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kasagia · 5 months ago

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His mortal saviour

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova/The Darkling x otkazat’sya!fem! reader Summary: You saved him. You took him from under the fold and healed him when he was in his most vulnerable state. He doesn't know you; he's hostile and distrustful of you, so he naturally runs away at the first possible opportunity. But somehow, he can't just walk away from you. Word Count: around 6k Anonymous requested this a looong time ago (in January). So sorry honey!!!! Hope you will enjoy! 🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤 Taglist: @aoi-targaryen @il0vebeingdelulu @chelseyyouraverageluigi @watersquirtpewpewboomm @summersummoner-pat Aleksander Morozova's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Main Masterlist

He woke up feeling numb.

He had never felt so... paralysed in his entire life. It was as if the use of all his limbs had been taken away from him. And he didn't like that at all.

He expected him to be in the centre of the fold, with the volcra circling around him. However, as consciousness returned to him, he became more aware of his surroundings.

The first thing he felt was warmth. The warmth, which wasn't at all in the fold. He shuddered and remembered how the cold had penetrated his body even more the moment the volcra's claws had dug into his face.

Then he felt the softness of the mattress beneath his back instead of the hardness of the sandy, packed soil. Further evidence proving that he was entirely somewhere else was the sound of soft footsteps and humming a few feet away from him.

He opened his eyes hesitantly and hissed, unaccustomed to the light after being unconscious for so long.

He freezes as he feels a hand on his eyes, keeping the sunlight from reaching them. Little. Soft. Alina... a thought comes to him, and he quickly laughs it off. His little sun summoner would probably rather blind him completely with her sun than protect him from more pain.

"Take it easy. You've been badly harmed." A soft female voice breaks the silence and pulls him from his thoughts about the woman who betrayed him and their kind.

He feels a strange rush of fear as he hears a female voice. Aleksander unwillingly recalls the memory of the time when he and his mother were captured by the Drüskelle. He felt like he did now. Helpless.

He was unable to move even a small distance on his own. The only difference was that no one was hanging over him with scalpels and other blades or hurling insults. But he suspected that could change very quickly...

He had to do something. He needed to get out of here somehow, but every slight movement of his muscles was accompanied by a huge wave of searing pain throughout his whole body. And for a brief moment, it occurred to him that maybe destroying the fold wasn't such a bad idea.

"Don't worry. I am not a psychopath, mad, serial killer, or anything. I'm a nurse. I saw you near the fold and took you to my house to heal you. It's a miracle you survived your encounter with the volcra. Usually, no one gets out of the fold. Certainly not on their own." The woman says, slowly removing her hand from his eyes.

He's too dazed by the light, busy taking in his surroundings and seeing her face for the first time, to notice that she's adjusting the bandages on his face and checking his wounds.

But he hisses, feeling the burning pain on his forehead as she rubs some thick, gooey liquid onto him.

"I'm sorry, but I have to. It's an ointment against infection. This should also numb you enough so that you don't feel any pain in your face. How's your back?"

He is too shocked to respond. As he takes a breath, he has a sudden coughing fit. She moves away from him. He hears her quick footsteps as she returns a moment later with a cup of water and a tissue. He spits something black out of his mouth, desperately trying to get some air. She strokes his back gently and leans him more forward, making him spit out all the black goo mixed with his saliva from his throat.

He frowns, staring at the tissue soaked in black liquid.

"Don't worry, it's absolutely normal. Every time they bring a survivor from the fold to the infirmary, something like this happens. The air is different there, and volcra tend to infect their victims. Let's just say it's some kind of poison that comes out of you. That's a good sign. As well as the fact that you woke up. Here." The woman says, taking the tissue from him and throwing it into a nearby trash can. He glances there, seeing that it is half full of black dressings and bandages. He looks back at her as she hands him a glass of water.

"What do you want?" He asks, his voice hoarse from disuse (or screaming in the fold), not taking a sip from the cup you gave him. It could be poisoned or worse.

"I... I don't understand." You say, confused by his hostile attitude.

"What do you want from me?" He repeats it again, and the commanding, demanding tone of his voice sends shivers down your spine.

"Nothing. I'm just helping." You reply with a shrug, which annoys him even more. He laughs mockingly, making you frown.

"Selflessly? To a stranger? Don't make me look like a naive idiot. Tell me right now who you are, what you want, and where we are, and you won't get hurt."

"With all due respect, I doubt you'd be able to raise your hand right now, let alone hold a gun or sword, or hit me, even if you were a soldier of the First Army." He stares at you in surprise, realising that you have no idea who he is, and maybe you really just helped him.

Could a normal person dare to speak back to the Darkling with such courage and anger in her eyes? He didn't think so. But one name comes to his mind... even though he's too hurt to think about her.

"What?" You ask him as he stares at you for a little too long.

"Nothing." He clears his throat and stares warily at the offered water. "Not many people surprise me." He explains, still not believing in your good intentions. You couldn't be so altruistic as to help a strange man who got spat out by the fold. People weren't kind or helpful to the weak, at least never towards him. That's why he always had to be stronger than others. To never become prey again.

"I see that you don't trust many either. If I pour for myself and you water from one jug and drink it first, will you consider doing the same? You need to rehydrate." You say it calmly, completely unfazed by his distrust.

For some reason, this makes him more surly towards you. Maybe this whole act on your part was just to keep his guard down until someone came for him, for example, Shu, Drüskelle, or even Alina's group of heroes. He had to get away from here. As soon as he regained full control over his aching body.

“Try to deceive me, and I will make sure to wipe out your family lineage to the last living generation.” He growls hoarsely, trying to regain at least some semblance of control in this situation.

"It's good that I'm an orphan then." You say, pouring him and yourself a glass of water and showing him that both are empty.

Another orphan... he thinks as you reach both glasses so he can choose which one he wants.

"Who are you? Where are we?" He asks as he holds a glass in his hand.

You drink your water and set the glass on the nightstand near the bed. Aleksander decides to wait a while before taking a sip himself, to see if the water won't have a strange effect on you and if you haven't poisoned it after all. Although you could have practiced mithradism and been immune to whatever poison you wanted to give him. His head began to hurt more as he considered all the possibilities.

"Y/N Y/L/N. A nurse, as I mentioned earlier. We are in Eastern Ravka, on the border with the fold. More south of Tsemna and closer to the border with Shu Han. And you?"

He hesitates for a moment and doesn't know why, whether it's the headache or the fact that he doesn't want you to catch him in a lie, but he tells you his real name.

"Aleksander." He says, finally deciding to take a sip from his cup. He would always be able to use the cut if there was something wrong with the drink you gave him. You try your best not to smile at that.

"And what are you doing for life, if that's not a secret?" You ask jokingly, but he doesn't seem too eager to lighten his attitude.

He is still tense and looks around carefully, as if waiting for someone to attack him. Your heart hurts at the sight. Something must have happened in his past for him to be on guard all the time. And those scars from the fold... you suspect it wasn't just the volcra that were responsible for them.

"I... create things." He tells half the truth. After all, the fold, the volcra, and his shadows are some kind of... things he created.

"Are you a carpenter? Do you have your own workshop?"

Little Palace. He thinks, but he knows that after what happened in the fold, the tsar probably took this away from him as well.

He shudders to think about how he could have hurt his people. He had to get out of here. And fast. Before more, Grisha got hurt. Because if he knows something, he knows that Alina won't be able to protect them. He tried to walk the path of peace with Lantsov's dynasty, but it never ended well.

All he provided for Grisha—a safe place at the Little Palace, home, food, illusions of freedom thanks to the cessation of Grisha hunting, and much more—was bought with the blood of others. And if he had to be a monster to make sure his people wouldn't suffer like he did and many others have in the past, then so be it.

He would be the worst of them all.

"I have people who create for me and follow my orders and requests." He replies brusquely when you look at him carefully. You sigh, seeing that you won't be able to get through to him until he's sure you really don't have any bad intentions towards him.

"Okay… do you have any family I should write to? Or someone else?" You ask instead, apparently hitting another sore spot as his injured hand grips the cup so hard that the bandages you wrapped around it dig into his skin.

"No... there is no need for that." He says it coldly.

An image of his mother quickly comes to mind, as does the image of Alina, at which he shakes his head. The only two women with whom he allowed himself to be vulnerable and who could hurt him actually did. Without blinking an eye or a moment of hesitation. You probably were the same, and despite your quite tender care, he still wasn't sure if it was true or just an action.

Although if you were meant to capture him, you would at least tie him up so he couldn't summon his shadows. Maybe you really had no idea about his identity...

"I shall leave you to rest then. I have to go to my work." You say as you start to put on your coat.

"You will leave me alone?" He ask. He can't believe that you would really leave him—a strange man you didn't know at all—in your house all alone.

"Do you need a company?" You ask mockingly, using the exact same cold tone of voice he used before. Aleksander decides he liked you much more when you were soft towards him.

"Aren't you afraid I'll rob you and run away?"

"There are only herbs, medicines, and a few books here. I have nothing so valuable that I couldn't get it on the market if you decided to take it. You can look around if you want. Although I wouldn't advise you to get up, your wounds are still fresh and barely sealed, so they don't bleed."

"Are you insane?" He can't help but ask, as you really are going out. His words and utter shock make you giggle, which doesn't make his opinion of you any better.

"All the best people are. Try not to die. It would be a waste of medicines and bandages." You say this and smile amusedly as you close the door behind you.

Aleksander blinks, surprised, as he lays in your bed. He tries to understand what has happened here, but he still has a headache and needs to get out of here.

He didn't trust you at all.

So before anyone could come and get him from you, he stood up. His legs are shaky at the beginning, but as he walks around your (tiny) cottage, he regains the ability to walk… maybe not as well as he did, but enough to move.

He looks around, just as you suggested, but he didn't find any proff that would confirm his suspicion about your bad intentions towards him.. But it doesn't stop him from taking some pills and herbs before he leaves your house. He makes sure to take only a little—enough to get to the village or somewhere where he could find his people.

He decided that you were too kind to be robbed.

The healer who was trying to heal his wounds was surprised at how good their condition was. Virtually cured. However, black scars remained on him, marring his face. Just like the piece of amplifier in his hand.

But Aleksander didn't care at all. His scars were a good reminder that anyone can be made a fool of. And he didn't want to be fooled by the woman's beautiful eyes once again—even ones as beautiful as yours.

David offered to take it out for him, but he wasn't ready for it yet. The amplifier was his only connection to Alina, and he needed every means to locate her. At least, that's how he explained to himself his reluctance to remove the festering amplifier from his hand.

He did the same with you. He also told himself that the creation of a secret shelter for his Grishas in an abandoned manor in the forest a few miles from your little cabin was pure coincidence. Just like the way he had a habit of wandering around your neighbourhood and watching you from afar when he needed to think alone about his further plans.

The problem was that he couldn't plan anything. Nothing significant. Of course, he still freed his Grisha and kept them safe, but when it came to Ravka's fate... he was in a bind. He didn't know what to do.

And so one day, when he went for a walk away from Ivan, Fruzsi, and the rest who were bothering him, he 'accidentally' came across you.

It's happened quite often. At first, he sent Ivan to look at you; sometimes he followed you around himself, waiting in suspense to find out that you weren't an innocent nurse after all. That it was not by accident that you took him from under the fold and cured him. But he found nothing. You have no conspiracy against him, no cult that was killing Grisha, or even any connection to Alina's group. Nothing.

He didn't know what to think about that either. He would rather discover that you weren't so selfless and sensitive to others' harm. This way, you would save him some sleepless nights when he thought about you and the way you took care of him. No one has done this for a long time... or ever. To be honest, Aleksander didn't remember the last time that someone just... he looked after him out of pure kindness and concern FOR HIM.

Neither his mother nor Alina. One was too cold to even think about caring for the other, and the second was too afraid of him to even consider him as something more than just a monster craving power and the throne. He didn't think he'd had anyone since Luda who would simply take care of him out of the goodness of their hearts.

That's why he started to be fascinated and curious about you. A mere mortal. Otkazat’sya. You tended to avoid people despite your willingness to help (at which he was very surprised). In the village where you worked in the infirmary, everyone treated you warmly and kindly, just as you treated them. Even your worst patients. To which Aleksander would lose his tamper more than once.

Over time, he realised that what drew him to you was your warmth. He was starting to get jealous of the attention you gave others, even if you then went back to your cabin alone. He didn't know what caused this need to be near you. Maybe it was because he was tired of being alone in his icy darkness. Alina once was his sunlight. For a brief moment, he felt... normal. In peace. After everything went to hell. And then, he felt like this for a while under your tender touch.

He should have learned from his mistakes and forgotten about you, but... something wouldn't let him.

He was beginning to suspect that maybe he was just getting too old for all this.

"All alone in the forest? Do you know what monsters might be lurking here?" He asks, encountering you on one of his excursions to help him think. It was a pure impulse. He snuck up on you on the spur of the moment (or maybe because Alina tried to snatch the amplifier out of his hand a few hours ago and he needed someone to talk to as... just Aleksander. Not the Darkling.)

"For example?" You ask, turning to him and stopping picking herbs. You look pretty. Strands of hair fall into your eyes, and he almost reaches out to brush them off himself, but you do it before he can raise his hand.

He takes a look at you. Your coat is too thin for his taste. The snow had barely melted, and what you were wearing certainly didn't adequately protect you from the cold wind that was still blowing. He had to ask David to make you something similar to a kefta when he would be back.

"The Darkling." He says, feeling your burning, careful gaze on his face. You don't look at him with disgust or fear. No. He sees in your eyes a professional assessment of his health and a slight hint of curiosity... he wonders if maybe he's not the only one here who feels drawn to the other.

"I doubt he has enough free time to wander around the forest." He smiles at your words, amused that you have no idea that you are now talking with him.

He had never been happier that the news in these parts of Ravka... usually didn't reach here. People here identified more with Shu since they started mixing with each other a long time ago. Of course not Grisha. They could only count on themselves. Mostly...

"Oh, you'd be surprised what can happen, little saviour."

"Saviour?" You ask, raising your eyebrows at him. He sees the spark of amusement shining in your eyes, and he just can't help himself. He steps closer to you and reaches for the basket of herbs. He follows you as you select herbs and plants that you apparently find useful. Aleksander feels... normal and ordinary. And for a moment, he begins to understand why Alina would choose a simple life with her tracker rather than a privileged one as a Sun Summoner.

"I believe I owe a part of my life to you."

"Almost no one gets out of the fold. Thank the saints for your life, not me." You shrug off his feeble attempt at thanking you and turn to him. You study his face carefully, assessing the appearance of his scars. He feels himself starting to blush under your gaze.

"I don't believe in saints." He finally says, glad that he managed to drag your gaze away from his face as you look into his eyes this time, frowning in surprise.

"Why?"

"They were ordinary people. Most of them had no idea what they were doing. People hailed them as saints mainly because of rumours—stories whose confirmation could only be sought from the insane."

"So not only a carpenter, but also an expert in saints. You are a true mystery, Aleksander." You laugh at him and he smiles, thinking that you don't even know what an enigma he is.

"I'm just saying that most of them didn't do anything significant. Not for Grisha. And they were killed because they tried to show people that they shouldn't hunt us and that we are useful in some way. If anything, they tightened the chains of slavery on us."

"So you are a Grisha." He blushes slightly, embarrassed at how easily he let his secret be revealed. Yes. He was definitely too old for all this. "What kind of are you? Inferni? Durast?"

"Heartrender." He answers quickly and without thinking. "But it doesn't matter. Forgive me. I should go." He says, almost panicking as he turns away from you and rushes in the opposite direction. He wants to get away from you as quickly as possible before he unknowingly reveals his true identity to you.

"Wait a second. Aleksander!" However, you don't give up and chase after him, grabbing his hand—exactly the one that is rotting from the remains of the amplifier left in it. Aleksander hisses, wincing in pain. He pulls his hand out of your grip and tries to look anywhere but at you. "Your hand." You whisper hurriedly as you walk towards him. He takes a step back, trying as always to keep some distance from you when you made him feel... vulnerable.

"Not your concern." He growls at you, hoping you'll drop the idea of examining his wound. Because how was he supposed to explain to you the stag bone stuck in his hand?

"Volcra poison can infect your blood. You should get it cured by your healers. And do it as quickly as possible; otherwise, it will lead you to a slow death; you will lose your senses; you will start hearing whispers, calls from the fold, and volcra."

"I'll be fine."

"Don't make me laugh; even the Darkling wouldn't be able to deal with that all alone. The Volcra may be the product of his ancestors, but this... this is a wild kind of little science. Unpredictable. I have seen hundreds who may have managed to get out of the crease but have gone mad because of their venom. These are not ordinary shadows. They are living creatures that attack just like any other animal. So please, if you don't trust me with this, go and show it to some talented healer, because you can't leave it like that."

"How do you know so much about this?" He asks curiously, putting his injured hand into the pocket of his kefta.

"Anyone who lives near the fold and is involved in healing knows this." You answer evasively, trying to avoid his further questions. This time you turn your back to him, pretending that you are interested in some plant.

"No, they not." He continues insistently, wanting at all costs to know the real reason you were here, why you had so much knowledge about the fold. He grabs your arm and turns you around so he can look at your face, as he is waiting for your answer.

"My sister was a healer. A Grisha." You blurt out in one breath and look away from him as painful memories come flooding back to you. Aleksander feels a pang in his heart when he sees the obvious pain in your eyes. A pain he himself had carried with him for centuries.

"Was?" He notes, swallowing.

"She is dead."

"The fold?" You nod at his question. He feels his throat dry, and he lets go of your arm as his hands tremble slightly. And Aleksander thinks that of all the lives that the fold has taken, your sister's life will be the one that will remain permanently in his memory. Especially that look filled with pain, bitterness, and grieving. "Then why did you stay here?"

"I moved here... to help to this who could somehow managed to get out of it." You reply as you calm down. Your tone of voice and posture may confuse Aleksander at first glance, but your eyes, your eyes tell him everything that you try to hide.

"It's... very nobel."

"Just please, don't leave it like that. You will certainly die if you will."

"You care about the stranger?" He asks in surprise, raising an eyebrow at you. You reach for your basket and take it from him before giving him your answer and looking him in the eyes again.

"I've already told you. It would be a waste of medicines and bandages if you die." You reply mischievously with a smile, and he chuckles. He can't help but reach up to your cheek and caress your cheek with his thumb as he gets lost in your eyes. No one had ever cared for him, so... simply. Without any major reasons. It was... extraordinary. You were extraordinary.

"It's... more complcated... but I shall listen to you." He assures you, noticing the way you nuzzle your cheek into his hand, not pulling away from him at all, not flinching at his sudden touch. His gaze involuntarily flits from your eyes to your mouth for a brief moment, and he imagines what it would be like to kiss you—to feel the softness of your lips against his. And Aleksander really wants to do it.

"I hope so... and that you won't get in trouble because of that grumpy old general of yours for being here." Alexander chuckles at your joke, amused by the absurdity of the situation. If you only knew...would you still let him stand so close to you? His mood suddenly worsens as he thinks about it. What would you do if you found out he was the Darkling? That he created the fold?

"Believe me, little savior, he can't do anything to me for coming to you." He replies and lowers his hand, breaking any contact with your soft, silky skin. Oh, how he wanted to know more of you—to touch more than your hands, cheeks, hair, or neck. But he couldn't. Not after so much disappointment, not after Alina, not after Luda. He should have known better.

So he freezes, completely shocked, when you grab his wrist and cup his cheek in your hand. Your basket of herbs is abandoned on the forest path as you brush your nose against his. Alexander holds his breath, waiting to see what you will do.

"May I?" You ask, whispering, trembling as you're unsure of his reaction to what you want to do.

