You’re absolutely frozen in shock as you stand in front of the small mirror before you, bristling at the way the dress looks. In your haste to get things over with, you had failed to notice that this dress had not one, but two slits— they stopped just at the tops of your thighs, and the fabric was tucked neatly in between your legs. Not only that, but the plunging neckline covered practically nothing; and the exposed feeling on your back was all you needed to know about the rest of the dress.

“What is this supposed to cover…?” You mumbled to yourself, staring down at the way the black fabric hugged your body tightly, before turning into a flowy material that reached the floor.

“Are you done?” Beomgyu’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts as you looked up, catching your panicked expression in the mirror as you’re glancing back at the door nervously.

“It didn’t fit…” you respond weakly, wincing at the way you can already see the shadow of Beomgyu’s footsteps approaching you. You bite at your lips, patting down the fabric as you glance at yourself once more— there is no way you would be allowed to wear something like this! And while it was flattering, you’d rather die than have others think that you truly were Beomgyu’s new plaything.

“Nonsense, it’s the same size as all the other dresses,” he says, knocking softly on the door, “let me see.”

“Definitely not,” you’re quick to respond, placing a hand on the door before Beomgyu can get any crazy ideas, “There’s no way something like this would be appropriate.”

“So it does fit,” he says, and he can hear you cursing quietly on the other side of the door, “you’d be surprised by the things others show up in— now let me see it.”

There’s no other way out of this, is there? You gulp, your hand slowly inching to the doorknob as you look away from the mirror, too embarrassed at the way the dress leaves you in a vulnerable position. Slowly, the door creeps open, and you find interest in the tiled floor beneath you as Beomgyu’s frame comes into sight.

It only takes a second for Beomgyu to decide— you’re leaving with this dress.

He tries to not show it, but his eyes darken at the way your body is left on display, your skin glowing under the lights and begging to be touched; to be marked. Your sheepish eyes that can barely look in his direction only serve to drive him insane— you have no idea what you’re doing to him.

“Let me see…” he mumbles, closing the door behind him as he takes a step closer to you. You gulp, startled at the way Beomgyu’s gaze never leaves your figure, his hands smoothing down the fabric on your waist— you’re still, your breathing heavy as you try to not melt into a flustered mess. His hands linger, fingertips pulling teasingly at the fabric before he lets it snap back onto your skin, watching the way your breath hitches as you finally look up at him.

“I think it fits you perfectly,” he breathes out, watching as you’re left helpless to him once more. You’re on edge, waiting for his next move as he smiles down at you, stepping forward until he’s got you pinned, his eyes narrowing at the way you shudder when your back meets the wall.

“Suits you perfectly too,” he says, reaching down to grab onto your bare thigh, watching the way you gasp as you let him wrap your leg around his waist. His fingers are teasing as they inch under the fabric, his touch light as he barely grazes past the top of your thigh. He’s slotted in between your legs, hips pressed firmly against yours as you try to not lose yourself then and there.

“It’s too revealing for a party,” you retaliate, your words falling dead on your tongue the moment he pressed himself harder against you— you can tell just how he feels about this dress.

“I don’t give a fuck,” he whispers, leaning closer to you as he begins to trail kisses down the column of your throat, “they can look all they want, but you’ll be with me the whole time. You don’t have to worry about anything.”

His grip on your thigh loosens up, and he’s pleased to find the way your leg doesn’t budge. Slowly, his hand trails downwards, stopping as his fingers wrap themselves around your calf, folding your leg closer to your body as your attention is brought to where he’s looking.

“But first, we should get you some shoes to go with this,” he says, the mischievous glint in his eyes prominent as he glances back at you, “Don’t you think?”

“I already have heels at home,” you breathe out, dizzy as Beomgyu pulls away, taking a step back as he composes himself. He stares at you, smiling as he takes in the way you’re still leaning against the wall, eyes fucked out as they stare back at him. It’s quick, and before you can react, Beomgyu is quickly pressing his lips against yours, the quick peck leaving you stunned as he opens the door, sending you one last glance as he smiles cruelly.

“Don’t care. Let’s go.”

☆♡☆

Tae :]

OMG

UR WHATKSGH

U A HOMIE HOPPER FR!!

Twin tho <3

Have fun!! And invite me if u can!!!!

You roll your eyes at the constant stream of messages that flood your phone— Sorry Tae, but there’s no way I’d have the balls to ask if you can come. It’s disappointing, but it was nothing short of the truth as Taehyung’s sad stream of emoticons continue to flood your chat, leaving you to roll your eyes and put the phone back down on the table.

Despite your constant reassurance and worrying, you currently found yourself in the guest room of Beomgyu’s mansion, forced to sit still as a woman tediously does your hair and makeup, listening to your tips on how to style your hair and what works best with your skin as she followed your instructions, constantly complimenting you as she continued to her work.

“This dress is absolutely gorgeous,” the woman said, gasping as she laid out the carefully ironed dress on the bed. You stood off to the side, bashfully shifting on your feet as you smiled at her, hoping that she wasn't’ simply lying through her teeth.

“I was afraid that it would be too much,” you admitted, watching her reaction carefully as you said so. She simply shook her head, laughing softly as she looked back at you.

“Too much? No, you’re going to fit right in,” she says, her comment oddly reassuring as she pulls out the matching black heels out of the other bag, followed by the expensive silver accessories that he forced you to get— despite your constant complaints that he shouldn’t be buying you anything, Beomgyu had ignored you, searching for the very best as he finally decided on those shoes. It was strange, but you found it easier to talk to Beomgyu as time went on— and maybe it was because of his stunt in the dressing rooms— but past his intimidating persona, you found that he wasn’t all bad. Granted, he was still a cheeky bastard that teased you relentlessly, but at least you now knew that he didn’t hate you.

“I’ll let Mr. Choi know that you’ll be ready soon,” the woman said, slipping out of the door without another word. You stood in silence, your heart beating loudly against your chest as you listened to the sounds that filtered from downstairs; the party had begun a while ago, and while you had been busy showering in the guest bathroom (it took you a while to accept that you were allowed to touch the thing) and getting your makeup and hair down, the celebration in the main floor had already begun.

Carefully, you slipped into the dress, feeling a twinge of hesitation as your eyes caught sight of the reflection in the mirror— you looked stunning, the dress you wore flattered your body perfectly, but you couldn’t help but feel that familiar anxiety bubbling inside you; this crowd was on another level. It was already hard enough for you to interact in large crowds of people in general, but the thought of putting yourself out there to be judged made you sick to your stomach.

If someone had told you from the past about the nosedive your life would take, you probably would have laughed, fainted, or both. What you had with Beomgyu (and Taehyun) was beyond messy. There was nothing defined, and you only seemed to act on your needs— and yet, you couldn’t help but feel lighter than ever. You were no longer walking on eggshells, but you feared that the longer you spent with these two men, the more you would get attached.

A knock on the door startled you out of your thoughts— speak of the devil.

The door opens as you mutter a soft “Come in”, your eyes downcast as you attempt to buckle your shoes, the thin straps slipping through your fingers as you sigh with frustration. Giving up, you sit back, looking up as you take in the outfit Beomgyu walks in.

It’s obvious at a glance that Beomgyu has made an attempt to match with you— he wears black pants that have been tailored specifically for him, his black heeled boots clicking softly on the floor as he walks in. He wears a black buttoned vest, and you feel your heart skip a beat at the way the neckline allows him to decorate with silver necklaces, his loose blazer allowing you to peek at the rest of his skin.

“What, you don’t like it?” He asks, tilting his head as he looks at you. You can only shake your head in response, a smile creeping on your lips as he closes the door behind him, walking up to you with the same smile mirrored on his lips. He towers over you, taking in the way you look up at him with your shining eyes, your dress sprawled out on the mattress as you lean back on your arms.

“No, it’s nice,” you admit, looking back down at your feet. He follows your gaze, a soft tsk escaping his lips as he takes in your unbuckled shoes. Without another word, he sinks to his knees, taking you by surprise as he kneels down, one leg propped up as he shoots you a mischievous smile.

“Can’t do anything yourself, hmm?” He coos, propping your heel on his thigh as he begins to buckle your strap. You’re left speechless as you watch him, his nimble fingers making quick work of the buckle as he tucks the strap in, putting your heeled foot back on the ground before he’s motioning for your other one. As always, he’s quick to lose patience as you hesitate, taking matters into his own hands as he grabs your calf, propping your other foot on his thigh as he begins his work once more.

He’s much slower this time, and when you feel him finish buckling your strap, you watch as his eyes rake up your leg, taking in the way the fabric is slotted between your legs so perfectly. Your skin is warm underneath his hands, and before he can help himself, he’s making his way up, his hands soon finding themselves on your thighs as he looks up at you, face emotionless as you find it in yourself to look back, bracing yourself for his next move.

You can’t help the way you lean in when his lips meet yours, the kiss slow and steady as you surprise yourself— but with the way he was feeling you up, it was impossible to not give in. It’s embarrassing how you quickly find yourself chasing after his lips, the low chuckle that meets your ears snapping you back to reality as you’re straightening up.

“The dress is nice, right?” He says, his hands continuing to slide up before they’re slotted on either side of you, alarming you when he begins to lean forward. You lean back, flustered by his proximity as he continues, relentless in his actions as he’s soon hovering over you, eyeing the way you look laying on the bed, flustered face refusing to look up at him for too long.

“I can’t possibly go out like this,” you say weakly, admiring the way his hair framed his face, a smug smile adorning his face at your words.

“No, you can’t,” he says, agreeing with you for once. His words surprise you, but takes you a moment to realize his true intentions, “so why don’t you stay in here with me instead?”

“No. Plus, your parents—”

“Why not? It’ll be way more fun than the party. My parents aren’t even here. They’re still off vacationing in Japan.”

“Beomgyu, this is your party. You’re the host,” you say, sliding back along the bed until you’re fully on it. Beomgyu doesn’t mind, finding the sight much more appealing as his head is now at level with your hips. But before he can continue his teasing, you’re pushing him back with your foot, his body tensing as the sharp stiletto comes in contact with his chest once he straightens. He raises his brows, a hot rush of want going through him as you send him a coy smile.

“Let’s go then.”

☆♡☆

The party was alright.

Throughout the whole night, you had been afraid of being seen as another arm candy for Beomgyu— you had been afraid that all this had been nothing more than a game to him. But as the night passed by, you found yourself enjoying his presence more and more.

“That woman right there? She had an affair with the guy from earlier— yeah, the one who hogged all the little sandwiches— for like a year. One time, they apparently went “missing” when the jet they were both conveniently on crashed, but it turns out they just went for a nice vacation for a couple of months.”

“Oh my god, that’s insane,” you gape, trying to not be obvious as you watch the woman Beomgyu had pointed out. You could definitely see it, with the way she kept stealing glances back at the said man that lingered at the buffet table. “But how did they get away with it?”

“Money, duh,” he says, watching as you roll your eyes at his response, “there’s nothing that a good chunk of money can’t do to keep people quiet.”

“And yet you know about this?”

“Hey, rumors get around,” Beomgyu shrugs, sending you a teasing smile as he adds, “that, and he’s a total lightweight.”

It’s like this for the rest of the night— the two of you never truly bother to integrate with the rest of the crowd, standing off to the side as you watch the occasional businessman approach Beomgyu, bewildered at the charming persona that he takes on when spoken to. It’s not until a man mentions Beomgyu inheriting the company in the future, that a thought occurs to you.

“Do you really want to take over your father’s company?” You ask, watching the way he stiffens at your question. He doesn’t answer, choosing instead to drink his wine as he looks away, his brows furrowed at the feeling of your gaze still on him.

“No, honestly.” He answers, his words catching you by surprise as you take in the solemn look in his eyes. He’s not looking at you, and as you follow his line of sight, you realize with dread, that his eyes had been locked on none other than Taehyun.

“But that’s all I’m here for,” he says, taking another sip of his drink as he notices that you’ve spotted him too. He can‘t control the way he becomes irritated, jaw clenching as the memories of his life pass by— the competition, the tension, the secret hopes that he’ll be the better son— it’s all shoved back in his face every time he looks back at Taehyun.

Just when you think you’re about to get somewhere deeper with this conversation, you notice the way everyone seems to be heading in the direction of the dining room, the feeling of Beomgyu bumping into your shoulder making you look up at him in confusion.

“Dinner is starting. Come,” he says, not bothering to glance back before he’s leading you to the same room where it all began. You find yourself lagging behind as you watch him walk ahead, the feeling that you’ve done something wrong itching at you— was it a touchy subject? Did you say something wrong?

“___? Why’re you here?” The voice that calls out to you is too familiar, rendering you helpless as you’re turning to the source. Taehyun is surprised as he looks at you, eyes taking in your figure and the way your silver accessories pop against your skin. He’s dressed in similar attire to Beomgyu, much to your dread. A simple all black outfit, a form fitting turtleneck paired with a blazer, the tailored pants he wore covering the same heeled boots that Beomgyu sported as well.

“Oh, uhm, Beomgyu invited me,” you reply, unaware of the way the said man stands a few feet behind you, his eyes narrowing at the scene. Taehyun notices, and it isn’t long before you’re turning around, curious to what he might be looking at. Beomgyu is angry, that much you can tell, as he slowly makes his way to where the two of you stand.

Turning back around, you send Taehyun a confused look, tilting your head as you ask, “Where have you been?”

“Ah, I’m sorry I didn’t say anything,” Taehyun apologizes, sheepishly looking to the ground as he says, “I was off in Japan. You know, the new partnership and all.”

“Yes, quite the feat, isn’t it,” Beomgyu mocks behind you, startling you as you feel his hand slip around your waist, pulling you into him snuggly as he adds, “___, let’s go, before all the good seats get taken.”

And before you can question what the hell he might possibly mean by a “good seat,” you’re being pulled away, the man’s pace much more brisk as Taehyun is left to watch your figure retreat, your matching color schemes not lost on his eyes.

☆♡☆

You know exactly what Beomgyu means by a good seat.

Glancing wearily at the loud, gossiping couple across the table, followed by the man who simply doesn’t know what manners are as he takes up way more space than he should, you’re glad that Beomgyu had been able to secure you a calmer spot in the gigantic table. It was nice, except for one thing— Taehyun had found himself in the seat to the right of you before you realized what was happening.

So now you sit here, awkwardly trying your best to eat peacefully as the tension between the two boys rolls off in waves. Any attempts in peacemaking or casual conversation had been quickly squashed down, leaving you in the middle of a lifelong feud that only left you roped into childish rivalry.

It started off simple— they could’ve gotten away with it if you hadn’t been paying more attention— small conversation, laced with memories and inside jokes the other didn’t know of; you were left unaware of the other’s raging jealousy every time you laughed at a situation they couldn’t recall.

Then it turned into a more zealous task; before you knew it, you were turning left and right as they tried to feed and entertain you, begging for your attention yet refusing to share it as you were left in a befuddled mess. In the blink of an eye, your plate was piled with more food than you knew what to do with, your head spinning from the amount of turning you’ve had to do in such a short time.

It couldn’t get any worse— at least, that’s what you thought— but it could. And it did.

You could feel your mood sour as they began to become bolder, and touchier. Any other time, you would have been freaking out, a flustered mess as you would have shivered at the way they would lean in to whisper things to you, fingertips grazing against your skin and eyes lingering on your body every time you tried to interact with them.

Honestly, by the end of the dinner, they were practically fighting for your attention as they tried anything they could to woo you— all you could do was take another swig of wine in exhaustion.

You liked them both— really, you did— but you were more than fed up of being treated as another prize that the other had to win first in order to prove they’re better. What had started as interactions that left your heart fluttering had turned into nothing more than a childish competition that only served to drive them farther away from your heart.

And it seems as though they had noticed too; took them long enough, you had thought to yourself, laying back in your chair as you tried to pretend the way you couldn’t feel their eyes on you. You were annoyed and buzzed from the wine as you feigned interest in the desert placed before you, twirling your fork in boredom as you waited for their next ridiculous move.

Instead, you were pleasantly surprised with the way they seemed to calm down; maybe your annoyance was obvious. And it really was, because as you stared down at your plate, Taehyun and Beomgyu could practically see your change in mood from miles away, the irritation pouring off you in waves as you shoved another disinterested bite into your mouth.

Taehyun was already regretting everything— he felt horrible for roping you into their own problems. Beomgyu, on the other hand, was simply thinking up of the different ways he could make it up to you. They watched as you leaned forward, reaching across the table as the lady sitting in front of the three of you refilled your glass; throughout the whole ordeal, you had become friends with her. Her name was Jihyo, and it seemed as if she was quick to catch on to your situation as she tried to keep your glass full the whole time.

The two of you chatted as you continued to ignore the presence of the two boys beside you, laughing softly as she told you the story on how she met her girlfriend. You could practically feel them itching to grab your attention once more, but you couldn’t care less as you decided to take your mind off of them for once.

And while you continued to get to know Jihyo better, Taehyun and Beomgyu shared a glance behind you; and for once, it seemed as though they had reached the same conclusion.

Moments later, the dinner was declared to be over, and you watched drunkenly as people began to trickle out slowly. You waited a second before you excused yourself, saying goodbye to Jihyo as you headed back upstairs and towards the guest room— you didn’t even bother sparing the two boys another glance as you left.

Yet they simply watched your figure retreat, their eyes stuck on the way you seemed to stand out from the crowd; they both silently appreciated the way the dress seemed to hug you in all the right places. It wasn’t until you had left the dining room that they had turned to each other, words itching to come out as they sat there, unsure of how to say them.

“Well, I should be on my way as well,” it was the first time Jihyo had spoken to them that night, sending them a gracious smile and bowing as she thanked the two for inviting them.

“Good luck with your girl. Treat her nicely, yeah? She deserves it after the way you two harassed her tonight,” she teased, clearly uninterested in their rebuttals as she turned on her heel, striding out in confident steps, her words still lingering on the boy’s minds.

☆♡☆

You were so ready to go home.

You currently sat at the vanity as you spoke on the phone with Taehyung, ranting to him about everything that happened as you wiped away your makeup, your glasses put to the side as you tried to not get frustrated with the way your mascara couldn’t seem to budge.

“So I just ignored them and talked to Jihyo for the rest of the time— she’s super cool by the way,” you said, recounting every little detail as you carefully rubbed the lipstick on your lips.

“Oh man, that’s crazy,” Taehyung’s voice rings out from the other side, and you pause in your actions as you turn to throw away the used wipes, humming along in agreement as you did so. “What’re you gonna do now?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted, sighing as you slump down in your chair. “it’s just… it feels like they only see me as another win in their rivalry— it sucks, cause I really do like them.”

“Them? Seriously? Woah, you’re in deep.”

“Argh, I know, and it’s pissing me off!” You say, frustrated as you stand, making your way to the bed as you flop onto it, your feet dangling off the edge as you stare up at the ceiling, “Why me man…”

“Hey, I say go for it! Literally who gives a fuck who you’re with, as long as you’re happy.”

“Tae, that’s insane,” you say, unable to see yourself doing anything like that, “Whatever. I’ll be home in a bit.”

“Take an Uber, I’ll pay for it,” he interjects, ignoring the way you’re already complaining, “Unless you want to ask either of them to drop you off, since you don’t have your car.”

“Okay, I got it,” you grumble, bitter at the reminder, “I’ll text you when I’m ready to go.”

You sat in silence once he hung up, feeling the exhaustion from it all finally sinking in, the mattress beneath you suddenly much more comfortable than it was three seconds ago. Wearily, you glance back at the pile of clothes that you still needed to change back into; but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it, much too tired to get up at all— hell, you still had yet to take your heels off.

Just when you thought you might actually doze off, you were startled as the sound of your door opening made you sit up, your eyes meeting with Beomgyu’s as he stood at the doorway.

“Can I come in?” He asked, leaning against the doorway as he asked.

“No,” you deadpan, pouting as you stare down at your lap.

“What about me?”

You’re surprised to find Taehyun standing behind Beomgyu, the usual tension and anger that you see between them gone. You pause for a second, feeling uneasy as you stare at them— they’re planning something.

“No. Both of you stay there.”

Flopping back onto the bed, you wait for them to give up and go away, but they don’t. They simply stand at the doorway, fondly watching you and the slow rise and fall of your chest as you try to not fall asleep then and there.

“Is this about what happened at the dinner?” It’s Beomgyu who breaks the silence first, tilting his head as he watches the way you try to ignore them, your eyes closed as you pretend to be asleep. It’s silent once more, and you can’t help the way you get your hopes up briefly at the sound of the door shutting, thinking that they might’ve finally left you alone— you couldn’t have been more wrong.

You can feel the bed shifting, your heart beating rapidly in your chest as you try to keep your eyes closed. They find the sight amusing, your fluttering eyelids and your twitching brows letting them know that you can feel them next to you. It’s dark, but you can feel the foreign warmth of another as the mattress sinks down, the scent of two familiar colognes filling your senses entirely.

“___. Look at me,” your eyes are wide as you’re met with the sight of Taehyun hovering over you, arms caging you in, Beomgyu sitting down next to you as he looks down at you teasingly. You’re not sure what to do, unable to handle both of them at once— it was already hard enough to deal with one at a time.

“What do you guys want,” you whine, flushing with embarrassment as they each take your hand, unable to meet either of their eyes as they lace their fingers with yours. It’s beyond overwhelming, the two handsome men crowding your space as they continue to tease you. You can feel Beomgyu’s lips graze your knuckles, the soft touch sending shivers down your body.

“What do you think?” Beomgyu asks, playing with your hands gingerly as he pauses. You’re forced to sit up as Taehyun moves away, sandwiched between the two boys as they sit by your side, still having yet to let go of your hand as they lean in.

“We want you.” Beomgyu’s lips practically brush against your skin as he whispers those words, the feeling of Taehyun’s hair brushing against your cheek making you tilt your head, gulping at the way he’s trailing kisses down your neck, biting softly at your collarbones.

“No you don’t,” you say, eyes shutting as you feel their hands begin to wander— it feels like they’re everywhere at once, touching your thighs, lingering at your waist, going up and down the expanse of your back as they feel you up— it makes you dizzy.

“I’m just another part of your rivalry,” you say, the words that have been bubbled in your mind finally coming out— you never felt truly wanted. “I’m just a game to you two.”

“Fuck, you’re so much more than that,” you’re surprised to hear Beomgyu be the one to reassure you first, his hand cupping your cheek as he forces you to look at him. He’s serious, his face devoid of any sign that it might all be a lie. Taehyun is quick to agree, pulling away as he looks at you, a hand wrapping around your waist as he brings himself even closer.

“We don’t want to lose you,” Taehyun says, voice quiet as he finally admits the thoughts that have been plaguing the two men before you, “We’re serious, ___.”

There’s no use in fighting it— you know this, because soon you’re finding yourself laying back on the bed, the two boys unable to keep their hands off of you as they find your heels, each unbuckling one as they smile coyly up at you.

“Show me how serious you are then,” you’re barely given time to breathe those words out before they’re on you, Beomgyu’s lips crashing against yours as you let out a soft whimper, your hands steadying themselves on his shoulders automatically.

It’s all happening so fast, your mind reeling as your hands slip under Beomgyu’s blazer, slipping it off as he’s left in the vest that had you practically drooling, his necklaces dangling above you. He’s not giving you a chance to pull away, the kiss hungry as he nips at your lips, grinning at the way you whimper helplessly against him. Beside you, Taehyun watches, eyes darkened as he slips off his own blazer, the memory of you in his bedroom making him itch for your touch.

Much to your dismay, Beomgyu is pulling away, a wicked grin stretching on his face as he watches you chase after him, your eyes slowly fluttering open as you wait for their next move. Slowly, you reach up to unbutton Beomgyu’s vest, his eyes observing your every movement intently. His skin is smooth and toned, your eyes taking it all in as you run a hand down his chest, watching the way he shudders at your touch. Sitting up, you move to try to slide your dress off, surprised when you feel Taehyun grab your hand before you can do so.

“Don’t. Keep it on for now,” he says, pulling you close to him as he locks his lips with yours, cradling your jaw gently, “It looks so good on you.”

You can only hum against his mouth, giving in to his wishes as you feel his other hand wander its way to your thighs. Before you can realize what’s happening, Beomgyu is already slotted in between your legs, his hair tickling your skin as he trails kisses along your inner thighs. You’re quick to tense up, caught off guard by his action as you feel him slowly inch closer to where you need him most.

“I can’t believe you,” Beomgyu says, pushing the fabric of your dress away from your hips as your core is left on display. You whimper feeling his tongue run over the fabric of your panties teasingly, his warm tongue lapping at you slowly.

“This whole time, I thought I was getting somewhere with you,” he mumbles, pressing his tongue flat on your pussy as he takes in the way your thighs twitch at the feeling, sucking lewdly over the fabric, “but it turns out you were fucking around with Taehyun behind my back.”

You’re hazy as Taehyun is leading your hand down his chest, his shirt discarded long ago as he guides you to unbuckle his belt, chuckling at the way you can only obey stupidly, Beomgyu’s tongue on you already making you fucked out.

“I just thought you didn’t care,” you say, eyes locking with Taehyun’s as you’re finally able to reach into his waistband, taking in the way he inhales sharply once your hand wraps around his cock. Your other hand is quick to unbutton his jeans, pulling him out as your hungry eyes take in the way he’s already hard, his tip leaking as you both watch the way you slowly begin to pump along his length, your thumb swiping across his tip from time to time.

He’s big, and you’re surprised with the way your hand struggles to wrap around him— your movements are slow, taking in the feel of the vein that runs along the underside of his length; he’s long too, and it’s like in a trance as he’s watching the way you stroke him eagerly, your tongue laving at your lips a you notice the steady flow of precum that leaves him.

“I didn’t at first,” he admits, brain clouding with lust as he watches the way you pump Taehyun’s cock, the said man falling apart in your hands as he leans in to kiss you. He can feel himself grow more aroused at the sight, his hips rolling involuntarily against the sheets as the need to bring your attention back to him itches at him. Your mouth is falling open as Beomgyu’s lips wrap around your clit, your panties pushed to the side as he sucks on the bundle of nerves, his fingers circling your hole teasingly.

“But I do now. I care a lot.”

Choi Beomgyu was never one to get attached— so for him to be looking up at you the way he did, like he never wanted to be apart from you again, made your heart flutter unexpectedly.

