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therkalexander · 5 years

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The Good Counselor - Chapter 1

Free previews published weekly every Wednesday night at Midnight, Pacific Standard Time.

Seventy years have passed since Elysion was created, and Persephone’s efforts to conceive a child with Hades have been in vain. But a secret rite on Samothrace might bend the Fates and give them all that they have ever dreamed of, or pave a path of untold suffering.

Chapter 1

The water was calm, clear and infused with the scent of ash. He knelt down and washed his arms, his legs and torso. It was cold and purifying. He rubbed olive oil across his skin, banishing all miasma from his person.

Orpheus scraped the excess oil off with a metal strigil and dried himself in the sunlight, tussling his short brown hair to shake out the water. He donned his tunic and himation, both unadorned and undyed.

He closed his eyes, trying to escape the distraction of his surroundings, listening. A songbird in the oak tree warbled its tune and he hummed along with it. A song to the Seasons had overtaken his thoughts for the last several days, but still the tune for the heart of the hymn eluded him. He had no instrument to produce a harmony— none, at least, that could do the immortals justice. He borrowed the bird’s notes, slowing them to match the words. “At play you are companions,” he sang softly.

“At play you are companions,” he muttered, repeating the line a few more times, smoothing out the melody while he paced. Orpheus stopped and sang it once again, a little more boldly, then raised the songbird’s tune by five tonic notes, “of holy Persephone, when the Fates—”

He stopped, a shiver rushing over his skin. Had he called upon Karpophoros disrespectfully? No, he thought. Ancient Eumolpus had told him that she was not offended by that name. And the priest knew her: he had walked beside her in his youth and founded the Lower Mysteries with her. Persephone’s rites. Orpheus shrugged off his fears. He wouldn’t be bound by superstition.

He wondered after the old man, whether he was well. It had been years.

“And the Graces in circling dances, come forth to the light,” he sang, then stopped. He felt it again. He was being watched. Orpheus turned to where he felt the presence of... something… a wild aurochs, a man? He sensed somehow that it was more than mortal, but satyrs and nymphs were a rare sight on Samothrace, and wouldn’t willingly approach a man.

Cold seeped into his skin again and a weight gathered in his chest. For all that he was attuned to his surroundings, it was unlike anything he’d experienced before. He wasn’t just being watched, but looked through, body and soul. The woods were silent, as though every creature knew to be still, and Orpheus wondered… He’d rid himself of miasma. He’d called upon a goddess with his song. She was here; she must be. The lump in his throat, the cold, a sense of dread and the fleeting thought of asphodel flowers… He quickly dropped to one knee and bowed his head. “Lady of the Flowers and Spring, Mistress of the Lands Beneath the Earth… If it is you… I am your humble servant.”

“It is not she.”

He raised his head, his breath shallow. The voice was male— calm and measured, and its owner invisible to him. “I beg your pardon.”

“No need. I know her well.”

He swallowed. “You do…”

“Is she the one you serve, hymnist?”

He drew in a breath. “I serve all the gods, my lord.”

“That’s quite a task… To curry favor with all the gods.”

“It isn’t favor I seek. I honor them, from the least to the greatest, since they are the highest expression of phanes, the light of life that dwells in all things. My only wish in this life is to displease none of them. For I might find myself parted from Elysion.”

“Ah,” said the voice. “You have gone through the Greater and Lesser Rites, no?”

“I have.”

“Who instructed you?”

“The great priest, Eumolpus.”

“I knew him,” said the voice, the tone changing.

“Knew?”

“Yes. He passed from this earth just before winter came. I was there when his family prepared him for the afterlife and took him to his mausoleum.”

“If I may be so bold to ask,” he said, fearing the answer, “who are you, my lord?”

“One who would not be known to you yet, hymnist.”

Orpheus bowed his head. “F-forgive my presumption.”

“Don’t fear me so. Stand, Orpheus.”

Orpheus cautiously rose, his knee damp from the mossy earth. “What shall I call you, my lord?”