All Aleksander can do is cross the last inches between you and capture your lips in a kiss. You sigh, tangling your fingers in his hair and pulling him closer. Aleksander wraps his arms around you tightly and takes two steps back, pressing you against the tree. You moan into his mouth as his beard tickles you into the kiss, which he uses to his advantage and slides his tongue into your mouth.

Aleksander allows himself to lose himself in the feeling of you, your taste, your smell, and the way your body feels under his wandering hands. And if he had previously suspected that he might be obsessed with you, now he has proved to himself how deep you have gotten under his skin. He was a fool for allowing you to have such power over him. But how sweet it was to be a fool, with your lips and hands pressed against him.

And the next day, when he comes to visit you, his hand is completely healed, without any amplifier. And his mind is completely free of Alina Starkov.

"That's nice." You whisper in the crook of his neck as you lie cuddled in the meadow under the full moon.

“Mhm…” Aleksander mumbles, burying his nose in your hair. He hugs you tighter, as if afraid that you might escape from his arms at any moment. "Although I'm beginning to wonder if you've brought me here to perform some witchy tricks. Maybe some sacrifice?"

"Your ass is too beautiful to sacrifice it." You reply teasingly, biting his neck. He gasps and digs his fingers harder into your hips. He leans down, moving your head away from his neck by pulling your hair so he can steal a kiss from your lips.

"Is it?" He whispers against your lips as he pulls away to let you catch your breath.

"Apparently." You reply, reaching up to caress the scars on his face with your fingertip. Aleksander closes his eyes and sighs, surrendering to your gentle touch. "I like your face too. The way you frown when you're irritated by something. The way you twist your ridiculously tempting lips into a smirk when you're right, even though it irritates me sometimes. The way your eyes sparkle when you talk about how you help Grisha. The way you look at me, as if I were your whole world. The way you wrap your hands around me or take my hand in yours to make sure I'm close to you, that I'm under your protection, and that I'm not going anywhere. The way you are grumpy when you are sleepy and how you don't want to admit that you are tired. I... I think I fell in love with you, Aleksander."

Aleksander smiles, caressing your cheek tenderly. He leans down and captures your lips in a tender kiss, trying to shake away the guilt that has been haunting him for several months now.

Ever since your relationship... became more serious, Aleksander has been trying to find the perfect way to tell you about his true identity. But every time he thought the moment was good, he lost his courage. He didn't even want to think about what your reaction might be to him being the Darkling who created the fold. He was absolutely convinced that you would hate him as soon as the truth came to light and that you would blame him for your sister's death. And honestly? Aleksander would not even try to defend himself. He knew damn well that he didn't deserve your affection and love. However, he couldn't help but come back to you, basking in the feeling that he had been denied for a very long time.

You end the kiss and bury your face in the crook of his neck. Aleksander shivers as he feels you exhale warm air onto his cold skin. He tightens his grip on you and presses a kiss to the top of your head.

"I love you too, milaya." He mumbles, running a hand through your hair. He plays with the strands of your hair, twirling them around his finger.

He feels unexpectedly pleasant around you. Homely. Ordinary. These were feelings that Aleksander had rarely, if ever, experienced over the course of hundreds of years. He found himself longing for moments where he could slip away to your little cottage and sink into the warmth of your arms, listen to your gentle heartbeat, and bask in your scent. This was a huge hindrance to his plans to get another amplifier and guarantee a better future for his Grisha.

"They say they've seen a Darkling in these parts. That he's gathering an army to start a civil war." Aleksander frowns, feeling his heart speed up slightly in panic.

"That's what they say?"

"Yhm... What do you think about it? Will you join him? Or will you try to escape and join Sankta Alina?" He unconsciously tightens his grip on you as you ask him this question and mention Alina. He buries his nose in your hair, inhaling your scent and trying to calm himself down before answering your question.

"I will stay. I think he wants a better future for us than Alina plans to guarantee."

"Maybe for Grisha. But still, I don't like wars."

"Me too, lapushka. But sometimes there is no other solution to change something than to start a war and take the power." He admits with a sigh and traces patterns on your arm, calming down as he feels the softness of your skin under the pads of his hard fingers.

Aleksander suddenly becomes more alert, subconsciously sensing the approaching threat. He doesn't want to outgrow you, thinking that maybe it's his paranoia kicking in, so he sits down, still holding you in his arms, as he looks around at his surroundings. He holds his breath as he sees movement in the bushes across from you.

Before he can do anything, a group of Shu surrounds you. One of them has a shotgun aimed at you. Aleksander acts instinctively. He wraps one arm around you, summoning his shadows. Before anyone can hurt you, he uses a cut and sends his shadows to remove the threat. The metallic smell of blood fills the clearing. Aleksander breathes quickly, his veins pumping with adrenaline as he looks around carefully. He feels blood seeping from where the bullet hit him, piercing his plain coat. He hisses, turning his attention to you. He breathes a sigh of relief when he sees no signs of hurt on you, but freezes in fear as soon as he sees your terrified look.

"Y/N... I can explain."

"You are hurt. Let's go back to my cottage, I'll stitch you up." You interrupt him, examining his wound.

You take his hand and lead him through the forest towards your house. Aleksander stares at the back of your head in shock, tightening his grip on your hand, wanting to make sure you don't suddenly run away from him and that you don't decide to abandon him in the middle of the forest to save yourself from him.

You open the door and wordlessly point to the bed. He takes your hint and sits down, taking off his coat and shirt. Involuntarily, he remembers the first time he came here and woke up in your bed. He swallows hard, hoping this won't be the last time you treat his wounds. Or when you're close to him.

"This may sting." You tell him, sitting down next to him. You squirt a cotton ball with antiseptic into his wound. He hissed, biting his lip, completely unprepared for this as he was still lost in his thoughts.

"Y/N… I… I wanted to tell you. I swear. I just… I didn't want to ruin… you know what I mean, right?" He asks, staring intently at you. You make no move to look him in the eyes, pretending to devote all your attention to his wound. Aleksander cups both of your cheeks in his hands and forces you to look at him as he gives you a pleading look. "Please. Say something. Anything."

"I… I didn't expect this. Because why would the Darkling be hurt by something he created and why would he return to my cottage?"

"Because you fascinated me. Deeply. You... you were the first person to see me as something other than a Darkling. Alexander. The real me, not the version of myself I had to create for my Grishas. I... besides, I didn't hide my thought from you. You... you were one of the truly few people I let under my mask who could see my heart. And I swear I was going to tell you, I... I was just afraid that I would lose you the moment you found out who I really was. What can I do."

"Oh, Aleksander. You stupid man. Am I running away screaming? Am I calling you a monster? Am I treating you differently?" You ask, placing your hand on his bearded cheek and using your thumb to stroke it tenderly, making sure you give his scars the tender care they deserve.

"No." He responds, carefully analyzing and comparing your behavior before today's fatal accident.

"Because I don't see you any other way. Yes, at first I was shocked and a little scared, but that was because I didn't expect it at all. You… volcra it's not your fault. Even if you created it. You didn't know what would happen." Aleksander feels a lump in his throat.

How can he tell you that he planned to make it bigger? That before he met you he would have done it without blinking an eye, but now he has such serious doubts that he is actually considering deviating from his original plan for you?

"I'm not as good a person as you think."

"Then show me." You answer casually, as if it were that simple. You finish patching up his wound and press a kiss on it.

Aleksander smiles at you tenderly and pulls you in for a passionate kiss. His heart is racing as he realises that he hasn't actually lost you, that you're still here and want to be here, judging by the way you moan into his mouth.

He holds you tightly and lays down on your bed with you straddling him as you place small kisses along his neck and across the width of his muscled chest. He smiles, realising how far he's come with you. He never would have guessed when he woke up in this bed that he would let you get this close to him. But with each little kiss you gave, the gentle, tender way your hands moved over his body, and the way you caressed each of his wounds and scars, Aleksander thanked the saints for putting you in his path. And unknowingly to him, you truly were his little saviour, saving him from a much worse fate than he could ever imagine.

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acourtofwhatthefuck · 1 year ago

Text

Practice On Me — Part Seven — Azriel x Reader

Note: I hope you enjoy this part because I’m not overly happy with how it’s written, I don��t know why 😭probably just me being a DUMBASS. Also, it’s still not letting me tag some of you 😩anyone know why?

Summary: The Bat Boys are worried about reader. Cassian’s getting a little suspicious of Kaeda. Azriel is really, really missing his friend.

Word count: 7k.

Warnings: Some injury detail.

“He cannot do this. Surely, he cannot fucking do this.”

Azriel slams his fist on the table so hard that ale sloshes over the lip of a mug. The atmosphere in the mead hall is unusually calm tonight. There’s more laughter than arguing, and some dickhead with a lute is even providing the attendants with music. But at the centre table, a cloud of doom darkens the mood.

Everyone has wisely given Rhys, Cassian and Azriel a wide berth.

Tensions are high. Something’s got to give.

“His role in this camp is to oversee our training.” Az balls his fists. “Not to get involved with how we spend our time outside of it.” He eyes Cass and Rhys opposite him. “Right?”

“Technically, yes.” Rhys confirms. “But as the overseer of said training, he also has the authority to remove any distractions as he sees fit.”

“Distractions? She’s our friend, not a fucking toy—”

“I’m just putting it to you straight, Az. It’s the typical Illyrian attitude rearing its ugly head. All four of us made the decision to go to Fenlaros, and yet it’s the female who shoulders the blame.”

“It’s fucking ridiculous.” Cassian finally speaks up.

He hasn’t said much. Too busy thinking about last night.

Nobody knows a thing about that wild, impulsive fuck except him and Y/N. He plans to keep it that way. Not out of any sense of regret, but…he doesn’t know. His brain is ticking over.

He can’t help wondering something that’s never occurred to him before.

Is Y/N branded a certain way by Illyrian ideologies because the closest people to her are males? Has she unfairly gained a reputation — one that would be made worse if what she and Cassian had done became common knowledge?

He doesn’t want to be the reason she gets more shit thrown her way. He’s starting to think he should think harder before he acts. Maybe last night was a mistake. He can’t even see Y/N to talk it through with her.

“So what do we do?” Az is asking as Cass zones back in. “There’s got to be something. Do we take the matter to your father?”

Rhys cocks an eyebrow. “Be real for a second, Az. My father would laugh us out of Velaris. He doesn’t concern himself with trivial camp matters.”

“Y/N having to choose between an abusive household or perishing in the snow is not a trivial matter.”

“To him, it is. He’d tell Devlon to lead and do what he believes is right. Which, he already has, even if we don’t agree with it.”

“Well that’s bullshit. We can’t just lie down and do nothing—”

“I’m not saying that, Az—”

“What about your mother? She adores Y/N. Surely she could appeal to your father—”

“No. She’s pregnant. She stays out of this.”

“Then what do you suggest, Rhysand?”

“How about you start by explaining to Cass and I what’s gotten into you recently?”

Finally, Az has nothing to say. He goes silent. Still.

He stares back at his two friends like he can’t imagine why they would wonder such a thing.

And then he purses his lips. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Cassian scoffs. “Please. Even I think you starting fights left and right has been extreme.”

“Fuck you. You’re totally exaggerating.”

Rhysand raises an eyebrow. “If you say so.”

“I do.”

“We’re just worried that your behaviour has changed since Kaeda came into the picture—”

“You know what I’m worried about?” Az snaps. “Our friend who is literally homeless as of this morning. That’s a little more important, don’t you think?”

Yes…and no. It’s not that Cassian and Rhys don’t agree. It’s just that…that all roads lead back to Kaeda. And that’s becoming a problem.

“We’re not just going to leave Y/N to deal with this alone, Az.” Rhys tells him. “We just need to be careful about how we deal with it. Devlon isn’t messing around. I don’t want us to cause her more trouble.”

As folds his arms. “So what do you suggest?”

“I’ll talk to Y/N’s friend — Vegha. I’m sure she can open her home to Y/N while we figure things out. Just don’t do anything impulsive or stupid.”

That seems to appease Az a little. He sits back in his chair — allows himself to be a bit more open.

Until Cass totally fucking ruins it and says, “And don’t go starting any more fights just to impress Kaeda.”

Az says again, “Fuck you.”

Cass returns a withering look. “Fuck you right back.”

“Productive.” Rhys comments, shaking his head. He pushes to his feet, and both his friends look round.

“Where are you going?” Az asks.

“To speak with Vegha.” Rhys tells him. “And don’t follow me. You two idiots will only make things worse.”

He has no idea how right he is.

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It starts with the fire going out. Always.

The door swings open hard enough to hit the wall, and freezing air envelops the place. Your father tracks snow into the house, and he smells so strongly of booze that it permeates the room and spreads like a sickness.

You are five years old. You like to draw things in the soot that coats the fireplace. You don’t like green apples, but red ones aren’t so bad. The house always feels untidy since mama stole away in the dead of night a year ago. You try to keep on top of the cleaning, but the damp and the cold makes your hands sore, your bones ache.

Every night, you sit with your hands in your lap and wait for your father to return home. If he’s coming back from the forge, he’s tired and in a bad mood. If he’s coming back from the mead hall or a tavern, he’s drunk and in a really bad mood.

Tonight is the latter. But not only is he drunk and in a bad mood — he’s also brought company.

Four other males. They’re all huge — too huge to fit into the house, you think. If they’ve come for food, there isn’t any. If they’ve come for comfort, there isn’t any of that, either.

But they’re looking at you, all four of them. And in some way, you know that it’s you they’ve come for.

“This is the one?” A male with reddish-brown hair asks.

“I have only one.” Your father answers, and he jerks a chin in your direction. “That is it.”

It.

“Scrawny. There’s barely anything of her.” A second male comments. “This won’t be difficult.”

“I always think that,” reddish-brown answers, “and then they start fighting back. Kicking and scratching.”

You may only be five, but you are not foolish. Something is very, very wrong. A sinister wave has swept your already-miserable home, and you are about to be swallowed up in it. You eye the four males with wide eyes and scoot back a little.

Reddish-brown is the leader. He folds his arms with an authoritative air and announces, “Pathorn and Yevmael can hold her down,” he turns to the second male, “you take one wing, and I’ll take the other.”

The male that steps towards you from the back has eyes as black as the soot in the hearth. His lips twitch up on one side, and he says, “Come here, then, little pup.”

You do not move.

“Come.” He repeats. “It won’t hurt…much.”

They laugh at that.

You tuck your dirty, bruised knees tightly into your chest and rest your chin atop of them. You say nothing, make no move.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” His friend at the back says, stalking over to you. “Just pick her up.”

He does exactly that — by the scruff of your neck. You yelp as he yanks you into the air, and on instinct, your arms are flailing, legs kicking, tiny wings flaring.

“Look at that.” Charcoal eyes sneers at those very wings. “It’s a fucking abomination.”

If this is a game, you don’t like it. You twist in the male’s grasp, try to wriggle free, and he growls a curse at you. You growl back — a fierce, fierce noise, you think. It makes the males laugh again.

“On the table.” Reddish-brown says. “Face-down.”

“Papa,” you fight, “papa, papa, papa.”

There comes no response. It’s then that you realise he’s removed himself from the room. Left you with these monsters.

“Quiet now, pup.” Charcoal eyes says. “This won’t take long.”

You want to scratch him, and you try, even though your nails are chewed and bitten, despite mama always telling you not to do that. But mama isn’t here now and neither is papa. It’s just strangers with angry faces. Strangers who want to hurt you.

You’re slammed down onto the table, and you let out a cry. Someone holds your legs down. Another person holds your arms.

You are five years old. You like to draw pictures in the soot that covers the fireplace. You don’t like green apples, but red ones aren’t so bad. You are utterly and totally alone.

“I hope you never thought about flying.” Reddish-brown steps up to you. “That day will never come.”

And then they begin hacking at your wings.

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Your father takes you to a healer only when it’s almost too late. A fever scorches you head to toe. You think that mama returns to sit by your bedside, but that isn’t real. It’s a dream.

You’re too weak. You sleep fitfully on your front, because trembles wrack your body that continuously wake you up. You jerk every time the pain at your back gets too much.

The door opens, and you wonder if mama is returning again. You like that dream. But it’s your father, accompanied by the male who has been leaning over your weakened body for days.

“Will she live?” Your father asks.

“She will.” The healer tells him. “If she can fight off the infection.”

“Can’t you just give her a tonic, or something?”

“This is the worst wing clipping I have ever seen. There are ample healers in Illyria who are qualified to carry out the practice. What possessed you to instead leave her in the hands of a group of soldiers?”

“I will do with my child as I see fit.”

“You may no longer have a child, if she cannot fight this. Her life hangs in the balance.”

Your father makes a noise that sounds like a growl. He does that when you’re in his way, and he just wants to sit quietly without you lingering around him. “Give her a fucking tonic—”

“If she survives this,” the healer tells him, “she will be scarred and in pain for the rest of her life. You did not merely clip her wings. You butchered them. This is precisely why a healer should be the one to perform the procedure—”

Your body jerks with a fresh wave of pain, and you whimper. Both your father and the healer look over at you.

Your father’s lip curls, and he turns to the male once more. “Fix her.” He commands. “Because if you can’t, you’re helping me bury the body.”

No. The males will come back and put their hands on you again. They’ll bury a body. They’ll bury your body. They’re going to bury you. Soil will fall on your ruined wings, and when mama truly does come back, she’ll have only an unmarked grave to greet you at.

You try to move, but you’re strapped down. You whimper again.

Bury the body.

Bury the—

Your body lurches up.

Sweat slicks your skin. You press a hand to your forehead, but it’s cool, not burdened by fever. You’ve awoken like this every morning for the past week.

The dreams are burdening you a lot right now. The memories.

They remind you, at least, why you will not return to your father’s home. Even if you end up hunching yourself up in doorways and exhausting any other dire options.

You hear a noise from the doorway, and you rub the bleariness from your eyes. Illuminated by the dim light in the hall, a male leans against the doorframe. He watches you nonchalantly, biting into an apple. Green, not red.

“You were shouting in your sleep again.”

You heave a deep, slow sigh and rake your fingers through your hair. Sweat soaks the strands.

“You dream often about burying bodies, don’t you?” The male steps into the room. He flares his wings, and you try not to look at them. “You’re quite odd. I think I like it.”

“Get out, Markis.” You sigh again. “Stop watching me sleep. It’s strange.”

“Is it more or less strange than chanting about burying a body?” He smirks. “And you’re in my house, remember? You can’t tell me to get out.”

“Yeah, well, it’s my house, too, and I can.” Suddenly, Vegha is appearing. She swats her younger brother, and a slither of relief settles into you. “Stop bugging her, Markis. Go to the training rings, or something.”

Markis so clearly doesn’t want to leave. He eyes you, his gaze falling from your neck, down to the old, threadbare sweater that you’ve been sleeping in. It’s Azriel’s — still smells like him.

The intensity of the male’s gaze is uncomfortable. And after a week of tolerating it, you’re not sure you can any longer.

“Fine.” He swallows down a bite of apple. He sends you a leering smirk. “I’ll tell your friends you said hello.”

Vegha rolls her eyes. “Markis, just leave before I boil your entire head—

“I’m going, I’m going.”

The male strides out of the room, shooting you one last look over his shoulder. You should ignore it, because the idiot is just basking in the novelty of having a female under his roof that he’s not related to, but the discomfort has sunk itself under your skin, and you’re not sure you can live with it.

Which is a bit of a problem, considering there are no other avenues for you to explore, and have nowhere else to go.

Vegha shuts the door behind her brother and turns to you. “You slept fitfully again.”

“Yes.” You feel a little bad admitting it. It’s not her, nor her family home, nor the bed that’s the problem. It’s you. All you. “I have a lot on my mind.”

“Of course, you do. I wish there was more I could do to help.”

“You’ve done more than enough, Vegha.”

She doesn’t look convinced. The worried streak in her eyes is an indicator of how terrible you look. And you know she’s just caring for you as your friend, but you can’t stand it. One more pitying glance may push you over the edge.