He was messy as he lapped at your pussy, reveling in every little gasp and whimper that escaped your lips. Taehyun was just as much of a mess as you were, the kiss turning into something more primal and messy as you increased your pace, feeling him fucking your hand as he moaned against your lips, your other hand entangled in his hair as you kept him close to you.

The two found it amusing at the way you gasped once Beomgyu’s fingers pushed inside you, taking in the way your sensitive body responded to every one of their touches. His tongue is relentless, going back and forth from sucking and licking your clit, to lapping at your soaked cunt. He’s intense, building up your orgasm quickly as he keeps your hips planted to the bed, his hands gripping onto the skin as he watches the way you weakly attempt to buck your hips into his face as he continues to fuck you with his tongue.

Taehyun watches as you quickly lose your pace, your hand stilling on his cock as he watches you get closer to your high with an amused glint in his eye. You’re begging and pleading for more, head thrown back as Taehyun slides down the straps of your dress, pulling the top down until he has access to your breasts. The added stimulation of his mouth on your nipples has you crashing down from your high, the waves of pleasure that roll over you much too intense as you slump down into the fluffy pillows of the bed.

“Good girl,” Taehyun mumbles, leaving your nipple with a lewd “pop!” that has you flushing with embarrassment. Between your legs, Beomgyu sits up, his chin glistening from your juices as he watches the way you look away from the scene, grinning at the way you turn shy.

“Don’t get all shy on me,” he says, squishing your cheeks as he forces you to look back at him, finding that he’s released himself from the confines of his pants. “You still have some problems to take care of.”

Before you can catch on to what he wants, he’s taking your hands, pulling you to sit up before he’s positioning you to his liking— his lidded eyes look down at you as you try to not show how flustered you are, face leveled with his cock as you’re left on all fours, your ass in the air as you feel the bed shifting behind you.

“What are you waiting for?” He asked, tapping two fingers under your chin as you look up at him, doe eyes shining sweetly as he resists the urge to take you for himself then and there, “suck.”

He can tell that you’re unsure of your actions as you start, the feeling of your warm tongue swiping teasingly across his tip making him grab ahold of your head, groaning at the way you allow him to guide you down his length.

Behind you, Taehyun watches darkly as you slowly take Beomgyu into your mouth, your glistening pussy all his as he begins to tease your entrance slowly. He takes in every movement, every sound, every reaction that you give him as he slowly pushes in, listening to the way you moan shamelessly against Beomgyu’s cock from the stretch.

He’s taking his time with you, giving experimental thrusts as he takes note of every movement that has you squealing against Boemgyu’s cock, the vibrations only serving for the man to let out a low hiss as he tightens his grip on your hair, a smug arrogance taking over him as you let him fuck his dick into your mouth freely.

You’re caught between the two as they use you for their pleasure, rocking back and forth with every slow thrust that Taehyun delivers. His pace is brutal as he grinds into you, matching the rhythm Beomgyu has set as the two watch you fall apart at the stimulation.

“Our little slut looks so good like this, doesn’t she?” Beomgyu says, grinning up at Taehyun as the words slip through his lips like second nature. “Taking us both like a good little cock whore.”

“Fuck, you feel so good princess,” the contrast of the two’s words makes you dizzy, the constant back and forth of praise and degradation making you stupid in the head as you’re left to nod at their every comment. You’re a mess of drool and tears as you let Beomgyu use you like his personal cock sleeve, fucking up into your mouth freely as he watches the tears stream freely from your eyes.

“You’re perfect,” Taehyun grunts, positioning his hips harshly into yours as you rock back into Beomgyu’s cock, not needing to do anything at all as you let them control your every movement.

“And all ours.” Beomgyu adds, wiping your tears away as he grins down at you, the feeling of your throat swallowing around him making him stutter in his pace.

It’s insane, and in no time, the coil in your stomach is getting ready to snap as Taehyun’s pace begins to get faster, the feeling of your warm walls fluttering around him driving him closer to his high as well. His grip on your hips is brutal, and you’re falling apart the moment he finds your clit, a long whine escaping you as you allow Beomgyu to continue to fuck your mouth. They can’t take their eyes off you, watching your every move as your mouth sinks down on Beomgyu’s cock, stilling on his length as you’re left to be nothing more than a fucktoy as Taehyun chases after his own pleasure.

Beomgyu pulls you off of him, pulling your head up as he smiles as your fucked out face, your eyes glossy and mouth left open as Taehyun keeps thrusting into you, the sensitivity leaving you a whimpering mess. He’s in awe at the string of saliva that remains connected to his tip, your tongue left out in display lewdly as you allow Beomgyu to smack his dick on it.

“That’s it, take it,” Beomgyu says, watching as you whimper weakly at his words, “you like being our little fucktoy, hmm?”

He laughs at the way you nod helplessly, not fully processing his words as you feel Taehyun still inside you, a broken moan escaping your lips as he pulls you back into him, hips fitting snugly against yours as he cums inside, filling you to the brim as he bottoms out. His voice is heavenly as he lets out a soft moan, a string of praise leaving his mouth in stark contrast to the filth that Beomgyu continues to spew.

It takes a moment before Taehyun finally pulls out, eyes stuck on the way his cum begins to leak out of you, not thinking twice before he’s gathering the substance in his fingers and pushing it back in, ignoring the shake in your legs and the overstimulated sounds that leave your lips.

“Such a pretty sight,” Beomgyu sighs out, pushing you on your back as he immediately slots himself between your legs, watching the way your pussy is beginning to leak Taehyun’s cum once more. He grabs ahold of your thigh, wrapping the leg around his waist as he’s pushing in, the stretch much more different than Taehyun’s— unlike Taehyun, he was much girthier, leaving you to throw your head back at the feeling. It’s easier for him to slip inside, the feeling of Taehyun’s cum still inside you making the two of you groan, the wet noises that come from your cunt enough to make you embarrassed for days.

And unlike Taehyun, Beomgyu is quick to chase after what he wants; his pace is ruthless as he pounds against you, the sounds of skin on skin filling the room and drowning out the sounds that slip from your lips. He’s mean, whispering filthy things into your ear as he towers over you, his necklaces smacking against your face as your hands are wrapped around him, hugging him close to you as the hot feeling of pleasure strikes through you once more.

Carelessly, your hand reaches up to lace itself in Beomgyu’s hair, tugging at it on a particularly harsher thrust, watching as his head is tugged back, an unabashed moan slipping past him. His scalp stings at the feeling, but he couldn’t care less as he watches you become a mess over his cock, your other hand reaching out to grasp Taehyun’s as you listen to his soft reassurance and praise.

The two are enamoured by you, watching the way you react to their words, your body tensing as the familiar feeling of your orgasm approaching you appears again. Beomgyu can feel the moment you fall apart under his touch, the feeling of your walls squeezing and pumping against him making him follow after you, burying his head in your neck as he fills you up as well, biting your shoulder and lapping at your skin as he begins to leave marks. You’re a panting, sweaty mess as you lay there, the two boys collapsed next to you as you’re left in the middle, the feeling of Beomgyu having yet to pull out making you clench involuntarily around him.

“Do that again and you won’t be walking for the next week,” Beomgyu grumbles against your skin, Taehyun leaving to go to the bathroom as he comes back with a damp towel, urging the two of you to get cleaned up, much to Beomgyu’s dismay. It takes a while, but you’re able to be pulled away from Beomgyu’s arms as they watch the way their cum begins to leak out of you, spilling over your thighs and the sheets as you try to pretend you don’t see the way their gaze turns primal at the sight— you find yourself sandwiched between the two men once more, small gasps and squeals leaving you as they both take turns shoving the liquid back inside, their mouths on each side of your neck as they leave marks that they’ll no doubt be teasing you about later.

They don’t stop until you’re a crying and shaking mess, pleading softly for them to go easy on you as they finally let you go, finding yourself freshening up in the bathroom a few moments later. You’re dressed in nothing but a t-shirt that they let you borrow— you’re not sure whose it is, but you remember hearing them fight about it just outside the bathroom door. And as you place your phone back down, deciding to leave it on do not disturb for the rest of the night, you’re happy to find that the two have left a spot empty for you on the bed, looking at you expectantly the moment you come outside.

They refuse to let you go for the rest of the night, even when you complain that it’s getting stuffy— all they can do is hold onto you tighter, smiling at the way you always inevitably give in to their wishes.

I’m sleeping over :)

That was the last thing Taehyung had received from your phone before he completely lost contact with you.

Tae :]

WHAT

YOU DID NOT…

OMG U BETTER TELL ME EVERYTHING TMMRW

UR SO LUCKY AUGH

☆♡☆

In your campus, three mysteries swarmed the minds of those who attended— except you, of course.

The rumors about your professors were false; it had been started on a simple misconception after a student had seen the two out together one night— they didn’t hook up, but the messy divorce definitely did happen.

Two, there was nothing that special in the library's super secret prohibited section; well, usually there wasn’t. It was filled with important documents, no doubt, but you’re sure that any student wouldn’t pay much attention to the files— their eyes would instead fall on the shocking sight that they would be met with.

“How long have you— ah— been allowed back here—?”

“Just recently,” Beomgyu grins, watching as you’re pliant and eager to the two’s touch, the feeling of Taehyun’s hand slipping past your waistband and working its usual magic making you weak in the knees. They’re as annoying as ever, wrapped around your finger as they try and fail to keep their hands off you, their new shared interest dissolving any tension that may have remained.

Working together doesn’t seem that bad now— seeing as they’ve found only success whenever they’re messing with you, flustering and teasing you like they were born to do so.

Oh, and the third and final mystery; you would never have to worry about it. Because as Beomgyu’s soft lips met yours, the feeling of Taehyun sucking gently on the empty canvas of your skin doing nothing to keep you calm, you had no doubt that you weren’t a part of some sick game anymore.

They were here to stay, and they made sure to show it to you any chance they got.

Taglist:♡ @strawbrinkofdeath @bergandysam @hyukalovie @alienqbrain @jkprkerz @she-is-dreaming ♡

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lunargrapejuice · 4 months

Text

midnight chimes

astarion x reader/tav | 1.5k words

warnings: hurt/comfort, no pronouns used, lots of pet names, mentions of astarions trauma, post act two confession

astarion was used to long nights and even longer days. he was used to the nightmares that plagued his meditation under the sun or moon, the unease that seemed ever constant growing louder in the silence of his mind, but this.. this was new and was already proving to be bad for his newly beating heart.

in two hundred years he had not needed to fear the loss of someone else, whether that be in death or by choice, but these days it had been an ever constant on his mind and when his thoughts would not leave him be, he had no choice but to listen to what they told him.

was what he felt between you so fragile? like a fraying thread tying you together that one small tug could snap. or perhaps it wasn’t there to begin with, nothing more than bits of fiber in his hand that you had no use for, that was impossible to grab onto.

after all how could he argue what was undeniably in front of him? the truth that he has absolutely nothing to offer you, not even his body. that he does not deserve your kindness and it was only a matter of time until you would realize it too. the ticking of the hours he counted until this was going to end not enough to drown any of it out and even if it was, he can’t imagine it would make it any better.

thinking of how little time he might have left with you, this feeling of safety that he had not dared dream of having, being cared for and having something to care for in return, kept his heart in his throat. every passing day when you continued to choose him, every choice you made that went against the actions he had seen done by others and done himself for so very long, he wanted to hold onto you tighter and tighter, show you the same safety and care, and continue to make you smile.

it was a want he felt so strongly that it had brought him to tell you the truth of his actions with you thus far despite the worry that it would hurt you enough that you’d hate him for it or that you prove to be like so many others. when you told him you cared for him and held him in your arms, like a strike of a match he felt a spark of his heart that hadn’t beat in centuries and every day since you had kindled it tenderly.

but was it only a matter of time before his freedom and everything it came with all comes to end?

he tries to swallow the tightness in his throat, to think about anything else even if just for a moment, attempt to listen for whatever the others in camp were doing before heading into their tents to distract him when he hears your familiar steps growing closer and closer to him until they stop right outside his tent.

laying on his back, he peaks through one eye at the small slit in the opening of his tent illuminated by the fire light and sees the bottom of your legs, hesitant in their next step, one foot rubbing against the ground anxiously. so close and yet so far.

“if you want to sneak up on me darling i’m afraid you’ll have to do far better than that.”

you startle at his words but welcome them all the same. they broke you from your own worried trance that had left you restless since you and astarion said goodnight and his voice, covered in silk and amusement, made you sigh out a small laugh that released some of the tension in your chest. yet you heard something else behind them, something he tried to cover up that could have been successful if perhaps it had been anyone else.

“may i?” you tug at the opening of his tent and offer him a sweet smile when he pulls it open for you to join him with a motion of his arm and a soft grin on his own.

“hello, my dear.”

in anticipating silence you settle next to him, every moment with your heart echoing in your ears you have no doubt astarion can hear it too. it feels silly to be this nervous, you could almost laugh out loud with your bubbling nerves but the longer you’re in his presence, the more your resolve is sealed to ask what had been on your mind for a few days now.

“i hope there’s nothing troubling you?” he tries to will away the strain to his voice but it’s heavy on his tongue as he waits for the end of this between you, a very possibly reality unfolding before him. surely that's what was happening.. right?

you meet his eyes, the warmth of your cheeks evident in the weak aura of light coming in from the dimming fire outside the fabric that separates you two from the rest of the world and even though it still feels like his heart is stuck in his throat, his worries have began to fall from his shoulders and seep into the ground below, dulled in the shadows of your light.

“no, not at all! i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to worry you,” you shuffle a little closer to him so you're facing him fully but not yet touching him. you could if you wanted, not even an arms reach away was the softness of his white curls that you wanted to run your hands through but for now, you waited and let his round ruby eyes guide the words you wanted to say much smoother than you actually did out. “i - i want to ask.. would it be okay if we could start, maybe, sharing a tent? i mean - only if you’re comfortable of coure! and it’s fine if not! i - i don’t mean anything sexual, i just want to be closer to you but..”

you continue talking without taking a single breath but the words are nearly lost on his ears and when your eyes break from his, he closes the distance between you. slightly chilled fingers caressing your cheek and bring your gaze back to his, feeling the heat of your skin and the beat of heart under his fingers.

your words die down quickly, just how he hoped his touch would cause, and with awaiting wide eyes, you look up at him, your lips falling into an adorable pout when, for a moment, he just stares at you.

“you sweet little thing,” he coos, voice deep and affectionate, rubbing his thumb along your cheek and feeling it blossom a tingle that went up his arm and through his chest when you lean into his touch with fluttering lashes. “if you wanted a cuddle every night all you have to do is ask.”

when your eyes open again they’re full of the same caring and mirthful emotions that are laced in your every word. “well this is me asking for your cuddles every night then,” you can’t help but smile and feel the butterflies in your stomach flutter under his attention and the way he very clearly loved hearing you say it. finally you reach for him in return, inching closer to each other until you are forehead to forehead, sharing every breath. “but only if you feel okay with that too.”

before you can get lost in your words again, he leans in and on bated breath you bask in the feeling of his kiss on the corner of your lips, the fingers cradling your opposite cheek a comforting feather light touch.

“i would love nothing more than to hold you each night my dear,” his words are quiet, honest, and sealed with a kiss you sighed happily into. with a flush to his pale cheeks, his voice is playful as he pulls away, “honestly, i’m surprised it took you this long to ask.” his grip on you tightens, his free around wrapping around your waist to pull you nearly flush against his chest. “you are rather insatiable for me, aren’t you? though i can’t say i blame you.”

as you giggle and shake your head, rubbing your nose against his, you have no choice but to follow him pulling you down on his sheets and into his arms with a surprising amount of strength. astarion held you close, your legs laced together, face to face on his pillow, comfortable in each other's embrace, the tips of your fingers caressing the edge of his ears and the white curls that tickled your skin.

you share another kiss and another, each one soft and unhurried and when you finally do pull away, you can hardly breathe at the sight of him so comfortable and vulnerable with you. a different kind of beautiful than when he smirks with confidence in the radiant sun but leaves you with a wildly beating heart all the same. he looks a little younger, a little lighter and you can only hope to see more of him like this.

#astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 x reader #astarion ancunin #astarion ancunin x tav #astarion ancunin x reader #baldur's gate 3 x reader

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inklore · 2 years

Text

crimson and clover.

part one | next part | series masterlist

premise: maybe you shouldn’t get high with eddie again but you can’t get him off of your mind, and his lips are too inviting to fight the growing addiction you’re succumbing to from the things he can do with them.

pairing: eddie munson x richgirl!reader

word count: 7k

warnings: eighteen+ content, porn with plot, f receiving oral, fingering, a touch of voyeurism, weed smoking, virgin!eddie, teasing and banter, soft dirty talk, alluded blowjob, jealousy mention, cheesy fluff, shitty parentals.

etc: i’m literally obsessed with these two to the point of insanity!! like i’m not usually that much of a plot heavy girly but buckle up besties we in deep <3.

i do not give anyone permission to translate or repost my work, please be respectful — if you enjoyed please comment or reblog!

It’s quite embarrassing, excruciatingly taxing, vexing and every other big word that you could remember and barely comprehend—but now are having a grave first-hand experience with—from those Jane Austen books you had to read in class.

Every ten sellable verb, feeling, pretext; all of them describing the exact state of your mind right now, and how superficial it made you feel. Aforementioned: excruciating, embarrassing.

A week has gone by since the night you spent with Eddie, and it’s all you find yourself thinking about.

Your mind plays a constant loop reel of everything that happened; the giggles, the kiss, the…other thing. At night when you want to sleep your mind is too busy thinking about whether or not Eddie’s thinking about it too, what happened. Or if he’s out bragging to his friends—something you have your doubts about. The two of you hadn’t discussed if this was an under-wraps kind of thing, it was probably common knowledge you wouldn't want it to be spread all over town. Which it would be, like wildfire.

None of your friends have called you to belittle you yet, so you doubt he’s told anyone.

But was it plaguing his mind as pathetically as it was yours? Or were you just so starved for decent human interaction that your mind was holding onto this one night like it was an aphrodisiac?

Maybe if you had received a call from him you wouldn’t be acting so…mortifyingly in your feelings for god knows why.

"Will we be graced with your presence across the tracks again, princess?" He had asked when he pulled up a block down from your house, not trusting his loud engine to not wake up your parents—or at the very least a neighbor who would see and then go running to your parents about the strange man they saw you with. It wasn’t a mess you wanted to deal with.

"Don't call me that." You had groaned, undoing your seatbelt and hiding your smile by biting the inside of your cheek. You hadn’t thought past this night, were still too busy rolling off that high from smoking and having Eddie against your mouth…inside of your mouth.

And maybe it was his smile, his thumb tapping on the steering wheel, eyes flashing to your mouth and back up like he didn’t know if he was allowed to kiss you again, or if he should.

But you reached across the dash and grabbed the pen randomly rested atop of it, leaned over to pull his hand from the wheel, and wrote your number on top of it.

"Don't call before six or after midnight.” You let your smile spread, threw the pen back on the dash, and opened the passenger door hopping out. “See you around, Munson.”

That was seven days ago and counting.

Never-ending counting.

It’s not like you expected him to call. You figured he probably wouldn’t, the two of you were not about to become best friends just because he cleaned your shoes, or let you smoke his weed, or because he came in your mouth. You didn’t—shouldn’t—have any expectations from Munson and you were sure he had none from you.

History didn’t make you friends. Sharing weed or an incredible kiss didn’t either.

So it wasn’t a big deal he hadn’t called.

And yet as you sit at one of the pristine white table cloth tables of the Country Club, your parents on either side of you, your fingers playing with the straw of your drink; you’re wondering if he’s called.

You’re so hyper-focused on that thought, of the thought of that stupid smile that you can’t shut your eyes without seeing—that you don’t hear your mother speaking to you until the words “I heard you two broke up” are spat through the air.

Reality crashes down on you, and you can’t help the grimace that flashes across your lips. Word really does spread like wildfire in this town. You hadn’t expected your parents to find out until at least a few weeks—or never, a girl could dream. Enough time for you to come up with an excuse at least, anything but the truth. Which would be nothing but unacceptably unrealistic to them.

“He’s not a good-”

“I didn’t ask for your feelings on the matter.” Your mother interrupts. Scowls down at the martini glass in her hand. “Fix it. You’re both going to the same college, a college your father called in many favors just to get you in. Since you couldn’t do it on your own.” Her last words are mumbled, snappy, and hurtful as always. “His parents run in the same social circle as us and could do wonders for your father's business. Don’t ruin this for yourself over girlish feelings.”

Your throat feels tight, constricted, suffocated. Your fingers have dropped from your straw to grip the end of your white pleated skirt under the table. You know even if you told your mother the full story, how you truly felt, how you’ve been with him since sophomore year and neither of you have even muttered the words ‘I love you’. And don’t think you ever will. Would.

Or how last year over spring break the two of you broke up for a month and you had felt more rejuvenated than any hundred-dollar spa treatment ever could. As if you had peeled off a deadweight and could finally feel something other than the caked-on layers of presser that were endlessly put onto you by him, by them.

Then he came back and said the same thing your mother did “don’t ruin this for us” when he had been the one to leave you. And you’d done the stupid thing and said yes. As the two of you kissed and made up your mind searched for the why, the how, the what-the-fuck-were-you doing.

And now with your mother's words as fresh as a reopened wound reminding you of the memory, you know you said yes because of her. Your father. Their need to seem so disgustingly perfect on the outside, to hide how ugly they were on the inside.

Were you as ugly as them?

The question makes your knee bounce, knuckles straining from the grip on your skirt.

Your mothers already moved on from you, talking to the friend at her side. Smiling, keeping that perfect crown in place. Turning towards your father you hope to see a sympathetic look, some wise words—wasn’t that what fathers were supposed to do? Wise words and comfort? But he’s not even looking at you, too busy laughing at something the man beside him has said.

You need to get out of here. Go home and scream into your pillow or something.

Standing from the table, a little too quickly. The legs of your chair screeching against the hardwood, your father finally looks at you.

“Everything alright?” A monologue of how everything is the farthest thing from being alright in the back of your throat and ready to be screamed. But then you can feel your mother's eyes on you, don’t have to turn to see her look of impassiveness to know it’s there.

“Yeah,” you give them both your best performed smile. “Just going to do what mom said, fix it.”

Your lie only gets you a hum from said woman and then she’s done with you and turning her head. Your dad gives you the weakest of smiles and asks if you need any money—for no reason at all. Shaking your head you quickly bid them goodbye and do your best walk-sprint out of the building.

The hot summer night air a welcome humidity from the suffocation you felt in there.

You have your parent's driver take you home. Screw your ex and screw your parents.

If your mother wanted him to be in your family so bad maybe she should drop her Pilates instructor and have him instead. It would take a hefty price—that you were sure your parents would gladly pay to get you to shut up and listen to them—to ever bring yourself to his front door and beg for him back.

You didn’t beg. For anyone. Over anything.

You asked. You got. Demanded. Sometimes you didn’t even need to ask. You were just given to. Your bank account and school career showed as much.

Fuck, maybe you were the Princess of Hawkins after all.

You start in a small sprint up the stairs to your room, your throat still feeling as if it’s being squeezed by your mother's words, indifference towards you, demands. Even with her not around you feel like you’re being suffocated by her.

You really shouldn’t have come back home.

Not for the summer. Not anytime. Should have just stuck to the one call a month and check in the mail. Life was more peaceful that way. At least you could breathe.

It was going to be one hell of a long, torturous summer.

“Someone called for you!”

You hear just as your foot lands on the last step. Your heart leaping in your chest as you turn and yell down, “who?”

“They didn’t say.” Your family housekeeper appears at the bottom of the stairs, a small smile on her face. “But they did leave their number and said to call them if you needed help on biology or something like that.” She shakes her head, “could barely understand them. There was loud music in the background.”

Eddie.

The grin that spreads across your lips is demeaning to your social status. Same with the way your heart feels like it’s pumping from your stomach now as you run back down the stairs and take the number from her, only to run back up them and to your room; dialing the number into the pink phone beside your bed, pacing the floor as you wait, hope, shamefully pray that he answers.

On the fifth ring he answers and when his voice floods through the phone when you hear the “shit-hold on” as he turns down the music blaring in the background, you feel like you can finally breathe again. No more tight throat. Suffocating. The only thing you feel now is that familiar giddy ache in your cheeks.

“Biology huh?”

You can hear the puff of air Eddie lets out from realizing it’s you, from the smile that you can tell is on his face when he speaks through the receiver, “I thought telling her I was ‘the weed guy’ would be worse, town freak was my second option.”

"Munson, it's summer no one's doing biology!"

“Incorrect. Summer school is a prison sentence I have had the displeasure of being sentenced to.” Of course, he has. You can’t help the laugh that comes out, one he joins in on.

There’s a silence that spreads where you can hear him fiddling with something on the other line.

And then he’s saying, “is the Princess busy or can she step away from the castle, and grace us, peasants, with her presence?"

You’re smiling again, fuck.

“She could, but I don't know, she might need payment." You say in your best uppity voice, flopping back on your bed. Your fingers coiling and uncoiling the cord hanging from the phone.

"Drats! Right when I’m out of gold doubloons too."

“Oooh, and I only take gold, looks like the peasants must go un-graced today.”

"Would thy majesty take my humble payment of the best weed in the county instead?" He puts on his best historically accurate voice that has you snorting.

“That’s very presumptuous of you to say it's the best."

"Did I say the best? Sorry, I meant the greatest.”

God, you despised how nice this felt. How the muscles in your cheeks were already sore and you hadn’t even been talking to him for more than five minutes. How you can’t remember someone calling you and it being like this, no gossip, no hounding questions or accusations.

Oh, how the normal half lives.

"I'll meet you where you dropped me off the other night, okay?"

"Your chariot will be waiting, princess."

When Eddie picks you up and the two of you fly across town, sharing silent smiles, the town passing in the rear view, heavy metal blaring throughout the speakers—that he doesn’t turn down until his van comes to a stop through a wooded clearing, in front of a familiar lake.

Lovers Lake.

"Really, Munson? Trying to get lucky again?" You tease, a cheeky grin covered up by him laughing behind the hair that moves in his face as he undoes his seatbelt and moves to the back of the van.

You follow him into the back, sitting on the van floor. Eddie on the sofa, much like the last night the two of you were together. Except now you’re sitting with your legs crossed out in front of you, back against one of the walls of the van.