The voice remained silent. But Orpheus could still feel his presence. He was thinking. He heard sandals pacing the ground, and if he listened closely enough, the rhythmic tap of a staff hitting the earth with every third step. “The God of Nysa.”

“Nysa…”

“You know of that place?”

“Only in legend. The fields and groves of the gods. The place where the Receiver of Many took Demeter’s Daughter from the sunlit world to be his Queen beneath the earth.”

“Indeed.”

He suspected enough from that, but wasn’t foolish enough to utter a name. This visitor had made his identity clear enough. Orpheus kept his eyes to the ground. “Then, God of Nysa, why, if I may I ask, did you seek me out?”

“I’ve heard stories of a ceremony that takes place here, on Samothrace. One that invokes a god that is not yet born. One that you are familiar with.”

He nodded. “It… It hasn’t been performed in years.”

“A rare thing, then. When in the year?”

“When the first seeds sprout from the earth, midway between Spring and the Solstice. There are few who are truly prepared to give what it requires.”

“And what is that?”

“Something that represents what you are and will be.”

“I understand. Would anything I could offer aide you now?”

“Not for the rite.”

“But you yearn for something nonetheless. Something only one of my kind can procure for you.”

“I live by ananke. My life is in the hands of the Moirai alone, so my desires are irrelevant.”

“You are the son of Apollo.”

“So my mother said…”

“She was right. You are not immortal yourself then, hemitheoi. Yet you abide by the laws which govern the deathless ones?”

“Aren’t we, all the manifestations of phanes, from the eldest Protogenoi to the lowliest mortal, bound by the will of the Fates?” He swore that he could sense the god smiling. He held his breath, unsure of what to make of the long pause.

“Perhaps.”

Orpheus stood still, and felt himself being gazed upon, a pull at his chest and behind his eyes, as though his thoughts and his heart were being weighed and measured and that nothing could be hidden. He heard footfalls.

“You sing. You honor the immortals with song.”

“Yes.”

“But all of them? Surely your work cannot be completed in your lifetime. There are too many of us.”

“I can try.”

“There is one thing that would help…”

“Gifts like that… come with a heavy price.”

“They do,” the voice said. Orpheus felt the same heavy pull, his very thoughts sifted and gleaned. “But you need a lyre, crafted by the gods, if all your works are to be finished in your lifetime. You desire to bring forth the songs from your heart, and it frustrates you to no end— because for now, they are trapped there. You wish to finish your earthly task, do you not?”

“I cannot ask for such a thing from… one I do not know.”

“Would you rather your life’s work go unfinished? Or that someone else completes it?”

“No.”

“I am willing to consider it your price.”

“For what?”

“For not revealing to your fellow priests or anyone involved in this… rite… that the ones who wish to participate in it are deathless.”

Orpheus said nothing.

“I know you despise lying, Orpheus. I can see it in your heart. I know what I ask for. But it is of great importance that this be only known to you. I would not ask you to betray your own ethos if it were not so very important.”

“Why seek me out? Is what I have to offer so extraordinary?”

“The god you call upon— the one not yet born…” Orpheus could feel the full weight of the god’s gaze upon him. “Name him.”

His heart beat out of his chest. “The Unborn One’s name is only uttered in absolute secrecy and sanctity. My order does not sully it with human speech.”

“Name him,” came the voice in a hoarse whisper.

Orpheus spoke just as low. “Zagreus.”

The god paused again and Orpheus wondered if he had angered him. But he could feel the enveloping coldness grow warmer, could feel a brief flicker of relief and… hope. Happiness, even. Through the wash of emotion, the voice remained staid. “What if I told you that your Zagreus could be conceived by these very rites? That is, if she and I were allowed to attend… unfettered by human fears and superstitions.”

“I would have no choice but to believe you, my lord.”

“Then you understand the reason for my surreptitiousness.”

He shuddered and nodded in acknowledgement. Now he was certain he knew who spoke to him. “My lord, can I think on it?”