“I have to get to the crèche.” She tells you. “Can I get you anything before I leave?”

“No—thank you.” You sit up. “Listen…I won’t be here when you return home. I’m getting out of your hair today.”

She pauses. Studies you. “You’re not in my hair. You’re welcome to stay for as long as you need. Ignore Markis — he’s a cock.”

You breathe a soft laugh. But you can’t ignore Markis — not any longer. Just as you haven’t been able to ignore any of the males who have made the past week even more difficult than it already was.

Illyrian males are…are a sickness. They’re bred in violence and depravity. So few of them are good.

And if the past week without Azriel, Rhys and Cassian has taught you anything, it’s that to some degree, your exposure to such behaviours has always been muted, thanks to their protection. They’ve been a strong unit around you since you were eleven years old. Most males have been wise enough to steer clear and escape the wrath that would come down on them for messing with you.

But now you’re forbidden from seeing them, and you’re free game for any fucking male in this gods-forsaken place.

You need to be away from them. To be on your own.

“I know.” You answer Vegha. “And I appreciate you opening your home to me, I really do. But it’s fine — I’ve made other arrangements.”

The look she gives you is dubious. She doesn’t believe you, and rightfully so — it’s total bullshit. “You have?”

“I have.” You dip your chin. “I’ll be just fine.”

“…well I’m glad to hear it. You’ll come right back here if those plans fall through, right?”

“Of course I will.” No.

She hesitates at the door. She’s been nothing but kind and accommodating to you — a real friend.

But it’s bad enough not being able to escape the males that haunt your dreams. There’s a damn good reason for you staunchly refusing to return to your father. You will not swap one monster for another.

“I’ll see you soon, then.” Vegha studies you. There’s a sadness in her brown eyes. She genuinely cares. “Take care, Y/N.”

“I will.” You force a breezing smile. “And you, also.”

She inclines her head, and then she’s slipping out of the room. The silence only gives way for your too-near dreams to dig their claws in. You scrub your hands harshly over your face and push to your feet.

You don’t know where you’ll go. It’s tempting to ignore Lord Devlon’s warning and race back to the cottage. Drama may await you there — a total mess that you somewhat made for yourself — but at least you’d be warm and safe while facing it.

You can’t — you know you can’t. You don’t want Az or Cass or Rhys to face any consequences.

So after you get yourself ready and gather what little stuff you have, you head out into the snow and hope you won’t be sleeping in it that night.

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Azriel strikes at the sparring dummy as if it fucked his wife and stole his seat at the dinner table.

The damn things are supposed to be bolted to the ground, but a couple of bolts are no match against the fearsome shadowsinger.

He strikes and strikes until the object is more or less obliterated, because fuck the sparring dummy, that’s why. Fuck the sparring dummy, and fuck Lord Devlon, and fuck—

“I think you made your point.” A trilling voice cuts through his red mist of rage. “How about you set the sword down and have some water?”

Perhaps it’s just Azriel’s anger thinking for him, but he doesn’t feel that Kaeda has been particularly helpful from where she’s perched atop a smooth rock. She cleans her nails with the tip of a dagger and stretches her wings out around her.

Across the ring, Cassian watches and turns to Rhysand. “Why is she allowed to be here, but Y/N isn’t?”

Rhys shrugs his tense shoulders. He doesn’t know the answer.

The two of them step closer to where their brother is trying to breathe through his fury. He’s not coping so well.

See, Azriel has experience with missing things. He misses his mother all the time. Sometimes it’s a dull ache, manageable amongst the mundane comings and goings of life. Other times, it hurts so bad that he doesn’t think clawing his chest open would be too extreme a reaction. Missing a person is a sensation that knits itself under his skin and seeps into the marrow of his bones. It’s relentless and hideous.

Missing Y/N is a new kind of torture he never contemplated having to face.

It’s not just that he’s worried about where she is, whether or not she’s safe and well. It’s that he misses the silliest, tiniest things about her that he didn’t even know he’d ever noticed in the first damn place. The rapt determination with which she cuts the crusts off her bread because that’s a little too much bread for her. The way she gestures wildly with her hands whilst passionately talking about things. That ruined, tattered journal she carries around in which she scrawls blunt, one-sentenced, sometimes unintelligible thoughts. And her scent — gods, her scent.

It has been one week — an amount of time he’s spent away from her before. But it’s different this time. This isn’t like being away on a training exercise and knowing he’ll soon be coming home. He knows nothing. Doesn’t even know what to think, what to feel.

Other than an overt urge to murder the camp lord. Violently.

“How about we get done here and head to the mead hall?” Kaeda breaks through his warring thoughts. “I’m starved.”

Az grabs a nearby rag, wiping the sweat from his face. “Not really hungry.”

There’s a pause. And then a soft sigh leaves the female. She sheathes her blade and pushes to her feet, just as Rhys and Cassian are approaching. “I mean this in the nicest way possible, Azriel, but you can’t be visiting my father with this attitude.”

At once, this grabs the other two males’ interests, and Azriel wants to groan. Right. He’d forgotten about that.

“What’s this?” Rhys frowns, staring between Az and Kaeda. “You’re returning to Fenlaros?”

“My father invited Azriel to dine with us, that’s all.” Kaeda answers for him.

It had genuinely slipped Azriel’s mind. Amongst everything else waging war in his thoughts, a dinner with Kaeda’s family in Fenlaros had sunk right to the bottom.

But he knows immediately how it looks. That he’s being secretive.

Rhys studies Azriel closely. “And you’ve cleared this with Devlon?”

No, no he hadn’t. Quite simply, he’s not sure he can be within twenty feet of the bastard, right now, without throttling him.

He hates himself for it — he really, truly does. But for the sake of sparing himself a lecture, he shrugs. “I have.”

He does not lie to his brothers. And they can smell that lie on him right away.

Cassian stares at Kaeda for a long moment, before turning towards Az. “That is a fucking terrible idea, and you know it.”

“It’s dinner.” Kaeda shoots back.

Cass grits his teeth. “I’m talking to Azriel.”

“Listen, Cassian—”

“Excuse me—I’m sorry to interrupt.”

All four of them turn in the direction of the intrusion —and they stop short.

All three of the males know Vegha, of course. Rhys was grateful that she’d so willingly opened her home to Y/N when he’d asked. But other than that, they’ve only spoken to her in passing — she’s never had reason to seek them out before.

But what adds a slither of urgency to her rare appearance at the training rings is the even rarer appearance of the two little girls who hold her hands. They’re not supposed to be here, and Vegha knows this well.

She obviously deemed whatever this is urgent enough to bypass that rule.

“Vegha.” Azriel steps forward, studying her closely. “Is all well?”

Vegha shifts on her feet, clutching tighter onto the girls’ hands. She’s never comfortable here, around all these males, but it’s a different unwanted attention that makes her want to turn and leave.

Kaeda eyes her head to toe with a look of distaste. Of mistrust. She folds her arms and flares her wings — a gesture that has the little girls gasping.

“Settle down.” Vegha squeezes their hands. She directs her attention back to the males. Strange, that she feels more comfortable with them than she does with the only other female present. “Honestly, Azriel, I’m not at all sure.”

Rhys steps forward. “Is it Y/N?”

Cassian swears — swears — that a small sigh comes from behind him. From Kaeda.

“I know you’ve been instructed to stay away, and I don’t wish to cause you any trouble.” Vegha tells them. “It’s just…well, she was staying at my home this past week, as you asked, Rhysand. I told her she was welcome for as long as she needs — that she mustn’t return to her father’s house. But just this morning, she suddenly announced that she was leaving…that she’d found somewhere else to stay.”

“And?” The word slips from Kaeda’s lips.

Yeah, Cass definitely isn’t in the mood for this today.

“And…and I’m not sure I believe her.” Vegha shrugs slowly. “My brother wasn’t exactly making it a pleasant stay, and I think she was desperate to get out of there. But I can’t imagine where she’d go. I just…thought I should tell you. You know her better than I do.”

True — except her three closest friends can’t imagine where she’d go, either, if not back to her father’s house. And they can’t imagine her resorting to that.

She has no money for a room at an inn. She doesn’t have a long list of friends who will open their homes up to her. And she most certainly can’t go back to Rhys’s mother’s cottage.

So…where? Will she pitch up in one of the abandoned tents across the camp? Will she spend her nights shivering in doorways and wondering where her next meal is coming from?

This is fucking ridiculous.

She can’t be left to live like this.

“You did the right thing, telling us.” Rhys reassures Vegha. He offers a gentle, soft smile to the girls at her sides. “How about you take these two back into the warm? We’ll deal with it.”

Gods, he’s already a High Lord through and through. Calm in the face of turmoil. Not letting on to his inner panic.

Vegha dips her chin. “Sorry, again, for interrupting.” She tugs gently at the children’s’ hands. “Come, girls.”

Rhysand’s brow furrows. Vegha is perhaps the only other good friend Y/N has in this place. There’s no way she’s made other arrangements — Rhys knows it. Cassian knows it. Azriel knows it.

“We’ve got to do something.” Azriel voices what they’re all thinking, a feral panic colouring his tone. “We can’t just leave her to face this on her own. Fuck what Devlon says. I’m not sitting back and letting her freeze or starve to death.”

Rhys chews his lip. “…I can try to speak with my father. But I’m not hopeful where he’s concerned. This falls under Devlon’s jurisdiction.”

“All Y/N needs is a roof over her head and some food in her belly until we can work out what to do next.” Cassian crosses his arms over his chest. “There’s got to be some way we can help. Is there not any clue of where she might go?”

The two males are looking at Az expectantly. If anyone knows, it’s him.

But he’s just…he’s not had his eye on the ball recently. His thoughts are all over the place. Perhaps he’s neglected his friendships a little — because he could swear he knows Y/N inside and out, and yet his mind is blank. Utterly fucking blank.

“I—I need to think.” He runs a hand through his hair, turning — he stops at the flash of red hair that meets him. He’d forgotten Kaeda was even there.

She stares between them, saying nothing, her face pinched and arms crossed. What she’s thinking, Az isn’t sure. But a thought suddenly strikes him.

“Kaeda.” He faces her properly. “Can’t you house Y/N in Fenlaros for the time being? Until this is sorted?”

Kaeda stops short. Blinks at him. “…What?”

“It doesn’t have to be your home, or…or even anything extravagant. Just somewhere she can sleep. There are surely more options in Fenlaros than there are here.”

Kaeda does not like this one bit. A negative reaction is rippling off her in waves, and it hits Cassian like a blast of cold air. Rhys, too.

But Az seems oblivious.

“Azriel…” The female keeps her voice calm, measured. “You know it isn’t that easy. A person can’t just…defect to another camp.”

“She wouldn’t—”

“So what’s your excuse?” The words are falling from Cassian’s lips before he can stop himself. He’s not sure he cares.

Kaeda pauses. Her face is a sheet of wide-eyed innocence as she turns to him. “Pardon me?”

Cass shrugs one shoulder. “You’ve been buzzing around here for months like a fly. What’s your excuse, if that’s not allowed? Because your father may be Lord of Fenlaros, sweetheart, and he may let you do whatever you want, but look around you. This is Windhaven. His word doesn’t mean shit here.”

Azriel takes a step towards him. “Cassian—”

“Either help our friend, or stay the fuck out of it—”

“Cassian, that is enough—”

“It’s fine, Azriel.” Kaeda’s voice is so deceptively warm, you could melt butter on it. She steps towards Cassian, face open, hands held up in a placating manner. “It’s fine. You’re right. I understand you’re upset, and I…I apologise if my presence here has been burdensome. Of course I’ll help any way that I can. I’ll talk to my father right away.”

Cass doesn’t feel particularly satisfied by that. Doesn’t believe a fucking word, to be honest. His eyes communicate that as he stares the female up and down.

“Cass, I think you should apologise.” Azriel says.

He barks a laugh. “No chance.”

“Kaeda just said she’d help—”

“Enough.” Rhys finally jumps in. His tone is laced with authority — just a smidgen of an idea of what he might one day be like as High Lord. He crosses his arms and glares the three of them down as though they’re bickering younglings. “Arguing back and forth will do nothing to help Y/N. We need to act. I will speak to my father. Kaeda will speak to hers. Az, you should see if you can find out where Y/N might have gone. Cass, I want you making sure she doesn’t go anywhere near her fucking father’s house. By the end of the day, we should have at least sorted something. Understood?”

Cass doesn’t look away from Kaeda. He can see her eye twitching — the way she so desperately wants to push back against being ordered. Gods, how Az can’t see right through her, he has no clue—

“Understood.” Azriel answers without hesitation. “I’ll get right on it.”

Rhys inclines his head. “As will I.”

“And I’ll head back to Fenlaros.” Kaeda adds.

Cassian merely shrugs. “Fine.”

Without goodbyes, Azriel is shooting into the skies — probably hoping to get an aerial view of a sodden, freezing Y/N traipsing through the snow.

Rhys looks between Cassian and Kaeda for a beat longer before he disappears, winnowing — Cass assumes — straight to Velaris.

And then there were two.

Kaeda turns back to Cass. The doe-eyed look on her face is instantly gone. There’s a hint of a damn smirk.

“Whatever game you’re playing at,” Cassian clenches his jaw. “You will not win.”

A soft hiccup of a laugh escapes the redhead. “Oh, yes I will.” She steps closer. Close enough for her cotton-and-powder scent to envelop the male. “See, I always get what I want. Always.”

“Not this time. Azriel may not see you for the viper that you are, but I do.” He grits his teeth. “And I will fucking destroy you before you cause any damage.”

Green eyes glitter back at him. The female is unperturbed by the threat — and she knows he means it. There’s even a change in her scent that makes Cassian’s nostrils flare. A darker one. A muskier one.

“Oh, Cassian, I do hope so.” She says, and pushes up so her lips are at his ear. Her full breasts brush his chest. “I love a male who’s willing to punish me.”

She winnows away before the snarl has a chance to claw up Cassian’s throat.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

This is starting to feel like a bad idea.

It was easy, from the warmth and comfort of Vegha’s home, to convince yourself you’d be fine out amongst the wilds of the camp. But the old armoury is dark, dingy and cold, and within hours, you’re not sure you have the resolve for a single night there. Let alone however many you have ahead of you.

This used to be a place of mischief, when you and your friends were children. This far end of the camp has sat abandoned and unused for years, after newer, more effective training rings were installed where the hub of activity now lays. The four of you would spend days here, playing pretend with the old, wooden practice swords that were left behind. You’d make up stories of the area being haunted by the ghost of an ancient, disgruntled Camp Lord. And as you got older, it became a place to come and get drunk, to speak words and secrets that remained there, never to be carried away with you.

You won’t be bothered here, you know — nobody ventures this way. But that, and the fact that the old armoury affords you a roof over your head, are about the only positives. You’re so cold that it hurts. You’re hungry and miserable and tired in a way that has nothing to do with nightmare-filled sleeps.

And gods, you miss your friends. You miss them so much, it‘s a gnawing ache. All those nights you took for granted, tucked up warm in the cottage, Cassian making you all laugh with his antics. Those times seem so distant, now. Is this how it will be, from now on? Never did you think you’d be separated from your friends. And you don’t even know if this is a permanent thing. Will you have to wait and wait until Rhysand is High Lord and able to make decisions, before you can see them again?

These thoughts will do you no good. They’ll only make you colder and drive you to shed tears that you’re not sure you have the energy to shed.

You bundle in your blanket, squeezing your eyes shut as though that fruitless act will shield you from the cold. You were tempted to build a fire, but the last thing you want is to draw attention from anyone flying above. Being found in here will just bring you more trouble you don’t need.

You’re already hunched as it is, gloved hands buried under your armpits — but you somehow manage to tense even more when you hear the distinct sound of boots traipsing through the snow outside.

No.

You can’t do this — not right now. Nobody fucking comes here. Is the Mother laughing at you from above and sprinkling more misfortune into your already-dire existence? You can’t handle a confrontation, can’t handle being told you can’t stay here—

But the door creaks open, and it’s Azriel’s face that peers around cautiously. You almost sob with relief.

“Thank fuck.” He breathes. He’s slipping inside, shutting the door behind him. In a few great strides, he’s in front of you and dropping to his knees. “Are you alright?”

If you speak, you might crack. You risk it all the same. “How did you find me?”

“Took me a while to think of this place, I must admit. It’s been a long while since we were last here.”

But find you, he did. And fuck, his scent and natural warmth are swarming you. It feels like nothing else matters right then. Just you and him, like it’s always been. He yanks you into a hug, and you don’t stop him.

“You’re frozen.” He whispers, squeezing you. His gloved hands rub at your arms, your back, your shoulders. He pulls away to cup your face, and he studies every inch of it. You’re not sure what for.

But you stare back. You don’t know what to do or say. That could be the cold making it difficult to think, or it could be this weird wedge between you that feels like it’s only growing.

Az leans closer, and he presses his forehead against yours. “I miss you.” His gloves brush over your cheeks. “Gods, I miss you. So much.”

“I miss you, too.” You shudder. The words are weighty and truthful, not just referring to this past week apart, but to whatever has been going on for a while, now. You didn’t mean for it to be like this. You just want to go back to how it was.

“I’ve thought about nothing else—” His nose bumps against yours, and one of his hands slides to the nape of your neck, kneading the skin there. “I just—just need you close to me, Y/N. Always.”

You attempt a breathy laugh. “I don’t think Devlon would agree with that.”

“Fuck, Devlon. We’re going to get around this. Rhys is going to talk to his father, and even if that fails, Kaeda is talking to hers. I reckon they’ll be able to offer you sanctuary in Fenlaros until this is sorted—”

You pull back to blink at him. Study him. “What?”

“I asked Kaeda to speak with her father on your behalf. To see if they can find somewhere for you to stay. I’m sure they can—”

“Azriel, I’m not going to Fenlaros.”

He pauses. “…If they’ll have you, Y/N, yes you are. It means you’ll be safe and warm and fed—”

“No.”

“What? Why?”

“Besides the fact that I’m already in enough trouble thanks to that place?” You pull away from him, easing to your feet. “I don’t know anyone there. And if Devlon were to find out—”

“Stop worrying about Devlon and start worrying about your safety.” Azriel, too, stands. “It’s the most logical thing.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Y/N.”

“I’m not going further away from you than I already am, and I’m especially not going to start playing house with your lover, Azriel, it’s odd—”

“That’s what this is about?” He cocks an eyebrow. Folds his arms. “Because you don’t want to accept help from Kaeda?”

You shrug. And just…just to give your body something to do, you begin pacing. “I’m not sure it would be very helpful at all.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You just don’t like her, do you?” He snaps. The sound is harsh, and it makes you grit your teeth. “You’re not willing to accept help that you so clearly fucking need, because you don’t like Kaeda.”

“I don’t trust Kaeda.” You whirl around to face him. “Not one fucking bit, and you shouldn’t, either.”

“Why?”

“Because none of it makes sense! Why is she here in Windhaven, Azriel? What is it she actually wants?”

It’s dangerous — the way your voices are rising in volume and echoing around the armoury. But it’s as though weeks of emotional buildup are floating to the surface, and you can’t stop them, and they’re stoking an anger that actually warms you and feels better than being cold and hungry.

Azriel shakes his head. “You’re fucking impossible sometimes, you know that? You don’t want to help yourself. It’s like you’re determined to make your life as difficult as possible, and when you’re offered help, you don’t take it. You’re impossible!”

“Yeah, Azriel, maybe I am.” You snap back. “But at least I’m not lying through my teeth like Kaeda is, and at least I don’t break my damn promises.”

Azriel stops short. Stares at you.

You and he both know you’re referring to Solstice Night. You should have confronted it before, but…but you buried it.

You’re not sure you can do that anymore.

Azriel purses his lips. And then has the nerve to state, “Things are different between you and I these days.”

“Yes.” You stare back at him. “They are.”