You let him do his thing of pulling out the metal box and rifling through it while he finds what he needs. Occupying your time with looking at the newly added amps and wires that weren’t there the other night.

"What's your band called again?"

"Corroded Coffin.”

You smile remembering him telling you that when you were partnered together. Remember how he drummed his fingers on the desk and air guitared you a silent piece to emphasize how good he swore he could play, how good the band was.

"You should come see us play sometime. If you're into that.” He looks up at you through his bangs, his fingers moving in his lap as he rolls the joint.

You give the tiniest smirk as you say, “like a date?”

His shoulders are shrugging, ringed fingers scratching his cheek. “If a grimy bar and drunk geezers falling off their barstools is your ideal date then yes. Absolutely.” You share a smile and then he’s going back to his task at hand.

When he’s finished rolling, and after you’re done eyeballing him: watching how his fingers work along the rolling papers, those damn rings distracting you, and finding yourself at a loss for words when you watch him bring it to his lips and run his tongue along the seam to close it.

You were here to get away. To kill time. To smoke. Nothing else.

What happened the other night should stay a one time thing. With how your insides keep acting up from the mere thought of it. This was dangerous territory already.

"Your payment, princess." Eddie holds out the freshly rolled joint, doing a little bowing motion as he does. Making you laugh and playfully snatch it from his fingers.

Bringing it to your lips, he pulls out a lighter from the front pocket of his jeans. Leaning forward he flicks it and holds it to the other end, lighting it for you. His eyes on yours as you forget to inhale for half a second, too busy staring back at him. The thick smoke almost making you choke after you’ve come to and inhale; an intensity holding between your gazes.

He’s so close, if you were to remove the joint you could lean in and….

Nope. Not happening. Not tonight.

You quickly move back over to your spot and take a few puffs, praying that it chills whatever tempestuous feelings were burning in your lower belly right now.

The two of you fall into an easy rotation, puffing, passing, Eddie making a joke and you losing it. A peaceful cycle that soon has you forgetting about the earlier events of the day and how you had felt; your nerves now lax, body feeling good. And not just because of the weed, but because of the boy sitting in front of you.

A fact you let yourself feel.

The only thing you allow yourself to feel.

You’re tapping your foot mindless against the bottom of the couch to the metal playing through the van, ignoring the friction it causes against the pant leg of Eddie’s jeans; his leg pressed against yours as the two of you have your limbs spread out.

Your fingers are flipping through a random magazine you’ve found in one of the many piles of junk on the floor. “Who sings this?”

"Corroded Coffin.”

Your head snaps up a little too fast giving you whiplash, as you look up at him—he’s already staring back, how long has he been watching? And have your cheeks always been this warm, or is the thought that he had possibly been watching you for god knows how long that’s making you feel overheated right now?

“This is your band?!”

“Yes,” he chuckles. “I don't see any blood coming from your ears so I take it your majesty approves?"

You make a face, shrugging. "I was swallowing down my vomit actually, was trying to hide it with being nice."

“Mmm.” He replies, his hair covering his smile as he fiddles with the chain connected to his jeans.

It’s an effort to pull your eyes away from him and go back to flipping through the magazine—as if you were doing anything other than looking at the pictures. Your high mind having very little comprehension of the words printed across the flimsy papers.

That comfortable silence spreads between the two of you again, your foot going back to its tapping. Your head doing a little bob along with the beat.

“Was that a jive I just saw?”

Your movements stop, “a jive?” The snort of laughter that comes deep from within your throat should be embarrassing. If it were anyone else in front of you you know you’d do everything in your power to cover it up.

“Who says that?”

“I know many people who say it.”

“Are they 80 and over?”

Eddie shakes his head, his laugh dying down. “You like it, the music?”

“I’ve heard worse.” You shrug nonchalantly. Close the magazine and toss it back in its pile of junk.

“I’ll take it!” His fist pumping in the air in triumph.

Shaking your head you send an eye roll his way. Your heart doing a little leap in your just at how cute you think he looks right now. Your mind working overtime to hone in on the little things that light up his features when he smiles or laughs—and then the little things that don’t matter at all: like how this is your second time here and the first he had scurried around and tried to move his random messes out of the way, to clean it up. But this time around he didn’t even bother, as if a comfortability has already grown between the two of you. You hadn’t run for the hills, already knew what he was about, that this van was a second home to him by the looks—and he knew you wouldn’t care what it looked like. Hadn’t made a fuss the first time so why not let you see him more in his realm?

It makes a weird affection burn in your gut and has you toying with the bottom of your skirt to distract yourself from it.

Just listen to the music. The band. It’s pretty good.

Which isn’t shocking to you in the slightest. It only took you all your school career, and give or take a few years, to realize that Eddie Munson was a lot of things but mediocre was not one of them.

But your mind is racing a mile a minute, unlike the first time, you smoked Eddie’s stash. Which meant that you were the problem, the issue causing your mind to run from the blissful high into difficult feelings and misunderstandings of said feelings.

Go figure.

Your legs are still touching each other. You can feel the bare minimum of his heat against your legs, but it’s enough to add flashbacks of the other night into the mix of your mind. How you could feel the heat from other parts of his body; under you, beside you, against you, inside your mouth.

The tender skin of your bottom lip quickly becomes raw from your teeth, as the memories bombard you. As you grow warmer and warmer. And make the mistake of looking up at him, watching him, staring at him—and then he’s catching you doing just that and you have the urge to ask him if he’s thought about you sense that night, or why he hadn’t called sooner.

Questions with obvious answers.

But your mind is working against you here.

And the last thing you want him to think is that you’re just sitting at home waiting for him to call. Like you’re desperate for it, begging for it. Something you do not do. And was not about to start for Eddie Munson.

“Did you have plans later?” He asks.

Making your brows come together, a confused look on your face as you wonder if you’ve missed something. If he spoke before this and you just didn’t hear because of your internal war.

“The outfit,” he points with a finger, “it’s chic.” A lopsided grin pulls up the corners of his mouth just as you laugh.

“Chic?” You shake your head, “I was at the Country Club with my parents.”

“And you let me steal you away from such fun with the other royals? Honored." His hand splays over his chest.

You make a face, “my mother thinks I’m crawling on my hands and knees back to lover boy." You drop the same nickname Eddie had the other night for your ex, seeing his expression change from it. His smile faltering, fingers brushing at a few loose strands of hair in his face.

“Are you?”

“If I was, would I be here with you?"

"Maybe you needed some devil induced bravery to help you crawl."

"I wouldn't waste a good high on him,” you scoff.

Eddie’s silent for a second too long for your sanity and then he’s saying, “instead you're here wasting it on me."

"It's not a waste.” The words slip out. Come out so naturally that you don’t realize how sentimental of a meaning they have until you see Eddie’s expression. See the softness of it, and how you cannot bear the way your insides feel right now.

What’s the worst thing that can happen from you hooking up with Munson again?

“At least it doesn't have to be.." you’re pulling at your skirt again, can’t bring your eyes up to his as the words hang in the air—an invitation.

"Hitting on me now, princess?” His leg pushes into yours playfully, “who knew you could be so flattering. So charitable.” He teases.

You only look up to scowl at him, because you were not hitting on him—maybe, not really, you didn’t hit on people, you were hit on. But like many things around Munson it had changed, morphing itself into something you don't recognize; something better. You are going to tell him as much, flaunt your Princess status tenfold. But can’t stop looking into his big brown eyes, can’t stop the burning in your stomach going lower lower until it turns into that same lust you felt for him the other night.

And fuck it.

You’ve already dipped your toe over that line once, mine as well put your whole foot in.

"Shut up, Munson.” Your retort is less ice than it is fire, a breathy huff that you mean to sound playful but miss the mark. “Come here,” you hesitate. "Please.”

The beam that spreads across his face is anything but subtle or shy, promptly dropping down to his knees and crawling the short distance to you. A position he stays in even as he brings his lips to yours.

The kiss, his lips, his fingertips at the side of your neck just as heart stopping and pulsating-ly devastating to your insides as last time. A pang of jealousy shoots through your belly at the thought of how many girls he has kissed before you, he’s had to have kissed a couple, a handful maybe, you weren’t this good at kissing if you hadn’t. Kisses didn’t just feel like this, normally. Right?

Or maybe you just weren’t kissing the right people. Person.

It doesn’t take long for the kiss to move into the realm of breathless pants and tongues against each other, teeth biting into lips. And unlike last time Eddie doesn’t need an invitation to touch you; his hands go from your neck to your cheeks, your jaw, chin, the back of your skull, and into your hair. The tips of his fingers making a road map of every sensitive spot above your collarbone.

Eventually, thanks to some maneuvering and awkward giggles the two of you are laid on the floor of the van—you on your back, Eddie on his side with his front pressed flush against you. His lips have veered from yours, leaving a path of kisses and nips along your jaw, under it, to your neck where he runs his tongue along a sensitive spot of skin, his lips wrapping around it to suck softly and then sink his teeth into.

A breathy gasp strangled out of you, your hips moving against the air. An imprint of Eddie smirking against your skin from the noise, left behind when he kisses just below the area. Fuck.

“How many–” you swallow, lick your lips, breathless, “how many girls have you kissed like this?”

It’s probably not the right thing to ask right now, but your mind keeps going back to it. That jealousy making your stomach sink as you anticipate his answer, as you dread and wish your body and brain were working together instead of on separate plains of pain and pleasure.

“Uh, a dozen obviously.” He laughs softly against you when you dig your nails into his arm playfully, in replace of the scowl you’d shoot him down with if you could turn your head—or if you wanted him to stop the knee shaking presses of his lips right now, which you’re delirious but not that delirious to stop him. “Only you, princess.”

The information shouldn’t have you soaring any more than you already are, shouldn’t make those jealousy twists get snuffed out by a belly full of butterflies, and flutters that go all the way down to your throbbing clit. But it does and you’re reeling at the sentiment that you’re probably Eddie’s first everything in this sense. In this realm.

It’s not triumph you feel, it’s something softer and dangerously close to affection and attachment that has no business filling your chest with warmth right now.

And instead of feeling the aforementioned feelings, distracting yourself with giving him pleasure—and to hear those beautiful noises from the other night—your hand is moving from his arm to the bulge pressing to your hip.

Your fingers and palm run up his clothed length and pull those delicious breathy grunts from him. No man should sound this good, no sound should have you feeling like you’re melting into the floor.

Your mouth finding Eddie’s in a hungry kiss, a need to swallow down his noises like a drug, needing sedation. You could get addicted to this if you’re not careful.

Your fingers drag themselves up to his belt, try to blindly pull the leather through its buckle, the loops. And just like a repeat of the night before, his hand is there to stop you.

“Gotten shy on me?” You ask with a coyness that makes him give you a ‘not in this lifetime’ look.

“I just want to make it crystal clear that I didn’t bring you here for this.” His tone only holds gentleness, his hand bringing yours up to his mouth to brush a few kisses across your knuckles.

“Even if you did,” your fingers twist a strand of his hair, “I wouldn’t be upset.”

And you mean that. If Eddie had only brought you here for a replay of the other night or something further than that, you know—even if it was against your better judgment—you wouldn’t be too upset about it, or at all. It was hard to be upset with lips like his pulling out smiles and whimpers from you.

But it also means that Eddie had called you because he wanted to see you, to hang out…which is harder for you to grasp than the prospect of only casual hookups between the two to you.

Those Jane Austen feelings back with a vengeance in your chest cavity.

Your answer makes a chuckle echo in his chest. “But,” he’s looking at you with all seriousness within those doe eyes. “Now that we’re–” he motions to your current positions with his hand, “here. I want to return the favor. For the other night.”

Oh?

Oh.

Pressing your lips together, you do your best to hide the excitement that shoots up your spine, nodding in a super-casual-not-too-fast way. “Yeah, okay, yes, totally.”

“Totally?” He mocks you, smirking.

“Totally.”

Then his lips are on yours again without needing further confirmation. The kiss slower this time compared to the last lip lock that made your bottom lip feel like it was inflamed from his teeth. Your mouths move in perfect sync, and if you could figure out a way you know you could get off by just his kiss alone. He moves your hand back to his crotch, giving you back access to his hardness as his hand begins its travel down your chest. Palming your boobs over your white polo, his thumb moving across your nipple, making you whimper. Your chest pushing up into him.

The closer he gets—the further his fingers move along the fabric of your clothes—the anticipation of where you want him, where he wants to be, makes your legs pull together. Thighs in a tight lock, your attempted relief of the pressure on your clit only makes the throbbing worse. You can feel how soaked you are through the cotton of your panties, know that once you feel his fingers slip inside of you it’s going to be game over.

There's a whoosh of air against your thighs from Eddie pushing up the top of your skirt, putting your clothed pussy on display for him. His mouth pulling from yours as he looks down at you and takes you in. The hunger in his eyes turning the brown hues in them black. You’re about to ask him if he wants you to take your underwear off, his fingers slipping past the elastic of them stopping you. His palm warm against your mound.

Eddie runs his middle finger through your folds, voice low and gravelly when he says. “You’re so wet.” All you can do is mewl, bite your already raw lip as you try to keep your hips still, try to hold yourself back from fucking his hand the way you want to. His fingers explore you for a bit, misstepping your throbbing clit each time the tips of his fingers come close to it. Even as you finally let yourself move your hips a fraction of an inch up, he’s still not touching the spot you really need, instead, he’s moving every place you don’t need him. Until he slips a finger inside of you too aggressively, making an “ahh” hiss out of you.

Your face scrunched when he turns to look down at you, halting his actions. Body tense, “did I hurt you?”

He’s never done this before, it’s not new knowledge and yet thanks to your hormone filled haze—and the need to come—you were expecting him to know all the places to touch. To not be as aggressively pushy right from the get-go.

“No,” you sigh, laughing softly. “Sort of, just…can I show you?” You’re nervous he’s going to take it the wrong way. That this is where it’s going to end because it'll be awkward and he’ll be embarrassed or mad or something.

But there you go thinking Eddie is one thing when he’s the exact opposite. The endless surprise of this boy never ceasing to show you why you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover—or by its fellow shitty townspeople.

Eddie nods, eyes soft and tentatively looking at you in the same way an excited student looks thrilled to learn from a teacher.

Wasting no time you loop your fingers into the elastic of the cotton covering your pussy, pulling the garment down your legs and tossing it to the side. Moving comfortably back into your lying position, skirt still pushed up, completely showcasing yourself to him. A flutter sinking low into your belly when you watch Eddie’s throat bob from a tight swallow as he looks down at your wet cunt.

And while he watches, stares at you, you’re staring up at him. Watching the hunger and desire to learn—to be taught—displaying itself across his face; your hand moves between your legs, the pad of your index finger putting the lightest of pressers on your clit. The moan you let out has Eddie’s hair falling in your face for half a second as his eyes snap to your face. As he watches your mouth part, brows come together, breaths shaky and weak as you touch yourself. Rubbing slow circles against your throbbing clit, where you wanted, needed to feel him. Where you’ve been throbbing and aching for what felt like hours—days—for him.

His fingers dig into your thigh as he spreads your legs wider, holding it up and against him below your knee so you’re completely open for him. So he can see you run your fingers down between your folds to catch the gathering arousal at your entrance and pull it back up to coat your clit.

You should be talking right now, should be directing him with your words, but you can’t. Have never touched yourself in front of anyone before, never had to, or wanted to. The act of touching yourself strictly permitted for when you were alone in your room at night. Never like this. But you’ve been convinced. Turned over a new leaf in the things you like, enjoy; the way Eddie is watching your fingers, the way he brings his gaze back up so fucking slow to look at your face. To hold eye contact with you as you moan and tremble. That mounting pressure already starting, so fast, so good.

Eddie leans into the small distance of space between your mouths to swallow down one of your moans that comes out at the same time his lips press to yours. “You’re so pretty.” He whispers between kisses. “How many guys have you let watch you like this?”

You whimper, breath hot on his mouth, “none. Only you.”

He’s grinning against your mouth, “you do this at night when you’re alone in your bed?”

“Yes.” Humming, you feel breathless, can feel your hips gyrating against your hand, legs trembling. Know you’re so close. But don’t want to make yourself come. Want Eddie to be the one to make you come, want his fingers to be inside of you when your walls constrict and carry you through that euphoric high.

“Who knew you were such a dirty girl, princess.” His head lifts back up to look back down at your pussy, the wet sounds of your arousal against your finger and clit filthy.

Have you ever been this wet before? This turned on? Fuck, Eddie Munson.

Without thinking—reeling off of your own need—you grab his hand that's still holding your leg to him. “Put your hand over mine.” Following directions eagerly Eddie does so, places his searing palm atop yours, his index finger resting perfectly against yours; moving along as you go back to stroking your clit. “Like this, slow–ahh–circles.” The last syllables of your words choked out over a moan. Your skin feels like it’s on fire, know you’re probably making a mess on the makeshift carpeting below you.

He copies your movements for one, three, six circles and then you’re snaking your hand away and it’s his finger on your clit. The change in feeling is instantaneous and has your hips stuttering, whines coming out weaker. Your hand gripping the material of his shirt, needing to ground yourself. To remind you that yes, this is reality and not some crazy out of body wet dream.

“Like that?” Eddie asks against your cheek.

“Yes.” You don’t think your moans have ever sounded this wailing, this intense to the point where you’re almost embarrassed at how good you feel right now. How your body is shaking and mewling and reaching out for him for pleasure. In need of it.

This time when he slips a finger into you it’s slow, so good and gentle as he pumps it inside of you, that amplifies the squelching of your wetness. “This okay?”

“Mmhmm.”

He fucks you like that, his middle finger fucking up into you, his thumb brushing against your clit at just the right angle that has you on the verge of seeing stars. You’re so so close, know that if he keeps doing that you’re going to be a goner–

“Wait, what are you doing?” Your brows pull up in confusion as you watch him detach himself from your side, removing his hand from between your thighs. Settling himself between your legs on his knees.

You expect him to start undoing his belt, figure he’s ready to take it further, aren't mad at the thought—but he’s surprising you again. “You got to taste, it’s only fair, princess.” Eddie smirks, situates himself in a comfortable hunching position, and then you’re gasping as he runs the tip of his tongue along your clit. Any rebuttal you could have thought to reply with dead in the water.

“Fuck, Eddie,” there are no missteps like the first time he was down there with his hand. Mimicking the movements you showed him with your fingers with his tongue, with a few added experimental licks and sucks that have your breath caught in your throat. “Ohmygod, and you’ve never done this before?” You curse, feel a breathy laugh fall across your clit. One, then another, finger slipping into you moving in tandem with his tongue.

Only one other guy has gone down on you and it was not as nearly intense or agonizing pleasurable as this—to the point where your thighs are closing in around his head, hands in his hair. Back arching. You feel like a woman crazed, like you had no idea you could feel this searing, pleasure this good.

You mean to say something, to warn him, to say any words that you can dredge up from the crevice of your dysfunctional brain; but all you can do is scream as you come against his mouth, as your pussy convulses around his fingers. Your hips rolling up into him, thighs shaking, body spasming as his name falls from your lips like a sinful prayer.

“Munson,” you whine, pulling at his chin once you’ve come down enough to function. Once you can finally see something other than the white bursts of light across your vision. Eddie’s tongue still running along your sensitive clit to the point of oversensitivity, that you have to pull him up.

His chin and cheeks are damp, bangs pressed to his forehead. Find yourself laughing at his tousled hair—no thanks to your fingers. There’s a cheshire grin stretched across his face as he runs the back of his hand over his mouth. Crawling up your body to hover over you and kiss you, a whimper coming from your throat as you taste yourself on his tongue.

“Wow.” You breathe, smile over at him as he rolls back to his side beside you. A palm resting over where your heart is still beating a mile a minute.

“I’ll take it.” Your laughs are in unison as a look of triumph flashes in those big eyes.

“If only you were that much of an eager learner in school, might have graduated, joined me on the road to success.” You pick.

“Not even seconds after I make her come and she’s already wounding me.” His chuckle muffled by the press of another kiss to your lips. “Better than lover boy?” Eddie teases.

“Can’t compare something that never happened.”

He makes a disgusted noise from the back of his throat, “no wonder you left him for the steerage.”

You hum nodding, turning your head to the side to press a kiss to his throat. Would it be too sentimental of you to tell him that he’s better than anyone you’ve been with? That no one has ever made you come that hard, not even yourself. That you can feel your wetness rolling down your ass cheeks and inner thighs from how wet he made you.

It could be a mood killer, sentiment isn't even your thing.

Plus it’s his turn now. Fair’s fair right?

There’s no complaint from Eddie as you move on top of him, roll your hips against his hardness, the seam of his jeans making you shudder from still feeling over-sensitive, as you move down the length of his body to rid him of his jeans and take him into your mouth.

“Here.” There’s a cassette tape gripped in his hand, the back of his head resting on the headrest of the driver's seat. You’re parked in the same spot he picked you up earlier, a block from your house. “Since you liked it so much,” he smiles.

Sentiment. Fuck.

Your smile is too cheesy and girlish for you to wrap any logistics into your head about it just being a tape, as you take it from and see his band name in black marker at the top. Your stomach fluttering. A simple gift that's not a big deal. You have to remind yourself as you try not to lean over and kiss him on that beautiful mouth of his.

“Here,” you say as you pull off your underwear and drop them into his lap. “A gift for a gift.”

You don’t let yourself stick around to see the heart-palpating look in his eyes as he grips the fabric in his hand and laughs, shouting “gold doubloons could never compare!” out of the open window. Making you press a finger to your lips, shooting daggers at him through the windshield as you pick up the pace towards your house. Trying to quiet your giggles and wipe the big girlish grin on your face.

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #stranger things smut #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #heavy metal love !

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crypticandmachiavellianaugustine · 5 months

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Sweet Nothings (Part One)

Part Two

Eris Vanserra x Reader

Summary: Y/N is a lesser fae who is spending her life wandering around different Courts, everything changes when she ends up in Autumn and by accident meets the new High Lord.

Warnings: angst with a happy ending, lots of self doubt, mentions of dog attack? (not really the smoke hounds are good puppies who look terrifying)

English is not my language so I deeply apologise for any eventual mistake also sorry if it sucks, I reread it while tired.

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One day, when she was only a curious child, Y/N had found her nemesis in a bush of wild raspberries. It was the time of dreams and fireflies who, in her mind of little girl, plausibly lived inside thorny loops of greenery with delicious berries peaking from behind the leaves. But the fireflies were not pleased to find a young thief at their front door and that was the day Y/N got her first and only scar, a thin white line on one of her legs as a reminder to not walk through literal thorns too carelessly.

As an adult, Y/N had made it an habit to plant raspberries and roses in every place she had ever lived. She was a lesser fae, and despite everything, that meant a very long life. And she was part mortal, with no other choice than to live in the outskirts of every society she encountered in Prythian, destined to shine briefly for her talents but be quickly disposed of, when those around her could scent the doomed outcast in her.

Born in Winter she had wandered to Summer and from there she had thrown herself into the unknown, as the fates intended. She had lived a hundred lives, voraciously trying to fill her loneliness, learning new things all the time. No matter how much life humbled her, or how miserable she was sometimes. Today she was a patissier at the Court of Autumn, but in the past she had been a maid in Winter, secretly learning a language spoken in a remote mortal land under the light of a candle when the household she was working in was asleep. Silently, in the coldest hours of the night she had fought to stay awake and do something with herself that was different from scrubbing the floors of that old manor.

A century after that, she had been almost a beggar in the lands of Dawn, the witch that lived as an hermit and used every plant she found to create oils and fragrances and remedies, trying to match every smell with a specific feeling or memory.

Doing something other than what was expected from someone of her stance had been what had kept her alive for so long, what had kept her sane when all of her hopes were digging themselves deep into the ground of a place that was not her home.

And a home was the one thing that Y/N had never really known. She had lived in plenty of places, but in her mind a malicious sentence echoed constantly, 'the point of a home is to have somewhere to always return to'.

Her dreams, her hopes, her passions... Those were the things that made her feel like an individual and not like the lowly being she had often been treated like.

For many long years, books had been her only friends, the only comfort afforded to her by the world. And in dusty books from the mortal lands, wastepaper in Prythian, she had decided than one day she would live an autumn like the ones described in those stained pages. But the Autumn Court had been avoided like the plague by Y/N in her constant wandering, too many stories of cruelty had came out of that place for her to be courageous enough to dare enter that territory.

Months before, when she was still in the Day Court, working in one of the countless libraries, she had heard whisperings of the passing of the old High Lord of Autumn who apparently had died under mysterious circumstances. She decided to move to a closer court and observe Autumn, but once she had catched a glimpse of the rust coloured tree leaves in the distance she knew that it would not take too long before her curiosity consumed her caution.

Y/N lived in the frost covered land of Winter for three weeks before leaving the court she had been born in centuries before, to pry into a forest that reminded her of a particularly bright sunset.

A month later, Y/N still had no idea on how a simple walk into a forest turned into her working at the most important palace of Autumn. Actually she knew exactly how it had happened but the chain of events had been so confusionary to live that she preferred not to think too much about it.

It all started when she got lost, too mesmerised by the warm colours surrounding her to carefully stay close to the border of Winter. And it progressively got stranger when Y/N realised with horror that she was walking on a trail that ended in a village. Certainly a picturesque place she thought before trying to put some distance between her and the cabins without being noticed, failing so miserably that she pondered hiding in a cave and have another few almost hermitic decades.

Before she could manage to build up a convincing lie about places she was trying urgently to reach, she had found herself sitting for dinner in a real house as a guest of an extremely chatty family, ordered to sit by a matron that was as welcoming as she was intimidating. And after a week, awkwardly relishing the kindness of the villagers like a wild cat being fed for the first time, Y/N's first real attempt at socialising had been preparing delicious sweets for everyone who had been nice to her. She always stubbornly downplayed her talents, flaunting made her anxious and obsessed about everything that could go wrong. It all started with simple biscuits, buttery and spiced, served with warm goat milk to her hosts for breakfast. Continued with a plate of swirling pastel pink meringues and a strawberry marmalade cake, to an old widow that had tailored and gifted her a delicate dress decorated with numerous embroidered tiny lilac flowers, one of her favourites from when she had been young. Then she baked an earthy weat cake with chestnut cream for a very old fae who allowed her to use his personal library. After weeks of joyful carrot muffins, candied citrus fruits given away to the few younglings of the village at every occasion, and a sustained sequence of birthday cakes, her new ephemeral normalcy was shattered by the visit of some relatives of the family that had welcomed her the first time she had stumbled into that small settlement.