“Of course. You have until the first moon of winter. I will return then.”

“When you return, how will I know it is you if I don’t even know your true name?”

“Because at that time, I will reveal how I know you, how you came to my attention, and when I do so, you will know precisely who I am.”

The presence lifted. As Orpheus looked up and puzzled over the god’s words, the birds started to sing again, the beetles hummed in the humid air. Everywhere he turned, narcissus bloomed in the shade of the trees.

#hades and persephone #the good counselor #rachel alexander #receiver of many #orpheus and eurydice #aidoneus #zagreus

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katasstrophey · 6 years

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Nothing Burns Like the Cold (Nothing)

* PRELUDE * PART 2*

Part 1 of Closer to Heaven (Star Bound): Nothing Burns Like the Cold

Pairing: M’Baku x OC

Length: 1.7k + words

Warning: none.

A/N: This story is one that was given to me, it was gifted to me in a dream made to be shared. It will write itself rather than me writing it. Each part is as easy to redact as me expelling air from my lungs for it came to me whole. This story is an instinct, it is familiar, it is like knowing your way back home. It is filled not with dialogue and incessant action, but rather with the silent desires of the eye that allude to the painfully selfish desires of the soul: unspoken innuendoes, stories untold and the feeling that maybe, just maybe, one is worthy of being loved.

Hurt.

It creeped up into her bones until it struck her being with such ferocity.

The cold was unforgiving.

Harsh, painful and cruel were the winds that carried the snow unto her face and around her body.

It was as though the two had an unspoken agreement, a contract where both wind and snow were the beneficiaries, where both engaged in a dance, a waltz of some sorts.

She was the only one without a partner.

She should have gotten used to it by now.

The force with which the freezing chill of the Jabari highlands managed knock her off her feet, it continued to pain her still.

The cold clawed at her skin as well as the exhaustion she had attempted to ignore for the past few hours.

A climb up and down such treacherous terrain had not been kind to the woman’s already battered body and with the way her legs shook as she struggled to place one foot in front of the other, it was clear that she would not be able to sustain her weight for much longer.

Despite the pain, the woman trekked on, ignoring the fact that her hands felt as though they had been set ablaze. This was not a fire that came from within, but one ignited by the merciless chill in the air.

She paid it no mind however, for there were, of course, much more pressing matters at hand, a life at stake and the impossibility of turning back.

She was too far gone to go back anyways and surrounded with naught but snow and mountains, there was nowhere to hide either.

When the winds picked up and she finally stumbled, falling face first unto the soft yet icy snow, the woman let out a laugh that quickly turned into quiet sobs.

This was a good place as any to take a well-deserved breather: she was in the middle of nowhere, alone, freezing and amongst layer upon layer of snow. There was nothing that could possible go wrong, no hungry wild animal that would try to stake its claim on her or no lack of food to dissuade her because surely hypothermia would claim her first.

She pushed herself unto her back and laid there, eyes turned towards the sky.

Then it hit her.

With the power of one thousand bulls it rushed towards her and pushed her to her feet. The woman’s heart leaped in her chest as she let out a shaky breath, observing her surroundings warily.

She had almost forgotten it.

The reason why she was here all along; the small, innocent, pure reason she would surely continue to move forward. What exactly she was moving towards she knew not, but damned would she be if she didn’t get there.

when it gets cold and all things are robbed of movement – only then does the all-consuming fire become ignited.

The woman was close now. It was in the way the sun had turned its back to her and the way her stars had started to appear that told her it was so. Maybe it was the sheer desperation or rather the raging madness such an arduous journey would be sure to incite that had deluded her into believing she was near.

She needed to be close, she had no other choice but to be close.

The woman continued on, finding some comfort in her new companions. They were the ones that illuminated the path through the dense forest she struggled to weave her way through. They gave her hope, the stars. Their whispers could be heard as the wind blew across her face. Their tales were of an imaginable depth and they reminded the woman that there was a chance he was gazing at them also.

when the fire settles in and burns all in its path- only then does the cold sweep in and turn everything into grey.