Your eyes are trying to communicate so much. Things are different, and it might be the boundaries you crossed, but you’re more certain than anything that it’s Kaeda’s influence. You just don’t understand why Azriel can’t see it.

You wonder what he might say yet. So much anger and pent-up frustration zips between you. Mixed with longing and missing each other. Loving each other. Wanting to scream at each other, and for each other.

And part of you wants him to spit vicious words and fight back, just for you to feel something — even though you know that’s not Azriel’s style. But you stare and stare, and neither of you speak, and then Az is shaking his head and clenching his jaw.

“I’m not arguing with you here.” He says. “It’ll only draw attention to us.”

You fold your arms. “Fine.”

“I’m going to speak to Rhys, find out what his father said. And I’ll speak to Kaeda—”

“Go right ahead. I’m still not stepping foot back in Fenlaros—”

“And I’ll bring you some blankets and food. Or Cassian will. Or…whatever.” He stops still for a second, swallowing. “But we need to fix this shit between us.”

You know that. But you’re so fucking stubborn, your own worst enemy. And right then, you want to scream. Cry. Hurt him how he hurt you.

So you say nothing. You just shrug again.

He stares, as if waiting for a better reaction. And then he shakes his head once more and turns, striding back to the door. You wonder if it’s a bad thing to let him go, like this. When will you see him again? How will things be when you see him again? You’re making it worse for yourself, for him, for both of you.

You open your mouth — to say what, you’re not sure. But you’re stopped by Az pausing with his hand on the doorknob. With his back to you, his shoulders tense. He’s frozen in place.

And then he speaks — growls — two words. “Fuck this.”

He turns, marching back over to you so fast, you don’t have time to react.

And then he’s grabbing your face, and his mouth is on yours.

azriel tags: @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @sirenpearldust @queercodedcharacter @azriels-shadowsinger @ruler-of-hades @demi03 @magicaldragonlady @abrielletargaryen @ralsieq @v3lv3tf0x @achase2002 @feyretopia @hayrunnwr @don’t-feed-the-hipsters @brekkershadowsinger @piceous21 @bloodicka @acourtofinkandpapyrus @riri-is-agirlie @siriusement @4valyries @socmono @azriels-mate123 @acourtofbatboydreams @katherinearcheron @nesemi @lupinswolfsbanes @dreaming-unafraid @dxnniiix @cyrygher @liddyr03 @lmllsl @nightless @teenageeggscissorslawyer @brighterthanlonelythoughts @blitz-fall @maybefoxysouls @mschanand1erbong @juiceboxreads @bangtanbecks @florencemtrash @hyemishii @obixix @thenovarose @meshellexplosionmurder @angzlxna @lissy31xoxo-blog @supernatural99 @positivewitch @art3-m1ss @milfhunter-pdx @bbuckysbeardd

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parkerslatte · 2 months ago

Text

Look Into The Future

Eris Vanserra x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: mentions of death of a parent.

Summary: One night when Eris is sneaking out of the Forest House, a four year old Lucien catches him and begs Eris to take him with him. Eris complies only if Lucien keeps his mouth shut.

A Court of Thorns and Roses Masterlist

•••

“Where are you going?” A young voice asked from behind Eris.

The heir sighed and turned to face his youngest brother. At four years old, Lucien had begun to become a curious young boy. Always hanging around Eris and imitating his eldest brother like his life depended on it. Despite how much Eris pretended to hate it, it did melt his cold heart.

“Nowhere interesting,” the eldest Vanserra answered, trying to push his brother to return to his bedroom.

“Why are you sneaking out?” Lucien asked.

“Shhhh,” Eris hushed the younger boy, kneeling down to his height. “You mustn’t talk so loud, Lucien. There are others sleeping.”

In actual fact, Eris didn’t care for the others sleeping in the rooms nearby. He didn’t want the knowledge he was sneaking out to reach his father.

“Where are you going?” Lucien asked again, his voice a loud whisper. At least it was an improvement.

“Nowhere fit for a child,” Eris answered, standing back up.

Lucien folded her arms across his chest, huffing in irritation. “I’m stronger than you.”

Eris snorted. “If that thought allows you to sleep at night, please be my guest and use it tonight.”

“Can I come with you?” Lucien whined. “I’ll be good.”

“No, Lucien,” Eris replied, kneeling down once more. “If father doesn’t find you in your bed in the morning, you know he will be in a bad mood.”

“Bring me back here then!” Lucien exclaimed and Eris knew it was useless trying to get him to quiet down. If his father did find out he had been sneaking out, he would make sure to keep his brother far away from Beron. Lucien still had a bright childish hope in his eyes that Eris wished for him to keep.

Eris sighed. “If I bring you with me, you must promise to not mention a word about it to anyone.”

“I won’t,” Lucien said, exasperated.

“Lucien,” said Eris firmly.

As if sensing the seriousness in Eris’s tone, Lucien slowly nodded and held up his pinky finger. “I promise.”

The corner of Eris’s lips quirked up and he linked his pinky finger with Lucien’s. “Come on,” he said softly.

A wide grin spread across Lucien’s face as he followed Eris through the double doors and out of the Forest House. The wind was loud as the two walked through the gardens. Due to Eris’s long strides, Lucien was quickly falling behind. Eris swiftly picked his younger brother up in his arms and continued to walk through the gardens.

The lights in the Forest House were only a small twinkle in the distance by the time Eris finally came to a stop and set Lucien down on the ground.

“Are we there yet?” Lucien asked, gripping onto Eris’s jacket.

“Not yet,” Eris said. “Have you ever winnowed Lucien?” The young boy shook his head. “Okay, you will most likely feel a bit sick after but it’s nothing to worry about.”

Lucien looked nervous but nodded firmly, a small act of bravery. Eris softly smiled at his younger brother and held out his hand. While gripping onto it tightly, Lucien tucked his body closer to Eris.

One moment the brothers were standing on a cobblestone path and the next they were standing in the centre of a small vegetable garden. Lucien slowly stepped away from Eris to look at the small cabin in front of him. The sweet aroma surrounding the two in the air caused the youngest Vanserra to smile.

“Where are we?” Lucien asked, looking up to Eris wide-eyed.

“You’ll see,” Eris said and guided Lucien to the front door of the cabin and quietly knocked twice then paused and knocked another three times.

The sage green door flew open and a female with a flour dusted apron and wild curls cascading around her stood in the threshold. Eris’s face lit up.

“Y/N,” he said softly and stepped forward to embrace her.

Once she was in the safety of his arms, Eris allowed his body to relax, all tension evaporating in a single second. The familiar and comforting scent of her surrounded him and he breathed in deeply, almost feeling lightheaded.

“I missed you,” she muttered into the cross of his neck.

“As did I, my love,” Eris whispered, leaning back to press his lips against hers in a sweet kiss.

“Who are you?” The voice of Lucien interrupted the two lovers.

Y/N pulled away and glanced down at the small boy. “I’m Y/N.” Eris watched as she knelt down to Lucien’s level. “And you must be Lucien. Eris has told me a lot about you.”

“He has?” Lucien asked, a childlike joy filling his eyes.

Y/N nodded, a beautiful smile stretching across her face. “Yes. He mentioned that you were his favourite brother.”

Lucien giggled and looked at Eris. “I knew it!”

All Eris could do was roll his eyes and fight the smile threatening to take over his face. It was true that Lucien was his favourite amongst all of his brothers. He had always held a firm sense of protectiveness over his youngest brother. Perhaps it was down to the joy that still filled Lucien’s eyes. Perhaps it was down to the true nature of his parentage.

“Lucien, I think Y/N has made some cookies. Why don’t you go and pinch one?” Eris suggested.

“Can I?” He asked, staring at Y/N who had begun to rise to her feet

Y/N stepped aside. “Of course. Go on in.”

Racing past the two lovers, Lucien entered the cabin and was far enough away to not overhear any conversation.

“I’m sorry to turn up with him,” Eris apologised. “He caught me sneaking out and insisted I bring him to wherever I was going.”

Warm hands cupped Eris’s cheeks as Y/N stepped towards him. Eris’s hands easily fell into their place on her hips, pulling her closer. It had been too long since he had been able to hold her this way.

“It is okay, Eris,” Y/N said. “You know that I’ve always wanted to meet your favourite brother.”

Eris groaned. “I cannot believe you told him that. Now that is all he is going to talk about.”

“Well you shouldn’t have made it so obvious, my dear,” Y/N said, quickly pecking his cheek before stepping out of Eris’s embrace. “Now close the door. You’re letting in a draft.”

Eris followed Y/N through the cabin and to where Lucien had situated himself on the settee, three cookies in his lap. Y/N settled down next to him. Eris watched on, simply observing the pair.

“How do you know my brother?” Lucien asked after taking a bite of the cookie, causing crumbs to fall from his lips. Eris couldn’t help but cringe.

“Well, do you know what mates are?” Y/N asked.

Lucien nodded. “Eris told me that mates are people who love love each other.”

Y/N nodded with a soft smile that always made Eris weak at the knees. “Yes, and to put our relationship bluntly, your brother and I are mates.”

Lucien turned his nose up. “Eww, my brother is in love.”

A melodic laugh escaped Y/N. “It isn’t so disgusting. Just wait until you grow up.”

Lucien still continued to scowl. “No. I don’t think so.”

Eris rolled his eyes and walked over to the settee and sat down next to Y/N, his arm wrapping around her shoulders as he pressed a soft kiss to her shoulder.

“Why did Eris sneak out to see you?” Lucien asked. “Why don’t you come to our home?”

Despite the smile resting upon her lips, Eris could see it falter for a second. The Forest House was Y/N’s previous place of work. She admitted once to Eris that she enjoyed it, after all she spent her time baking within the kitchen using equipment she could never afford on her salary. But once her own mother had passed away in the very same kitchen, it had tainted the place for her. Of course, after courting her in secret, Eris helped her leave despite hs fathers protests about her resigning. He had kept her safe within the cabin ever since.

“I don’t believe I would fit in in a grand house,” Y/N admitted. “It seems far to big for me to navigate.”

“I can show you around!” Lucien exclaimed excitedly.

“Perhaps one day,” Y/N replied.

“But–”

“Lucien,” Eris said firmly, cutting off the conversation.

Lucien huffed. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise, sweetie,” Y/N reassured the young boy. “If I ever come to visit, you can show me around. In the meantime, you can come here whenever you like.”

Light filled Lucien’s eyes. “Really?”

Y/N smiled. “Really.”

“Thank you!” Lucien said, hugging Y/N tightly.

Although he didn’t say anything or voice any feeling aloud, Eris felt Y/N’s gaze fall upon him as Lucien hugged her. Her smile was bright as she hugged the younger boy and Eris couldn’t help but fall more in love with her at that very moment. He didn’t think it was possible to love her more, yet he was proved wrong.

It wasn’t long before Lucien was asleep, his head resting in Y/N’s lap while his body rested in Eris’s. The arm wrapped around Y/N’s shoulder’s tugged her closer so Ers could press his lips against her temple.

“I’m sorry about tonight again,” Eris said. “I know we planned for something different.”

“Eris, it is honestly fine,” Y/N said, resting her head against Eris’s shoulder. “Your brother has honestly made my evening a little better.”

Eris scoffed playfully. “What am I? Chopped liver?”

Y/N giggled. “You know you’re not. But it is nice to be surrounded by the sound of a child’s laughter. It is nice to hear someone still holding onto hope and joy in this court.”

With a glance down at his brother, Eris sighed. “Other than you, I am sure he is the only reason I have to smile these days. Father has been pushing me to take on more responsibilities within the court, most of them are far from ideal.”

“It will get better,” Y/N said, her face tilting towards his neck. “Because I want there to finally be a day where I can safely accept our bond.”

“There will be,” Eris said firmly. “I will make sure of it.”

“Good,” Y/N said, her voice becoming sleepy. “Because I want everyone to know that you are mine and I want everyone to know that I am yours.”

His lips connected with Y/N’s forehead and he allowed them to linger. Gradually Y/N’s body further relaxed into his and from her shallower breathing Eris could tell that she was asleep.

Despite the change of events of the evening, Eris couldn’t help but smile. Seeing Y/N with Lucien and the way she cared for him made his heart swell. The heir couldn’t help but think of what it would be like to care for his own child one day, with Y/N right by his side. Y/N’s fingers were tangled within Lucien’s hair as the two slept soundly; Eris smiled.

As Eris rested his head atop of Y/N’s, he drifted into the most comfortable sleep he had had in a long time, dreaming of Y/N and the family they would hopefully have one day.

#eris vanserra x you #eris vanserra x y/n #eris vanserra fluff #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra #eris acotar #acotar x reader #acotar #a court of thorns and roses

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acotarxreader · 7 months ago

Text

High Lord of Game

Azriel x Reader

Synopsis: Cassian and Azriel use a simple competition to decide who deserves the title of High Lord of Game, but at what cost to you?

Warnings: Light smut, males being males

A/N: I hope you enjoy this, my first fic away from my beloved Shadow and Flame. I described this once as "silly goofy" but I was sleep-deprived and I'm no longer sure if that fits it best. Let me know what you think!

If you would like to be added to a general tag list please let me know as I didn't want to tag those who asked to be tagged on Shadow and Flame because I was unsure if that was just for that series

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

“Az, give it over, I am the High Lord of Game”

“Don’t flatter yourself Cass” Azriel shoved his best friend across the path as they walked through the streets of Velaris, Winter coming to a head .

“Rhysand would agree with me” “Fine, you're the biggest whore” Azriel laughed, Cassian feigning offence, striding toward the city centre.

“I think I should wear the crown of High Lord”

“Do I sense a coup amongst my friends?” Rhysand winnowed in between the two, both laughing at the idea.

“Azriel believes he is High Lord of the Game when we all know it's me” Rhysand rolled his eyes nearly from his head at the prospect.

“Surely I am High Lord, I have a mate, therefore I've won the game” silence followed before both Illyrains locked eyes behind Rhysand, both then shoving him forward laughing.

“Don’t depress us while we have our competition Rhys”

“That's it, a competition! Az, I will choose a female for you to pursue and you for me, that will decide it once and for all” Rhysand shook his head side to side gently, happy to have Feyre but ever so slightly missing his single days, the thought dissolving almost instantly as he saw Feyre come out of her gallery laughing with another Fae.

“It's a deal” “A deal” the two shook hands, Rhysand rolling his eyes again.

“Right, that female there Cass, off you go” Azriel pointed to a fae he recognised, Cass not taking a second glance overly confident as always. He sauntered over to the fae sipping lemonade at a table outside a cafe.

“Wait isn't that-” Rhysand was cut off by Azriel laughing at Cassian and the Fae. In one swift movement, the female sloshed her full drink up and into Cassian's face before standing and storming off. Both Azriel and Rhysand were doubled over howling as Cassian stomped over soaking wet.

“Unfair, I already slept with her” Cassian scolded his two friends as they tried to gather themselves together again.

“Oh, you think you’re so funny! Fine, fine, Az your challenge is ... .YN” Azriel and Rhysand immediately stopped laughing, looking towards the Fae Feyre had left, smiling to herself, cracking open a book as Feyre winnowed away.

“Cass, give Azriel at least a small bit of a chance”

“Nah, he set me up for failure, his turn” the three stared at you again, flicking through your book.

“Fine, what are the terms?”

“Great, you have until Starfall, that gives you a chance-” Cassian beamed nudging Rhysand “-to bed her and I will crown you High Lord of Game” Azriel took a moment to ponder these words before shaking his wings slightly and striding over in your direction. A little over four months, easy he thought. Azriel hadn’t really ever taken much notice of you before, only hearing of you from Feyre talking about you volunteering with the outreach programmes. He knew she was fond of you but never introduced you to the group, he was unsure why.

“Hello” he gave his best coy smile towards you, no response from you.

“Hello there” he tried again. No response. Azriel looked over his shoulder to where his brothers stood laughing some distance away. He rolled his shoulders back undeterred and cleared his throat, raising his hand slowly to lower your book from your face.

“Hello YN” you threw him a look through your eyelashes, already over the conversation before it began. Azriel nearly forgot why he stood in front of you, captivated by your eyes.

“Yes?” you raised an eyebrow, Azriels throat completely dried out and he began to cough causing you to scoff lightly before passing him the canteen of water you had in your bag, he politely declined.

“I’m Azriel” he managed with no reply from you. Perhaps this wasn't going to be as easy as he thought.

“What are you reading YN?” “Why does it matter Shadowsinger?” you almost purred sarcastically, tucking the book into your bag.

“Just making conversation” Azriel couldn't help but come off as over it, perhaps this wasn't worth the title he’d win but then you smiled at him and he felt all the tiny hairs on his neck stand with excitement. You stood, throwing your bag across your body.

“Well thanks for the sparkling conversation Shadowsinger” you patted his shoulder pushing past him and back into the street. Azriel turned on his heels to face his smug friends.

*******

For the next two weeks, Azriel made it his mission to show up wherever you did, trying to play it off as the Gods intervention and not his careful planning and reading of Feyre's planner.

“Are you stalking me, be honest” you whipped around to him one day as you left Rita’s having met Feyre and apparently Azriel, for a drink.

“One date and I'll leave you alone” “Why?”

“Why not?” you clicked your tongue at him, thinking of the millions of reasons why not and yet you couldn't help but be pulled in his direction, to his magnetic energy.

You agreed and that's when things began to change so rapidly in both of your lives and by the one-month mark you were accompanying him to family dinners and welcomed with such open arms. Azriel had coaxed you out of your self-inflicted solitary confinement but couldn't get you quite to fully engage with his family, still that air of caution lay within you.

At Feyres birthday dinner Azriel felt it was time to be bold. Something about you, the way you smiled, the way you looked at him, he was becoming putty in your hands, hearing you laugh made him never want to hear anything ever again. Azriel sat next to you at that dinner as he did at every other meal with you, the table’s conversation ebbing and flowing around you both as always, happy to just sit in one another's presence. He couldn't help it, time to be brazen he thought.

Azriels hand found its way slowly to the top of your thigh, almost afraid as though his touch would hurt you and you'd shatter in his hands. He quickly removed his hand at the feeling of you tensing next to him, internally reprimanding himself. Azriel felt a smile grow on his face as your hand gently unfurled the fist he had made with his hand and interlocked your fingers with his, all without breaking eye contact with whoever was speaking. You were glowing, Azriel thought.

“I’m sorry to interrupt the party but I must make tracks for home” You gave a smile to the room sometime later, slipping your hand from Azriel again where he instantly missed it.

“I'll walk with you, I could do with the stretch after the meal” You gave a small smile to Azriels words, fetching your jacket. Cassian gave Azriel a coy smirk causing Azriel to send a shadow to knock Cassian's wine into his shirt. You both left River House as Cassian gave out loudly.

You both idly walked down the winding streets of Velaris, entirely comfortable in the silence that surrounded you until you both reached the bottom gate of your small townhouse.

“Well I had a really nice time YN, maybe see you tomorrow” Azriel moved from you, happy to leave it there, not wanting you to feel pushed.

“Wait Az” you reached, catching him by his suit jacket collar, pulling him down to meet your lips. Electricity coursed through Azriel’s veins, electric, he was being electrified by you.

“Well goodbye, see you tomorrow” you pulled suddenly from him, hurried words spoken as you released his collar and moved to run and hide. His turn to catch you by surprise, he almost swept you back to meet his lips again, every nerve buzzing to life, every cell wanting more.

That set off the whirlwind relationship you both deserved. By February you had both learned to trust one another entirely. He confided in you about his difficult childhood and you about your violent tumultuous previous relationship. In three and a half months you both became inseparable, teaching and taunting one another and so entirely happy whilst taking things slow as you worked through your leftover relationship issues.

Azriel sat in the booth with his friends, you working late with Feyre one weekend evening.