The lady of the house who had treated Y/N almost like a daughter had a brother who knew someone who worked in the kitchens of the Forest House and he swore that he could find a place as an assistant patissier for the maker of the cherry cake he was enjoying, cake that Y/N had baked that day, realising that the small house was fervently preparing for a special dinner.

'Forest House, what a stupid name for a palace' she thought, of course she would leave, the last thing she wanted was to be a burden for her hosts. Even if she had enjoyed her time in the village she was ready to leave, she would go back one day, she knew it.

Y/N had learned the hard way not to fuss over the past and not to get too attached to anything she met in her eternal wandering. She often found herself thinking that her life flowed just like water, unforgiving and unemotional warden of memories that were never allowed to get back to the shore.

She whispered her goodbyes into the morning mist and left without looking back.

To fall into a routine while working in the kitchens had been surprisingly easy. Just as easy and unexpected it had been starting to work there, Y/N had been quickly pushed into the role of one of the main patissiers by a small and nervous male who had declared himself too old to bother with the frills of the fine patisserie that was expected to come out of the kitchens of the Forest House.

Y/N found it almost relaxing, to work unbothered in her corner. Baking, preparing, assembling and decorating her various creations, had become the actions that paced her days. The chatter, the clashing of pots and the crackling of the fire were all background noises that kept her mind silent, free to focus on her job.

She rarely left the staff quarters, and when she did, it was to sneak into the gardens and explore them furtively, even if no one was ever there to enjoy them anyway.

Most of her free time was spent with the cats that lived of the kitchen's leftovers, she had realised with delight that the small feral creatures somehow enjoyed the soft singing that sometimes came out of her mouth when she was alone or too distracted.

As an outsider she felt shy when talking with her colleagues, and they had all run out of conversation points rather quickly. All they ever talked about was work, the new elusive High Lord that everyone was wary of and every scandal the nobles caused on a weekly basis. Y/N was not too interested in any of that, after all she did not know any of those people. She strongly suspected to have catched a glimpse of the new High Lord during one of her secret explorations of the gardens, when she had noticed a crowned head move away from one of the windows, in a confusionary mirage of auburn hair and an aura of arrogance. Her visits to the gardens had decreased drastically after that occurrence. Better careful than caught.

One night she decided to sneak into the gardens again, the day had been an almost nightmare and she needed to get away from the kitchens for a little while. It had been a busy day, lords from all over the Court were visiting the Forest House and the kitchens felt like a gigantic furnace. Y/N had been forced to take refuge in the ice cellar to finish up all of the desserts she was preparing to avoid them melting miserably in the torrid chaos. All of her cat friends had avoided the kitchens the whole day, frightened by the deafening sounds and strong smells.

Y/N threw herself on a bed of dense moss, breathing in deeply the scent of alyssum that permeated in that hidden spot of the gardens. She got up with a huff and started walking, falling asleep there would be a terrible idea. She took a new route, one that she had usually avoided during her past secret explorations, she felt bolder hidden by the darkness of the night. The unexplored part of the gardens was near the orangery and the large path in front of it was not covered by trees like the rest. Y/N gently slid her fingers over a fragrant line of muguets before stopping in front of the pot of an majestic orchid that had definitely seen better days, she hid the plant in a corner that was a little more bit sheltered from the crisp autumnal wind.

Y/N continued to walk until she reached an enormous and elaborate fountain. It was one of her favourites parts of the gardens, the intricate metal fence that surrounded it was rusty and the fountain itself was so vast that a small island had been placed at its center, the statues on it were covered with moss. Water came out of small statuettes of all around the perimeter but must of it was coming out of the island, the sound of it difficult to ignore. It was like something out of a book, a forgotten wonder in an abandoned garden. A group of ducks lived there and Y/N liked to gather berries from nearby bushes and feed the adorable animals. She could see them, despite the darkness, smoothly swimming towards her. She quickly picked a handful of blueberries and threw them in the water, her gesture met with a few happy quacking sounds.

Y/N smiled to herself and started to head in direction of the kitchens, hoping to sneak in her little room without awakening any of her colleagues. The night was silent and hearing a rustle behind her made her stop in her tracks petrified, she slowly turned around just in time for a monstrous beast to jump on her and make her fall onto the ground with a terrified screech. The beast, that she realised was a dog, was blocking her with its paws painfully pressed into her ribs, sniffing her face. Y/N wanted to scream loudly and desperately, but she held it back and tried to stay still, hoping that the dog would lose interest in her. Tears were running down her face and usually she wasn't one for praying, but in her mind she begged the Mother to save her from a fate as horrible as dying mauled by the jaws of that animal. It was licking her face, cruelly preparing to take the first bite...

"Let the little bunny go, Willow," said a male voice, good-naturedly scolding the dog. Y/N started sobbing when the monster- Willow- finally allowed her to breathe. The gigantic dog lowered her head to the ground and looked at the crying girl, Y/N could swear that she saw worry in those eyes and Willow tentatively licked her face, whining in a comically apologetic way for a hound so terrifying.

Strong arms grabbed her and pulled her up, in between tears she found herself looking at a tall male, clearly one of the nobles. It took her a few moments to connect the dots, the auburn hair and the hound, she could make out the dark shapes of more of them in the distance, his impeccable clothes and the slightly haughty expression... Y/N was almost sure that she was in front of the Hight Lord, and if the one scrutinising her in that moment was not him, he was probably one of his brothers.

Realising that she had been caught in the gardens she made a curtsy, trying to contain her trembling of fear from everything that was happening. He clicked his tongue, and Y/N held her breath terrified, she had annoyed him even more.

But instead of immediately reprimanding her or worse, he tilted her head up. There was a surprising gentleness in his gesture that clashed with the impassive expression on his face, his eyes on the other hand carried a glint of arrogance and amusement in them.

"Don't worry, little bunny, none of us bites without a good reason," he said, almost as if he was making fun of her. Then he produced a handkerchief and handed it to her, Y/N could not dare to accept it, she didn't want to stain the white and soft looking fabric with the mud that had dirtied her hands after his hound had made her fall. He rolled his eyes with an attitude that in a clearer state of mind she would have found infuriating and, still with that strange gentleness, he wiped her tears off. Y/N almost jumped back, embarrassed.

"Does the little bunny have a name?" He asked. Y/N was starting to get mildly annoyed with his attitude, he was talking to her as if she actually was a wild frightened creature of the woods.

She told him her name in a timid whisper and he repeated it, her name sounding almost comforting in his mouth. Y/N tried to put on a mask of composure.

"I deeply apologise, my lord. I should not be here and..." she said quickly and agitated before he interrupted her by putting a finger on her lips.

"Call me Eris," he said not looking at her and going to damp the handkerchief under the spilling water of one of the small fountain statuettes near them.

Y/N went pale, so he was the High Lord. He started cautiously cleaning her hands, making sure that she didn't hurt herself falling.

"I can do this on my own. You shouldn't bother yourself with me, my lord" she whispered but he ignored her, except for an annoyed look when she insisted in not calling him by his name.

"You don't feel it yet, don't you?" asked Eris frowning and observing her carefully. Y/N looked at him interrogatively. Then suddenly it all became clear and the realisation took her breath away. In a moment something snapped in between them and a single thread of gold tied their souls together. In the past she had tried to imagine what a mating bond could feel like but the reality of it was completely different from every single daydream she had secretly indulged in. The sheer and raw sense of belonging was something unexpected, it was as if the nostalgia that she often felt inside of her heart had been finally placated.

She would have fallen to the ground again if he didn't catch her, holding her in his arms almost with reverence.

"Never again you will fall" murmured Eris "I won't allow it".

"That is an unpractical intention" she replied. Uncertainty was rumbling in her mind, she wanted to run, to hide far away and disappear, to live like a wild animal in the forest and forget everything about all of this. He was her mate and a stranger, their lives were not supposed to touch, they were not supposed to meet, let alone being bound together by a superior force.

Y/N felt ashamed suddenly, she was being weak by allowing him to be close, to hold her up when she was supposed to ruinously fall. Someone of his stance would never accept to be shackled to a lesser fae, she did not want to delude herself into heartbreak and rejection. Maybe he was being polite for pity or for some perverse game, was she a rabbit about to fall into the jaws a fox?

She hastily put some distance between them, in that moment she really wished to have the ability to winnow.

Eris had a hurt look in his eyes when she backed away, it lasted a second before he composed himself once again and started speaking calmly, as if he knew of her intentions and he wanted to keep her from running like a frightened wild bunny.

"I have no intention to hurt you. I merely plead you to allow me to take care of you and to protect you, others may try to harm you for this bond between us. It is your choice to accept it or not but I would like to clarify that, for me, you are a miracle I never dared to hope in".

"You don't know me, don't use words you will regret," said Y/N, her face a mask of cold nonchalance that she sometimes used to protect herself with. But he simply smiled and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Please," he whispered, in a vulnerable manner that made Y/N raise her brows with scepticism. How could she surrender to the unknown?

Y/N was standing in front of her mirror, doubtfully studying her reflection. Three months had passed since the night in the garden.

Two months of tedious hours with a dozen seamstresses who had been tasked to create a wardrobe for her that was worthy of the High Lord's mate. Three months of eating almost every meal with Eris and spending time in his office or in the gardens together. Three months of trying to fill her days with literature and other pastimes to keep her mind from thinking too intensely about the uncertainty of her future.

When she had accepted to be moved to another, more suitable, room for her security-excuse quickly added by Eris just when she was about to start protesting- she had insisted for her new room to be as simple as possible and she was sure that her mate had not taken that request into consideration in the slightest.

Her room was spacious and sumptuously decorated, the windows were tall, some of them partly made of intricate stained glass art, and there was even a terrace.

Y/N continued to stand in front of the large mirror, trying to find a way to make her hair presentable. She knew that she could never match the sophisticated looks of the ladies she had seen at court, wives and daughters of advisers and courtiers with intricate hairstyles and the behaviour of someone who belonged there in the Forest House. She had started to be almost ashamed of how her hair only reached her shoulders, she had used to love how the delicate waves framed her face and how comfortable keeping them at that length was, but at court she felt like a fish out of water. Shortly after the first dresses had been completed and started to be placed in her room, jewelry appeared as well and Y/N had refrained from wearing it. The jewels were magnificent more that anything she had seen before, she debated if the mating bond had somehow made Eris aware of the things that she would like when emeralds and dark amethysts, baroque pearls and aquamarines had started to appear. She huffed exasperated and took an elaborate pair of gold earrings with rose-coloured pearls, they matched her dress and hopefully counterbalanced the simplicity of her hair.

She picked up one of the cats that had mastered enough bravery to go find her deep into the labyrinth that was the palace when she had disappeared from the kitchens. She had tried to dissuade them from playing with the canopy of her bed but the finely embroidered fabric beared the signs of their mischievous claws. Willow had also found her way into her room, the hound looked silly with the cats playing with her tail while she observed the mate of her master move around the chamber.

The cat in her arms immediately started purring, Y/N had called the fluffy creature Luna, after the feline decided to live constantly gravitating around her.

She considered wearing a pale green mantle but decided otherwise, it was one of those rare days when the sun shone over the Autumn Court and she was determined to make the best of it.

Y/N left her chamber and started heading in direction of the gardens, she knew that she would find Eris waiting for her. It was starting to become a habit to promenade together around the gardens in the afternoon, her initial shyness had soon become curiosity and she had realised that conversing with her mate was quite enjoyable. When the mating bond had snapped, it had been a long time since Y/N had a long and significant conversation with another and now in three months she felt as if she had never talked so much ever before in her entire life. During the busy days that kept Eris in his office she usually went to curl up in one of the sofas there, with a book, silently thinking about why for some strange reason she did want to be in his presence anyway, even in silence when he tried to disentangle whatever problem the Court was facing.

He was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs, his attention to the hounds enthusiastically wagging their tails, happy to be in the presence of their master. He looked up, feeling her presence, and offered a warm smile. She would never say it out loud, not after knowing him for such a short amount of time, but his smile made her think about the calm days of Autumn she had often daydreamed about in the past, when she had been wandering around the others courts always with a book in hand, reading the descriptions of warm coloured leaves and bonfires.

Eris reached for her hand as she approached him and gently kissed her knuckles before intertwining their fingers.

"Your grace is brightening my day," he murmured.

Y/N smiled at him, hoping to control the blush that she knew was making its way to her cheeks. She blamed the magic bond between them for how she had catched herself thinking about him in the last few days. In truth she had been relieved when she had realised how gentle he was with her, always making sure of her comfort; but she had seen the fire that was his power as much as it was his personality, the firmness and confidence he displayed in ruling his Court. The night before she had surprised herself thinking about how it would feel to kiss him, to have that gentleness turn into the fire she knew he had in him, to feel his hands and his lips fervently and hungrily explore her body. She had quickly put her absurd thoughts aside and it had been almost easy, but now she was walking next to him and it was impossible to ignore the warmth radiating from his body, making her remember every thought she had the night before. Y/N was tempted to snatch her hand away from his, but that would probably rise questions and maybe erase all of the progress they had made.

Eris guided her to a wisteria covered gazebo overlooking the woods that surrounded the Forest House.

"I was under the assumption that you had a meeting with your advisors this afternoon," said Y/N, not that she was upset to be there, but still the note she had received from him hours before had made her perplexed and a little guilty.

Eris grinned "No, the meeting had strangely disappeared from my schedule". She refrained from rolling her eyes, she didn't want him to ignore his duties just to entertain her, she didn't feel worthy of such bother.

He pressed a kiss to her temple as if he had sensed the tone of her thoughts. "Since the first time I saw you in this gardens, secretly smiling at every little plant as if they were your friends you had become the light of my days. And I will make sure to demonstrate that for as long as you will allow me," he murmured and then he added with a tender expression "Stop doubting your importance to me, my mate".

Y/N didn't respond, she looked away and started walking slowly in direction of the fountain, trying to hide her flushed cheeks and the troubled look in her eyes. She ignored the water and entered a path to the rose garden. She could feel Eris' eyes on her, studying her reactions and the awkwardness she had not presented in weeks. She asked herself what would he do if she broke their silent harmony of friendly hours spended talking and polite touches, they were mates but they acted like nothing more than two strangers who had recently started a discreet friendship which was also not far from the truth, but did he want her in the same way she had surprised herself wanting him lately? Or were they just trying to be civil after a superior force had pushed them together?

Y/N looked down pretending to find the falling of the leaves over the gardens interesting.

She did not notice Eris taking a rose from one of the bushes that were all around them until he brushed the flower against her arm and handed it to her.

Y/N didn't want to look at him, knowing that all of her thoughts were perfectly readable in her eyes, instead she leaned back, knowing that she would be met with his warmth. He chuckled when her back rested against his chest, his arms surrounding her waist.

"What did I do right to deserve such a treat?" whispered Eris in her ear.

Y/N shook her head and turned around, shyly leaving a delicate kiss on his lips and then observing his reaction, instinctively expecting him to laugh at her or to tell her that it was a mistake. The conviction of being unwanted and undesirable was stronger than her, deeply engraved into her heart by a life of solitude. She felt tears threatening to escape her self control.

But before she could regret her actions and run away, Eris' lips were on hers, hungrily kissing, tasting, savouring her with a passion that made her knees weak. When they broke away from the kiss she noticed tears in his eyes as well, and a fire that took her breath away. No one had ever looked at her that way and she was sure that no one would ever want her as fervently as Eris did.

They stayed there for a long time, both made speechless by the raw sense of belonging that had rushed over them, created by the mating bond and by something more. Neither of them had the courage to say it out loud yet, irrationally scared to shatter the enchanted silence of the rose garden with words. Without them noticing, love had made its way into their lives and it felt stronger than magic.

#eris vanserra #eris vanserra x reader #eris acotar #eris x reader #eris vanserra x you #eris vanserra x y/n #eris vanserra acotar #eris vanserra fic #eris vanserra fluff #eris vanserra x plus size reader

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pursuitseternal · 6 months

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“Bites in the Night: Part 3…” Astarion x Reader on the road… with sexy daggers this time ⚔️

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Part 3: “Daggers are a love language, my sweet…”

Astarion x F!Reader | E | 3.4k of swords + smut

Summary: You keep watch over your companions, but after the events of the… and after weeks of growing closer with your Vampire Rogue in terms other than sex… you need to burn some of your energy off. A midnight session with your blades seems the solution… especially when you find yourself with… a sparring partner.

Inspired by Careful—ibite’s post and amazing blog! Thank you @careful---ibite !

CW: sword sexual innuendo, getting handedly defeated by Astarion, true feelings confession ™️, NSFW: forest edition, and some bad “sheathing” puns that make Astarion roll his eyes.

Read here if you prefer AO3

Don’t lose your breath on this one, Darling…

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Keeping watch, you sit by the fire, the sound of your companions breathing joins the soft crackles and pops of the fire. Your rotation falls tonight, it’s crisp in the mountains, the pine air is cool, so you stay by the fire, tending it until your watch is done. Keeping the others warm and safe.

Well…. All the others except for Astarion. You watched him slip into the trees an hour ago, one last look thrown you way over his shoulder. Your vampire, heading out to hunt.

Your heart aches, knowing full well just how many long horrors he endured as a spawn. Watching him hide that self doubt behind his swagger, covering his self-loathing behind constant flirtation as smooth as silk. It had been easy to give him the space he had asked for you, to grow in your knowledge of one another, not just carnally.

In fact, it had been weeks. Traveling and fighting, and seeking down cures… and all the while, he had not asked for you to come to his bed again. Of course, he had crept beside yours to feed when you gave him every opportunity, but his touches were light. You scoff to yourself, thinking as you scan the treeline for movement. You would call his attentions almost chaste if it were not for the way he looks at you, undressing you in his mind, and the way his words beckon you with every little flirtatious thought that crosses that same dirty mind.

But you wait. You show him there is more to intimacy than fucking. Every conversation you have, every time you offer for him to feed when he begins to look haphazard and bedraggled, all those little ways you do care.

Grabbing two more logs, you set them in the blaze. Wiping your hands together, you slowly stand, eyeing the rest of your party as they sleep. Blissful for now. Exhausted from the journey and from your latest grisly encounter of the day. Sometimes, you had even seen your own life flash before your eyes, let alone watched in horror as every one of your companions nearly met an end today.

It was a rest well deserved. And you had taken the watch tonight, guilt plaguing you to have put every single one of them in such mortal peril.

Nothing a little self-prescribed training couldn’t fix. Or at least, couldn’t help clear your conscience.

You check your hips, blade on one side, dagger at the other. These weapons were… newly acquired. Well, stolen… well, stolen for you by your Vampire rogue. Thievery seemed to be his love language. But they were unfamiliar at best, their balance, their grip were strange, even if they were stronger and more powerful. And it had almost cost lives today.

You walk towards the forest, sure that the fire would keep burning for a couple hours at least now. The hard scrape of your weapons as you draw them both sets you on edge, wakes you up.

They feel light, lighter than the blades you knew. You give them a spin, the soft handles steady in your palms, trying hard not to fumble them, to catch your fingers on the elegant cross guards. Holding them aloft, you settle yourself on the balls of your toes, readying stance, primed to begin your forms. They flow through you, form after form, swiping and stabbing and parrying. Slowly. Carefully at first.

Then you pick up speed. Swiping faster, sword and dagger more familiar now. You spin on your toes, as if you mean to strike your enemies from behind.

And you jolt as your blade meets another with a clang.

Astarion smirks at you, that twist of his lips and cant of his brows that makes your blood run hot. His dagger shines in the moonlight as he slowly scrapes it down the length of your sword.

“Hello, darling,” he purrs. “I see you took some advice to practice for once.” He pushes your sword to your side, but that sharpened dagger still remains in his hand, his smirk widens as he slowly presses its point beneath your chin.

You laugh, breathless, unable to deny the edge of fear he still manages to incite in you. “Amazing, Astarion,” you try to laugh, feeling his body drawing closer. “You can’t help but shove cold, pointed things in my face even when we aren’t…”

“What?” he smirks wider, clearly enjoying where this is going, “doing the deed?”

Your own smirk turns your mouth, your tongue suddenly wet as you try to swallow. Not as wet as other parts of your grow, however. “Exactly,” you manage to reply the single word steadily.

“Hmm, yes, about that,” he continues, voice suddenly quiet and steady and raw. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am for you. You are different, you do care. Enough to actually become acquainted with me, to come to know me, more than I do myself it seems.” That veil of seduction slips, his voice cracking a bit as he lowers his dagger from your skin. “Today, watching you almost get vivisected on some enemy spear, however, made me realize many things.”

“Oh?” you breathe. You try to swallow the lump in your throat, hard and throbbing to hear his confessions, and to be reminded of your burning guilt yet again.

“Many things,” he repeats, “the least of which is that you are far too precious to me to watch you die.” His words are filled with ache, his crimson eyes wide and wet as he looks down at you.

Tears? you wonder. It is too dark to really see, but from the way his voice seems to stick in his throat…

But he clears his voice, quickly back to that honeyed tone. “I also realize that you need a sparring partner, training alone will only do you so much good. And since I’m so much better than you…”

You step back, folding your arms across your chest, trying to be exacting. But your back bumps unceremoniously against some pine. And his body closes in to cover you, faster than you can gasp. His hands pin you in, splaying around your shoulders as he pushes into your frame, your back scratched by the peeling bark. But you can’t care. Not with the ecstacy of his body bearing into you, all hard and strong and everywhere.

You sigh, “Gods, I’ve missed this…” the words are out of your mouth before you can even think them.

“Mmm, I have, as well,” his words rasp in your mouth, his lips, his fangs so close again. “Almost losing you today, I realized one more thing, that I would go mad, I would rather die, than to lose you, to live my life alone without your affection, your care… and without that perfect body of yours, darling.”

Molten. Your blood is singing in your veins, your mouth waters and your cunt aches, positively drenching your breeches, you are sure.

Your body writhes, a little unbidden roll of your hips against him as he presses you harder.

“Your dual-wielding requires finesse, darling,” he is insufferable, the way his eyes skate over your face, fixing on the way your veins pulse in your neck. “Shame I only have one weapon you could grip to practice with… guess we will have to do this the old-fashioned way…”

“I thought you said you didn’t want me to think of you in terms of….”

“A person can have a change of heart, can’t they?” His voice is like music, lilting and deep. “In fact, I’d like to up the ante, raise the stakes a bit, my dear…”

He withdraws from you, his hands unsheathing two daggers, so sharp you can almost hear them whistle in the air as he grips them with a flourish. A smile plays around his lips, more enticing than fear inducing, though you feel both pounding in your body as you watch him square up to you. “If you win, you get to have me in whatever fashion you so desire, darling. Let your imagination run wild….”

“And if you win?” You force an air of confidence, a swing of your side sword and dagger that mimics his own flare.

But Astarion only laughs, that rapid, low-toned giggle as he grins so wide, you see his fangs in the starlight. “No spoilers, my dear, but I promise you will never forget it…”

“You’re not going to…”

“Kill you? No,” his brows furrow in a rush of hurt. “Weren’t you listening? The only way for me not to personally worry myself into another grave about you is to make sure you are up to snuff with those new blades. Now, put up and shut up….” He breathes, a deep exhale that eases the clenching of his body, “…darling.”

You smile, heart pounding as you take the sight of him in. You remember the way you first met… his dagger at your throat, your body trapped between his legs. And now, the way he sways on his feet, a bit feline and totally predacious. His fingers twitch on the hilts of his elegant blades, his eyes watching you. Daring you. Assessing you.

He waits for you to move first. So you do, you stab, you spin. But every swing of your sword, he deflects, barely moving as he parries you just so easily. There is no way, no way his two short daggers should be able to work the magic he draws from them. They seem part of his body, just as cold and hard, sharper than his tongue.

You try a few more swings, doing your best to catch him off guard. But he always anticipates you. Always blocks you. Steady and unmoving.

Until he begins to press his advantage. You notice the way he begins to lean on his toes, his dodges becoming advances, his parries turning into quick little attacks. And then, you see him smile, brow arching in that rakish way that unsettles your stomach and makes your neck burn where he bites you.

He lunges, his blades everywhere at once. His silver hair whips in the breeze, moving so quickly. You dodge, having to retreat step after step, so you don’t get sliced by more than his fangs. You manage to hook one dagger with yours, a slight twist sends it careening to the forest floor. But it’s all he will allow you as a small victory. He knocks first one blade out of your grip, then the next.

His empty hand grips both of yours, lighting-quick speed flying you back against that same fated tree. He raises your arms above your head, pinned in one large, icy palm, leaving you dangling by his preternatural strength.

But that other hand still holds one weapon, its sharp tip pressing along the line of your jaw.

You pant, unable to catch your breath or cease your racing heart. But he, he stands, cooler than the shade, not even a sweat on his brow. He lets the blade of his dagger score down your skin, careful not to cut. Just the delicious drag of metal to send you panting and writhing.

“It would seem you lost, darling…”

“Have I, though?” you let yourself give in to the feeling of being his prey. Savoring the clenching of his body as he cages you in. “I’m fairly certain by now you just shove daggers at my throat as a way of saying you want me, Astarion…”

“Tch,” he sucks his teeth and cocks his head, eyeing you with deep enjoyment. “Daggers are a love language, my sweet, one of my favorites.” He leans in closer to you, that dangerous blade still pushed gently against your flesh. “When you’ve seduced as many as I have, you learn to use… all… your weapons. But I’ve saved the best for you, my love.”

“Thoughtful of you, my love,” you match his ardor, throwing the same new pet name back between his hovering lips.

“Mmm, best wait to thank me until I’ve finished claiming my victory, since you…” he reaches your hands higher above you head, blade of his dagger slipping like hard silk under your chin, tilting your mouth higher. Closer. “… since you lost, darling.”