She had finally seen the light, not that of the stars but that of fire.

Leaning against the tree bark at the edge of the woodland her heart was full for she had made it.

Only then did the stars disappear to make way for darkness.

Unbeknownst to her the stars peered down at their beloved and shone just a bit brighter where her body now laid, the falling snow making sure to keep her warm.

nothing, nothing, nothing - it grips at you as though it is nothing, but it is everything.

She was on her knees.

Samirah looked up at the Jabari tribe leader with the playful smile on her face.

She was a daring woman that Samirah, a trait that had enable her to be in M’Baku’s good graces. It was also a trait that had soon found itself to be the bane of the latter’s existence.

Her gaze left his as Samirha trailed her hands down from his abdomen to his groin.

“You have ten seconds to rid me of your presence before I dismiss you myself.”

M’Baku’s dry tone stopped Samirah in her tracks. She had been in such a situation more times than she would care to admit these past few weeks and therefore knew that she was best to do as she was told.

Pushing herself off of the floors of the palace hallway she had cornered M’Baku in, Samirah kept her eyes downwards. A sign of submission, yes, but mostly an efficient way to save herself from of the bored look she knew M’Baku was throwing her way.

“When you decide not to act like a common whore, inform Mosí. If the occasion arises, I will summon you then.”

M’Baku breezily marched off, disregarding the mental slap he had just delivered to Samirah.

Tail tucked between her legs, the shamed woman ran off to the rest of the harem, barely holding back tears. They greeted her with open arms for they also knew that the simply sight of them had repulsed M’Baku lately.

Something was coming, that they knew for sure. What or who that was they knew naught, however they were certain that nothing good would come from it.

It was in the air, the feeling that had everyone on their toes. M’Baku was no different. In fact, he felt it more than the others. It was in the whispers of the cold wind, the warnings of his ancestors. M’Baku could feel it in swirling in gut, his agitated state causing his brothers to be on edge.

They were all waiting.

When Mosí came to inform him of the woman lying in a bed of snow, M’Baku refused to believe she was what they had been anxiously waiting for.

And yet.

His heart beat furiously against his chest as he quickly grabbed his furs and followed his war chief out into the heart of the storm that had decided to rage outdoors.

As the cold wrapped itself around his skin, M’Baku could finally breathe. With each step taken, he absorbed the elements, or rather they absorbed him. The wind and snow adored him, their beloved, for he was a sight to behold. A terrifying sight he was indeed: The Mountain Man in all his glory, strutting through snow and wind as though he was a force of nature himself.

A group of his brethren could be seen anxiously shifting around what seemed to be a pile of naught from afar. Before Mosí and M’Baku got near the commotion, the war chief turned towards his leader.

Stopping in his tracks to hear what his brother had to say, M’Baku was surprised when Mosí opened his mouth only to close it.

Sending another look at the group of men that stood a couple paces away, Mosí let out a shaky breath, “do you feel it, brother?”

M’Baku’s frown deepened but he nodded firmly at the man at his side before making his way to the others, leaving a reluctant Mosí to follow in suite.

The woman was lying in a bed of snow- but she was on fire.

“Let us take this inside, brothers!” M’Baku exclaimed over the storm to the nervous pair of men that stood around the seemingly unconscious woman, “the storm will continue to rage for much longer.”

Cocked his head to the side, M’Baku’s eyes narrowed suspiciously as his order did not spark up any action on the part of his brethren.

“Chief, would it really be wise to take the mgeni into our midst? Lest she turns out to be a force to be reckoned with and and object of harm to our tribe”

The question from one of M’Baku’s least favourite warrior caused murmurs to arise amoungst the group.

“What we will do is bring her inside and call a healer.”

M’Baku’s booming voice silenced the murmurs instantly.