“So should we be getting you fitted for a crown yet Az?” “What are you talking about?” Azriel laughed, Cassian raising an eyebrow, going to explain before you came into the bar with Feyre, instantly joining the friend group, and pulling Azriel to the bar top with you.

************************

Azriel stood with his brothers in their coordinating gem-tone suits basking in the moonlight of Starfall. You arrived with the rest of the females but Azriel didn’t see any of the others the moment his eyes landed on you. A simple slip dress the silver colour of the very stars that shone above. He found his throat dry out again as it had that very first time he looked into your eyes. You kissed his cheek and smiled, he couldn't quite believe his luck to share this night with you. Azriel took your hand, twirling you while you laughed before escorting you to the dance floor where you stayed for what felt like hours.

Azriel showed you around The House of Wind, arriving at the balcony of his room as the spirits began to transverse the sky above. You both radiated such pure peace as the sky filled with lights, Azriel caught your hand in his, pulling you into his chest. You leaned up kissing him, the sky illuminated. His hands went to your hips as yours went around his shoulders, deepening the kiss further.

“I think I’m in love with you Azriel” you said so quietly separating briefly.

“I know I’m in love with you YN” He placed a soft kiss on your forehead before you backed away leading him by the hand back towards his bed. You both kissed there for a moment, growing hungrier and hungrier for one another. Usually, you would have stopped by now, feelings of unresolved trauma in you taking the reins. But not this time.

“Are you okay YN?” you just nodded at him before pulling your slip dress over your head, turning and crawling deeper into the bed, beckoning Azriel with you. He hovered over you, taking you all in, his very own Goddess. He kissed down your neck, checking in with you before removing his own shirt. You traced up the grooves of his abdomen, sending a shiver through his wings as you smiled.

“I wish I could look at you smiling forever” “Maybe you can” he lowered back down to kiss you at your words.

A screech of rusty hinges being twisted separated you both as the door of Azriels room swung open, a very very drunk Cassian stumbling in. Azriel threw his shirt to cover you, launching himself towards the door.

“Get out Cass!” “Oh A-zzz I did-n’t know you wer-e in here” he slurred, Azriel catching the door trying to close it in Cassian's face.

“YN- heeeeeey. Oh shit! A-m I interrupting the cr-owning of the High L-ord of Game” a shiver shot down Azriel at these words, he had forgotten. He had totally and utterly forgotten. You pulled your dress back over your head, slipping from the bed almost laughing in confusion.

“What Cassian?”

“It's gonn-a be your weddin-g story! How roman-tic a bet turning in-to lov-e, who’d have though-t it '' The giant Illyrian took another deep sip from his cup, one he definitely didn't need, your laughter coming to a complete halt.

“Get the fuck out of here Cassian!” Azriel gained the upper hand finally slamming the door in his drunk brother's face. He turned to look at you, sheet white like you’d seen a ghost. You took deep measured breaths, trying to prevent full scale hyperventilation.

“YNN”

“Don’t call me that”

“Please listen to me” you were hurriedly searching for your bag, Azriel had his arms out as though he was trying to stop a wild horse.

“Az-Azriel, was there or was there not a competition or bet or what-the-fuck-ever based around our relationship” you stood before him, wild-eyed, begging and wishing and hoping that what came out of his mouth next would make this all go away.

“Yes…it's why I talked to you that first day- but wait please!” You had pushed past him at these words, straight for the bedroom door, needing out.

“-But YN then I fell for you! I forgot about the stupid competition! I swear! I promise, please, I need you” your back was to him as he spoke these words, fist around the door handle.

“What you need Azriel is for someone to build your fragile masculinity and I’m sorry but I am not the Fae for you” you whipped the door open, stepping over a passed out Cassian and running down the hallway from the mess.

************************

A week had passed, Feyre practically forbidding Azriel from seeing you after hearing of the whole ordeal. Azriel still was yet to speak to Cassian but really his anger was mostly at himself. He completely messed up.

You opened your front door a week after what happened to find Azriel sat at your garden gate. You went to close the door again but he shot towards you.

“Azriel” you glared.

“Please speak to me YN” you sighed, closing the door on him, not ready for it all.

“I'll wait here for you! I’ll wait forever for you” he sat back down on the step and there he stayed for almost 48 hours.

You looked out through your bedroom window at him sitting below in the rain on your doorstep. You sighed before heading down the stairs, opening the door and staring down at the soaked Illyrian.

“Can I please talk to you now?” you sighed at his words, just stepping back from the door beckoning him in. He didn't need to be told twice, darting into your living room. You crossed your arms as you watched him shake the water from his wings.

“I know you probably have questi-” “Why Azriel? Tell me why! I've been racking my brain for over a week and I can’t figure out why you would do this to me” you raised your voice to him, something you’d never done before to him and it rattled him slightly.

“To build my fragile masculinity” he attempted a joke, gaining a pillow thrown at him by you for him to dodge.

“Okay, because I am a big Illyrian idiot who had no idea how hard I’d fall for you! I had no idea someone like you would fall for me! I completely just lost all sense of judgement! He practically slumped to the floor, tears brimming in his eyes.

“Are you…are you crying?” you moved slowly towards the slumped Shadowsinger.

“Yes! I completely fucked up so bad YN and I am so beyond sorry for even causing you any ounce of pain!”

“Get up off the floor Az, you're destroying your fragile masculinity” you gave a small smile, reaching out your hand and pulling him to his feet. You sat down on your sofa, still holding his hand, nudging your head to the side indicating for him to sit. He then explained the details of the competition at your request.

“I know I am the scum of the earth but I promise I totally forgot about it when I started to get to know you and it was beyond the furthest thing from my mind when we…when last week happened” his voice shook at the end of his tale of betrayal.

“I must be crazy” you shook your head side to side.

“No you’re not YN”

“Yes, I am because I believe you” he met your eyes frantically as you rubbed the back of his hand.

“So you still want to be with me?!” “Yes, stupidly” you half laughed and he matched you.

“But you or Cassian pull anything even close to this shit again and I'll castrate you both and throw you into the river” “I'll lend you the blade to do so” Azriel smiled.

“I love you YNN” “I- I can't say that back right now Az” his heart sank for a moment before he spoke again.

“That’s alright YNN, I love us enough for the both of us anyway” Azriel moved to kiss you in the way he dreamed of since that night.

“Ah ah ah-” you pulled back and shook your finger at him smiling.

“-Back to hand holding Az” “Okay, great, I can do that” You both sat there for a moment in that familiar comfortable silence you both thought you'd never feel again.

“Okay that’s enough hand-holding,” you said hurriedly, pushing yourself on top of him to straddle his lap as he sat, kissing him deeply.

“Thank the Gods” he laughed into the kiss.

“You wouldn't have lasted with just hand-holding anyways” you nudged him.

“Wanna bet?” he grinned, gaining a hand into the chest again before sharing a searing kiss once again.

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

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thinemoonshine · 7 months ago

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⋆ ˚｡𝓈𝓉𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓈𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓈𝓉𝓇𝒶𝓅𝓈 ୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

enhypen 8th fem!member x enhypen ot7 genre: fluff, slight angst (the members get upset and protective) type: oneshot word count: 1.3k

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ synopsis: in which (y/n) is given a clothing much too revealing and restrictive that it evokes the members’ protectiveness and heroic sense to win her justice ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

“Alright, idols! Please head into the dressing room for your fittings!! Stylists, please pay close attention to the new sets we brought in— check all their details and sizes and make sure nothing is wrong!” The head stylist reminds as she walks across the room and out into the corridor to grab some other stuff required for Enhypen’s stage.

Heeseung and the boys howl and sing in deep bass voices as they march into the makeup room in a messy line, all dressed in their new stage fits as they still need to check their practicability during dance.

"I nEEd tHe lIGh—" Heeseung freezes entirely at the doorway, causing Jake, Jay and Ni-ki as well as the other members behind to collide with one another's back.

Jay furrows as he flips his hair back before tidying them again with his fingers while Jake who's in front of him stares at the back of a frozen Hee's head.

"Why'd you stop?" He asks their oldest but when he follows the shocked gaze of the wide-eyed bambi, he too mimics his expression— jaw falling and eyes growing twice in size. "(y/n)?? Wha...what are you wearing?"

(y/n) lifts her head to them and instinctively crosses her arms, a feeble smile on her clearly strained expression. "Hey... It's my new set."

The sound of discomfort in her voice breaks their line as the members pour into the room like pool balls scattering across the board.

And as if witnessing a scene right out of a horror film playing right in front of their eyes, they express different forms of fright.

Sunoo with his hand flying to his mouth as a large gasp escapes, Jay and Ni-ki who are completely petrified with the former expressing evident displeasure and the latter just looking onto his shoes before the walls then, at (y/n) before back to his shoes; Sunghoon whose thick brows are scrunched and knitted yet lips tightly pressed and finally, Jungwon with a similar expression but jaw tightened.

In front of the standing mirror in the makeup room is (y/n) who's wearing a pink camisole top with frilly black trims and a thin satin ribbon in the centre of the sweetheart neck line. The fabric around the chest is elastic, hugging her tightly while the cloth that runs below it that reaches just slightly above her hip is sheer.

Her stomach can be seen faintly, blanketed by the translucent material and to make matters worse, it's paired with a low-rise pleated, black miniskirt that seems too short to even be called a miniskirt. Is there such thing as a mini miniskirt? Because that's how it looks to them. It looks more alike a frilly swimsuit than it is a stage outfit, at least where they're from.

It's tiny to the point that her safety shorts seem like normal shorts and at that moment, the Enhypen members are beginning to question the rationality of their staff— and the whole company.

"..W…Wow! Such a cute combo...!" Jake exclaims, trying to be supportive as to not offend or discourage their lone female teammate as he approaches her with an awkward grin. "Where's the jacket? Or a cardigan, maybe?"

(y/n)'s crossed arms lower to her abdomen, trying to conceal it as the sheerness of her camisole isn't doing much. "This is the whole fit, actually..."

"What?" Heeseung blurts as his expression falls and Jay walks over to (y/n), draping his leather jacket over her shoulders to which she quickly slips her sleeves in. "They expect you to perform in this?"

"This isn't practical," Jay comments, now left in his sleeveless shirt as he glares at whatever is in front but his stare softens when he looks at (y/n). "They said this is your new fit? Is there nothing else?"

She shakes her head and both him and Sunghoon emit a heavy sigh of frustration, the latter resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

"This is impossible! You can't perform in this!" Sunoo loudly expresses his disagreement to her ensemble as he tightens the jacket around her, angrily fixing the zip together with an evident scowl. "Can't even give you some tights? Or a cardigan? It's not like they can't afford it!"

Jungwon steps forward and runs his solicitous gaze on the features of her face, reading her expression. "You want to wear something else? You should wear something else. You can't dance in this."

He doesn't even give her the opportunity to reply before he looks around the room, searching for any known stylists and keenly spots one blending in with the makeup artists. "Excuse me! Stylist-nim!"

The said staff turns and she walks over to the crowd of 7 that encircle the subject of their worry. "Yes?"

Jungwon gestures to (y/n) who stands uncomfortably. Being one of the youngest with no significant team role and the only female, she always has to tread more carefully than the others. Her position is after all, more vulnerable and she doesn’t want anything to risk it. Jungwon knows that. "She can't wear this."

The stylist turns to her before her lips form an 'O.' "Ah, this? Yes, this jacket is Jay's so this isn't supposed to—"

She's stopped by both Sunghoon's and Jay's hand that rest on her arm and shoulder respectively, directly preventing her from removing the jacket. Her head lifts, meeting eyes with the two and instantly feeling small at their stern gazes despite their lips that remain closed.

"We know that's Jay's jacket. We put it on her because her outfit doesn't seem appropriate for the stage. She can't perform in that," Heeseung interjects as his eyes travel from her head to toe. "Look, she's getting cold already."

"It's the company's decision so we can't—"

"So, you expect her to go out like this?" Jungwon interrupts and the frigid air around them melts from the fire burning in his usually gentle eyes and unmoving, defensive stance but it doesn’t make things better at the slightest. In fact, it feels worse.

Out of the frying pan and into the fire.

"We can’t change her set without prior notice to the company…” The stylist nervously says and Jay nods understandingly although, his soft frown and tightened lips suggest otherwise.

“Then, she can wear my jacket,” he says and the members give subtle nods, showing their unanimous approval.

Ni-ki stands closer to (y/n) and offers a small smile, sharp eyes gazing down at her before at the jacket. “Yeah, it looks nice like this too.”

“But—”

7 pairs of daunting eyes slice daggers onto her, unnerving her very being and she takes a small, subservient step backwards. They speak no words, not wanting to appear rude and demanding yet the grim aura that emanates and overpowers from the group is enough to stifle the whole room, enough to perturb, rid one of air with a tension so thick, you can cut.

“Um… I’ll see what I can do.”

She scurries away and after what seems like a frantic discussion, they decide to change her outfit. They keep the top, but pairs it with a matching black sweater knit shrug to cover her bare arms and shoulders, and replaces her miniskirt for a pair of high-waisted bootcut jeans that cover up to her waist.

It’s clear how happy (y/n) is after the alterations so it’s almost comedic and yet, heartwarming to see the boys even happier at seeing her twirl and grin in front of the standing mirror.

“Can’t believe they made her wear that,” Heeseung comments bitterly. “How is she supposed to dance?”

“Can’t believe the company even agreed on it,” Jay adds and Jungwon shakes his head with disbelief.

The sound of giddy chuckles fill the room and the older ones watch as Ni-ki and (y/n) have a hand-slapping match, both having too great of a balance to actually fall so they end up looking like those inflatable dummies.

𝜗𝜚 hi, it’s romi here!! thank you so much for reading to the end!! if you enjoyed it, don’t forget to leave a heart and reblog—they give me some motivation, ya know? but please, do not spam like!! X♡X♡, romi ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

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6azia · 2 months ago

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Feminization| Sasuke x m!reader

—summary. Sasuke didn’t care much for Orochimaru’s manipulations. He had no time for anyone but himself. Still, curiosity gnawed at him as he pushed open the heavy door to the laboratory, his Sharingan scanning the room. Or Sasuke finally accepts Orochimarus present.

—content warning. human as present, top sasuke, bottom (Y/N)

—word count. ~2,6

azia’s notes. •_•

𝔎𝔦𝔫𝔨𝔱𝔬𝔟𝔢𝔯-𝔏𝔦𝔰𝔱

Sasuke didn’t care much for Orochimaru’s manipulations. He had no time for anyone but himself. Still, curiosity gnawed at him as he pushed open the heavy door to the laboratory, his Sharingan scanning the room.

Standing in the centre was someone who immediately caught his attention.

(Y/N) looked almost ethereal. Long, flowing hair cascaded down in soft waves, framing delicate features. His body was lean but curved, lithe in a way that made him look feminine at first glance. His eyes, sharp yet disarmingly beautiful, seemed to flicker with mystery, the same intensity that Sasuke found unsettlingly captivating. Clad in a loose-fitting outfit that clung to his frame, there was an air of quiet strength about him that reminded Sasuke of someone who had honed themselves for battle, much like he had.

At first, Sasuke assumed Orochimaru had created a female companion—a concubine, like the sinister promise Orochimaru had hinted at. But something felt off. His eyes narrowed, taking in every detail, and soon the truth clicked.

(Y/N) was not a woman.

Sasuke’s heart skipped a beat.

Orochimaru appeared, sliding into view with his signature grin. "Ah, Sasuke-kun," he hissed softly, "Meet (Y/N). One of my finest creations, meant to be your companion-both in combat and, well... other matters." His voice dripped with sinister amusement.

Sasuke’s eyes darkened. His mouth formed a thin line of displeasure. He knew Orochimaru too well and understood the perversions in his mind. "What are you trying to pull, Orochimaru?"

"Nothing at all, Sasuke-kun," Orochimaru said, circling around (Y/N) like a predator eyeing its prey. "You see, (Y/N) here was made to be perfect. Strong, intelligent... and beautiful." His yellow eyes gleamed. "An ideal partner, wouldn’t you agree?"

Sasuke’s gaze snapped back to (Y/N), and that strange feeling washed over him again. His body reacted before his mind could fully process it. The delicate features, the way (Y/N)’s hair brushed against his shoulders, the confident stance-it all blurred the lines for Sasuke. Everything about (Y/N) felt wrong. And yet, despite that, he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

(Y/N) stared back at Sasuke, lips curling into a faint smirk, as if he was aware of the confusion he was causing. "I was made for this, you know," he said in a soft, but teasing voice. "To train with you. To... please you."

Sasuke flinched internally, though his face betrayed none of it. He had never cared for beauty or desire. He had buried any such feelings under layers of hatred and purpose. But this—this was different. (Y/N) was making him feel something. Something he didn’t understand. And that infuriated him.

Orochimaru chuckled, sensing Sasuke’s inner turmoil. "You see, Sasuke-kun, I thought perhaps a more... appealing presence might help you relax. You’ve been so driven, so tense. (Y/N) could be an escape for you. A release."

"Enough." Sasuke’s voice was cold, but his mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. This was absurd. He wasn’t interested in distractions, especially not in someone like (Y/N). But every glance at (Y/N)’s sharp eyes, at the way his features looked almost too perfect to be real, made Sasuke’s chest tighten. He hated it.

"Do you know what you are?" Sasuke asked, his tone harsh as he addressed (Y/N), trying to push aside the irrational feelings welling up inside him.

(Y/N) smiled faintly, meeting Sasuke’s glare with calm confidence. "I’m whatever you want me to be, Sasuke," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "A rival. A partner. Or more."

The implications of his words hung in the air, but there was no seduction in his tone—only honesty. (Y/N) wasn’t playing games. He was simply stating the truth of his existence. He had been made for Sasuke. Crafted to be everything Sasuke needed, whether in battle or otherwise.

And that made it worse.

Sasuke’s fingers twitched, his Sharingan flaring slightly in frustration. His emotions were spiralling-feelings he hadn’t allowed himself to acknowledge in years. Desire, attraction, confusion-it all bubbled beneath the surface. His mind screamed at him that this was wrong. (Y/N) was a guy. And yet, the beauty, the strength, the sheer presence of (Y/N) made Sasuke question everything.

For so long, Sasuke had thought of attraction, love, and companionship as distractions-chains that held people back from true power. But now, standing in front of (Y/N), those notions blurred. Was it truly wrong? Or was it just something he had told himself to avoid facing emotions he couldn’t afford to have?

"I don’t need a concubine," Sasuke finally muttered, turning his back, his voice colder than before. "I don’t need anything from you."

(Y/N)’s smirk faded, replaced with something more solemn. "I’m not here because of what you need, Sasuke," he said quietly. "I’m here because of what you want."

Sasuke froze, his back still turned. Those words hit too close, too deep. What did he want? He didn’t know. And the fact that he didn’t know infuriated him. He clenched his fists, trying to push the storm of feelings back down where they belonged.

"I’ll train with you," Sasuke finally said, his voice tight, the only concession he was willing to make. "But that’s all."

(Y/N)’s smile returned, but this time, it was softer. Less teasing, more understanding. "As you wish," he replied, watching as Sasuke disappeared down the hallway, leaving behind a silence filled with unspoken tension.

As Sasuke walked away, his mind raced, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop the image of (Y/N) from creeping back into his thoughts—those sharp eyes, that subtle smirk, the strange warmth that came with being around him.

Sasuke had always prided himself on his ability to suppress his emotions, but for the first time, something had slipped through the cracks.

And he hated how much he didn’t hate it.

The training sessions between Sasuke and (Y/N) were intense, silent, and brimming with unspoken tension. Both were highly skilled, their movements fluid and precise, like dancers caught in a rhythm of violence. Each strike met a block; every counterattack was a lesson in power and finesse. But there was something else beneath the surface—something neither of them acknowledged.