“Did I? I’m pretty sure I’ll win, once you’ve… stowed your weapon…”

His eyes flash in humor, a giggle erupting loudly from his throat. “Gods, don’t spoil my winnings with such puns, I plan to have such a good time…”

Your lips flutter, stomach sinking to your knees, pulling on his hand that holds you pinned, raising on the tips of your toes until his blade slips away and your lips crash into his. He releases the dagger, letting clatter at your feet. Unleashing his favorite weapons, his lust and his fangs, and both tear into you. The surge of his hunger pushes into you, his tongue tangling with your, his hands dropping, caressing and massaging your body everywhere. Like he can’t feel you enough. Can’t bring him into his body, his mouth enough to sate him.

Your hands meet his in equal need, your fingers tearing at his doublet, snapping the buttons until Astarion can easily shirk it off. His hands make quick work of his own tunic, and you hold your breath, the moment you see that ivory body, chiseled and hard and perfect. You throb for more. Hand cupping at the back of your neck, he devours you again, lips working yours with demand, your hands wandering up and down the ridges of his stomach. That always hungry stomach. Your hands pull him, all your pent up need igniting to feel his smooth, icy skin against you. You pull your own shirt from your breeches, his hands instantly aiding, making quick work of it, pulling it over your head.

He won’t stop there, instantly ripping into your breeches, tearing them open until you feel his cool touch slipping into your folds. So swollen, so drenched, you shudder, instantly throwing your head back against the tree.

“More,” you pant, sliding your own clothing from your legs.

“If you joke about sheathing my weapon, right now; I swear I’ll bite you…” he growls, hand freed now to work into you all the more.

“You’re going to bite me anyway,” you sigh a laugh, “why not let you stow…”

His mouth stops your words, his fingers crooking and thrusting into your folds, arousal dripping down his knuckles, making other noises come from your throat than less-than-tasteful wordplay.

Your hands shake, fingers trying so hard to free the buckle at his waist, to sneak into the fastened band of his breeches. Fumbling with the clasp, you make him gasp, scoring your nails into his belly.

He hisses into your mouth, “Careful, love, unless you’re so eager to draw my blood. Just as much a danger with your nails as you are your blades…”

You laugh, slow as his hand slips from inside you, giving you the aid you seek with haste. Clothing falls, his cock springs free, prodding against your mound, your belly. His skin is a relief against your flushed body, you crave more. Need more.

He sees it on your face as he looks down at you. “Gods, you’re beautiful,” he breathes, “the glisten of your sweat, the dilation of your eyes and swell of your kissed lips… the only thing missing is a little blood…” his face quirks into that rakish leer, twisting smirk and canting brows. You nod, pulling your own hair from your neck, crying out the moment he bites into you. The intoxicating way you feel him feeding, swallowing down your blood, you bodies joined before he even fucks you. You moan, aching for more of him as he lifts his mouth from your skin.

Hands grasp at your ass, lifting you, and you jump into his arms. He treads to the mossy hills around you, settling you down. Covering you with the weight of his body, the force of his desire that you had craved for so, so long.

You would have it no other way, giving him everything under the stars, finally seeing his eyes fixed into yours as he enters you. At last. His words run dry, mouth far too busy stealing your breath and tongue too occupied dancing with yours to make any sultry remarks.

He is speechless. But the thrusts of his body, the obsessive stare into your eyes, the working of his kiss, it showers you with more praise than any flirtation ever had.

This. This was real. No holding back, no pretense. Just his absolute need to bury himself to his balls in you. To consume your every living breath as if it would give him life again.

He takes his time, making you feel every inch of his massive length dragging through you, in and out. His arms wrap you into him, clinging around your shoulders. And you do the same, hands clutching those mysterious lines of infernal that cover the clenching muscles of his back. You wrap him in your arms, your legs, as if to reassure him you won’t let go. Won’t ever let go. His breathing grows harsh, damp in your mouth. Aching as if a million emotions will burst from his chest. Your hands move to his cheeks, feeling them slightly damp beneath your fingers.

Sweat or tears, you don’t know. You can’t know in this darkness. But he wants it that way. You kiss the damp, salt on your lips as you keep your mouth there. Hands cradling his face as he still draws himself in and out.

You breathe his name, your hands caressing into those silver silken locks… “Astarion…”

Something between you shifts he lifts his head, mouth devouring yours, hands wandering from that hard embrace to cling to your ass, holding you as his thrusts suddenly pick up speed, hammering into you with all the precision and force of his fighting. You can feel him winding tight like a spring, bearing into you with hunger. Single focused need. As if you are the last morsel between him and starvation.

He grunts with each thrust, your own wave of climax swirling through you, driven higher with his pounding. The slaps of his body against yours echo in your ears, his voice silken even as he curses, “Gods below, so tight, so wet… so good…”

You shatter with his praise, tumbling in a writhing stuttering, wet mess as you come. His head thrown back, face blissfully contorted, he follows you into his own. Hardest yet, he slams into you, collapsing against your body on the forest floor.

His head nestles into the crook of your shoulder, blood still seeping. And you don’t fail to notice that his tongue licks you slowly.

“Well, handsome victor,” you tease, “enjoy your prize?”

He props himself up from you slightly, his eyes even smirking as he smiles. A little swivel of his hips drags his still hard cock through the mingling juices of you both. “Enjoy it? Yes, very much, my love. But I am hardly satisfied…” He giggles in that bubbly way of his, pulling out and pulling you to your feet. “I think it requires closer inspection in my tent…”

He doesn’t stop to collect your clothes or your weapons, no. His strength is tenfold with all your blood inside him as he bends down to throw you over his shoulder. You give a muffled yelp, one he corrects with a slight slap on your rear as you dangle down his back.

“Prizes don’t need to draw so much attention to themselves, darling…” He carries you, your body swaying over his shoulder like some good he pinched, coming closer and closer to the circle of light from your camp.

“Attention? I was on watch, Astarion,” you growl, mortified as you realize what you abandoned.

“Not anymore,” you hear a sleepy voice from behind you. Gale clears his throat louder as he does not approach you, your naked vampire rogue drawing nearer to his own tent. “You’re both off the watch rotation until you can practice some self control.” He sounds grumpy, but you don’t care as Astarion swings you around.

“I’ll be much obliged to you, wizard,” he taunts, running a hand over the pert swell of your ass “Might take some time you know…. Practice does make perfect…”

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pxob · 1 year

Text

blossoming love

Sanemi Shinazugawa x Fem!Reader

Word count: 2695

Category: Friends to lovers, fluff, angst and comfort.

Warnings: Anxious reader and anxious habits, self-doubt, mentions of drinking, swearing and slightly suggestive.

a/n: i needed some comfort and love for myself.

The room brimmed with a lively atmosphere as all the Hashira, including yourself, gathered to celebrate Shinazugawa's birthday. Carefree and unrestrained, laughter and camaraderie filled the air as everyone indulged in the revelry.

The aggressive clink of two ceramic sake glasses resonated through the tatami room.

"Another!" Rengoku's boisterous voice erupted, capturing the attention of those around him.

"Another, for fuck's sake—" Shinazugawa hiccupped, "round," he stumbled along his speech.

Shinazugawa's flushed cheeks added a touch of warmth to his typically hostile countenance, illuminating his features with a radiant glow, allowing glimpses of his true self to shine through.

A melodious voice called out your name, gently pulling you back to reality. "You're staring too hard," Kanroji crooned.

Startled, you blinked and refocused your attention, meeting Kanroji's captivating gaze. A warm smile graced her lips, as if she had caught you in a moment of silent admiration.

"I don't know what you're talking about," you replied, a soft laugh escaping your lips.

Kanroji tilted her head, her expression resembling that of an adorable puppy seeking understanding. "You should tell him," she suggested, a gentle encouragement.

"No," you quickly replied, gathering your thoughts. Your hands were shaky, and you felt fidgety, you continued, "No, I don't think he sees me in that way, Kanroji-san." The words stumbled out.

Her gaze settled upon Shinazugawa, you followed her line of sight, eyes fixed on him. A pang of bittersweet longing surged through your heart, causing your breath to catch in your throat. The sight of him, with his radiant smile stretching across his face, was simply breathtaking. His scars, rather than diminishing his appeal, added a layer of rugged beauty to his features.

In that moment, his arms draped over Rengoku and Uzui, he joined them in a drunken chorus, slurring out musical lyrics. The three of them, cheered each other on with unabashed enthusiasm. It was a scene of uninhibited joy, yet within the depths of your being, a mix of admiration, longing, and a touch of envy intertwined.

Questions echoed in your mind, taunting your innermost doubts. When would you find the courage? When would you gather enough strength? Each time you attempted to reach out to Shinazugawa, the outcome remained the same—silence. His gaze would turn vacant, as if yearning to escape the situation, leaving you feeling disheartened and unsure of how to bridge the widening chasm between you two.

He also possessed an uncanny perceptiveness that astounded you. Shinazugawa had an innate ability to notice even the most subtle cues—an involuntary shake of your hands, the instinctive act of hiding them behind your back, the nervous swallow before speaking to him, and even the times you absentmindedly picked at your skin when your hands found solace in your pockets. Every anxious detail seemed to lay bare before his discerning eyes.

The keenness of his observation left you feeling diminished, as if your insecurities were laid bare for him to see. You longed to shed the burden of anxiety, to rid yourself of the constant unease that plagued your interactions. It was an inner struggle, an insecurity you yearned to overcome.

And whenever he mustered a response, his words stumbled and faltered, as if caught in a perpetual battle within his mind. Each syllable seemed carefully weighed, as if he were constantly revaluating the potential impact of his words on you.

Shinazugawa now pulled Tomioka, drawing him onto his chest. His expression appeared vacant, only willing to endure Shinazugawa's performance for the sake of his special night.

"All right, Shinazugawa, how about we play a little game?" Uzui suggested, his voice laced with mischief. His eyes swept across the room, ensuring he had captured everyone's attention. A wide grin adorned his face.

"Go on, before you bore me," Shinazugawa retorted.

"You have two choices," Uzui declared. "Either you take five shots, or you answer my question." Uzui’s gaze then shifted directly to you, accompanied by a sly wink, leaving you momentarily taken aback.

Shinazugawa didn't miss Uzui’s flirtatious gesture, his sharp eyes catching every detail, "Ask the fucken’ question."

As soon as you were certain that the attention had shifted away from you, you addressed Kanroji. "Kanroji-san, if you'll excuse me, I need to use the toilet," you whispered politely.

With all discreetness, you slipped through the slightly ajar door, seeking a momentary respite. Unconsciously, you took a breath you hadn't even realized you were holding. As you stepped into the hallway, your attention was immediately caught by a fragment of Uzui’s question to Shinazugawa.

“Why do you not tell her how you feel?”

You choked; a glimmer of hope seeped through your body.

You shook your head, coming to realisation that it was best not to dwell on the possibilities any longer and protect yourself. With that in mind, you proceeded to walk away towards the gardens, where the night was at its peak.

As you tottered through the hallway, you could hear the gasps and muffled bewildered comments thrown at Shinazugawa's answer to Uzui’s question.

After a while, you arrived at the lush gardens. Despite the absence of sunlight, the vibrant colours of the flowers and foliage seemed to emanate a soft glow under the gentle moonlight. The tranquillity of the surroundings provided a stark contrast to the bustling atmosphere indoors.

A sense of calm enveloped you, gently washing away the unease that had once gripped your heart. Like the receding tides of the ocean, your worries dissipated, leaving behind a newfound serenity.

As you strolled beneath the stunning Sakura tree, its delicate blossoms in full bloom, you couldn't help but be captivated by the breathtaking sight. The vibrant pink petals adorned the branches, creating a scene of sheer beauty and peace.

You found a comfortable spot underneath the tree, settling into a seat amidst the scattered fallen petals. Gently, you picked up a few of the delicate blossoms, allowing their velvety touch to grace your fingertips. As you marvelled at their fragile beauty, a poignant realisation struck you—you, too, were like those petals, vulnerable and delicate in your own way.

Lost in the labyrinth of your thoughts, you found yourself struggling to fully register your surroundings. However, the distinct sound of gravel crunching beneath footsteps snapped you back to attention. It reverberated through the air, deliberate and unapologetic, as if the person behind it wanted to make their presence known.

Alternatively, it was their drunken state causing them to carelessly tread upon the gravel without concern.

You turned your head, your heart racing as the crunch of gravel grew louder.

"Shinazugawa-san?" you said, bewildered.

He came to a halt right in front of you, and a mix of nervousness washed over you. Your gaze remained fixed downward, hesitant to meet his eyes. The fear of potential humiliation loomed, as you wondered if he would unleash his usual biting remarks and cruel words that he often directed towards others.

Surprisingly, he had never treated you in such a manner before, but you couldn't help but entertain the possibility that this time might be different.

"Thanks for bein' here today," his voice devoid of any slurring, indicating that he was surprisingly sober.

You mustered the courage to respond, "It's a privilege to be able to attend this gathering, Shinazugawa-san.”

He released a weary sigh and settled down beside you, leaning his back against the trunk of the tree. "Why are ya so formal?" he asked.

Feeling your hands tremble slightly, you instinctively clasped them together, hoping to conceal any visible signs of nervousness. Your gaze averted, you hoped that his perceptive eyes wouldn't catch the faint tremor.

"Sorry," you blurted out.

He shifted his face, turning it towards your line of sight, his eyes meeting yours. "Hey," he said, his voice surprisingly soft, “You don't needa' be sorry."

"How was your birthday, Shinazugawa-san?" you inquired, deliberately shifting the conversation away from the previous subject.

He paused for a moment, contemplating your question before responding. "It'll be better soon," he replied.

"Since you'll be rid of my company," you unintentionally blurted out, the words escaping your lips before you had a chance to filter them. You hastily clasped a hand over your mouth.

A silence seemed to settle over the entire garden, as if time itself had paused. Shinazugawa's gaze fixed upon you. Your hand remained pressed against your mouth, trembling.

In that stillness, he reached out with gentle care, taking hold of your wrist. With a tender touch, he guided your hand down, slowly lowering it from your mouth. It felt as delicate as the blossoms that perfectly surrounded the two of you.

"You didn't hear then?" he asked.

As his words registered in your mind, you quickly grasped that he was likely alluding to his answer to Uzui’s earlier question. Your head instinctively shook slightly.

"Well, would ya like to know?" he delicately offered.

You couldn't help but gaze at him, your eyes sparkling with curiosity and a touch of hope. With a whisper that carried a gentle vulnerability, you responded, "Yes."

His eyes softened, a subtle transformation that sent a cascade of emotions through your being. Your heart skipped a beat, as if it had momentarily forgotten its steady rhythm. The sight before you was breathtaking — Shinazugawa, bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight, sat beneath the blooming sakura tree, a vision of captivating beauty.

"I told ‘em that she was too precious," his hand gently held onto your wrist, his fingers tracing the delicate contours, searching for the quick rhythmic dance of your pulse.

"That I can't bear the thought of taintin’ her being with my scarred body, mind, and soul." His voice quivered with a hint of self-doubt.

"She’s the most gorgeous woman I have ever seen in my entire life," he confessed. His fingers continued to trace your pulse, as if he sought solace in its booming beat.

"And so fucken’ delicate, kind, and caring," he murmured, his touch and words intertwining.

It felt like a dream, one of those elusive visions that often danced through your slumber, filling your heart with both hope and despair. In those dreams, you would immerse yourself in a world where such tender confessions and heartfelt connections existed, only to wake and face the crushing disappointment of their impossibility.

"And," he paused for a moment, his gaze tenderly fixed on your face, "ya have the cutest smile." His voice held a mixture of adoration, as if he was genuinely captivated by the mere thought of your smile.

Your eyes widened with a mixture of surprise and disbelief. A hint of incredulity coloured your voice as you responded, "Shinazugawa-san, you’re drunk."

"No," he whispered, his voice filled with conviction, as he gently brought your wrist towards his lips. The soft touch of his breath against your skin sent shivers down your spine. With a tenderness that took your breath away, he pressed his lips against the spot where your pulse beat the strongest, leaving a lingering warmth in its wake.

"I'm in love," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper.

Tears welled up in your eyes, brimming with a mix of overwhelming emotions. A choked sob escaped from the depths of your soul, a raw and unfiltered release of the pent-up feelings that had been hidden for far too long. It was a moment of catharsis, a floodgate opening to allow the weight of your emotions to pour forth.

Your wrist was gently pulled towards him, causing your body to sway and find its place against his sturdy chest. The warmth emanating from his body enveloped you, offering a sense of comfort and security. In the hushed stillness of the moment, his voice carried a tender whisper, as if sharing a secret meant for your ears alone.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, his words mingling with the soft breeze that rustled through the garden.

As his warm breath caressed your ear, a delicate shiver coursed through your entire being, a poignant reminder of the electrifying connection that bound your souls together. Surprisingly, amidst the intoxicating moment, the lingering scent of sake was clearly absent.

With a tenderness that belied his usual demeanour, he gently peeled your face away from his chest, his hands cupping each side of your face with a feather-light touch. The pads of his thumbs daintily brushed away the remnants of tears that stained your cheeks, erasing the evidence of your vulnerability.

“So fucken’ beautiful,” he praised. Each affectionate comment washed away the doubt that plagued your overwhelming mind.

He lowered his head with utmost gentleness, his lips barely grazing your forehead in a tender kiss. As he pulled you closer, your bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces, you felt a sense of belonging that resonated deep within your soul.

Nestled against his solid chest, you could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, a rhythmic lullaby that whispered of love and devotion.

“I thought you hated me,” you quietly admitted.

"Never," he whispered, his arms enveloping you in a protective embrace. "You," his voice softened, carrying a tenderness that melted your heart, "ya have a way of charmin’ me, makin’ me speechless."

A shy smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he admitted, "So cute that I find myself at a loss for words sometimes.” In that moment, you realised that his silence was not a reflection of indifference or apathy, but rather a testament to the profound impact you had on him.

His admission brought a blush to your cheeks, the realisation that your presence had the power to disarm even the most guarded parts of him.

A mischievous glint danced in your eyes as you hastily pulled yourself away from his chest, creating a small gap between the two of you. Shinazugawa looked at you, his eyebrows furrowing slightly. "What?" he asked, his voice filled with intrigue.

Your gaze flickered towards his lips, an undeniable longing pulsating within you. It was a desire you had kept hidden for far too long, yearning to feel the softness of his lips against every inch of your skin. With a teasing smile playing at the corners of your mouth, you raised a finger, gently tracing its tip along his plush, inviting lips.

A faint shiver ran down his spine as your touch grazed his skin, his breath catching in his throat. His eyes locked onto yours, the air around you seemed charged with an electric energy, a silent invitation hanging between you.

With a gentle yet undeniable pull, you closed the distance between you, your finger falling to your side. Your lips met his in a delicate and tender kiss, a collision of pent-up emotions and shared longing. Time seemed to stand still as the warmth of his lips pressed against yours, igniting a fire within your souls.

In that stolen moment of connection, you revelled in the softness of his kiss, the way his lips moulded perfectly against yours. It was a dance of vulnerability and desire, a silent proclamation of the love that had blossomed between you. Each brush of his lips against yours spoke volumes, conveying a depth of emotion that words could never capture.

As you finally pulled away, a soft smile played upon your lips, your eyes locked with his. The taste of his kiss still lingered upon your lips, intertwining with the warmth that filled your heart.

"Happy birthday, Sanemi," you whispered.

Sanemi's eyes softened, he reached out, gently brushing his fingers against your cheek, his touch filled with tenderness. "Thank you," he replied, his voice a gentle murmur. "You're the best gift I coulda’ received."

The garden around you, adorned with blossoming flowers, appeared even more vibrant and alive. The world seemed to celebrate your union, as if whispering its blessings upon the love that had taken root between you.

Hand in hand, you walked back towards the joyful gathering, the echoes of laughter and celebration growing louder with each step. As you returned to the festivities, your hearts entwined, you knew that this birthday would forever be etched in your memories as the start of a beautiful and transformative chapter in both your lives.

#pxob #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #demon slayer x reader #sanemi shinazugawa #sanemi x reader #sanemi x fem reader #sanemi fluff #sanemi angst #blossoming love #i love sanemi

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shebunie · 5 months

Note

Could you do one where reader is a samurai kid of a ruff back story facial scars or back and ringo and mizu see them fighting also huge and buff as shit 🙄🙄

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞

𝙈𝙞𝙯𝙪 𝙭 𝙎𝙖𝙢𝙪𝙧𝙖𝙞! 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝗵𝘂𝗿𝘁 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗳𝗼𝗿𝘁, 𝗶𝗻𝗷𝘂𝗿𝘆, 𝘀𝗰𝗮𝗿𝘀, 𝗴𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝗺𝘆 𝘄𝗶𝗳𝗲 𝗮 𝗯𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗸 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟭.𝟭𝗸 𝐀/𝐍: 𝗧𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘁𝗼𝗼𝗸 𝗺𝗲 𝗮 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝗹𝗲, 𝗜 𝗵𝗼𝗽𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝘂𝗽 𝘁𝗼 𝗽𝗮𝗿. 𝗣𝗿𝗲𝗽𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝘁𝗶𝘀𝘀𝘂𝗲𝘀

A woman, training to be a samurai? How laughable. You were of no use, no value even when offered to a brothel. Not when your skin is imperfect, flawed, or undesirable. You were a disgrace. And so you went anew. Walked a path that shaped the person of who you are now.

You trained, with makeshift materials that mother earth provided. You had to make do with what you had. You trained again, with more precision and confidence in your steps. From the early cracks of dawn till the bed of night, you gave every drop of sweat, blood, and tears.

But as the days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, you discovered a resilience within yourself that you never knew existed. The makeshift training ground, surrounded by the echoes of your own doubts, became a sanctuary of self-discovery.

With each swing of the makeshift sword, you embraced imperfection as a testament to your strength. The scars on your skin became a map of your journey, a visual story of battles fought and resilience earned. You realized that perfection was an illusion, and true strength lay in embracing your flaws.

However, at some point in time, you’d give up, out of frustration, and anger. Why couldn’t the gods have given you another life, maybe spare you mercy and take you right now?

I’m tired. Mind plagued with bitterness, sorrow, and demise. And scared.

“How long has it been like that?” Mizu questioned as she leaned by the entrance of the abandoned hut, eyes grazing over the scars littered on your body. Watching Ringo mend another fresh wound you obtained from a fight. From their fight.

She watched you wince and hiss, how your broad shoulders would rise and fall from behind. “Long enough.” You knew what the woman was implying. Calloused fingers of your hand trace along the scar on your arm. A constant reminder of the past.

Heart-shaped lips pursed together, hard in thought. Mizu called out to Ringo to leave you two alone when he finished patching up the wound.

Hushed creeks of the wooden floor and the soft thud of the sandals enveloped the silent room as the dark-haired woman came close. Standing behind you, feeling her gaze at the back of your head. She voiced

“Why risk so much of your life for us, you very well know you can’t save everyone.”

With closed eyes, you steadied your breathing as the mind flowed. You’ve always been living in this way, with the weight of the world heavy on your shoulders. It is what you are been used to — trudging on in life, putting the needs of everyone else before your own. Not a single complaint, not a single time had you griped about the unfairness of it all. Such is life, anyway, is what you always tell yourself— your mantra which often draws you comfort from. But when it all starts to get too much to bear; the burden weighing down to the bones, you finally decide to allow yourself a tiny space to breathe, just for a moment.

Your palpitations start to cease. A few seconds pass, and then a full minute, before you feel a weight settle beside you; you know, without a doubt, a slight turn of your head, you look over at the sword wielder. “I just, I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.”

The night was heavy with the scent of impending danger, but in that moment, you found solace in the shared silence. The soft rustling of leaves and distant echoes of distant creatures became the backdrop to your quiet conversation. The sword wielder's eyes reflected the glint of moonlight as they met yours, and a hint of vulnerability lingered in their gaze.

You turn to face the dark-haired woman, and for the first time, vulnerability flickers in your eyes. The dim light casts shadows on the lines etched on your face, a testament to the battles fought and sacrifices made. You offer a weary smile, the kind that holds a lifetime of stories.

"I appreciate your concern if it was one." you scoffed your voice a gentle murmur that barely broke the silence. "But sometimes, we must risk everything for the chance to make a difference. It's not about saving everyone; it's about making the choice to stand against the darkness, even when the odds are stacked against us."

The room seems to hold its breath as you continue, your gaze fixed on some distant point, perhaps lost in memories or contemplating the uncertain future. "I've seen too much pain and loss. It's true, I can't save everyone, but if I can make a difference for even one person, it's worth it. We all have our battles to fight, and this is mine."

The dark-haired woman listens, her eyes reflecting a mix of admiration and worry. She understands the weight of responsibility, having seen the determination etched on your face during countless trials. Her fingers find solace in the hilt of the sword at her side, a silent acknowledgement of the shared burden.

"I get it, I do," she finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "But what if your choices lead to your own undoing? What if the darkness consumes you, and there's no one left to carry on the fight."

Your eyes, tired and world-weary, met hers. The vulnerability in your gaze deepened, revealing the cracks in the armour you've worn for so long. "That's the risk we take," you replied, your voice now laced with raw honesty. "Sometimes, the line between saving others and losing ourselves blurs. But if we let the fear of that darkness paralyze us, then what hope is left?"

The fireflies danced in the distance, their fleeting glow a stark contrast to the gravity of the conversation. The sword wielder clenched her jaw, torn between understanding your noble cause and the gnawing fear that she might lose the one person who had become her anchor.

"I've lost too many people I cared about," she admitted, her gaze dropping to the ground. "I can't bear the thought of losing you too."

For a moment, silence reigned supreme, punctuated only by the distant sounds of the night. You reached out, your hand finding hers in the darkness, a silent promise etched in that touch.

"We can't control every outcome," you said softly, your thumb tracing comforting circles on the back of her hand. "But we can choose how we face the inevitable. And as long as I can make a difference, I'll keep fighting. For you, for everyone."

The unsaid words lingered in the air, heavy with the unspoken truth that this journey, this fight against the encroaching darkness, might cost more than either of you were willing to admit. In that shared moment of vulnerability, the weight of the world pressed down, and the looming shadows seemed to grow darker.

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cheolhub · 1 year

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FORGIVE ME? ⌇MIN YOONGI ࿐

— PROMPT: in which yoongi needs you to forgive him for neglecting your sexual needs and saying things he didn’t mean. good thing he knows a perfect way to prove he’s sorry.