“Making sure this woman does not perish before questioning should be our first priority. It has been almost a decade since someone has dared enter our land through the sacred highland mountains. I know not if this woman is incredibly foolish or insanely courageous and I care not if she wishes our downfall, or is servant of Hanuman himself. All I know is that they are telling me to ensure that she is kept alive, by snow and wind, atleast for now.”

As soon as the Jabari leader had finished talking his men leaped into action. They knew that whenever their chief evoked the elements, the were to be quick to listen for he had been spoken to by the ancestors.

Whoever she was and whatever this women had brought with her was inconsequential. Why she was here was the true object of consternation.

and it burns, and it burns, and it burns- until the chill and the wind and the cold- nothing.

A/N: Hi! I hope you enjoyed this part as much as it thrilled me to write it. A comment is always appreciated so if you want to send me questions, constructive criticism or just a heart emoji know that it would warm my heart deeply.

Forever tag: @elaindeereads @myrikal324 @muse-of-mbaku @drsunshine97 @mslaufeyson @theunsweetenedtruth

#m'baku x oc #m'baku fan fiction #black panther fan fiction #black panther #fan fiction #jabari tribe #closer to heaven series

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angelaiswriting · 7 years

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Not His Queen (part 1 of 6) | Roan x OC (NSFW)

✎ Requested by @selldraug : “Roan has a lover even if he’s going to get married to Y/N. His future wife doesn’t like this and shit happens”

✎ A/N: I know you already liked this, pervert, but I hope that rereading will be as good hahaha Also I loved writing this and I love the idea, so this is going to have some parts (I still don’t know how many).

✎ Fandom: The 1OO. Pairing: Roan x Reader

✎ Warnings: smut, angst (like, so much angst you’ll probably never read ansgt anymore when this story is finished). Mentions of cheating.

Word-count: 3025

Part two | Part three | Part four | Part five | Part six

Roan hadn’t been acting like himself lately and Aletheia feared one of the reasons was the arrival of the Sky People.

She couldn’t say she liked them. Skaikru were too different from them and it didn’t matter that they were open for a peace treaty, or that they wanted to be friends. Their differences were just too big in every single field of existence for the two sides to cohabitate on that planet.

Aletheia was skeptical and their Heda could say anything she wanted: she wasn’t there to accept that union. She was already skeptical about the Krus’ alliance - each clan wanted power: she knew it, Roan knew it, even Lexa knew it. An alliance wasn’t going to stop a faction from spilling the other’s blood. And she feared Azgeda would be the first to make a move.

The sound of boots on the stone floor shook her out of her thoughts.

When Aletheia turned to face the newcomer, she couldn’t hold her smirk back.

Roan had just entered their shared bedroom and was now proceeding to take his muddy boots off.

“Where have you been?” she asked, leaning against the window.

She was scared: scared he might get angry, since in the last few days that had seemed to be the only thing he was capable of doing; scared to know the answer since she already had her concerns. She was even scared of losing him because becoming his queen always made goosebumps rise on her skin.

But Roan didn’t answer. He acted like he hadn’t heard her. He had already taken off his dirty shirt and was proceeding to do the same thing with his trousers.

“Roan!” she snapped, taking a step forward and immediately regretting doing so.

The man turned to look at her, an angry look on his tired face. “What now, Aletheia? I’ve just come back, I’m tired,” and he sighed, but even that faint noise couldn’t chill the anger that, radiating from his body, was making the air in the room boil.

Aletheia gulped and stopped playing with one of her braids. She couldn’t recall a moment in which her hands had been sweatier. “You’ve been out all day. I thought that now that you were finally back…”

“What? That we’d play happy family?” he snapped and his bare feet started to take him closer to her.

Ages away from him had made her forget how afraid he made her feel sometimes. Like she wanted to jump out of her skin and flee the room. Like she wanted to become invisible. She had never been good at handling people, and Roan had proved to be the most difficult man to handle. And it didn’t matter that one day they’d be married: he was not going to fluff down for her.

The thing that scared her the most was the thought that he could be like that with her, whoever she was. And knowing that, all her life, she had loved someone that didn’t or couldn’t love her back in the same way… it hurt.