Sasuke had tried to ignore it, to focus solely on improving his abilities, but every time he sparred with (Y/N), his mind wandered. The way (Y/N) moved—graceful, fast, and strikingly beautiful—distracted him more than he cared to admit. Their proximity during these sessions was constant, their bodies colliding and pushing against one another, heat radiating between them. Every touch left a spark, every glance sent a ripple of confusion through Sasuke.

Days turned into weeks, and Sasuke found himself drawn to (Y/N) in ways he never had been with anyone. The feeling was dangerous, unsettling, but impossible to ignore.

One evening after an especially cruel experimental session, Sasuke stood in his room, staring blankly at the wall, trying to regain his focus. His body was drenched in sweat, muscles aching, but his mind was elsewhere-locked on (Y/N) again.

He cursed under his breath and headed to the bathroom, stripping off his clothes and stepping into the shower. The cool water cascaded over his skin, washing away the grime of training, but doing little to calm the storm raging inside him. He scrubbed his face, hoping that the water would drown out the confusing emotions that swirled in his chest. Why did (Y/N) affect him so much? Why couldn’t he shake these feelings?

He stayed under the stream for longer than usual, letting the water do its work before he turned it off and stepped out, towelling himself dry. His mind was quiet now, as if the training had finally drained enough of his energy to leave him numb.

Sasuke slipped into his room, only to freeze when he saw (Y/N) sitting casually on the edge of his bed.

(Y/N)’s eyes lifted from the floor, locking onto Sasuke with that same piercing intensity. His hair, long and soft, framed his delicate features in a way that made Sasuke’s breath hitch involuntarily. He was dressed in his usual loose, minima yukata, the kind that left little to the imagination. There was something almost deliberate in the way (Y/N) sat there, as if waiting for Sasuke.

Sasuke felt a wave of frustration and heat wash over him. He wasn’t ready for this-whatever this was.

"What are you doing here?" Sasuke asked, his voice low, trying to keep the edge from showing. He kept his distance, towel draped loosely around his waist. His damp hair falling into his eyes, covering their calculating gaze.

(Y/N) tilted his head slightly, a faint smile playing on his lips, as if Sasuke’s reaction amused him. "You seemed distracted today, Sasuke," he said softly, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. "I thought you might need to talk."

Sasuke’s eyes narrowed. "I don’t need to talk." He crossed his arms, forcing his gaze to stay steady, even though his heart was pounding in his chest. "If you’re here for more training, we’ll do it tomorrow."

(Y/N)’s smirk didn’t fade. Instead, he stood, moving closer to Sasuke with slow, deliberate steps. His presence filled the room, and Sasuke couldn’t help but notice how every step brought a subtle warmth, a strange electricity, to go down his back.

"I wasn’t talking about training," (Y/N) murmured, his eyes flickering with something unreadable as he stopped just a few feet from Sasuke. "I’m talking about you."

Sasuke’s breath caught in his throat, his pulse quickening despite his best efforts to stay calm. His body tensed as (Y/N) came closer, and though he should have stepped back, he couldn’t. Something rooted him to the spot.

"What about me?" Sasuke asked, voice barely more than a whisper now. His eyes met (Y/N)’s, and for the first time, he couldn’t look away.

(Y/N)’s gaze softened, his sharp features becoming almost gentle. "You’re holding something back," he said quietly, his voice like a soft caress. "You push yourself harder than anyone I’ve ever met, but there’s something eating at you. Something you’re afraid to face."

Sasuke’s jaw clenched, his frustration mounting. How could (Y/N) see through him so easily? How could he know? "You don’t know anything about me."

(Y/N) moved closer, closing the small distance between them, his hand gently grazing Sasuke’s bare arm. The touch was light, barely there, but it sent a shockwave through Sasuke’s body. He felt like he was on the edge of something, something he couldn’t understand or control.

"I know enough," (Y/N) said softly, his breath warm against Sasuke’s skin. His eyes flickered downward, then back up, meeting Sasuke’s gaze with an intensity that left no room for doubt.

Sasuke’s chest tightened, his mind racing. He should push (Y/N) away. He should stop this now before it went any further. But his body betrayed him, frozen in place as his emotions warred inside him.

And then, (Y/N) did something Sasuke wasn’t prepared for. He placed his small hands on Sasuke's bare shoulders and slowly brought them down at the exposed pecs. Sasuke's breath hitched at the contact, goosebumps start to form on his skin and his small buds start to harden under the watchful eyes of the other, which were captured by him since they met.

(Y/N) leaned into his beloved personal space more, standing lightly on his tiptoes. Leaning in, (Y/N) was only inches away from the ravenette. Sasuke looked with a blank expression at the other, the only thing betraying him was his slightly flushed face, ragged breath and the ever so slightly lift of the towel around him.

”Just relax” breathed (Y/N) against the Uchiha‘s lips. Their lips met in a experimental kiss at first, which turned quickly to a heated one with Sasuke’s hand gripping the other's waist.

Sasuke pulled slightly back, “You are too pretty” he murmured. (Y/N) smiled innocently back at him with his pretty eyes.

The ravennette took some steps back so the other was pushed against a wall. A leg nestled it selfe between (Y/N)’s slowly forming bulge, just pushing so slightly to pull a moan from him.

“Stop teasing” (Y/N) whined out and tried to free Sasuke from the towel. However his hand got gripped faster than he could blink and his two hands were held in an iron grip besides his head.

(Y/N) tried to thrust his hips a bit up to relieve some tension, which the Uchiha let happen for his own amusement.

A warm hand found itself inside the loose robe and Sasuke let his index finger slowly glide from the underside of the other cock to its tip, already feeling some pre-building up.

(Y/N) made a show out of it. Moaning out loud and throwing his head back exposing some purple marks that are starting to show.

Sasuke noticed that the moaning and sudden thrust became more irregular, the tugs on (Y/N)’s armes alway harder.

With one final squeeze and one surprisingly deep moan (Y/N) body stilled in an arched position and hot liquid spurs into Sasuke's already warm skin.

He took his now dirty hand out and observed his now dirty skin. With a hum, Sasuke went back to the bathroom letting (Y/N) compose himself again.

He had a slight smirk he went back feeling over his covert hand, “We conna have fun restoring my clan together” he said before shutting the door.

#kinktober #kinktober 2024 #naruto #bottom male reader #sasuke uchiha #sasuke x reader

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maxdibert · 1 month ago

Note

Lily doesn’t seem to think she’s done anything wrong by insulting his poverty and aligning herself with his abusers - only Severus is remorseful, and the trauma that caused him to lash out was considerably worse than the trauma that caused her to lash out. She believes he deserves it, as apparently she believed his abuse was amusing. And I’d be totally fine with this from a character perspective because it’s the teenage condition to be self-centred and poor at self-reflection. But the *narrative* (and the author in interviews) doesn’t believe Lily was in the wrong here. And it believes Lily made the correct moral judgment on the two boys when she casts Severus off for his crime and falls in love with James despite his. But I just don’t buy into that framing, and I didn’t even when I was 10. The use of the word ‘mudblood’ while in considerable distress is not a greater sin than sexual assault.

Lily feels no remorse, nor does she think it's wrong to half-smile at the bully who’s targeting your so-called friend. She doesn’t even consider that this might be why your supposed best friend insulted you in the first place. But here’s the thing: this isn't Lily's fault. It's J.K. Rowling's fault, and the way she portrays ethical dilemmas throughout the series, blurring the lines between what's morally right and wrong. Now, if you’ll allow me, before diving into the dynamics between Lily and Severus, I’d like to provide some context as to why I believe the biggest issue with many of the characters’ attitudes in the series lies in Rowling’s constant attempt to project her own moral compass through her writing. In doing so, she falls into repeated inconsistencies and creates a narrative that’s all over the place when it comes to how certain characters are treated.

Rowling is never consistent. She portrays Draco Malfoy as an irredeemable, terrible character because he’s a rich kid spoiled by his parents, using his power and influence to bully those weaker than him. Yet, she gives James the benefit of the doubt, even though he behaved exactly the same way: a rich bully who used his status and his friends to gang up on the vulnerable. From early interviews, Rowling claimed Pansy Parkinson is practically the reincarnation of Satan, even though, of all the antagonists, Pansy is probably one of the least relevant and harmless. This is simply because Rowling projected onto her the stereotypical “mean girls” who mock those who read and study—something Rowling clearly couldn’t stand. On the other hand, she glorifies characters like Ginny, who has a pretty nasty attitude towards any girl she doesn’t consider cool or "not like the other girls." Ginny treats Fleur like a witch when Fleur has done nothing wrong—her only crime is being incredibly beautiful, knowing it, and not constantly apologizing for it. And this treatment of female characters throughout the series deserves a proper gendered critique, because they fall into every stereotype and archetype set by the traditional male gaze.

In Rowling's world, there are always two kinds of women. When it comes to younger, adolescent characters, there are the "good" women—those who don’t fit the typical feminine mold, the weird ones (like Luna), the tomboys who are “one of the guys” (like Ginny), or the overly studious ones who don’t have time for frivolous things like reading magazines or talking about boys (like Hermione). In other words, the cool girls, the ones who are supposed to be role models, are those who "aren’t like the other girls." But not because they’re deconstructing gender roles consciously—they just happen to embody the fantasy of the woman who can give you kids while still being one of your bros. It’s a common male fantasy, where women abandon the graceful, ethereal, delicate image to fit into a set of needs the modern man has. These are "manic pixie dream girls," hiding a deeply internalized misogyny as they are presented as individuals opposed to the “other” women—the “other” being less cool because they lack traditionally masculine traits, and thus are less than. We see this not only with how Fleur is treated but also with the disdain or prejudice Hermione shows towards girls like Lavender or the Patil sisters, just because they act like normal teenagers instead of validating themselves through academia to compensate for their inferiority complex (cough, cough).

Then we have the adult female characters, where Rowling’s toxic and incredibly conservative view of motherhood kicks in. Except for McGonagall, the rest of the adult women who are seen in a positive light are either already mothers or end up becoming mothers. And for them, motherhood is everything. They are mothers first and women second, in every case. Lily is Harry’s mother, who sacrifices herself for him. Molly is the Weasley matriarch, whose entire life revolves around her kids—she hasn’t even looked for a job (which wouldn’t be a bad idea, considering the family’s financial situation), nor does she have any aspirations beyond knitting sweaters and worrying about her children. Even Narcissa, a negative character throughout most of the saga, earns her redemption solely because she loves her son and is willing to risk everything for him. Nymphadora Tonks, a 25-year-old woman, ends up pregnant by a man 13 years older than her and goes from being an independent Auror with her own life to a passive housewife waiting for her man, who is off having an existential crisis. The adult women in the saga aren’t independent individuals—they’re extensions of their children. And any woman who isn’t a perfect, self-sacrificing mother (like Merope Gaunt) is either a psychopath or portrayed as a terrible person.

What I’m getting at is that Rowling is far from impartial in the moral narrative of the story. In fact, she’s absolutely inconsistent. She presents characters she sells as "good," whose attitudes are absolute trash, yet she continues to insist that they’re good and perfect. This is especially obvious with her female characters, because throughout the seven books, she constantly emphasizes her ideal of the "perfect woman" in terms of tastes, motivations, and behavior. Hermione is a self-insert, Ginny is probably a projection of who Rowling wishes she could’ve been, and Luna is the quirky girl who isn’t “threatening” to other women, and is treated with a condescending, paternalistic lens. They are either Rowling’s aspirational figures or archetypes that don’t bother her, or they’re reduced to filler characters who are mistreated by the narrative.

When it comes to Lily, the problem is that Rowling spends half the saga painting her as some kind of Mother Teresa. She’s the quintessence of motherhood—but not a conscious, modern motherhood, but one rooted in traditional Judeo-Christian ideals. This is the kind of motherhood that can do no wrong, the one that represents women because, in this view, a woman can’t be fulfilled unless she’s a mother. Lily dies for her son, and that love creates a divine, protective magic. She’s beautiful, popular, and one of the most popular guys at school is after her. Clearly, she must be a saint, because everyone describes her as such. And while the narrative does question James’s perfection, even if vaguely and unsuccessfully, it doesn’t do the same with Lily. Harry questions his father’s actions but never his mother’s. He never stops to think about how problematic it is that his mother almost laughed at Severus or refused to hear his apology, or that she couldn’t empathize with what he was going through, knowing full well the kind of situation Severus had at home. When a narrative tells you something but never shows it, and worse, never questions it, that’s a problem. Something doesn’t add up. Rowling is obsessed with showing her own moral line through her characters and doesn’t realize how incoherent it is to portray Lily as someone who always does the right thing when what we actually see of her suggests that, if she really liked James all along, not only is she a hypocrite, but she’s also quite superficial with questionable principles. But this is never addressed, never explored. It would be fascinating if it were, giving the character more depth and making her more relatable. But Rowling brushes all this aside, as she does with so many other things, because to her, Lily was a role model, despite the fact that anyone with common sense can see she was just a terrible friend who got tired of justifying why she hung out with a poor, scruffy kid and ultimately decided it made more sense to date the rich, handsome bully.

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edytae · 5 months ago

Text

Rush³: Bed (smut-mature) ft Kim Taehyung x Reader

(do not interact if you are underage)

pairing: non-idol!Taehyung x (female) reader

summary: just a short porn

rating: 18+

genre/warnings: smut, spit play, dirty talk, oc is whiny and desperate, unprotected sex (always use protection!)

word count: 6.8K

masterlist | part1 rush: concert | part2 rush: club | part3: rush: bed

——–——

You and mostly Taehyung fell tired after the refreshing shower. He teased you that the two of you were getting old. “We would’ve been fucking like rabbits if it was five years ago.” He groaned as he sat on the couch with a backache after cleaning the mess you made on your couch. You chuckled tiredly.

You were clasping onto your glass with all your strength and casually drinking as Taehyung started munching on some leftover pasta with beer. You were too horny and you wanted him to fuck you again. As Taaehyung seemed too tired and hungry, you opted for drinking.

“You are an actual goddess for saving these for me.” He was obnoxiously moaning with a mouth filled with pasta.

You couldn't help but be drawn to the way he savoured each bite, his enjoyment apparent in the way his eyes fluttered shut briefly with every mouthful.

You look up Taehyung's side profile. His fluffy hair wasn’t styled, his pretty handsome face moisturised with your expensive stuff, lips moisturized by greasy pasta. You were still yearning for him after he made you ruin his trousers with only a few of his fingers.

His natural brown hair curled to his forehead to accentuate his strong jawline and captivating features. The weariness of the day lingered in the lines around his eyes, yet his gaze remained as striking and magnetic as ever.

Taehyung's casual attire, comfortable T-shirt and loose-fitting sweatpants, contrasted with the elegance he naturally exuded. With a beer in hand, his Adam's apple bobbed gently as he took a long, refreshing sip. His eyes met yours, and the shared warmth between you filled the room, creating an atmosphere that was both comforting and intimate. Despite the fatigue that weighed on both of you, you couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude for having him by your side. Your house feels like a home when he is in it. He makes the room lit up, he makes you feel alive, and aware of time and place.

“Whatcha looking at?” He asked.

“Looking at something pretty.” You said, eyeing him up and down. Oh, the soju shot you had while he warmed up the leftovers was definitely kicking in. He fluffed the hair at his nape like a princess and blew you a kiss. Even though he could return for some mindless TV, you had soju-brain so you continued to eat him up with your eyes.

Taehyung's presence was magnetic, drawing your gaze as if he were the centre of your universe. Every aspect of his appearance seemed meticulously crafted by an artist's hand, his every feature melding together to form a breathtaking portrait of masculine allure.

As he leaned back on his couch, his form exuded a relaxed confidence, an easy grace that spoke of a man comfortable in his own skin. The way he moved, the way he spoke, he had the hallmarks of a natural charisma, drawing you in with an almost gravitational force. Each detail, from the way he sipped his drink to the way he absentmindedly chewed, only served to deepen your fascination.

You took your third shot of the night. The crispy alcohol burnt through your throat as Taehyung looked at you questioningly. His face squeezed into a worried look.

“You’re so fucking hot.” You blurred, your core gaping because of his fingers; but he didn’t need to know that.

Taehyung grinned, “Yeah? You still have orgasms left in you, baby?” He asked you in pity. You licked your lips and stared at him.

When he swallowed his last bite along with the last sip of his beer, you literally jumped on him. You couldn’t wait anymore “Y/N!” He squeaked.

“Tae… Kiss me…” You whined when you straddled his thighs and started kissing every bit of skin you could reach, Taehyung knew the second round had just begun.

“Baby!” He scolded you as you kissed around his face. “You gotta stop kiss-attacking me…” He whined but sounded so pleased.

“Why not?” You stopped kissing him immediately with a fake pout. “You don’t like my kisses?”

An hour ago, your body was jelly on him. He quite literally made you lose your mind as he finger fucked you to another planet. Now, you were back to demand more of his sweet pleasure.

Taehyung loved how you easily got into a playful zone and fucking play with him as if he was your doll. You moulded him to your pleasure. “I- I love them, baby…” He whispered quietly as you took your spot on him. Your weight on his thighs was spectacular. Your freshly washed hair was still slightly damped, making Taehyung shiver at the gentle cold feeling.

The shower was sweet and tender. He helped you wash your hair and was surprised by the amount of hair that fell out. Then, he let you wash his hair too. You played with his hair and gave him a mohawk with your shampoo. You washed his body with your new body wash– the ocean breeze scent was going to be a new hit in Taehyung’s shower routine. Your hand timidly wrapped around his length, “I squirted a gallon, and you haven’t cum yet.”

Taehyung, instead, interlaced your fingers with his and made out with you. “It’s fine, baby… Let’s enjoy our shower.”

After the shower, while you put on your skincare, he stood right behind you–with your hideous robe around his waist. He looked delicious. Wet Taehyung was fucking sexy than everything. While the robe threatened to fall down, he leisurely decided to shave. Unfortunately, you have run out of razors for him so he opted for using your Gillette Venus.

“Is this new?” He pointed at the razor head. He never had this good-looking razor. The purple colour was pretty too.

“I use it before going to laser removal. I used it a couple of times.” You watched him shrug and put on shaving cream.

You warned him with a squeal, “Taehyung, you know I shaved down there with that.”

Taehyung looked at you blankly. “You know, down here…” You pointed with your hand but he remained confused.

“I am sure I have an unused one. Let me–”

Taehyung’s reaction was priceless. “Y/N. I would smear myself with your cunt any second of the day and have you for breakfast, lunch and dinner. So, I don’t mind if this little razor touched your little mound. Got it?”

You looked at him through the mirror and nodded. He hummed lowly and started shaving. You liked his little stubble beard. It made him look more mature and in your opinion, yummy. However, your little mound– as he called it– got irritated whenever he ate you out. His choice was clear between eating you out as hard as he wanted or his bad excuse of a beard.

You were eager to put on skincare on him after he shaved, but both of you were very tired. You pouted as you slathered yourself in body lotion, “I need you to be my little spa girl, but I am sooo tired, TaeTae…”

Taehyung laughed at you as you messily rubbed lotion on your legs. He followed you to your room with a pink floral towel around his waist. He enjoyed being in your company, soaking your slightly horny domestic side.

“Taehyung…” Taehyung flinched out from his daydreaming as you groaned over his crotch. Your hips were rocking against him like a teenager. When he looked at your face, he could only focus on your lustful eyes.

“Yes, baby?” He answered back. He let himself get lured into you.

“I need you again.” You whispered.

“You need me to do what, baby?” He threaded your hair fringe behind your ear.

“I need your dick… Taehyung, please…” You tried to chase his dick but he wasn’t supporting an erection. His raging dick had just come down.

“Taehyung please…” You cried on his lap.

Taehyung chuckled with a pitying tone. “You are such a needy girl, baby. I can’t–” His teasing abruptly stopped when you cried. “Y/N?” He yelled. “Why are you crying, baby? What’s wrong?” His worried tone made you feel guilty.