— PAIRING: yoongi x f!reader

— GENRE: hurt/comfort, established relationship, smut minors dni

— WORD COUNT: 2.87k

— WARNINGS: stress, overthinking, self-doubt, a bit angsty, yoongi being a bit careless w words— oral (f. receiving), pet names, praise, yoongi w long hair (🫣)(lmk if i missed anything)

— A. NOTE: long awaited… fun fact, this has been in my drafts since mid-july LOLOL anyways, hopefully you all enjoy <3

yoongi likes to think that he is a good boyfriend. at the very least, it’s what you deserve. he spoils you, pampers you, and loves you to the moon and back. you are the best thing life has had to offer him. he makes sure you know, too– endless praise, expensive gifts (that you’ve told him to stop buying), and mind-blowing sex. you name it and he’ll provide it.

but yoongi has been stressed as of late. you can see it in his one-worded responses. you can see it in his constant straight facial expression. you can see it in how he’s been shrugging off your touch. it’s not you, he’d promised, but it’s hard not to think otherwise when he avoids you like the plague.

you decide to take matters into your hands, his stress causing your unwarranted panic and your lack of attention has you worried beyond belief.

you crawl to the edge of your shared bed where he stands and you sit on your knees. “yoongi…” you mumble, hands pawing at his belt. “hi… i was just waiting for you to come home,”

and god, you look so fucking pretty to yoongi. your pretty hair, your pouty, plush lips, your gorgeous doe eyes– everything is just so perfect. even still, he can’t seem to find the drive to give you what you need. a good orgasm. especially not today. not on this no-good, very bad day where everything has managed to piss him off.

“It’s late, Y/N,” he sighs, hand pushing a strand of hair out of your face. “go to bed.” you frown, ignoring his words. you attempt to unbuckle his belt, but his hand catches your wrist. “baby, i don’t–”

you grow frustrated as he protests, “why?!” you huff out.

he’s losing his patience, the rest of the day catching up with him as he’s kept it cool and collected for the entirety of it. “lose the attitude, Y/N, i’m tired and i don’t have time for this.”

“this?” you scoff referring to yourself. your heart swells in your chest in the worst possible way, hoping he didn’t truly mean that. “yoongi, you have time for everything else but you don’t have time for ‘this?’ don’t have time for me?”

he sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose, “listen, i don’t want to fight, okay? i just want to sleep,”

“can you just–”

“Y/N! i don’t want to talk to you right now, alright?” he snaps and he can’t even think about the harsh words before they tumble out of his mouth. “stop being a fucking brat for once in your life, and just go to sleep.”

your eyes widen, never hearing such a tone from him. you feel your heart climbing up your throat and you can’t tell what you’re more upset about– the fact that you were brutally rejected or the way he thought you were some spoiled brat. does he really not want you? did he really think you were that much of a brat? is he completely revolted by you that he can’t even talk to you?

your mind was going a million miles per second, new profound insecurities appearing. you slowly retreat, muttering a soft ‘night’ under your breath as you go under the covers and turn off the lamp, leaving a now remorseful yoongi to stand in the dark.

maybe it wasn’t working, you think to yourself. maybe it was you, perhaps you were too needy for his liking? the endless maybe’s pour into your head. the maybe’s that defended yoongi’s odd behavior and the ones that pit him against you. you then begin to wonder why he was coming home so late every night, why he was in such a bad mood with you, and why he hasn’t touched you in over a week. was he avoiding you? cheating?

you tend not to overthink these things because yoongi reassure you how much he loves you without you even asking for it, but it’s been so long since you’ve even had a conversation with him. maybe… it is over?

and while the tears roll down your face, yoongi lies on the other side regretfully. the look on your face had his insides twinged. he feels sick knowing that you lay next to him, dejected and heavy-hearted, probably overthinking his behavior towards you. he wants to say something, anything… but he can’t find the coherent words to make sure you know he loves you more than anything.

so, he promises to make it up to you tomorrow.

you slept horribly, your mind overrode by last night's encounter with your boyfriend. you had decided to ignore your mind for the day and focus on comforting yourself in hopes that you’d forget about his harsh tone and snippy words and that frustrated face that you hope you’d never see again.

you don’t even realize the time you’ve spent curled up in front of the tv in your living room till you hear the front door open. you turn your head in shock noticing yoongi standing there looking at you.

you want so desperately to say something, but all you can think about is how he shot you down. so, you simply turn back to the tv, pretending to be focused on that instead. you are hyper-aware of yoongi’s every move, though.

“hi, baby…” he mumbles, closing and locking the door before he walks to the couch you’re on. “what are you watching?”

you barely react, muttering ‘a k-drama’ under your breath, and yoongi’s heart breaks realizing you’re still upset from yesterday.

“you’re home early,” you state, voice devoid of any emotion.

he nods, “wanted to see you,”

“well…” you chuckle bitterly. “here i am, your bratty girlfriend. i suppose you still don’t want to talk to me?”

maybe it was immature, but it’s the only thing keeping you from sadly cowering away from him.

“baby…” he pouts. “i didn’t mean that, okay? i’m sorry.” he sits next to you, before continuing. “i know i’ve been neglecting you, i’ve just been so stressed. you know if it weren’t for you i’d live in the studio,”

“is that what you prefer?… to live in the studio?” you ask meekly as if you’re scared of his answer.

he shakes his head incessantly, hands cupping your face, “no, never. i love you so much, too much. i really didn’t mean to snap at you last night, my love.” he whispers.

your heart rate quickens, looking at him with wide, doe eyes. your lips part to say something, but he speaks before you have the chance to.

“i wanna prove how sorry i am…” he trails off. “can i prove it to you, sweet girl?” his tone, now, is sultry and seductive and you can’t help but feel excited.

wordlessly, you nod in acknowledgment, your panties dampening by the second. when he flashes his teeth at you, you can’t help but shudder, enamored by all of his gorgeous features.

he leans in to kiss you, his soft lips molding with yours for the first time in what feels like years. you take your arms, wrapping them around his neck to pull him closer to you.

he pulls back, “left you all needy for me, didn’t i, baby?” he mutters against your pouty lips.

“mhm,” you nod again, mindless and in a daze with how his kiss made you feel.

“yeah? m’ sorry, sweetheart, gonna take good care of you, alright?” his hands slide down your face and neck, and chest before residing on your lower stomach. “gonna make sure you know truly how sorry i am,”

“yoongi,” you whine prettily. “please, need you so bad,”

he hums, urgently diving back into your lips, catching you by surprise. you gasp when his hand reaches your clothed core allowing his tongue to easily glide into your mouth.

the kiss grows desperate, your tongues dance, and your teeth clash with one another. both of you breathing harshly as it feels like you’re about to swallow each other.

yoongi’s hand vanishes into your lacy panties, dainty, long fingers easily finding your untouched clit. you whine when his index and middle fingers rub soft, feathery touches into the bundle of nerves.

“fuck,” you moan into his mouth, eyebrows furrowing at the light touch. “m-missed you,” you manage to say against his lips.

his lips move away from yours, placing wet, open-mouthed kisses on your jaw and down your neck till he finds you sensitive, little pulse point. your eyes screwed shut, moaning out his name as he nips and sucks on the soft skin. his fingers increase in speed and your body naturally arches at the action.

your hand makes its way to his head, fingers carding through his soft, long hair. you whine softly, grinding into his fingers. “more…”

he tuts, shaking his head in your neck. “uh-uh, pretty girl, stay still for me,” he whispers, his hot breath fanning against the pretty mark he’s made. he removes his head and hands and watches your face contort at the loss of contact and listens to your whimpers for his fingers. “shhh, baby,” he mumbles, taking the ends of your shirt and pulling it over your head and tossing it to the side. the deed leaves you near naked, all that’s left are your black lace panties.

he hums at the sight of your tits with perched nipples, tugging his bottom lip between his teeth. you suddenly feel warm under his gaze closing your eyes and squirming as your cunt gushes again, further ruining the lacy material.

“my gorgeous girl,” he breathes, hands finding purchase on your hips. your eyes open, following yoongi’s movements to see him kneeling in front of the couch between your legs. he presses a gentle kiss to your abdomen. his pecks trail down further and further till he reaches your covered mound. “missed this pussy more than you know.”

you feel your breath getting caught in your throat feeling his face so close to your soaked pussy. with a slight buck of your hips, you softly let out another whine, “yoongi, please… please do something, a-anything,” you plead, tears of need forming on your lash line.

he smiles, beautifully much like he missed the way you beg for him, missed the way you got when you ached for his touch.

he suddenly drags his tongue across your already-drenched underwear, soaking it further with his saliva. you gasp at the feeling, the warm muscle making its way up and down needily. “can taste you through your panties, baby,” he chuckles against you, the vibration making you squeak.

“please…”

his cat-like eyes peek up at yours full of mischief before his hands trail down and pull your underwear off. he leans back so you have room to take them off, “lift up and get these off for me, sweetheart,” he says and you oblige quickly, slipping them off and throwing them near your shirt.

he inhales sharply when he’s met with your glistening core and your cute hole practically leaking arousal. he notices your squirming and he smiles again, “m’ sorry again, pretty baby, i’ll take care of you, yeah?” he hooks his arms under your knees and gives you a loving kiss on the inside of your thighs. “and make you feel good… can i do that?”

you nod heartily, chest filling with anticipation, “yes… yeah, please,” you sigh out. “make me feel good, need you to make me feel good, yoongi.”

with that, yoongi groans, nodding his head in compassion. scooting closer to you, he blows a cold breath to your swollen clit, basking in the way your entire body shivers at the feeling. his tongue then presses flat against your folds, the taste of your essence fuzzing his brain and causing blood to rush to his half-hard dick.

you moan at the first contact, your hands slipping back into his now-messy locks. his tongue drags up and down your folds at an agonizing pace. you think he’s teasing till you hear his soft moan, “fuck, sweetheart… forgot how fuckin’ good you taste,” he murmurs against your sloppy core. “m’ gonna take my time with you, make you cum all over my mouth till you can’t take it anymore.”

at his words, you find yourself panting, your stomach filling with butterflies, and your head emptying of any rational thoughts. your eyes meet his again and you can’t help but whine at how pretty he looks in between your legs as he tongues at your cunt.

“so pretty, baby, you’re so pretty– fuck!” you throw your head back with a tiny cry when his mouth wraps around your clit.

he hums, sending shockwaves through your body. his teeth graze against the sensitive bud before his tongue takes over, flicking over it at a pace that has you losing your goddamn mind. the arms he has hooked under your knees pull you towards him till there’s no gap between his face and your sweet sex.

you grip his hair tighter, letting a dry sob escape your throat. “y-yoongi! s-so good, so fucking good!” you manage to tell him, and yoongi beams. he squeezes the flesh of your thighs, fingertips gently dragging against your skin and you can’t help but feel warmer at the gesture.

when he pulls off, his face dives deeper. his tongue now prodding at your sticky entrance and his nose bumping at your clit. the slight contact your clit gets from his bulb-like nose makes you arch your back again and push his head further into your cunt. you're almost sure he can’t breathe with the way he lets out a muffled, breathless moan into you, yet you can’t find the heart to stop when it feels fucking amazing.

you ease up a tiny bit before he laps up the everlasting cum that drips from your untouched hole. the lewd sound of his slurps and your wetness meeting his tongue almost make you feel embarrassed, but his pure desire in devouring you whole makes the feeling pass.

it’s when he shoves his tongue in your hole as deep as he can when you scream. your thighs automatically move to cage his head in, nearly suffocating him in the process. he eats you out ravenously like he hadn’t eaten in days, and fuck, your pussy is the best thing on earth to him.

“pussy was fuckin’ heaven-sent,” he moans against you again, his mouth moving aggressively once more.

you, feeling an undeniable knot form in the fiery pit of your stomach, buck your hips into his face again. your cries and screams grow louder, mixing with the obscene sounds of his slurping as your grip on his hair is strong enough to rip from his scalp. he groans, but you pay him no mind, reveling in the sensations it sends through your on-edge body. you grind and grind, an obnoxious mantra of his name and curses belt from your mouth.

“yo-yoongiii! m’ so close, oh– fuck!” you mewl, eyes no longer on his gorgeous face as you’ve screwed them shut. “fuck, fuck, fuck! baby, d-don’t stop, please don’t stop!” your words drip with deprivation making him moan understandingly against you.

you let out a squeak when it happens. your body convulses as the knot quickly unravels with yoongi still licking at your clenching hole, licking up all the viscid cum that you emit. your back arches as far as it can as you cry for him, and tears of overstimulation leak down your face.

yoongi can’t help but ache himself at the sight of your gorgeous orgasm. your cute, contorted face with furrowed brows, your mouth ajar as the endless moans escape you, your twitching body making your perfect tits jiggle– it makes yoongi realize he’s taken you for granted.

you finally come down a few minutes after your mind-blowing orgasm. with tears still looming at your lash line, you look at yoongi who’s untangling himself from your legs and rising to tower over your shaky, naked body. your eyes trail down from his body up to his face covered with a sheen layer of your arousal, ogling him hungrily.

your hand tugs at his shirt pulling him down to kiss you. you instantly shove your tongue into his mouth, offering the chance to taste yourself with a hint of his own taste.

he parts a few seconds later, “you like the way you taste, pretty girl?” he whispers, hand cupping your warmed cheek. “i love it, you taste fuckin’ gorgeous,” he admits causing a soft and breathy moan to get caught in your throat. he smirks, arrogantly, “forgive me?”

“i forgive you…” you breathe, a cheeky smile on your face. “but you have to fuck me good, first.”

he gives you a toothy grin, ready to dive back into your lips before saying, “take me then, baby.”

#bts smut #bts x reader #yoongi oneshot #min yoongi smut #yoongi smut

1K notes · View notes

gothicgunslinger · 8 months

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Inspired by : https://open.spotify.com/track/1hrar0wbUsvgSUpUXR5Wq0?si=SgEVGItEQOeXVQm3ZqidSQ

A/N : I just HAD to write an actual piece for this post so, here we are. Sorry to my RDR2 followers, I hope you don't mind the small detour.

Content : Fluff, maybe a bit of angst? Smut, but, fluffy smut? You’ll see. Implied Cleric reader, as.. my tav is a Cleric LOL! Fem reader, as I'm writing this .. once again, as a woman haha apologies ♡ Sort of written from Astarion’s perspective.

It was simple, really. All Astarion had to do, was wrap you around even the slight of his pinky finger. Kiss you enough, fuck you enough, drink you enough. Simplicities, for someone like him. And, at first, that stance hadn't changed – hadn't faltered, hadn't a shred of doubt. You were merely a glass of fine, red wine who smiled, so sweetly, up at him – and he smiled back.

Well, that was until you weren't.

Wine glasses, to people, are mundane things. Things they don't think twice about, things that they use.

Though, for some, perhaps a wine glass was a gift. Something special, something precious – they'd never want it to shatter, to lose it. And, Astarion felt himself unfortunate enough to understand this, now.

He winced, everytime you were injured during the multitude of fights that your band of misfits so often found themselves in. He despised you, at times, for using that damn warding bond.

"Astarion, wait! Before we go anywhere!" You would hurriedly call out, rosy cheeked – perfect hands in poise as you cast your magic, swearing him from any harm; only to deal that harm directly to yourself. And you did so with a warm, wide smile, even when your skin was destined to be bloodied.

Astarion was always quick to help you back up, on your feet – it was all, 'part of the act’. Though, Wyll wasn't fooled, not one bit.

"Here let me–" And his hand was swiftly swat away by Astarion, like a petulant child. "No!" He'd hiss, as stereotypical vampires would (albeit, that he's 'only a spawn', and yada yada). Astarion's movements were uncharacteristically careful as he rest your head upon his knee, delicate fingers fixing any misplaced strands of hair. The hair he loved so dearly, that looked so perfect on you.

Wyll watched with his brow raised, and head notably cocked to the side – arms folded over his chest. Despite the trials and tribulations of his life, Wyll knew love when he saw it. And he saw it in Astarion's eyes.

Whatever you wanted to name this.. predicament – it plagued Astarion’s mind. Worse than that cursed tadpole squirming around the grooves and crevices of his skull. In fact, he was sure he’d much rather transform into a mindflayer – be free of these, complicated feelings. These fleeting thoughts, and constant questions. If he were sensible, no, if he weren’t a coward – Astarion knew that simply talking with you, being honest, abandoning his bravado would be the solution to such a grandiose problem.

Still, he continued to narrowly and expertly avoid the conversation – swift, unserious as ever. Until, that is, the trapper became the trapped.

“You’re not enjoying this, are you?” You’d asked, his head between your thighs – tongue, lapping at your weeping cunt. Red, terrified eyes peer up – before, the rest of the face paired with them, followed. “What? Of course I am, darling.” By Astarion’s standards, that was a terrible lie. And you knew it, just as much as he did.

“Astarion, I think we’ve reached the point of me having the right to say, ‘talk to me.’ So, talk to me, please?” Of course, you had to be so kind. To look at him like that – begging, doe-eyes, reddened cheeks and parted lips. Gods damn him.

“Fine, I– sex isn’t easy for me. I feel like.. I’m just, abusing it. Using you, while also.. feeling used? I don’t– I don’t know. I hadn’t expected you to notice.” His eyes flit to the bedroll beneath the two of you, brows knitted in frustration, vulnerability. Your hands reach out, cupping his cheeks in your palms with such tenderness that he was sure he could feel his chest tighten – a lump, swell in his throat.

“Then, why don’t I show you how to make love, instead? It might.. feel better. Let me, let me take care of you. Show you, how I feel.” You suggest, voice softer than he was sure he’d ever heard it. Wordlessly, Astarion nods, his fingers curling around your wrists tentatively.

Your lips, press to his forehead – the bridge of his nose, each cheek, both corners of his lips. All he can do, is let you. His defence crumbling with each shared breath between you. His walls, tumbling down, brick by brick.

Featherlight, your fingers grace his neck – tips, trailing the outline of his bite. Those, wretched, puncture wounds that would forever scar his flesh – alongside other things.

“I haven’t met many like you in my lifetime, Astarion. But, I’m assured you’re the most beautiful creature I’ll ever lay eyes on.” His jaw clenched.

“I’m a monster, darling.”

“Are you? I don’t see a monster, here.” You part from him, only to reposition yourself at his back. He shivers, as your lips brush his tainted flesh – pretty, pink mouth, brinking the outline of his ‘gift’. Astarion huffs, “What are you doing? You needn’t pay mind to something so unsightly.”

“I want this to mean something else to you. I want you to remember this, us. Not Cazador.”

Gods, you had to stop. How are you so.. perfect? So, forgiving?

Your arms lace around his waist, your chest pressed flush to his back – chin, upon his shoulder, granting you the access you’d needed to litter kisses at the nape of his neck. “Feel with me,” You murmur, between planted kisses, “See me, as I see you.”

Finally, Astarion moves. His hands envelope your own, cold yet careful, drawing your arms from around his waist – guiding you on top of him, as he lay upon his back. You follow his direction with ease, and without question. Obedient, like the good pup you always were for him. And him only.

He breezes a hand through your hair, gazing up at you – eyes dancing over your features, over every freckle and crease. There is something different in his eyes.

“I do see you.”

Silence. Though, you tilt your head – one of your many, endearingly inquisitive quirks. Astarion continues, “I.. I don’t recall being in love with anybody. Courting and sex were both equal schemes to successfully provide victims for Cazador. It never meant anything else, it couldn’t. But you.. you’re here, and I..”

Your thumb trails his lower lip, and there’s a devastatingly beautiful look upon your expression. “Thank you.” Is all you say, and Astarion felt it was enough. Acceptance. Yes, he needed that.

Your lips reunite, and Astarion chokes back a soft sob. You shake your head, “Feel.”

Tears stream his cheeks, as you pepper kisses to his neck, his collarbones, and his chest. Had this been anyone else, he’d have been humiliated. But, it’s you. It’s you and he feels safe.

Still, he can’t help the, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry..” that pours from his mouth. To which, you simply shush him, tongue circling his nipple – making his thighs tense. With a sniffle, his fingers bury in your hair – tightening whenever you flicked the tip of your tongue, in a way that he liked just a little too much. Well, speaking as though you could ever be too much for him.

A strained moan escapes him, as your thighs settle either side of his hips – as you sink down, sheathing him inside of you. Up, and down, at a steady pace, your legs agreeing to suffer the twinging ache and pain. Astarion’s hands are at your hips, then your waist – where they stay, occasionally running over the curve.

Your walls flutter around him, and he whimpers – loud enough to bypass the typical, wet sounds of your sex. Astarion is a man of many talents, including his ability to last in bed – even with a woman as magnificent as yourself. But like this? He wasn’t sure he stood a chance, throbbing – his eyes squeezed shut.

All knowing as you are, you quicken your pace, “Come for me, my love. Come for me, it’s okay, it’s alright.”

Oh, if only you hadn’t asked so nicely. Right on the cusp, Astarion now crashes – tips over the edge, filling you to the brim with a strangled whine. In praise, you shower him in kisses – despite his skin being glazed in sweat, his hair sticky upon his forehead – curls haphazardly strewn.

“I think I like you best when you’re a little messy.” You half-confess, smile evident in your voice.

“I wish you didn’t.” Astarion grumbles, in his usual fashion – still, you notice a flicker of a smile in response to your own that you wear.

“What else do you wish?” You ask, gently.

“That you knew how much I love you..” He wasn’t sure he meant to say that aloud.

“I think I know already.”

#baldurs gate iii #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #astarion #bg3 #bg3 posting #astarion x you #astarion x female reader #astarion x reader #fluff #smut #angst #one shot #fanfic

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wordsarelife · 3 months

Text

pretty isn't pretty

pairing: anthony lockwood x fem!reader

summary: he was showering you in compliments all while you felt like you weren’t pretty enough

warnings: low self esteem, mentions of grief, bad thoughts

a/n: this is actually bad. i really feel that i am not really able to write for lockwood anymore, but i’m trying to write these last few fics to the best of my abilities, promise :)

you were looking through the magazine, comparing everything about you to these gorgeous women, plastered over the pages. always beautiful, always perfect.

you sighed, knowing that you would never come even close to that.

anthony lockwood was the kind of boyfriend who showered you in complements from morning to night and still you wondered if he meant what he said.

you hated yourself for thinking that. but there was a small part in your brain that loved to question anything and everything. the clothes you were wearing, the make up, how you looked and how you didn't look and of course your relationship.

it wasn't like you wanted to question everything anthony said to you, but you felt like you had to. he told you you were beautiful three times a day and sometimes you wondered if he meant it or just needed to persuade himself of that.

the relationship with anthony was the first real long and healthy relationship you had. the boys that had come before him were never a mere possibility, and it seemed the reason for that had always been you.

never giving enough, never wanting enough and most importantly, never being enough.

it felt like there was always someone better. someone more loving, someone more needing and someone prettier.

the relationship with anthony was so good, you almost couldn't believe it. probably why your head always tried to convince you it was too good to be true. as if everything you had could suddenly slip away if you stopped working on yourself.

you didn't want him to slip away. but you also didn't want him to be in a relationship with someone who he felt wasn't enough for him.

it was a constant balance between happiness and self doubt and you were so tired of it. it was like a constant companion, turning every good moment into a situation for you to analyze.

it was exhausting to say the least and without you noticing, anthony became aware of something going on with you too.

"what are you doing?" you looked up at the voice and noticed anthony leaning over the couch behind you

"reading a magazine" you raised the magazine in your hands

anthony sighed, knowing which thoughts were running through your head. “i know what you’re thinking” he said softly, nudging your shoulder in a comforting way

“you do?” you asked surprised. you had thought that you had been subtle, successfully keeping the doubts in your head unnoticeable for him.

he nodded his head, rounding the couch and sinking into the fabric next to you. he took the magazine and closed it, throwing it on the table. “of course i know” he muttered and you saw the hurt in his eyes.

you weren’t sure if he was hurt because you were thinking what you were or because you had been keeping it from you.

“you know that you can tell me anything, right?” his brown eyes almost made you cry

“i know” you sighed, ashamed at the conversation you were having right now, ashamed her that you even though what you were thinking “i’m sorry for keeping it from you”

“i know you don’t do it to hurt me” anthony said “but it still hurts. as if there was a part of you, not even i am allowed to see”

“it’s shameful”

“no it isn’t” he shook his head “i love everything about you, even the hard things, especially the hard things”

your lip shivered. “sometimes i don’t think i deserve you”

“that’s rubbish” anthony took your hand in his “do you remember my parents death anniversary? i was ugly crying the entire day and you never left my side. i was ashamed of that for a long time”

“you were?” you asked surprised, never really getting the thought that he might have similar insecurities plaguing his mind

“of course”

“well i never even thought it was weird or wrong. i know how much you love your parents, i could never make you feel ashamed for how you feel about them”

“exactly” anthony said “and with you it’s the same way. anything we think is shameful makes the other love us even more, don’t you understand? you don’t have to be perfect for me to love you.. i love you even more because you aren’t” he assured “that doesn’t mean your feelings are not valid! it’s okay to not always feel good about things, but it’s important that you tell me about it, alright? how should i be able to help you when you don’t tell me what’s wrong?”

you smiled at him and squeezed his hand. “i love you” you kissed his cheek “and you really don’t mind to speak about it?”

he shook his head “never” he assured “i love you”

#pretty isnt pretty #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood #lockwood and co #george karim #ali hadji heshmati #lucy carlyle #cameron chapman #ghost hunting #ruby stokes #netflix #lockwood and co imagines #lockwood x reader #lockwoodandco #lockwood #guts album #guts olivia rodrigo #lizzysgutsspecial

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azulyrae · 11 months

Text

❛ —— 𝐈 : The Pawn.

his life had been but a recurrent and miserable passing of time; plagued by the constant questioning regarding his value; the nagging behind the point of his meaningless existence and the place he occupied in the reality in which he was inserted. azriel had not lived; rather survived, doomed to loneliness despite the amount of friends he had made. one could not be overjoyed with such a fate; one could not see the point to insist on the stubbornness of life, if one could not share it with a partner.

after five centuries, azriel had felt the bond snap inside his heart; a dagger that tore the flash of the muscle; whose blade twisted and spilled his blood. for once, his agony was but self-inflicted; the pain, a consequence of the emotional absence of [name] archeron, his lightning bolt. azriel had been a lonesome wanderer, grasping to an abstract concept and companion that had finally found him mid-travel. and after quiet ponder and the insistence of his mate’s sisters, the shadowsinger decided to steal her from the tortuous path of self-sacrifice, and led the queen and king of their chess game to quite an experimental and potentially catastrophic game.

the first chapter of onyx sword of sorrow.

check the original post to be aware of the trigger warnings.

azriel/fem!archeron sister. reader with mind control & the ability to shapeshift.

word-count: 10K.