“That I’d braid your hair and you’d braid mine?”

He was getting closer and Aletheia’s breath couldn’t but hitch in her throat, while her lungs felt like they were on fire, while she couldn’t move, her paralyzed limbs keeping her in place.

“That we would hold hands?”

He was so close now that she could feel his warm breath fanning her cheeks. He smelled like mud, like rain and grass, like the woods around Polis. In a way, he even smelled like home. Not like Azgeda. No, she was pretty sure she smelled like Azgeda too, even if she couldn’t say whether it was true or not, or what Azgeda actually smelled like. He smelled like untold promises that were bound to never become true, he smelled like shattered dreams, like loneliness and fear of not being enough.

Or that was how she smelled. She had a habit of not wanting to see the misery through which she walked, the misery she breathed every day, the misery that numbed her body and her soul.

“What, Theia?” It was meant to be a whisper, but it left Roan’s lips which such anger that it sounded more like a growl, clawing at the skin of her left cheek. “What were you thinking?”

She opened her mouth to answer, but what was she going to say?

That she wanted to hug him? To feel his arms around her, engulfing her, while she inhaled his scent, her face hidden in the crook of his neck?

That she wanted to talk? To hear what he had to say about his ban?

That she wanted to be wanted and loved by someone who looked like he couldn’t love at all?

That she wanted to know she wasn’t ruining her whole existence by marrying him?

That, for once, she wanted to make love to him and not sex?

That, yes, she wanted to play happy family and braid his hair and hold his hand?

That she wanted him in her bed and not in someone else’s?

“If you want the sex you don’t have to be shy,” he mocked her, knowing perfectly well that she wasn’t that blunt.

Aletheia took a step back and cursed the Gods for keeping that close to the wall. “You know,” she stuttered, “you’re right. You must be tired and in need of a good sleep. I will leave you alone.”

She tried to slide to her side, keeping contact with the cold damp wall behind her, but his hand gripped her wrist and yanked her backward.

“What do you want?” he asked again, and this time his voice softened, the ice left his eyes and he found the strength to guide her body closer to his naked one.

She still smelled like freedom, he noticed. Yet, today she also smelled like a caged bird, trying to fly away but too bound to the ground.

“Nothing,” she shook her head while he turned her around so that he was hugging her from behind, his chin resting on the top of her head. “I only thought… But it doesn’t matter anymore.”

She felt so weak she was ashamed to call herself Azgeda. She felt like a fragile bird in a hunter’s hands, but she couldn’t get herself to leave him.

I want to know who she is, she wanted to ask. She wanted to demand. She had all the right in the world to know since she was about to become a queen - and most likely his husband’s whore’s queen. She wanted to know who made Roan’s heart beat like that because she felt like it wasn’t her, not anymore at least.

“Well, I want you,” he stated, his hands leaving her waist and going lower.

He had moved his head and she could now feel his breath on the exposed skin of her neck.

“Are you going to deny your future husband of some sex?”

Yes, she wanted to scream. She could almost smell her scent, the scent of that other woman and of sex on his skin. Her anger almost made her see stains on his hands, bringing traces of what he had done in another woman’s bed.

She wasn’t blaming him - not entirely, at least. He was a prince and could do whatever in the hell he wanted. But why didn’t he just tell her? She’d leave. She’d feel so much better to know he was with another woman and that that wasn’t a secret. Her heart would be scarred and broken anyway, but at least she wouldn’t have to keep battling with her doubts.

Roan slowly pushed her against the wall, one of his hands going back up to cup her left breast.

Aletheia couldn’t exactly say she didn’t want him. She had craved for him ever since Roan’s mother Nia had sent him away and kept her like somewhat of a prisoner. Aletheia couldn’t say that the thought of having what the other woman had had was stopping her from wanting what was hers by right.

When Roan’s right hand slipped under the hem of her trousers, her breath died in her throat and her eyes fluttered closed.