“I–hh- am s-stil so w–et f-for you, Taehyung.” You wouldn’t believe you were shedding tears because of how horny you were.

Taehyung’s face softened, “Y/N… I– You are one crazy girl, you know that right?” He wiped the tears off of your cheeks and pecked them gently.

“You make me crazy…” You wheezed out as he shook his head.

“Unbelievable, Y/N.” He was amazed at your unwavering neediness.

“You can’t let me be dickless...” You kissed down his throat, pushing and pulling him all the places as you writhed on his spreaded thighs.

“Be dickless?” He chuckled. He melted into the couch as he let you take reign.

You shrugged. You didn’t want him to speak, you needed his pretty lips on you. “You never fuck me.” You cried but no tears came out. You were the epitome of his pampered princess.

“I never fuck you? How many times did we hang out this week?” He interrogated.

“Not enough.” You didn’t like how he was still talking, but it was intentional. He would do anything to just stretch your patience thin.

“Three days a week right?” He did the math for you.

“I need seven.” You shrugged and pushed his head back to kiss on his neck.

“Seven days a week?” Taehyung chuckled as he let you be his little vampire.

“24/7. All day.” Kissing him wasn’t enough. You had enough of kissing his delicious skin for minutes and you were still starving.

You bit his soft cheeks and jaw, making him hiss playfully. “Are you hungry, baby? I would’ve shared my leftovers with you if you asked.” Taehyung pointed at the empty plate on the coffee table.

“Tae… I wanna fuck you so hard…” You spurred while pulling his useless pants away. Taehyung promised himself to never be clothed around you. It seemed they made your job only more difficult.

“You can’t.” Taehyung ripped your hands away as your eyes widened with worry. You pulled yourself back to his knees, giving him space.

“I can��t?” You asked with worry.

Taehyung grinned, “I just cleaned the couch. We need to go to the bed if you want to fuck me.” He pointed to the huge wet patch on the couch.

You rolled your eyes. “You are so mean, Taehyung.” You lunged forward to hug him.

“You really thought I wouldn’t want this, huh?” Taehyung teased.

You shrugged, “You have every right to…”

Taehyung caressed your back softly as you kissed his pretty shoulders.

“Let’s go to bed so you can fuck me, okay?” He offered.

Your eyes found him, “I will fuck your brains out, Kim Taehyung.” You held his face with your one hand and pursed his lips like a fish.

“G-gewd.” He sputtered out. His drool smeared into your hand.

You wrapped your legs around Taehyung’s waist as he got ready to stand up. “Be careful grandpa.”

Taehyung rolled his eyes, yes he was getting old but he wasn’t that old yet. Just to prove to you how strong he was, he got up, tossed you up slightly with his hold on your ass. He gave them a nice squeeze, which earned him a squeal.

Taehyung thought he was in for a treat, but as soon as his back hit the bed, you started whining for dick. Again.

“You are LITERALLY the hottest man I have ever seen.” You clawed at his biceps.

“Yeah, butter me up.” Taehyung smirked. You could do some foreplay, but there was no point when he made you squirt every drop of essence.

“No! I am not buttering you up. I am just telling my scientific observation.” When you pulled his shirt up, your mouth watered just like the first time. He was exciting every single time.

Taehyung rested against your pillows as you pulled his sweatpants off too. He chuckled when your eyes went hazy as your core hit his hardness. He was your sweet drug and you were his. “A-and what I say is the l-law…”

“Is that so?” He grabbed your chin so he wouldn’t lose a second of your pleasure. You let him hold your head as you hummed. “Who made you the president?” Taehyung asked.

Your hands piteously grabbed his chest. Your grinds were enough to calm you down. His hardness glided between your folds as you dropped your head back to feel every bit of skin.

“You messy girl. Look what have you done?” Tae scolded you as your cream smeared all over his shaft and made him leak out precum onto his stomach.

When you looked where you met him, you saw your lips gliding against his length smoothly. Your excuse of thin panties was useless as Taehyung pulled them to the side. A cute flinch hit you every time Taehyung’s head hit your clit. Your mind was too busy to answer him as Taehyung noticed. You were long gone.

“Tae…” You murmured, now you were gripping his bicep and his other free hand as he supported your moves.

“Yeah, baby?” He quietly asked.

“Top me.” You looked at him with begging eyes, almost forcing tears to your eyes once again.

Taehyung closed his eyes as he dropped his face to the side. His face was adorned with a bashy smile. You kissed the side of his throat, “Please, baby. I really, really need you. You fuck better than I do. You know I have weak thighs.”

Taehyung’s smile only grew bigger, “I fucking knew it.” He said in a pleased tone.

You realised how close you were to crying when your runny nose made an appearance. “W-what did you know?”

Taehyung wrapped his arms around you and in one swift motion, he rolled you under him. “That you would be a fucking pillow princess. Again.”

You gasped, “I– You said everything I want!” Your voice wavered.

Taehyung kissed your forehead, “Yes, my princess.” He took his place between your thighs. His view was somewhat obstructed by your panties. His knees dug inside the mattress as his torso hovered over you.

Your hips bucked up to him at the sweet pet name. You held his pretty waist and tried desperately to hump him.

Taehyung was adorned by your eagerness. He was also very much accustomed to your cute antics. He needed to fuck your brains out, or else he would have you begging him all weekend. No need to lie, he loved both of the options.

“You need to be fucked, princess?” He rubbed his nose down your neck. His warm breath was tickling all of your senses.

“Yes! If you don’t, I think I’ll explode.” Your desperation further amused Taehyung. His wet tongue swiped against your chest, just above your breasts.

“We’ll see if you explode, then…” Taehyung murmured against your skin. His spit-covered lips kissed the whole of your neck before aiming for your breasts. His hands easily grabbed one with a firm touch.

“Tae…” You called his name as Taehyung suckled your nipples. The image was so intoxicating, you couldn't help but moan, your hands threading through his hair, pulling him closer. Taehyung's eyes flicked up to meet yours, a smirk playing on his lips as he lavished attention on your breasts, his tongue swirling around your sensitive nipples.

His other hand traced a path down your body, caressing your sides, your hips, before finally dipping between your thighs.

And you had the audacity to whine.

“I just fucked the shit out of you and you still shiever when I touch this little mound.” Taehyung groaned. His hand cupped your core harshly.

“I can’t help it.” You hiccuped when he circled your clit. The cotton of your panties burnt your skin.

Taehyung mimicked your pout. He was so adorable and hot and sexy and attractive…

Your train of thought was interrupted when his fingers deftly slid under the waistband of your panties, pulling them down and tossing them aside. You shivered as the cool air brushed against your exposed skin, your body arching instinctively toward him.

Taehyung's eyes, dark and filled with a mix of lust and affection, met your core. When he fingered you earlier this night, he couldn’t see your delicious cunt, so he needed to take his well-earned dessert.

He leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss on your lips. Your arms immediately wrapped around his head, locking him into the kiss. Taehyung gladly kissed you back, and let you play with his tongue.

When he realised you were out of breath, he let you pull his hair, but a string of spit connected your lips.

"Out of br–" Before Taehyung could finish asking, you whined.

"Spit into my mouth, Tae..."

His eyes darkened with desire at your request. He growled a dirty curse before his teeth caught your bottom lip. “Pwease…” you whined under him, your plea dripping with desperation.

He pulled back slightly, his gaze locked onto yours, intense and unwavering. “Beg me.” His lower body pressed into yours, his hand grabbing your breast with a firm squeeze. His voice was commanding, filled with authority as he leaned closer.

Your voice caught in your throat, your breath hitching from the intensity of the moment. “P-please…” you stammered, your need palpable.

“Not good enough,” he murmured, his grip tightening slightly. “I want to hear you beg, baby. Show me how much you want it.”

You took a deep breath, your entire body trembling with need. “Please, Taehyung, please spit into my mouth. I need it. I need you,” you begged, your voice finally finding the right note of desperation.

A satisfied smirk played on his lips. “Good girl,” he praised. “I love it when you’re so needy for me.”

He moved closer, his hand moving to your jaw, holding it firmly as he hovered over your lips. The anticipation was almost too much to bear as you watched him, your eyes wide and pleading.

“Open wide,” he commanded, his voice low and gravelly. You obeyed instantly, your mouth opening as you looked up at him with a mixture of need and submission.

“Such a dirty girl,” he murmured, a dark chuckle escaping his lips. “And all mine.” He let a string of spit fall from his mouth into yours, the act raw and primal. You moaned, closing your eyes as you savoured the sensation, your body responding to the dominance he exuded.

“Does my baby like that?” he asked, his tone both teasing and possessive. “Do you like it when I take control?”

“Yes, Tae,” you breathed, your voice trembling. “I love it. I love you.”

“Good,” he growled, his lips brushing against your ear. “Because I’m not done with you yet. I’m going to make you beg for me again and again.”

You shivered at his words, your body aching for more of his touch, more of his dominance. “Please, Taehyung, don’t stop,” you pleaded, your hands gripping his shoulders.

“I won’t, baby,” he promised, his voice a low rumble. “I’m going to give you everything you want. Just keep begging for me.”

“Yes, Taehyung, please,” you whimpered, your need for him growing with every passing second. “I need you. I need you so much.”

“That’s my good girl,” he whispered, his breath hot against your skin.

“Please, Taehyung, please,” you repeated, your voice a desperate plea.

With a smirk, Taehyung leaned down, his lips capturing yours in a fierce, possessive kiss. The intensity of the moment consumed you, and you knew that with Taehyung, you would always be begging for more.

Taehyung got a hold of his dick and pointed his head right below your clit. Your warm skin and the sacred skin contact made his insides liquid.

Your back bucked with a pathetic moan.

Taehyung’s large palm firmly hit against your tit. “ Stop crying. I’ll feed you dick now.

His words sent a thrill through you as his hand soothed the skin of your chest. His free hand was wrapped around his cock deliciously. He stood tall and hard between your legs and only caused your mouth to water.

His words sent a thrill through you as his hand soothed the stinging skin of your chest. His free hand was wrapped around his cock deliciously. He stood tall and hard between your legs, causing your mouth to water with anticipation. The way he handled himself, every move deliberate and commanding, only heightened your desire.

He smirked, watching your reaction, and slowly dragged his length along your folds, teasing you. “You want it that bad, don’t you?” he taunted, his voice a low, seductive growl.

“Yes, please, Taehyung,” you whimpered, your hips lifting towards him, desperate for more.

“Pathetic,” he murmured, almost to himself, as he continued to tease you, rubbing his tip against your clit, sending jolts of pleasure through your body. “So needy and desperate. Look at you, so ready to be filled.”

You could feel yourself getting wetter, the anticipation almost unbearable. “Please, Taehyung, I need it,” you begged, your voice trembling with want.

With a smug grin, Taehyung finally gave in, sliding himself into you with one smooth motion, filling you completely. You gasped, clutching at his arms, nails digging into his skin as he set a steady, relentless pace.

“Look at you, taking me so well,” he praised, his eyes locked onto yours, a mix of lust and admiration. “Such a good girl.”

His words made you shiver, adding to the intense pleasure building inside you. “More, Taehyung, please,” you pleaded, your body moving with his, matching his rhythm.

“Greedy little thing,” he growled, increasing his pace, driving deeper with each thrust. “You can’t get enough, can you? Always wanting more.”

You could only moan in response, your mind lost in the overwhelming sensations. His harsh grip on your hips, the way he stretched you, filled you—it was everything you needed and more.

You sputtered. Taehyung was unclear about what you were saying.

“I can’t hear you, baby.” His voice was rough as he continued to pound you even harder. “Got a huge dick in your tummy?” He laughed as you grabbed his forearms.

Taking a deep breath, you summoned your courage. "C-choke me..." you stammered. His thrusts slowed down as he processed your words. You repeated yourself, more firmly this time, "I want your hand around my neck. Please... Give me your hand."

A dark, lustful look crossed Taehyung's face. His grip on your hips tightened as he leaned in close, his breath hot against your ear. "You want me to choke you, baby?" he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. "You think you can handle that?"

“Yes, please,” you whispered, your eyes pleading.

A slow, wicked grin spread across his face. “Desperate little slut,” he murmured, his hand slowly travelling up to your neck. He didn’t squeeze, didn’t apply any pressure—just let his hand rest there, a promise of control.

You gasped, the anticipation almost too much to bear. Your core frantically squeezed around him.

Taehyung chuckled darkly. “You love being my doll, don’t you?” He put pressure on your neck for only a moment. Your core was flooded with juice as your breath was hindered for only a second.

“Yeah… I’m your–s-s.” You forced out. Your legs were sore, your core was begging to find release.

“Good girl,” he praised, his hand back to being loose. When he noticed your frustration, he changed the tempo. Rather than going shallow but fast, he pushed himself further in with a slow tempo.

He leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear. “You’re mine, understand? Only mine.”

You sniffed, pleasure started to become too much. “Yeah… Taehyung…” You weakly moaned his name. If he didn’t stop, you could cum, very soon.

Sensing your impending climax, Taehyung’s eyes gleamed with a mix of possessiveness and delight. “So close, baby? You gonna cum for me?” he whispered, his voice dripping with dark allure.

“Yes… so close,” you whimpered, your body arching into his, craving every inch of contact. You held on to his arm on your neck for emotional support.

“Not yet,” he growled softly, his hand on your neck tightening slightly as his thrusts slowed down even more. “I want to feel you completely, every part of you.”

Then, to your utter frustration, Taehyung stopped moving, staying buried deep inside you. The sudden stillness sent a shiver through your entire body. Only your fast heartbeat and his deep breaths filled your ears.

He was still in you, planted as far as he could go. "Taehyung, please," you begged, your voice a desperate whisper.

He tsked, “You can’t even wait a second, can you?”

Your hips bucked against him involuntarily, and you whimpered, tears of frustration gathering in your eyes.

“Aww… Babygirl doesn’t like being teased.”

Your body responded immediately, your muscles tightening around him, your moans growing louder. "Oh god, Taehyung... yes!" you cried out, the pleasure building to an unbearable peak.

“I’ll– I will cum now… Please, TaeTae…” You screamed. With a deep long chuckle from the hot man above you, you reached the peak of your orgasm.

Your climax hit you like a tidal wave, crashing over you in a wave of pure ecstasy. Your body convulsed, your moans turning into a high-pitched cry as you clung to him, your nails digging into his back.

He continued to pound into you, his thrusts becoming harder and faster. "There you go… Such a good girl to cum for me, baby. No, no, don’t stop. I want to feel you cum all over my cock properly." He demanded, his voice thick with desire.

Taehyung groaned, the sight and feel of your climax pushing him over the edge. He buried himself deep inside you, his own release washing over him, mingling with yours in a blissful symphony of pleasure.

As you both came down from the high, he loosened his grip on your neck, his hand moving to gently caress your cheek. “You did so well, baby,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “So perfect.”

He tsked, “You can’t even wait a second, can you?”

Your hips bucked against him involuntarily, and you whimpered, tears of frustration gathering in your eyes.

“Aww… Babygirl doesn’t like being teased,” he mocked, a cruel smirk curling on his lips. “Pathetic little thing, so desperate for my cock.”

You squirmed beneath him, trying to create any friction to ease the intense need burning inside you. “Please, Taehyung,” you begged, your voice cracking. “I need you.”

His grip on your neck tightened, making you gasp. “You think you can make demands?” he sneered. “You’ll take what I give you and be grateful.”

“Please,” you whimpered, your hands clutching at his arms. “I can’t take it anymore.”

“You’re going to have to,” he growled, his hips still not moving.

When your bottom lip pursed, his hunger awakened. He leaned down closer to you, leaving your neck free.

“Oh, babygirl…” He whimpered against your chin and took a bite of your bottom lip. It was soft between his teeth. With a slight pressure, he could taste your skin. Instead, he licked on them. Your mouth immediately fell open for the intrusion as Taehyung pushed his tongue in.

While you played a tug war with his tongue, your sporadic clenches on him continued. Despite not being actively fucked, you were getting tighter and tighter around him.

His eyes gleamed with satisfaction at your desperation. "Naughty girl," he sneered when your hands travelled down his back to push his hips deeper.

He retracted his wet appendage from your mouth. Still hovering over you, he murmured, “What are we going to do to these grabby hands?” He asked with mock worry.

Without letting you speak up–not that you had any capacity, Taehyung made a decision.

A decision that grew you wetter.

He grabbed both of your wrists and crossed them over your head. A position that you loved and got you to orgasm promptly.

“Is it too much, babygirl?” He asked as his hand covered your wrists.

You shook your head no, “It’s perfect.”

“Hmm?” Taehyung set a gentle pace as a start. He eased you back into pleasure. With him being slightly leaned towards you, he could go in deeper.

“Tae…” Your body rolled every time he brushed against your sweet spot. Beautiful shivers washed over your body shook beneath him.

“Yeah, baby? You like it?” Taehyung focused on how your lips curled into an “o” shape. “Is this a good spot?” He gave a stronger stroke.

“T-the best!” You squealed.

“It’s gonna make you cum, baby?” Your eyes opened big when Taehyung asked you. You looked at him confused as if you had forgotten about your orgasm.

“Mhmm, baby?” Taehyung further egged as his hips steadily worked.

You couldn’t answer either of his questions but a cute moan was all the answer Taehyung needed.

“Yeah, baby? You like it?” Taehyung focused on how your lips curled into an “o” shape. “Is this a good spot?” He gave a stronger stroke.

“T-the best!” you squealed, your voice trembling with pleasure.

“Yeah? So why don’t you cum on my dick to show?”

Without further hesitation, he thrust into you a bit faster, filling you completely in one go and pulling out just to overstimulate that heavenly spot.

The sensation was overwhelming, slightly painful as your body arched off the bed despite his body on you.

“Baby…” You sighed as your hands tugged on his. The pleasure was immaculate.

Taehyung waited a few seconds, “Let me see it.”

You opened your eyes to see Taehyung perfectly standing between your legs, completely inside of you. “I’ll–” You said as your core squeezed him.

“It’s gonna make you cum, baby?” Taehyung asked, his eyes locked onto yours. Your eyes opened wide in surprise, momentarily forgetting about your impending orgasm.

“Mhmm, baby?” Taehyung egged on further, his hips steadily working, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through you.

You couldn’t answer either of his questions, but a cute moan was all the answer Taehyung needed. He smirked, watching the way your body responded to him, the way you squirmed and gasped beneath him.

“Cum for me, princess,” he murmured, his voice a seductive growl. “I want to see you fall apart.”

His words were the final push you needed. Your body tensed, every muscle tightening as the orgasm ripped through you. Your vision blurred, and you cried out, your back arching off the bed as you came hard around him.

Taehyung watched you intently, his gaze filled with a mix of awe and satisfaction. “That’s it, baby,” he groaned, his own voice thick with pleasure. “You look so beautiful when you cum.”

Your body trembled, the aftershocks of your orgasm making you shiver. Taehyung continued to thrust gently, riding out your release, his eyes never leaving your face.

He leaned down, capturing your lips in a tender kiss, his hands caressing your sides soothingly.

“I love you so much, Taehyung,” you whispered, your voice filled with genuine affection as he held you close. Your sweat was cooling off, heart beating so frantically against your ribs.

Taehyung paused for a moment, his eyes widening slightly in surprise at your heartfelt confession.

“So so much…” You added.

“Is it post-nut talking?” Taehyung asked playfully, his voice laced with amusement and a hint of disbelief.

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise at his unexpected response. “No, I want more…” You cried. Both for your own orgasm and for his too.

“Fucking brat.” Taehyung cursed in disbelief. You knew how to push his buttons. He murmured against your skin. “I can’t wait to make you mine again and again so I can make your cry out those words.”

His threat sounded heaven to your ears. “Please, Taehyung….”