“I long for you; I who usually longs without longing, as though I am unconscious and absorbed in neutrality and apathy, really, utterly long for every bit of you.”

― Franz Kafka, Letters to Milena

The leisure room’s stillness brought the male comfort. His thoughts, once a swirl of revolt, were reduced to mere pondering. The sound of his pacing, incessant during the first half-hour of his arrival, ceased with the time spent in silence. Azriel sat on his most favored elbow-chair: made of charcoal-colored leather; with enough width to accommodate his wings; the one further from the hearth; and had not left since then. The hollow pair of his eyes were fixed on the peeling brown-paint of the walls near the shelves — even if they did not perceive a thing.

When he had reached the familiar space of the House of Wind, Azriel scurried to the least frequented room and enclosed himself inside. By then, the sun held itself with pride in the middle of the day sky, burning and fierce, while a warm whiff entered sporadically through the opened doors of the balcony and the wind swayed the linen curtains. The Shadowsinger poured himself a generous amount of aged scotch with ice and proceeded to lose himself in mute and almost betrayed speculation.

The male didn’t need, nor did he ask, for the eventual reports of his shadows regarding the time passage. Azriel could deduce the lingering of his presence according to the light’s position. Although he had drowned the first dose of whiskey inside a luminous room, by the time his twentieth one doused his sore throat, the full-moon shone, its bright light a rival to the countless stars in Velaris’ night sky.

The House lit the hearth at least three hours prior, and Azriel commanded it to extinguish the flames. It wasn’t the first time, and the Spymaster doubted it’d be the last too, in which he wasted precious periods of his day staring into the meaningless and oppressive void; seconds and minutes and hours converging into a single unity until Azriel could no longer discern, nor notice, their passage. Pale and ethereal, the weak moonrays entered the ambient — that grew more frigid as dusk arrived — and the peeled pattern of the old tint could scarcely be seen in comparison to the daytime’s. But Azriel would’ve been able to point each furniture with precision, or move without hesitation, for he knew every centimeter that constituted the House of Wind’s extension. More than all, the Spymaster could’ve reached a particular point of the leisure room even if he was tied and blinded.

His sight burnt figurative holes in the untouched chess board, still secured inside the store’s package, despite the fact that it had been gifted to her months before, during the Winter Solstice. It rested under a pile of unwrapped presents, each thoroughly thought and given by a member of the Inner Circle. His High-Lady, Mor and Elain had spent weeks trying to convince her to join them for the Winter Solstice, their promises of amusing and private festivities not fazing her in the slightest. So, before their departure, Azriel had told Clotho to leave their gifts somewhere in the library where she would see them, for not a soul managed to learn where she had ventured to. When he returned and found the damned pile, Azriel felt a sudden wave of rage trespass his very being. Because the Spymaster lacked Cassian’s patience, such an offense was not ignored.

Azriel was left both enchanted and wary once his eyes fell upon her figure for the first time. Prythian was close to war against Hybern then, and they were in dire need of allies. In order to contact the Mortal Queens, Feyre had resorted to her sisters, and though she’d granted them an overview of their personalities and shared past, the female was particularly vague regarding the older one. The Spymaster was half-expecting fidgeting and condescending women, quite uninteresting and avoidant. However, she held none of those said characteristics.

With briefness, she had informed Feyre of the occurrences the sister had missed after her return to the Fae Lands. Their father sailed to where she theorized to be the farthest west, and with the man gone, her, the oldest — [Name] — was in charge of their coin, the employees, and their mansion’s maintenance. Feyre once confessed that was it not for one of her sister’s sacrifices, she would never have survived a single winter to wield a bow. The fact alone granted the said woman great respect amongst them all, though her identity was only confirmed when Azriel and his brothers faced that force of nature.

Feyre had advised — rather threatened them — to maintain a certain and specific distance. The three were given no further details, yet, were all glad to adhere to her orders. Still, with her clear avoidance regarding the topic and the deep sorrow in her eyes whenever she covered her older sister’s brief character, Azriel had managed, to a certain extent at least, to connect the pieces of the puzzle. And with what he presumed to be a precise knowledge, the Spymaster expected a strong, yet secluded woman; one who’d offer her home out of consideration for Feyre without engaging with their troubles any further.

How wrong he was.

When the soon-to-be High-Lady informed the three sisters of their need, Nesta’s discontentment came in brisk and sharp words, while Elain remained silent and, in fact, quite nervous over the prospect of a discussion. But all [Name] had asked her sister was whether she’d need anything more. As if offering Feyre her home was no bother; as if she was willing to offer her entire being, if it meant granting the youngest sister a solace of her own.

She led them to the private office upstairs, and Azriel absorbed the small glimpse of her ferocious spirit, overwhelmed by her scent and presence in every centimeter of the room. A shelf took over an entire wall; there were countless maps of the Mortal Lands plastered on a mural, most with colorful arrows traced with either red or blue paint, as if to showcase hot and warm currents; and an enormous table placed on the center, with pages whose scriptures varied from long, handwritten notes to numbers and formulas Azriel himself couldn’t understand, despite the five centuries he’d lived. The chessboard was the last thing he saw. It was placed in a corner, a melancholic sight to a male as himself, who adored the strategies and competition the game’s matches granted him. [Name] had no opponent; no friend she could invite to play against.

The Spymaster had then noticed the clear loneliness of the Archeron sisters. He could still remember Feyre’s haunted and paranoid figure, resorting to self-isolation for she was not taught to accept the offering hand of potential allies. The parallels were absurd as [Name] fished a silver-necklace from her dress’ collar, using the small key hanging from it to open one of the many drawers from the center table. And from the inside, the mortal pulled a detailed plant of the mansion’s entire extension. She was distant, her words were sharp and matter-of-fact. Yet, the older sister was analytical and prone to listen, quick to action and unafraid to voice her opinions. Despite their five centuries of experience, [Name] somehow managed to catch on to a concept or idea the brothers oversaw, and didn’t hesitate to point clear errors on their strategies, nor was she embarrassed to acknowledge possible improvements regarding her schemes. And once Azriel noticed the manner with which Feyre’s eyes shone with pride and admiration; how close they held one another when the female was to return to Velaris; he knew [Name] had, unbeknownst to her, passed some of her coping skills to the younger sister.

During the first reunion with the mortal queens, they were all left with a sour instinct and anticipation. Yet, [Name] was the single one immediately sure of their betrayal, as if, somehow, the female grasped onto aspects of their stances and personalities the others overlooked. It was her certainty that drove Rhysand to order Azriel to return regularly to the Archeron mansion until their next scheduled reunion. While his High-Lord was off to the Summer Court, the Spymaster was inside that same private office, studying more recent mansion-plants that [Name], somehow, convinced the architects to let her borrow, as Nesta watched them like a hawk with an untouched novel in her hands.

As expected, [Name] was indeed detached and blunt; disdainful, even, when annoyed. The surprise of it all, whatsoever, came with the fact that she was also hotheaded. [Name] seemed to him as a powerful fortress. Her words coated in sarcasm, voiced with little forethought or regret; her ruthless honesty and logic. She was not warm, nor was she raised to. Instead, [Name] was reliable. The tree that never bent; the castle built on a mountain rock, impenetrable and magnificent. One would not imagine that under such coldness hid a chaotic thunderstorm. A well-phrased insult and he could almost catch a glimpse of her lightning; an arrogant grin to prove her wrong and he could see a twitch in her plain features. Azriel, surprisingly, noted that he quite enjoyed the act of annoying the oldest and provoking a reaction. Even better, for his own personal and secretive satisfaction, the male also proved to be great at it.

But once those banters were put aside, one would notice that [Name] wasn’t cruel nor prideful, and whenever Nesta grew tired of their technicalities, with Elain assuming the chaperone’s position instead, Azriel managed to strike less task-driven conversations.

He learned that [Name] first engaged in chess matches at the ripe age of seven, when, bored to no end, she saw their old mansion’s chief of cuisine play by himself. The man taught her well, and what he could not answer, she searched for in books. The mortal was dutiful to her studies, quick-witted and with keen observation skills that, combined to her well-chosen words, left every single one of her father’s late investors at her disposal, regardless of her young age. And when they weren’t lost in provocations and meaningless competitions related to who could come up with the most logical and efficient strategies to the possible outcomes of their encounter with the Mortal Queens, Azriel enjoyed sharing stories of Prythian with [Name], covering the continent’s territories, and listening to her theories. His favorite part of the whole interaction was noticing how the woman’s eyes would shine with anticipation, her imagination running wild at his words. He noticed then, her endless fierceness; how her core shook with thunder and catastrophe. There was more than the simple desire to learn more of the world; there was rage for what she would never see, resentment for her mortal limitations, and grief for the one she could’ve been.

Although he didn’t quite consider her a friend, Azriel wasn’t blind to their similarities either. The eldest of their respective families; the ones assigned to the ugliest, most dutiful aspects of their homes; the paranoid and distant personalities that granted both of them a fearsome first impression. He had no doubt she would’ve made whatever sacrifice, gone whichever length necessary, to free her sisters from related burdens. And — she had once said — if the trail ahead required her to taint her hands red, [Name] would comply, wash them after the process was done, and repeat the cycle for as long as it was needed.

Azriel had spent his almost half-six centuries of miserable existence yearning for a twin-flame; one that would be more pure and moral, empathetic and sweet, less prone to brutal logic and violence. The Spymaster once believed that if Morrigan, the female of pure altruism and resplendent strength, was to bless him with reciprocal love, she would purify the darkness within him; adore him until he learned to see himself through her perspective. Yet, during those comfortable conversations, Azriel couldn’t contradict the inherent truth of the fantastical feeling of being thoroughly understood. Although he remained sick and twisted, a vile creature built on hatred and violence and revenge, the male found that [Name], with her bottled rage and strength; her obstination to understand various concepts; to surround herself in theories and studies and schemes; to gather private informations from possible threats just in case; was a more comforting companion than a pure, immaculate female could ever be.

Azriel had no expectations, whatsoever, to match the mortal’s good heart. He caught a glimpse of her paperwork once, and noted that she was investing part of the re-gained family’s coin in business in less fortunate regions to increase the employment tax. Feyre had also told them that her sister learned not one, but three different languages in a decade, to communicate better with the foreign investors, and to aid the illegal immigrants that worked for their family at the seaport. And though it didn’t seem possible that [Name] could understand and match his struggles, during the quietest moments of dawn, Azriel liked to pretend otherwise.

Duties, however, were a constant call, and the Shadowsinger was assigned to spy on the Mortal Queens, rather than to return to the Archeron’s household. The bitterness on his tongue lingered through it all, both from the unforeseen difficult character of his mission, and from the sudden thought of Cassian visiting the mansion by himself. However, whatever infatuation Azriel labored for her, grew cold during the aftermath of Hybern’s mischievous plan.

[Name] was the first. She was chained, and struggled in her fight as the males threw her inside the Cauldron. The sight of her desperation was overbearing. He had wanted to slash those who held her in half; needed to protect her from the rising waters of her past. His sudden response to her screams was what granted him a week-worth of time spent on a sickbed, for the single movement to reach her had been enough for the poison to spread. Hybern was astute enough to catch on to the female’s importance to her sisters; he knew that, by destroying her fighting spirit, the other three would soon follow. However, the Cauldron expelled her after no more than half a minute, as if whatever happened between their brief encounter, whatever it saw in her, was too disturbing; vile; dangerous. It didn’t wait for Hybern’s soldiers to grab the borders and turn it, throwing the female on the ground in the process.

No, the Cauldron moved on its own, the pitch-black water stinking of surprise and desperation when the artifice fell and the female arose, reborn. Hybern himself had been shocked and afraid. For the months that ensued, Azriel wondered if his poisoned mind had deceived his sight, for he had met the sister’s eyes then, and stared into the thin pupils of a dragon; he wondered whether the poison was to blame for the devastating tug on his heart, the brief light that sliced through the darkness of his core and shook his very being with its power.

However, when he next saw her, [Name] was a High-Fae — taller, her movements more fluid, and a stance that was both terrifying and compelling. Yet, it was the sheer strength and promise of violence that undid him. The eyes that met his own were determined and hostile, challenging and commanding, as if [Name] noted her enforced physique and decided not to hesitate if the time urged her to use them. She was desirable and breath-taking as a mortal, with hypnotizing complexions, too; a woman aware of her attributes and influence and unafraid to use them as she saw fit. But being a High-Fae made her more lethal, a fantastic and splendid female granted with the means necessary to pursue her goals, to back up the violence hidden under the sarcastic retorts.

Azriel’s knees nearly buckled. He wasted precious centuries pitying himself, for he had been assigned the burden of aggression. His hands were scarred and eternally tainted with blood, vile things that were the living proof of his fate. However, [Name] embraced the future the Mother drew; she’d be the serpent and the bite and the venom; she’d be the tortuous pain that preceded death. And if that meant protecting herself and those she cared for, the guilt would be non-existent. Nothing but twenty-five, and the female made peace with the demons that had been plaguing him for five centuries.

She had a pile of books clutched against her chest, and maps that depicted what seemed to be the detailed territory of every Court and Faerie Realm of Prythian, rolled up and secured between her biceps and forearm. His shadows began to hum a soft and low ballad, dancing around their bodies. The Spymaster waited for [Name] to recoil, yet, she stared at the dark-tendrils of smoke with slight curiosity and the gleam of something else. Her eyes moved between his shadows, in a manner he learned to be those of her scheming. The hall in which the Spymaster stumbled upon [Name]’s renewed powerful figure seemed to diminish as he, enchanted, stepped closer. However, the curiosity that pooled in her eyes a second prior turned into hard-steel, a sense of despise and deception covering the grateful stare. Azriel noted the silver-blue color of the dragon’s eyes; the thin pupils of a violent storm retributing his entranced glance. His steps ceased; his shadows recoiled; and Azriel managed, a tad too late, to mask the hurt from his features.

The male wasn’t sure of what he had done wrong. Nevertheless, despite his initial surprise, and after a more attentive glance, he managed to find the hidden signs under the fearsome veil of those hard-expressions and astute irises. [Name] was in a disheveled state, with purple bags under the tired eyes and a mark between her eyebrows, of what he presumed to be left by constant worry. Azriel found himself wordless, sent into a foreign state of near-fidgeting. Ever since he’d left the burdens of a green-boy behind, Azriel had ceased to be nervous around females. He was desirable, confident, and managed to seduce them just fine, with no need for a repertoire filled with poems and romance quotes. But with [Name], it was as though the green-boy had returned, now laughing at his matured silence and nervousness. He yearned for the previous camaraderie, but had no clue of which phrases to use in order to reach it.

His hesitation wasn’t well-received. The female’s grip on her books grew tighter, and a sudden, powerful scent filled the air as she said: “If there’s nothing you wish to tell me, clear the way.”

He remained glued into place. Even if the Spymaster attempted to move left and grant her a free passage, his body had turned into nothing but a wayward bag of aching bones. For Azriel had words unsaid, his muscles were stiff and unnatural. He closed his fists in frustration, aware that his eyes were a pool of hatred. Not even his shadows ought to move, paralyzed in the scarce space between him and the female.

“You’re looking like crap,” he lied, for [Name] hadn’t demanded him to be true in his statement, only to speak up.

[Name] didn’t flinch nor showcased hurt, as if she’d found the real aspect of his thoughts somewhere within his cloaked expression. He wouldn’t confess his desire to hold what he presumed to be quite a heavy pile of books; to help her find whatever information she was searching for; to offer the distraction of a long and well-pondered chess match. Yet, her eyes flickered with acceptance and sorrow, the fate of a self-imposed loneliness one thought to be worthy of.

“I don’t need your help,” [Name] said. Grasping onto the late thoughts of lending an aiding hand seemed as though trying to capture water with a closed fist. Whenever the male found himself close enough to the instinctive wish to help, it slipped through his fingers as a volatile liquid. Despite his best efforts, Azriel caught himself fighting against the sudden lack of free-will, for, once again, nor his mind or body were his own. “You won’t offer to help me, either. I’m perfectly capable of managing on my own.”

“Of course you are,” he agreed in a haze, his words sounding slurred and disconnected.

The Spymaster hated himself for being susceptible to that treacherous manipulation; hated her for wielding it, too, and displaying all but a small remorse in the process of stealing his freedom. He connected the lines then; from the venomous scent of power to the abrupt fear of the Cauldron when it had expelled her. A hypnotizing voice, one that managed to control even his intangible companions. He wondered where the limitations of such power were placed, while fearing there were none. The previous concern related to whether or not he should propose to carry her books seemed small and meaningless in comparison to the inescapable authority he was trapped under. He, instead, began to fear for his entire Court, for there was nothing besides, perhaps, her sisters, capable of stopping [Name] from stealing Velaris from under their noses.

“I have no intentions to cause harm,” she said, waving his worries as though they were a nagging fruit-fly. Opposite from the female’s previous statements, this one didn’t feel as a demand of her part. The well-justified suspicions remained rooted in his mind, instead of slipping through his consciousness before he could even process the thought.

However, what scared him the most was the fact that [Name]’s mental-powers surpassed those of a daemati. The Shadowsinger never once left his mind-barrier unattended; it had been a wall of revested, pitch-black steel, ever since he learned of the existence of those able to read his thoughts. He was sure they were intact, and yet, she slipped inside as if it meant nothing.

“Meaning you draw the line at generalized battles, but find it acceptable to read one’s mind without their verbal permission,” Azriel retorted. The male crossed his arms against his chest, the anger overpowering the modest shine that accompanied the beating of his heart. The Spymaster looked down on her, resorting to the glance he used to terrify his opponents and prisoners. He had noticed a tad too late that his stance mirrored his father’s, and both disgust and regret enclosed his once arrogant and spiteful stance.

But rather than recoiling, [Name] raised her chin, the eyes of the dragon returning with a barely-contained rage that matched his own. “I was thrown inside a Cauldron without granting them permission to do so; I was Made and kept hostage inside a Fae-house I’m not allowed to leave. My youngest sister is gone, and I wield powers that are directly connected to emotions I’ve spent my entire life repressing. I can’t control whose minds I can read. This place is cacophony of thoughts and fears, and I would’ve given the entirety of my lost riches to be mortal again; to not hear the suicidal and terrified intents of my sisters.”

Azriel felt a sense of shame creeping up his spine. Even if his anger of her commands for him to remain distant, and ignoring his every nerve rebelling against doing so, had lingered, the Spymaster found quite a soft-spot upon hearing her point of view. She seemed pained and confused, a lashing animal that adorned herself with claws and fangs, scales and poison, because she failed to envision a different perspective. The sudden reminder of Feyre’s tendency to self-isolate and self-sacrifice, and from who she’d taken said characteristics, went as a brisk breeze, refreshing his consciousness for too little: since the acknowledgement of [Name]’s pain meant he’d want nothing but to reach for her and help, and the female had denied him that right.

He had never resented her more, doubted he ever would. The pressure, placed upon his jaw because of the effort to struggle against those commands, was quick to bring an ache. The Spymaster had no doubt that soon, the too quiet hall would be filled with the sound of the crack of his bones.

“I can manage by myself, I don’t need nobody,” she repeated, the slight mark reappearing between her eyebrows as her expression shifted into one of obstinate confusion.

Despite the order, Azriel’s insistence prevailed; his words were near to spill, that fucking, stupid offering to carry her books, but the scent of her hypnotizing power managed to inebriate his senses at last.

“I. Don’t. Need. Nobody. It’s my tragedy alone to endure.”

The resistance must’ve faded from his features, for the female’s eyes returned to their normal appearance, and she passed through him. Their shoulders touched — Azriel’s bare muscles brushing against her clothed skin — and a terrible shiver went through her. The female gritted her teeth, searching for that armor of nonchalance and uninterest.

“I don’t need nobody,” she said, his back facing her own. “But Elain does. She’s lost, and I’m sure you owe me no favors, but my sister treated you well during our scheming afternoons, and isn’t the one to blame for my character.”

He hadn’t felt compelled to reach for Elain, enough an indicator that [Name] was but giving him the right to choose for himself whether he wished — or not — to keep an eye on said sister. As it seemed, [Name] didn’t care to wield her voice if the consequences fell upon her shoulders alone, but refused to drag others into her labyrinth of thunderous hatred. Azriel didn’t answer, and his shadows were in a mingled commotion of confusion as their desire to check on the female was countered by her own command to be left alone.

Rhysand had then approached from where he, for sure, observed their interaction. The male was quite conflicted, noticing the rebellious instinct Azriel couldn’t conceive. Instead of flying to the balcony, to then winnow to the River House, they decided it was less bothersome to dialogue inside the nearest, more private room of the House of Wind: that being the leisure room. His brother updated him of the most recent occurrences — those he’d lost during the week under an induced sleep — and Azriel himself was left puzzled at the end of Rhys’ report.

[Name]’s commanding powers bloomed after Feyre’s departure to the Spring Court. Upon failing to find the youngest sister, she invaded the private reunion of the Inner Circle — Rhysand, Morrigan and Amren, the three conscious at the time — and demanded to be informed of Feyre’s position, leaving them all aghast with their willingness to answer. Azriel observed, through the mental glimpses Rhys offered, the internal fight of his brother’s brain, and how she had, too, crushed his desire to uphold that particular information. A High-Fae whose mind was closed to the daemati, wielding a tongue that could put even a High-Lord to his knees. She suddenly was a threat twice as dangerous and unapologetic, willing to use her power whenever underestimated, and Azriel’s wariness increased with the fact.

However, [Name] hadn’t needed to repeat her orders until then. Her powers had been enough to intoxicate the minds of two of the most powerful Fae alive, and an ancient creature, at the same time. With that in mind, both were left to wonder why Azriel, out of all people, showed such resilience against her commands, and though the possible answer seemed obvious, the Spymaster refused to nurture such hope, especially since he wasn’t sure where his trust was placed with the Archeron sister.

Azriel maintained his distance. He, indeed, began to check on Elain. At first, the male did it as both a taunt and a peace offering. Yet, despite his efforts to grasp [Name]’s attention, she had enclosed herself inside the House of Wind’s library, the books she borrowed being supervised by Clotho. And with all honesty, Elain was rather a comforting companion, her silence matching his own. The female indeed was in need of someone; someone who had no expectations, nor judged her mad for her incoherent mumbling. She grew to be a friend, one that had catched on Azriel’s ragged breath when he laid his eyes on [Name] for the first time in days; who had then begun to state the burdens of her sister and how, although used to loneliness and with her heart buried deep within, she was desperate to see the day where her duties would no longer be overpowering, while also terrified with the idea of leisure. Azriel understood her better then, and was given the confirmation of their similarities once again. Yet, that meant nothing, for the female continued to avoid them all.

Her situation improved in the slightest when Feyre returned, and their shared conversation later-on influenced his High-Lady to encourage [Name] to accept Morrigan’s help. The females spent the next months vanishing during most mornings, whereas [Name] was nowhere to be seen later on, deciding to spend the remnants of her day lost within her studies inside the library.

Morrigan, who was Azriel’s loyal friend — and once, the biggest love he knew — understood his anguish. And though she seemed to empathize with [Name]’s motivations as well, the female made sure to keep him attuned on both [Name]’s physical and mental evolution. She kept most things to herself, of course. And considering the amount of time the two spent together, it was half-expected for [Name] to be a modest swordswoman; though she did improve, it became clear that they were discussing other things, too.

When the War was declared, [Name] abandoned her months of quiet isolation in the library or private training sessions with Mor to help them strategize and scheme. Azriel glimpsed the storm underneath the long period of sorrow and concern; fell victim to the same banters and competition and even went as far as to share a deep and meaningful conversation outside the Archeron’s sisters tent. At the time, Elain had just been rescued, and although the three of them slept inside, [Name] refused to do the same, choosing to guard them instead.

Azriel’s tongue felt heavy and useless on the morrow, when he attempted, once again, to offer his help. The male thought of a dozen synonyms and different speech forms to bypass her command, but they were all in vain. And even if she learned to control the mind-reading aspect of her powers, Azriel’s efforts must’ve been crystal clear, for she rose from the ground, her steps crushing the autumn dried leaves, and repeated: “I don’t need nobody.”

He grew tired and revolted then. It was easier to obey her desires when one had given up on contourning them. The last battle came, and Azriel’s mind was set, for he refused to keep walking around those walls’ borders, to venture on the female’s stubborn need to retract herself and put on a veil of feigned detachment. The Spymaster would no longer care, no longer offer help. And it was only when the dragon emerged from the battlefield — dark scales with blue and silver undertones — that he’d noticed those weren’t his desires, but the consequences of her command inside his mind. Though he was once resolute, a second later, the male wished for nothing but to claim the skies with the magnificent flying serpent. Considering the quickness with which his mind changed, Azriel grew both scared and amazed at the extension of her will. It was the first time he’d experienced what Rhysand and the others must’ve felt during her first morning at the House of Wind; the first confirmation that her imposition worked differently on him, as if he was made to pass through the venom curtain and sit close to the female behind it, granting her the companionship she didn’t deem herself worthy of.

At the time, the sight of the dragon was magnificent: the shadow of a flying serpent, covering the sunlight; the strong scent of ozone that hang in the air as the creature flew to the open sea, where Hybern’s fleet was seen in the horizon; the open jaw — one the size of a grown Illyrian warrior — that breathed not fire, but lightning. [Name]’s rage had resulted in the screams of a thousand soldiers, their pained cacophony reverberating as the water — the best conduit for electricity, he’d soon learn — helped murder whoever intended to plunge against them through the sea. Yet, the sight of the Fae’s eyes after such occurrences wasn’t at all welcoming. She was broken; shallow; tired. Even if he could still catch a glimpse of the brilliant and breath-taking dark scales under the common flesh, there was something amiss. Not guilt, but perchance, a sense of adamant worry and disorientation, as though she had no idea what to do next.