She hadn’t touched a man in months and no man had touched her. Her body had almost forgotten how it felt like, to have Roan’s calloused hands grazing her skin, to feel her core spasm in anticipation, to have her breath running wild without her being able to calm it down a little.

“Will you deny me of what’s mine?” His voice tickled her ear and she had been on the verge of answering him, of telling him ‘no, my body cannot deny you of this’, but his mouth had been quicker and had gently sucked on her earlobe, a shameful moan escaping her mouth.

She closed her eyes tighter and leaned her forehead against the cool stone wall, her heart going wild inside her chest, Roan’s hand close to her core, too damn close.

“Is this a ‘no’, Aletheia?” and he pushed his hips against her back.

Was he lying?

Was he pretending?

Was his cock that damn hard because he was thinking of that whore or because he was thinking of her?

Why did he even have a whore in the first place?

But her thoughts came abruptly to an end when his fingers touched her clit lightly.

“Did you miss me?”

His lips were on her neck, sucking lightly on her skin.

“Yes,” she whispered, glad she didn’t have to pretend. Not yet, at least.

And maybe that ‘fucking a whore’ thing was over. Maybe that had been the last night. Maybe she didn’t have to worry because that other woman was finally out of his (and hers) life.

“How much did you miss me?” His voice was hoarse, his fingers burning on her cunt and on her breast.

She gulped, trying to focus on a thought at a time, in vain.

Her mind was about to explode, her skin to catch fire, her body to melt into his touch.

“Very much,” she managed to answer and she involuntarily ground her hips against his.

Her lungs felt heavy inside her chest. She felt like she couldn’t move, trapped between the cold stone of the wall and the hot skin of the naked man behind her.

His erection against her back fogged her mind, while her hands, covered in a veil of sweat, tried desperately not to slide against the wall, while her legs felt like they were made of jelly, unable to keep her on her feet.

She wanted to ask him the same question. Had he missed her? Did he use another woman because he couldn’t have her or…? Had he missed her naked body, asleep beside his? Had he missed her hands massaging his shoulders, easing the tension?

“I missed you too,” and somehow his words burned like acid on her flushed skin. Somehow she could feel the lie hiding behind those four words.

But she didn’t have the time to think much about it: in a swift movement Roan had taken her shirt off and had managed to break it in some points. The strip of cloth she used as a bra followed soon after and his lips were suddenly on hers, his chest pushing against hers, her back pushing against the wall.

His right hand had left her pants and had followed the other one and together they were grazing her skin.

His skin was like fire against her own, but in that moment she didn’t mind getting burnt.

She couldn’t stop. She couldn’t get herself to stop, to push him away, to ask for explanations, to demand them. All she wanted was to feel him inside her like before he got himself banned, to feel his mouth on her body - everywhere. She wanted his moans to fill her ears.

“I want to fuck you against the wall, Theia,” he confessed against the skin of her breast. And before she knew it, his lips were around her nipple and were tugging lightly, driving her mad, choking her words at the back of her mouth. “I want to fuck you against this damn wall until you cannot stand anymore.”

And somehow she couldn’t help but want that too.

She wanted everyone to know that mighty Roan was hers and that nobody else had the right to even fantasize of touching him.

Deluding herself was something she had always been good at.

When his lips kissed their way back to her neck, both hers and Roan’s hands struggled to push her trousers below her butt. But his hungry hands and lips had started their descent: down her cleavage and to her stomach, but only after his lips had kissed and tugged at her nipples again, Aletheia’s hands resting through his hair, tugging moans out of what had to be her man and no one else’s.

Aletheia was aware of every inch of their exposed skins touching, of his breath against her belly, of his saliva on her breasts getting colder by the second because of the chill air of the room. She could almost feel every cell of Roan’s calluses on her skin while his hands went lower, while they grazed the skin of her thighs while pushing her pants to the ground.