Azriel waited until the Inner Circle returned to Velaris. The Archeron sisters were granted the offer to find a home of their choosing, and although Elain agreed to live with Feyre, Nesta found herself a decrepit apartment in one of the poorest districts, while [Name] had insisted on staying in the House of Wind. It made sense. Between the three Made females, [Name] was the one that did not need to face the ten thousand steps whenever she wished to leave; she could shift into whatever winged-animal she saw fit, and fly to whichever path she meant to take. Although Morrigan and Feyre were quite harsh with both him and Cassian, warning of the consequences were they to invade her personal space, Azriel was glad — and hopeful, even — that she decided to linger for more than just the desire to resume her constant visits to the library, or the wish to part ways from her sisters. The future was promising without the war and the perspective of peace, and he’d have enough space to return to that old camaraderie.

Or so he thought.

The female gave him a single glance and repeated those four fucking words. Their first dialogue was built on sarcasm and bad manners, both mistrusting one another and wishing to test their motivations and boundaries. Of course the bond would sing the loudest then. Not when the dragon emerged or when [Name] was Made; not during their heartfelt conversation outside the tent; but when he was mad with anger at her obstination, wishing to grab her shoulders and shake her to her senses. Still, a malicious sense of victory, one his entire family would disapprove of, glowed with the unprecedented truth. [Name] enjoyed being several steps ahead but could not have predicted their mating bond in a thousand years. She wasn’t aware that with the unilateral snap, her commanding powers lost considerable strength against his mind.

So, when [Name] said she didn’t need his help, Azriel had answered: “Of course you don’t.”

Ever since then, in between the not-at-all accidental stumbles on different routes of the House, he made sure to pretend. Pretend to be at her words’ mercy; pretend to be affected by her commands. All in the while decreasing their late distance with poisonous phrases and acts of his own, that [Name] was quick to retort. However, he didn’t expect her latest one to be so vile and spiteful; never would’ve thought his mate would be so cruel.

Nuala and Cerridwen’s report was but a kneaded ball of paper, falling victim to the Shadowsinger’s unmatched anger. He stared at the pile of unwrapped gifts. Feyre had given her older and most admired sister a personalized chess board: the pieces had the texture of a dragon’s scale, and each group-piece was represented by a thoroughly designed flying serpent; the board was made of enhanced glass, and the structure underneath was a pitch-black pattern of the lightning of a violent storm crashing against the stones of a dozen mountains. Rhysand chose a long leather coat, its shoulder pads with silvery-blue spikes as those she had on her dragon back. Elain gave her a beautiful vase of colorful dragon-flowers, one he knew [Name] began tending to. Amren picked a silver necklace, the pendant with — according to her words — a blue kyanite, the rough stone carved as if to resemble a dragon head. Cassian bought three books, one being his most favored about battle strategies, and the other two — personal recommendations from Clotho, who said she was searching for the subject, and couldn’t find nothing close to it in the library — of The Story of Prythian’s Currency: Volume I & II. Whereas Morrigan was more subtle. The female said she’d give a gift related to her past experiences, one it wasn’t made to be seen by their curious eyes.

Each of the previous gifts stood in the unwrapped pile, but Azriel’s was nowhere to be seen.

He spent months trying to come up with something. It’d be the first Winter Solstice with his mate; the first gift he’d give her. Since his memories were no longer lost in a haze, the male was brought back to their first true conversations months prior. [Name] told him she had learned how to properly wield daggers and throwing knives, for someone had taught her, and she trained tirelessly ever since. Morrigan complimented that aspect, too, commenting that [Name] had quick-feet, with an agility that was made for close combat. So Azriel gave his mate two sai daggers. The butt-end was of dragons’ heads, designed in a way as not to hinder her moments; the grip was made of cool and weightless leather, with an undertone of dark blue, and one silver-colored bolt of lightning on both sides of the material; there was a stone in the middle of the wing-base — the shade, the same blue of his Siphons — and the steel from both the wing-base and wings had the pattern of scales. The shaft had a thin scripture written in the runic-language of Ancient-Fae — a courtesy of Amren, who, he was sure, felt the bond between them — that said: “The bolt that cuts through darkness, the light that breaks the night.”

Azriel placed an order to the smith for a set of throwing knives too, and this time, instead of choosing a dragon, Azriel went for two swallows taking flight and staring at one another, placed at each side of the guard. However, he prided himself more in the pair of personalized sai daggers. The Spymaster knew the Inner Circle would pick the dragon alone, for they didn’t know that at each dawn, [Name] shifted into a white and blue swallow, small and silent, and ventured through the night skies, returning on the morrow under the same form. What better metaphor for such a fast, small animal, if not throwing daggers? Regardless, he found her choice odd. Why would one prefer to be a swallow, instead of an eagle, or even a dragon? He came to the conclusion that perhaps [Name] and her unspeakable past did not wish to be perceived; after a lifetime of being placed on top of a pedestal, attracting both admiration and lust from those who stared from underneath, it seemed as though she was glad to be a merely invisible bird, rather than a devastating creature. He respected that, but nevertheless, [Name] didn’t seem to have enjoyed the gift.

When Azriel searched for the sai daggers and knives, he wasn’t sure what would’ve hurt more. The prospect of finding them yet wrapped, or in the same state as the rest of those on the pile. He never once thought they wouldn’t be there at all. The Spymaster left clear and severe orders to his shadows, and despite his companions’ wishes, they weren’t allowed to search the House of Wind — especially [Name]’s room — for the gift. Hope was an unreliable feeling, and nurturing it was a direct step into disappointment. Rage and resentment, however, came easier. Azriel was sure that his shadows had disobeyed him, and were desperate to share their information. Yet, he didn’t welcome it. Instead, the male fell straight into the rabbit hole of his duties, making it all the easier to ignore his mate. Summarizing it all, said decision was what brought him to that current dismal state, and guided him to the emptiness of the leisure room.

Not two weeks had passed since the Winter Solstice, and Azriel was already assigned to infiltrate Montesere’s barriers. Considering the land’s history of allegiance with Hybern, and the infertile political situation between the Courts after the Wall between Fae and Mortal Lands fell, his brother and High-Lady’s concern regarding Montesere’s silence was well-based. At first, the Shadowsinger thought it’d be an effortless task. Yet, during his first attempt, he was met with a barrier that countered each and every power he had at his disposal.

The male had faced such a bothersome obstacle before. The Mortal Queens once wielded a similar protection; one that had avoided his net of spies and his own shadows for months. Azriel still remembered the consequences of his failure; the fatal mission that had him laying on the floor with poison in his veins; that left Cassian with ruined wings and pain written all over his near-unconscious expressions; the yet-human Archeron sisters being thrown, one by one, inside the Cauldron. The fatality that led [Name] to her current state, one he failed to foresee and prevent.

There was a small knock on the ebony door. A crevice — all but large enough for the head of a winged-Illyrian warrior to pass through — presented Azriel with the sight of his brother, his ever-present grin appearing as soon as he laid eyes on the Spymaster at the elbow-chair. Azriel’s previous thoughts were put on hold, his surprise apparent, and his shadows moved around him, their whispered words sounding hurt and worried: “We warned you, we warned you.” But the male, once again, didn’t hear a single thing.

Those occurrences weren’t rare, nor something he was unfamiliar with. Azriel found himself frequently tangled within them, as if his thoughts were a labyrinth with deviant entrances and constant, creative traps, he never seemed to dodge. The worries and self-loathing gave way to a frozen and profound lake; the water was corrupted, viscous, carrying a darkness Azriel himself wasn’t used to. Avoiding those traps felt as though walking with heavy boots on the thin ice that covered such a lake. He was bound to fail — to fall, — and once Azriel was captured by it, he scarcely attempted to swim, to leave; no light could reach him there, no sound or positiveness, it was a place not even his shadows dared to enter. The Spymaster wasted hours inside it, and only managed to leave it once an external presence pulled him from the putrid waters of his thoughts.

As Cassian had done, entering the leisure room and choosing the elbow-chair in front of his own. His brother glimpsed at the near-to-be empty scotch bottle, an eyebrow raising in the process. The male seemed to believe Azriel had more than enough, for he grabbed it from the center-table and gave it a gulp directly from the bottleneck.

“Are you kidding me?” The Spymaster complained, his voice a mixture of both frustration and anger towards his brother. Azriel wouldn’t dare to pour himself more after that, finding it unhygienic; all in the while, Cassian was quite aware of his brother’s antics, and drank it on purpose.

“Don’t be all selfish, Az,” the male mocked him, drinking another mouthful of the scotch. Azriel rolled his eyes, placing his empty cup on the center-table with unnecessary strength. “You’re done for the night, at least.”

“I’m not even drunk,” he argued. Cassian — the bastard — shrugged.

“That’s because you have a high alcohol tolerance,” his brother’s eyes narrowed. He placed the bottle on the ground, near his feet, and sat with a straightened back. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Azriel, in fact, didn’t. His scarred left hand clutched the kneaded report, the sound of paper ringing through his ears. That stupid piece of scribbling what was led him to that position in the first place. The Spymaster flew to the house his High-Lord and Lady shared, filled with a modest amount of shame. The twins had been surveilling Montesere’s magical barriers for almost an entire month, searching for a pattern, hoping to catch on to an immigrant or some poor other bastard attempting to leave. Azriel held that strategy to no hope, aware of the fact that it was doomed to failure. Yet, facing the predicted truth gave him a sour tongue.

Once he told the dreaded information, a reunion was summoned. However, with Cassian at Windhaven and Morrigan returning from Valahan, Azriel had a few hours ahead of him to wait for the reminiscent members of the Inner Circle, and decided to accompany Elain in the kitchen. The female, for sure, must’ve been feeling quite lonely since the twins’ departure to Montesere, and Azriel didn’t mind talking to her either. Elain, after all, was a terrific and attentive friend, with observant eyes and the willingness to listen. The Spymaster thought her thoroughly underestimated during most times, and made sure to let her know that he was, too, willing to train her if she ever thought needed.

Although he expected not much from the conversation at hand, Elain had trapped him a few minutes in. At first, the female repeated the familiar questions he’d been mostly glad to answer. However, at some point, Elain moved to place the trail of dough inside the oven, and her voice had reverberated from where she knelt.

“How is she?”

Azriel knew who she was referring to. Considering the male’s seen proximity with the oldest Archeron sister, and the fact that she barely left the House of Wind, Elain had but few choices besides the one to ask for his words regarding her sister’s state. During the past months, however, Azriel made sure to avoid [Name], and had no answer besides the honest truth no one wished to hear: she remained the same.

The entire Inner Circle grew worried. During the first stages of the War, [Name] spent hours inside the library, hovering over a pile of books, studying every subject regarding Prythian’s history and territory; memorizing each drawn line of the borders; trying to predict their enemies’ movements, and coming up with retaliations to those, too. She also had a peaceful relationship with the priestesses, and after [Name]’s self-isolation, Clotho was instructed by both Feyre and Rhys to send a weekly report regarding the female’s behavior. It wasn’t ideal, but his High-Lady’s heart rest assured that her sister was, at least, within physical reach.

Those weekly-informations were scarcely enough. [Name]’s dragon form, and how she had saved them all to some extent during the last battle, couldn’t be forgotten nor ignored. Of course, the female’s acts to protect her sisters during poverty — and before that, even — weren’t overlooked by Rhysand, either. His brother had the bigger sense of gratitude between them all, and weren’t for Feyre and Elain, Azriel would state that he was the most eager to help [Name] somehow.

Despite Azriel’s attempt to change the subject, stating that he hasn’t been to the House much and that Cassian was a much better option to inform her, the female didn’t allow him to run. Elain insisted that [Name]’s self-isolation tendencies came from the fact that she, after the War, had no perspective. The female was taught to be of use to her sisters; to provide for them, no matter the cost; to be the anchor in which the three youngest ones could rely on during hardships. However, Velaris had changed that need for the better. And Elain was sure that, despite the fact that [Name] was glad the younger pair found solace and comfort and didn’t need her to sacrifice herself any longer, she was also lost and alone. Without her duties and the position of command that she was placed on at a very young age, [Name] was left to deal with the memories and consequences of her life’s decisions all by herself.

Azriel had lost it then. He’d been attempting to reach for his mate for months, and all she did in response was demand him to leave her alone, going as far as to use her hypnotizing voice to achieve such an end. And once he voiced his discontentment and the fact that self-isolation was [Name]’s choice, their first discussion ensued. Elain, shockingly, had snapped at him. Though she remained quiet on behalf of [Name]’s past, the female’s words were forceful and precise. She covered her sister’s relationship with both their parents and how she chose to be there for the three of them, while denying them to do the same for her; Elain pointed most of [Name]’s personality, and during it all, Azriel’s retorts grew short, since the male was again reminded of how much he related to his mate in levels he dared not confess.

His silence wasn’t wasted either. Elain argued that [Name] needed to be of use, to feel that she was protecting her sisters somehow, in order to accept her healing process. Azriel feared that the female found out their mating bond then, but no sooner that doubt was discarded and he regained his calmness, Elain’s next phrase threw that out the window.

“You should train [Name] to be a spy and assign her to Montesere.”

Azriel’s mind went blank. His rage was nearly blinding. He didn’t care how Elain had learned of his struggles regarding Montesere’s barriers, for all he saw was [Name] — his mate — under a complicated position, thrown into a territory they had no intel of, somewhere no one could reach.

“No.”

He refused to wear a more active and demanding voice with the members of his family. Azriel hated the possible wariness it could cause, for the sound of itself was enough to make their prisoners wet themselves in terror. But Elain didn’t falter. She gritted her teeth, meeting his gaze, her eyes a shade of silver, and continued to defend her sister.

“[Name] speaks four languages and is learning the Ancient Fae speech by herself. She has a commanding voice that worked in a room filled with High-Lords, can shift into different mortal-shells, a lightning dragon and smaller animals and beasts, too. She’s smart, light on her steps, and has enough physical training to face stronger opponents,” Elain closed her eyes for a second, as if trying to avoid the memory of a particular vision.

Azriel was reminded of the Seer’s words when she still lived in the House of Wind, staring at the window with no emotion plastered on her face: ‘The scaled-beast of myths that flies through the airway, destined to rescue those lost in dismay. The bolt that cuts through the darkness, the light that breaks the night.’

“All she needs,” continued Elain, the familiar brown back into her eyes, “is guidance.”

Because [Name] was meant for so much more, was so much more, than the astute, self-sacrificing and scarred oldest sister. Because regardless of Azriel’s unwillingness to train her, his mate’s destiny was calling to her; growing closer to her calves with each passing day. And with, or without the Spymaster’s interference, she’d have to face it.

Azriel sighed, the prospect of it all bringing a sudden headache that made him crease his forehead. “I’ll ask Rhys—”

“Rhys agrees,” his brother said, entering the kitchen. Azriel turned, half-betrayed by his shadows, who didn’t warn him of his arrival, and half-shocked with himself, for it had been a long time since he’d been so invested in an argument, he failed to hear a third person’s approach. “Do you agree, Feyre darling?”

His High-Lady entered the kitchen, striving for Elain’s freshly-baked biscuits. She shared a knowing, yet proud, look with her sister, and hummed her approval, giving Azriel an apologetic smile. Cassian, Amren and Mor entered soon after, and the Spymaster learned that their argument was, in fact, heard by all of them. Nevertheless, once the [Name] topic was cleared, the reunion began. After it was clear their kitchen wasn’t big nor comfortable to accommodate the entire family, they all moved to the living-room — Rhys didn’t want his office to be filled with biscuit’s crumbs — and covered other worrying subjects, such as the Mortal Queens’ sudden silence; Mor’s first week at Valaham; Lucien’s eventual reports about Jurian and Vassa; Nesta’s condition, and the twins’ report. Azriel was but a shell of himself during it all, his mind drifting to Montesere and [Name]’s training, the inevitable destiny that awaited.

Once the gathering was over, Azriel barely bid his goodbyes before winnowing the closest he could to the House of Wind. Rhys’ voice entered his mind as soon as he landed, his question the same as the one Cassian had made: “Do you want to talk about it?”

His brother would understand the dilemma the best. Rhysand had stayed an entire month without news regarding Feyre’s well-being when the female acted as a spy inside the Spring Court. Azriel wished to ask him how he had managed it; how could it be possible, or at least bearable, to wait in Velaris as his mate was risking her life somewhere he couldn’t reach. But their situation was different. Rhysand could’ve winnowed to the Spring Court to assist Feyre if the female was in need; Azriel had his wrists tied against one another, aware that if [Name] managed to enter Montesere’s barriers, he’d have no news, no way of learning whether she was safe.

So, he gave Cassian the same answer he gave Rhysand: “I’m fine, there’s no need to worry.”

And as the latter, Cass respected the boundary drawn between them, didn’t question any further. Instead, he stared with curiosity as Azriel rose from the elbow-chair.

“Where are you going?”

“To give [Name] the great news.”

“It’s four in the morning.”

“She’s awake.”

Azriel didn’t care enough to continue that game of pretense, one where he didn’t voice his certainties regarding the female’s state in order to maintain their mate bond in utter secrecy. Considering Cassian’s lack of reaction — besides the clear amusement — the Spymaster was sure most of the Inner Circle’s members already had their suspicions.

“Good luck!” Cassian taunted as Azriel left the leisure room. The male’s hands grew sweaty with anticipation, and he rubbed them against the cloth of his trousers.

[Name]’s decision to continue living in the House of Wind came with an inevitable change of rooms. He had to walk up one extra floor, for the female chose the bedchamber placed on the hallway above the one he and Cassian shared, and his shadows began to move with a mischievous lack of control once they noticed the Spymaster’s intentions.

Azriel knocked on the door, announcing his presence through the shadows that peered inside. Not a second later, he heard [Name]’s frantic steps, and she, as expected, didn’t seem as though awakened from slumber. Her eyes were suspicious, and the female was dressed in traveling clothes. She didn’t care to state otherwise, nor to hide her provisions and backpack placed on the corner of her room.

“It’s a little late for a visit,” [Name] stated, although not surprised. Instead, the female seemed to analyze him, trying to find out why he was there in the first place.

“It’s a little late for tracking,” he mocked. If she was anyone else, Azriel would’ve supported his shoulder-weight on the door, a foot pushing against the crevice, inviting himself in. But [Name] left him wary of his words and acts; with a sense of unknown anticipation. Azriel felt, once again, as though a green-boy unaware of a female’s tastes. [Name] placed him on a chess board, and Azriel was left under the impression that she needed but a single misstep of his to steal his king.

“It was a spontaneous decision,” his mate answered, unresponsive as his shadows reacted to her voice-tone and began to flutter closer, like small and innocent butterflies.

“So was mine.”

“Bold statement coming from someone who’s been ignoring me for months,” she bit. Azriel didn’t allow his surprise to rise to his features. Both managed, after all, to wear a veil of nonchalance despite the implications behind their words.

“Bold judgment coming from someone who commanded me to do so.”

“You never seemed to listen,” [Name] answered, waving her hand.

“Were you sad that I did, for once?”

Her stance changed, if only for a mere second, but he caught on it. Mother be damned, he tucked that information closer to his heart than he should have.

“What are you doing here?”

“Your sisters are worried.”

[Name] accessed him, aware of the low blow; the mouse-trap he placed on the board. She ignored it. “They’re welcome to visit me anytime.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“What are you doing here?” [Name] repeated, and Azriel was caught by surprise. Her commanding voice was, at least once, only triggered if she used an imperative phrase. The Spymaster never saw her use it as a question, which meant that she had been training somehow, it was only left for him to find out in whom.

Azriel was physically close enough to the point where pretending to be affected by her demand was useless. She would’ve noticed the absence of haziness coating his eyes; the overall alert state of his body. The male moved his pawn, the information he kept a secret for so long, finally clear for her to see. “There’s something we need your help with.”

Her eyes grew wide, a slight shift in her scent that indicated neither fear or anger, but excitement. Azriel felt a sudden tremble that went through his entire body. The fact that [Name] now knew would change every single damned thing between them for the better. The Spymaster could already anticipate the fierceness of their future competitions, her obstinate glance and taunting grin, the quick-pacing of his heart. Mother be damned, he already yearned for the sight.

“You’re immune,” she pointed out with slight wonder, clearing the path for him to enter the room.

“Yes.”

“For how long?”

“Long enough.”

“This isn’t an answer,” [Name] bit, her tone assuming one of annoyance and anger. He forgot how good he was at bringing that side of her to the surface. Never again, Azriel decided. Never again would he be departed from her long enough to forget of their banters.

“It’s the one you’ll get,” he insisted, kneeling near her backpack. “Where were you planning to go?”

His mate grew quiet, as if pondering her next movement and the consequences it would cause. She seemed to decide whatsoever, judging the odds favorable. “The Mortal Lands.”

Azriel’s back stiffened. He had no doubt that the adaptation was rough, but he didn’t suspect, not even once, that she could’ve been missing her late home. The male rose from the ground and away from that pack, as if the object was forsaken — wrong, — turning to stare at her instead.

“Why?”

“I have unfinished business,” [Name] ignored his disheveled state, staring at him as though he — and his entire social-circle, for that matter, — were stupid for thinking she had left nothing behind after twenty-five years of living in the Mortal Lands. “Something that, coming to think of, I could use your help with.”

Azriel gave her a stare most would cower from. She returned with one most would lose their confidence against. The male envisioned that damned board, memorized the position of his pieces, and made his move. “I presume your sisters weren’t informed of your plans.”

“Obviously.”

“So why,” he taunted, moving closer while still leaving enough space between them, “would I cross my High-Lady’s wish, and help with whatever it is you came up with?”

[Name] crossed her arms against her chest, reading in between the lines of his expression and coming to terms with his words. “It will be faster with your winnowing, but this isn’t what you wish to hear, is it? You want to strike a deal.”

He grinned, victorious, as her eyes trailed to the paintings on his forearms and exposed shoulders. His knight was so close to her king, he could almost hear the check-mate coming from his lips, even if that was all but a metaphorical game on a metaphorical board.

“You’ll help me get to the Mortal Lands, then what? What am I supposed to do?”

“Train with me outside Velaris. You’ll be the Court’s spy, and once judged ready, I’ll assign you to a mission in Montesere.”

[Name]’s eyes narrowed, as if seeing the plastered map of Prythian on her mind. Azriel had no doubt the female had studied the land’s expanse and history, had no doubt she wasn’t clueless, at least not entirely, as to why the Night Court needed someone inside the magical barriers. There was a gleam there, and her lips curved with the same malice she wielded during their strategizing, when she saw something he didn’t; when she was sure he wouldn’t be able to counter her movements. Azriel shuddered then, not with fear but with expectation. It had been ages since the last time his mate showed enough patience and will to strike, to enter a mental competition. That game of theirs, filled with taunts and strategies and low-blows, was exciting; the type of conjunction between a sense of immaculate victory and determination upon defeat one could only find when their competitiveness was perfectly matched.

One [Name] forgot she enjoyed until Azriel invited her to play again.

“As I see it, I’ll do as I’m told and then be given a reward,” she said, moving left to her murals. [Name]’s room was a bigger version of her late office, with books and maps and annotations plastered wherever the eyes could reach. His mate grabbed a white powder from the inside of a drawer, its scent sleep-inducing, and Azriel was left aghast at her abilities; her potential. “That doesn’t seem fair, especially considering that you might need me, but I don’t need you. Not crucially, at least.”

“Put me to sleep, and once I’m awake, I’ll inform the entire Inner Circle of your intentions,” the male answered matter-of-factly, because there was not a chance she thought that plan would lead somewhere.

“Then, what? You’ll follow my trail, because I could command everyone else to turn a blind eye? Where would that lead us, if not the Mortal Lands?”

“I’d find your trail before you even managed to reach the Day Court,” Azriel answered, his words filled with well-based arrogance. [Name] inserted two fingers inside the small, glass-made pot, and smudged her digits with the white powder. The female grew closer, and his shadows danced around her neck and waist; her thighs and arms; all of the places Azriel himself yearned to touch, but didn’t dare to.

“I don’t think you’re understanding your position. A dragon might be easy to find but what of a beetle? A serpent? What is a sparrow-hawk in the Autumn Court, if not a single bird between many others?” [Name] discarded the powder, and repressed a smile at whatever his shadows had whispered. “I’ll vanish and tend to my business, and you’ll have my sisters’ wrath and a lot of frustration to take care of.”

Somehow, a knight drew closer to his king too. Azriel’s smile was bitter, sleep no longer hazing his senses, as he glimpsed the situation, noticing the inevitable siege that had formed around his pawns. “I would’ve managed nevertheless, but this isn’t what you wish to hear, is it? You want to strike a deal.”

He purred those words — her words, — and [Name]’s grin widened, voicing the phrase that would grant her a plain upperground. “I’m sure my sisters came with the training aspect, so I’ll follow along, if only for their sake. We’ll train outside Velaris, and once I’m judged prepared, you’ll winnow me to the Mortal Lands.”

“And Montesere?”

“I’ll go there after we see to my business, not a heartbeat before.”

The feigned training would grant coverage to their departure to the Mortal Lands. Azriel wouldn’t need to report his dismissal to either Rhysand nor Feyre, and [Name] would leave the House of Wind, as it was expected. Their small venture would prepare the Spymaster for the idea of leaving his mate, by herself, near Montesere’s barriers; perhaps he’d even find another possibility until then. He offered her an opened hand, the sign of his agreement.

“That’s a deal,” said the Spymaster. [Name] touched his palm with her own, seeming to anticipate a shudder that didn’t come. Azriel’s shadows tangled itselves in between their hands and stretched arms, accompanying the route of their tattoos, shielding the male’s gaze from his terrible burnt scars.

“That’s a deal,” she repeated. He felt as those words drove the magic to his back; traced the mark that seemed to form the letter S, from the bottom of his waist to his right shoulder. A dragon, his shadows had informed, surrounded with the illustration of scars left by a lightning strike.

Somehow, Azriel knew her back had been marked, too. And his first chess match against his mate had ended in a draw.

general notes: i am deeply thankful for all of the support this story has been given since the very first time i have posted about it. the entire thing is wrapped up in my mind, and i am so excited to see your further reactions to [name], that became such a beloved writing of mine. regardless, thank you once again! i hope you have enjoyed this bible of a first chapter. xoxo <3

taglist [comment to be added]: @nyotamalfoy @rachelnicolee

#acomaf #acosf #acotar #acowar #azriel #azriel / reader #azriel imagine #azriel imagines #azriel x reader #acotar x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #azriel x female!reader

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