She didn’t know how he had got rid of her trousers and boots. The only thing she knew was that they were standing one in front of the other, both panting, eyes burning with lust. The sight of his erection, of his glans brushing against his abdomen, was driving her crazy. She could almost feel her own arousal trickling down her inner thighs.

Then, in the blink of an eye, he was on her again and this time he was sucking and brushing his teeth against the black tattoo she had above her breasts. His cock burned like iron against her and another moan left her lips while her hands dragged down his chest until he was in her hands.

But he slapped her away.

“Not today,” he panted, kneeling down in front of her.

He pushed her legs apart while she tried to steady herself against the wall, to convince her legs not to give up just yet. But when two of his fingers pushed inside of her without warning, her knees almost gave up on her. If it weren’t for his free hand, that had somehow pushed her back against the wall, she’d have been on the ground.

A string of “Roan” and “please” left her lips without her even knowing, while her hands fiddled with her hard nipples.

She needed him so badly.

She could feel her muscles already spasming, anticipating his erection inside her, his hands bruising her skin, his teeth grazing her neck mercilessly, his moans in her ears, confusing the edges of the reality around them.

If someone would enter right in this moment, Aletheia wouldn’t even know, too lost in her world, too caught up in all those feelings, with her man’s fingers pushing and curling inside of her.

As abruptly as they had entered her, Roan’s fingers suddenly disappeared. When she opened her eyes, she barely had the time to notice that he was turning her around.

The feeling of the ice cold wall against the sensitive skin of her breasts and nipples made her hiss. It almost hurt, but she didn’t even need to adjust to that: Roan’s left hand cupped her left breast again while his right hand pushed her right leg upwards and angled it so that her knee was resting on the edge of the windowsill.

It was as uncomfortable as it looked, but as Roan’s cock penetrated her and her head fell back to rest on his shoulder, it suddenly didn’t matter anymore.

He went all the way up until his hips slammed hard against hers, then stopped. She heard him taking a deep breath while he slightly arched her back against him. His right hand left her knee, brushing on her skin until he reached her pussy and tapped on her clit.

Aletheia’s eyes, previously closed, suddenly opened and she gasped. Her breathing was ragged, her chest was rising and falling so fast it almost hurt, she almost couldn’t get enough air to reach her lungs while Roan’s thumb drew circles on her clit.

“Please,” she begged him, almost sobbed, when his left hand started to torture her nipple again. She pushed back against him. “Roan, please.” She almost feared he hadn’t heard her whisper, but he had - just like he always did.

She felt him smirk against her neck as he slowly pushed himself almost all the way out. When he stopped, he let his tip tease her while he sucked in the crook of her neck, in the exact spot he knew that would make her arch against him.

Theia didn’t disappoint him, and as she arched back, he slammed himself back in so fast that the contact between their hips hurt.

Roan set up a steady, merciless pace, his hands roaming her body, her moans filling his ears and clenching against his erection.

When the pleasure became too much and he couldn’t hold her like that anymore, he pushed her back against the wall, her breasts leaning so hard against the stone it would leave bruises. He thrust into her, one of his hand pushing against the back of her neck to keep her in place.

Theia could barely feel herself contract around him, too focused on breathing, her hands pushing against the wall but unable to put space between her chest and the wall.

It was too much. Too much pleasure, too many feelings all at once with Roan finally back inside her.

But she did hear him coming, she did hear him grunting a name.

For the first time in her life, she had to fake her own orgasm and she didn’t care that Roan tensed up behind her, probably noticing her fat lie.

But how could she reach it when all he had to moan was ‘Anka’?

READ PART TWO HERE

✎ A/N 2: I know the request says ‘Y/N’, but since it’s going to be multichapter I thought that giving the girl a name would be better (most of all for me writing it, ‘cause sometimes ‘Y/N’ drives me crazy. My last exam at uni will be on the 24th of July (hoping that I’ll pass it): I’ll probably go back writing this story on the 25th, so bear with me (I’m a slow writer).

TAG LIST: @saibh29 @selldraug @jaib2-blog

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