Taehyung’s hips found their pace back. It was moderately fast, but the lewd squelching noises were now almost too loud. “Dirty girl.” Taehyung commented a few times after a particularly loud one.

“Please faster.” You asked when you felt comfortable. And Taehyung immediately obliged as if he was just waiting for you to ask.

Taehyung immediately obliged, increasing the tempo of his thrusts with a primal need that matched your own urgency.

The sensation was overwhelming, pleasure building higher and higher until you could hardly think straight. Taehyung’s hands roamed over your skin, his touch igniting flames of desire everywhere he caressed.

“Ugh, ugh, Taehyung…” You moaned his name out. Your hands squeezed his shoulders. “I-I changed my mind. Slow! Slow!”

Taehyung laughed through his nose as he followed your request once again. “Ah, You are such a pampered princess! Did it hurt, baby?”

He cooed your hips as you mumbled. “Only a bit…But it feels good when… when you are deep.”

“Do you enjoy it when I am this deep?” He repeated as he scooted towards you more, plunging his dick deeper than before. You sighed when he filled you to the brim. Even taking a breath was enough for you to have him bump into your sensitive spots.

“Can you feel it?” You held Taehyung’s wrist and placed his hand on your stomach. When Taehyung slightly moved following your touch, his cock again hit your cervix again.

“Fuck!” You couldn’t help yourself.

“What’s wrong baby?” Taehyung innocently asked as he moved his hips again.

You answered Taehyung with only your moans. His head continued to give sweet kisses to your cervix and electrify your entire body.

Your orgasm was back already with all of its glory.

“You like it when I hit your cervix, baby?” Taehyung whispered, his hands simultaneously pressing your tummy.

Before you could answer, he snapped his hips a bit more forcefully to knock out any words that could come out.

“Of course you do… You love anything I do to you, right?” Taehyung asked.

You nodded, “I– I love y-you…” You repeated. The fact needed to get inside of his pretty head.

Your words seemed to fuel Taehyung as he planted his hands on the side of your head and started snapping his hips at a fast pace. Now, you knew you had no choice but cum.

Pleasure was hot and messy. You felt impossibly wet. “I’ll cum! I will–”

It was pointless to warn him.

“Y/N, you are gonna open your eyes and cum like my little slut.” Taehyung ordered. His voice was thick with desire, his words sending a thrill through you.

You opened your eyes to find Taehyung completely spent, his features illuminated by a deep desire to rock your world. His eyes, dark and intense, were fixed on you with a mixture of tenderness and desire. His jawline, sharp and defined, was accentuated by the way he clenched his teeth. Sweat glistened on his forehead, dampening his tousled hair that fell in waves over his forehead.

Taehyung's chest rose and fell rapidly. The veins on his neck and biceps down to his hands were showing. His muscles were strained and on a mission to get you high. His skin was flushed with exertion, a rosy hue spreading across his cheeks and down his neck.

When your eyes found his, you felt a river form in between your legs. It was impossible to get any wetter and Taehyung still managed to drive you insane. “S-so hot…” You slurred.

To answer you, he thrust harder, deeper, his movements becoming more forceful. Pleasure surged through you as Taehyung drove you towards another peak of ecstasy, his touch pushing you beyond the limits of rational thought.

“C-cum w-ith me-e.” You screeched.

Your orgasm hit you like a brick wall. It shook your entire body and soul in pure ecstasy. Your mind went through hundreds of emotions as your moans continued to entertain Taehyung.

As you swam through the mind-blowing high, Taehyung stayed inside you. Your senses were heightened, every touch, every sound, every sensation magnified. Watching you cum made Taehyung realise how his own high was palpable. He could cum if he didn’t pull it out. But if he did pull himself out, he would ruin your orgasm.

The decision was easy.

“Ugh, baby…” Taehyung lunged over you. Your body melted into the bed but you welcomed him with a hug.

A messy kiss stained Taehyung’s cheek as he whispered. “Do you want me to cum inside?”

You screamed. “Fuck yes!”

With your approval, it took him only three thrusts to empty himself inside you. The long, throaty growl he let out was a feast to your ears as he painted your inside.

“Taehyung…” Your nails dug into his skin painfully as you pressed him impossibly closer to you.

With a deep breath, Taehyung rolled off of you. He was scared to crush you under his weight. But when his back hit your bed, he felt you lay on him, your tit pressed into his pec. Taehyung sighed, pleased. “I love you, Taehyung.” You whispered into his ear.

"I love you even more." he murmured, his voice a tender caress.

You sighed as you tangled yourself into his embrace. He kissed your forehead and asked your half-asleep figure. “Did you have enough, baby?”

You pressed a kiss to his collarbone, “Only for tonight. You should rest for the morning.”

Taehyung scoffed, “You should prepare yourself to ride my face.”

“Hmm, sure sure. Sleep now.” You kissed his collarbone again and nuzzled your face to his naked skin.

“Your breast is touching my ribs.” He said giggly.

“Yeah? Your cum is dripping out of me.”

“Do you want me to clean you?” He worriedly asked.

“If you move Taehyung… If you move, I will tape myself to you for the rest of your life and you will have to pee in front of me forever.” You squeezed yourself in as he brushed your hair out of his face.

“Well, you are the freak that can’t pee in front of me. So, I am fine.” Taehyung shrugged.

“I am the freak because I don’t want you to see me pee? How does it make sense?” You weren’t as comfortable as he was at talking about poops, burps and pees with him. Despite knowing him for years and seeing each other in every compromised position, you needed Taehyung to think you didn’t do any of the things.

Taehyung was quite the opposite.

“Yeah, you begged me to spit inside your mouth so you're a freak.” He shrugged his shoulders which made your head move on his pecs.

You held his face again, puckered his lips and licked them. “I am your very sleepy freak then. Goodnight, darling.”

Taehyung was going to argue more but you calling him darling caught him off guard. With a satisfied snicker, he lay under you, his arms wrapping around you possessively. You could feel the contentment radiating from him as he settled into the bed, pulling you close so your bodies were pressed together.

“Goodnight, darling.” He repeated with a kiss on your head. He felt your body go stiff only momentarily before nuzzling yourself to him like a kitten.

The night's sleep was good. Taehyung had you cuddling with him as long as you wanted.

After, maybe thirty minutes later, Taehyung felt you get up. He heard the soft patter of your feet on the floor as you made your way to the bathroom, the faint sound of the toilet lid closing, and then the gentle rush of water as you cleaned yourself. But soon, you joined him back in the same exact position. Taehyung felt your faint kisses on his cheeks and fell back to sleep. Close to sunrise, he felt you slip off him because it was getting warmer, but you continued to hold his hand and peck his long fingers as he drifted on and off to sleep.

The slight booze and huge amount of physical exertion knocked two of you good as the deep, restful slumber awaited.

————

masterlist | part1 rush: concert | part2 rush: club | part3: rush:bed recommendation: i’m mad & you’re mine |

#taehyung smut #kim taehyung smut #bts v smut #bts taehyung smut #bts smut #taehyung oneshot #taehyung fanfic #v smut #masterlist #edytae

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bloodiedrogue · 1 year ago

Text

IF THOUGHTS COULD TEASE (3)

SUMMARY: At the tiefling party, Astarion uses his Illithid powers to offer you another memory.

PAIRING: Astarion & Female Reader

WORD COUNT: 2,771

WARNINGS: Unresolved sexual tension, heavy petting, Illithid abuse at it's finest. Sort of contains spoilers for Act I?

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hi, welcome to day three of Haunted Hoedown! The prompt I chose was why do you keep following me? but I used it pretty loosely to be honest, so... whoops?

CHAPTER LIST / MASTERLIST / NEXT CHAPTER

The inner parts of the grove are bustling. Filled to the brim with celebratory bodies, everyone’s huddled up in their respective groups, talking amongst themselves over endless sloshes of ale that dizzy your brain.

As the bonfire burns, you and the rest of your group glance around with interest. On either side of the party, merchants stand alongside tables of trinkets, grinning and guiding heavy pockets to their nicest wares, while, in the centre, a group of bards play joyous songs, singing along with a group that glides around in circles, dancing in patterned steps that onlookers like you can't help but watch.

“Gods, it’s such a rarity.” Pulling your attention from the dancers, Astarion sips a bottle of wine, turning to face you with a grin. “The whole… heroism thing.”

Narrowing your eyes, you give him a curious look, watching the way his gaze shifts between you and the bards, his lips only extending their excitement. “I guess being helpful has its benefits.”

“Mm, like this free wine.” He nods —takes another long, careful sip, then smacks his lips. “Although, it’s certainly due for improvement. Tastes a bit of vinegar.”

Standing at your other side, Wyll peeks around your frame to look at the both of you; a sudden look of interest filling his features. “True, but who are we to look a gift horse in the mouth?”

After speaking, he offers Astarion a smug expression. One that the silver-haired elf reciprocates with an eye roll before he steps away, discarding any sort of verbal response in favour of moving further into the depths of the party. As he leaves you can’t help but snort, watching as Wyll chuckles and shakes his head, knowing exactly what he’s done.

“Behave, Wyll. You know he isn’t fond of kindness,” you say, taking a sip of your own bottle. Inside, an amber ale tickles your lips, making you sigh in slight relief as the cool liquid slips down your aching throat.

The battle fought earlier had been rough. An ambush within the goblin camp’s prison had proved tougher than you anticipated, earning yourself a nasty lash to the throat that Shadowheart subsequently healed, still earning yourself a fair bit of bruising.

Hours later, it still aches with every breath. Stinging with each sound that reverberates through your vocal cords as you pause to hear Wyll speak.

“He doesn’t seem to mind your’s though.”

While taking another sip, you raise your brow at his comment, watching the way he merely stares back, waiting for you to clue in. To realize that, despite attempting to hide your ever-growing niceties towards Astarion, it’s somehow become noticeable.

“I’m sorry?”

“Fangs,” he reiterates, pointing towards one of the merchant tables —towards Astarion who’s still chugging his wine as he eyes up some wares. “You’ve gotten close.”

“Have we?” You feel the aching of your throat uprise as you speak. Immediately feeling the pain send you into a fit of coughs, prompting Wyll to scoff.

“You’re not very good at hiding it. Not like he is, anyway.”

As frustrating as it is, you know he’s right. Your deceptions are average at best. In the heat of a tense moment you can lie and cheat no problem but when it comes to Astarion and the way you’ve slowly grown more fond of his presence, it’s difficult to cloak.

Humming in response, you take another sip of ale, hoping to wash away the pain before letting out a heavy breath. “I’m not hiding anything.”

“No?”

Offering the same smugness he gave Astarion just moments before, you quickly find yourself pushed to the edge, scrambling to find your footing within a conversation you never anticipated having.

Sure, perhaps over the last few days it had become increasingly obvious that you and Astarion had grown rather close. Opting to choose each other’s company over everyone else’s, you could see the assumption brewing behind curious eyes. During raids, it wasn’t odd to see the two of you working together —you posing as the distraction while he went in for the kill from behind. And while looting, it was common knowledge at this point that the two of you would wander away to look for traps.

But obviously, it was all a symptom of continued happenstance. A build-up of time spent together without even realizing it. You weren’t friends by any means. Yes, you were fond of him in a way but, if anything, it was as if you were coworkers at best, working together when need be but still bickering off the clock.

“I’m only nice to him because he’s nice to me.” It’s a childish answer. One that has Wyll grinning so wide it looks as if he might split in two, making you frown in response.

“I’m just saying,” he says, pausing to raise his hands in innocence, even though he’s anything but. “The two of you seem to be connecting more and more at the hip as of late.”

“What, like you and Gale?” Your tone is uncharacteristically defensive. At least for Wyll. If it were Astarion you were speaking to the elf would hardly bat an eye. More than likely he’d just wave it off —change the subject and forget, but unfortunately, Wyll isn’t like that.

“I didn’t realize you’d noticed,” he says sarcastically, watching the way you huff under your breath, taking one last sip before storming off, too tired to entertain the conversation further.

It’s one thing to be teased by Astarion —with him, it’s practically expected. What with the way his voice carries within a conversation. Regardless of the subject matter, there’s always an inkling of sass in his words. A gentle beratement that often fills you with rage each time you’re at the receiving end of it.

It’s the same feeling you get as you leave Wyll behind. Glaring forward while wandering the party, drinking your way through the outer rim, knowing it’s all futile. Now that Wyll’s seen the side of you that looks at Astarion as anything other than an annoyance, you’re doomed. Fated to hear a constant onslaught of questions and comments about your blooming camaraderie.

As you trade your now empty drink for another, you scan the party until your eyes land on Astarion again, watching him slide up to a particularly tall tiefling who smiles at his presence. The two of them chat for a while, both of them leaning in, appearing more interested the deeper the conversation gets.

It makes you smile seeing him almost happy. Considering that he’s almost always in a sour mood, it’s strange seeing such obvious enjoyment. To see his face light up amidst all the shit you’ve been through over the last few weeks.

The only other time you’d seen him that happy was after he fed. After he tore his teeth from your sensitive flesh; a newfound energy coursing through his veins. The euphoria laced within his features was nothing short of breathtaking, and now that you know him a bit better you’re aware that when he spoke of the moment being a gift, for once he wasn’t lying.

“You know it’s rude to stare, darling.”

You nearly leap at the sound of his voice. Feeling its tone nestle into the crook of your neck, shamefully a soft yelp hurtles from your lips, causing him to laugh just as you turn on your heel. “I’m sorry, can I help you?”

Immediately he shakes his head and brings his wine to his lips, giving it a lengthy taste before licking his lips. “Just came to see what you want. Seeing as you’ve been relentlessly following me around with that little gaze of yours.”

“Have not,” you scoff, a little too quickly. Your eagerness to lie painting your true intentions in the dirt beneath you.

“So your eyes haven’t been looking upon me and that gorgeous tiefling over there?”

As his brow quirks up you find yourself scrambling. Searching through your thoughts for some sort of excuse. Perhaps you could simply say that you’re tired. That the alcohol you’ve consumed has managed to perforate your brain —that you’ve lost all sense of vision as you awkwardly blink and force out a yawn. If the performance is good enough you’re sure you could pull it off…

“Sorry, I’m just a bit tired.”

Somehow still amused, Astarion watches as you replace your words with a drink of ale, gulping down a hefty portion that has him smirking through the edge of his lips. “You know I’m joking, right?”

“Hm?”

“About being rude,” he explains. “In fact I’m happy to welcome all sorts of gazes. The more the merrier, my dear.”

Your face screws into a confusing stare that has him narrowing his eyes, looking back with the kind of interest that has your tadpole slithering back and forth.

It’s been a few days since you last felt it move this much. The last being when you and Shadowheart were communicating during a particularly rowdy fight with some ogres. Back then, all it felt like were a few simple twitches back and forth. A moment of confirmation between two parties before the feeling was erased and you were fit to return to normal. Said moment didn’t take up space within your thoughts. All it was was there and gone in a flash, so for Astarion’s occupancy to feel so different suddenly interests you.

“Is there a reason you’re trying to get inside my head?”

You raise your brow while he shrugs his shoulders, both of you then standing in silence while the party rages on, wondering what will happen if you let him in. What you’ll see once you inevitably give in to curiosity and open the gates.

“There’s always a reason.”

“Care to tell me what that reason is?”

He ponders for a moment, dramatically glancing around the grove before honing his gaze onto the aforementioned tiefling who offers a wave. For a moment, both of them share a look, one that appears almost like a warning before Astarion refocuses on you.

“Isn’t the whole point of these things to show instead of tell?”

He has a point. An unfortunately, stupid and fair point that has you releasing an annoyed breath and nodding your head.

The power of the Illithid, while still greatly unknown to both of you, at base level is just another form of communication. A way to discreetly speak to one another in the form of offered memories.

“Sure, but having an actual conversation works too, you know.”

Astarion scoffs then, taking another sip that has him licking the points of his teeth before running it along the seams of his lips. Overall, the sight is… nice. The way the organ in his mouth glides across the tips of his canines, threatening to spill his own blood before circling out.

Even you have to admit it works in winning you over to some degree.

“Aren’t you enjoying such powers?” As he speaks, he takes a step closer, his base of frame bumping ever so gently into your shoulder as he leans down toward your ear. “Does it not interest you, seeing the world from someone else’s eyes?”

You crane your neck to look at him fully. To see the teasing expression take over and match the tone of his voice —how it ghosts the shell of your ear. Upon impact, it makes your breath catch inside your sore windpipe, threatening a cough you’re quick to suppress by swallowing another sip of ale.

“Because personally, I think it’s well worth the price of discarded conversation,” he continues. “Why bother wasting my time with words you might not understand when I can just push my thoughts into yours?”

At that point, you’re actually confused. Lost in translation just as he predicted. You’re not sure what he means by claiming your lack of understanding but you don’t admit it. Instead, you merely just take a step back, eyeing him with suspicion as you slowly let the creature behind your eye accept his message.

When you do he smiles against the rim of his wine bottle, staring you down with half-open eyes that project the feeling of hands. Soft palms cascading across bare skin.

A violent shiver runs up your spine almost immediately. The air within your lungs once again catches in your throat as your brows knit together, trying to place where the hands are going. At first, it feels like they’re starting at your hip. For a moment, there’s a rough press —a tightened grip that wraps around the bone, filling the space with a bit of pressure before it slides down your thigh, drawing new patterns. But then you feel it on your other thigh too, tiptoeing across the top before it finds purchase at the outer edge.

“What are y—“

Still unaware of the exact intention of the memory, Astarion interrupts your questioning with a simple gesture. An index finger raised to his lips, signalling a silence you reluctantly obey as you feel the hands hold both sides of your thighs, their thumbs ebbing to and fro.

Swallowing hard, you twitch against their movement, pushing your legs together while Astarion watches, his eyes fully immersed in your reactions. The way your face nervously twists once the arrival of hot air cascades between your thighs. How it wafts across your skin like heavy clouds moving through an electrical storm.

The longer it goes on, the more obvious it becomes that he’s amused. That your ongoing discomfort is nothing more than a form of entertainment. A method of his own personal, sadistic torture that has you threatening to sever the connection.

“Oh, don’t be such a puritan,” he says then, clicking his tongue as he moves a step closer to bridge the gap. “I’m just showing you what I plan on doing later tonight.”

“Tonight?”

Before he answers, there’s a kiss placed to your inner knee. A needy smack of lips and teeth that drag upward as you stand.

In response your mouth falls open without you realizing, a soft gasp coming out that makes Astarion snort.

“Yes. Are you hard of hearing or something? Distracted maybe?”

You grit your teeth, trying to withstand every sensation that overtakes you. The way the hands drift and the mouths feed —both of them working in tandem as they travel to the same spot you can feel aching within you.

“It’s alright if you are. I understand. Such feelings can be overwhelming when it’s been a while.”

Breathing through your nose, you watch as he smugly downs the final sips of his bottle. Throwing his head back, he exposes his neck in a way that makes you tighten your lips together, trying your best to remain calm as the hands that fill your mind continue their ascent, eliciting twitching flesh in their wake.

At that point, you know you should call it quits —close the doors and lock them up never to be opened again. But something is stopping you. Something pulsing at the back of your mind, filling you with interest.

It’s always been blatantly obvious that Astarion’s friendship has been nothing more than a ruse. A farce carried out only to keep you close. When he treats you with kindness there’s a hidden agreement that looms in the shadows. An unofficial contract that states his affections will be met with trust. With a loyalty that he’ll more than likely never return.

From the beginning, his intentions have always been ill and you know this. You see it wherever he is —whenever you speak. You can feel its falseness itching your skull each time he touches your skin or calls you pretty names.

It’s what he’s doing now with the Illithid. In the caverns of your mind, he’s showing you the benefits of his allegiance. The potential perks you’ll receive if you’re able to prove your worth, and to put it simply, it’s tempting. And not just for the sake of sex.

Suddenly, there’s a finger that strokes you gently as you stand before him, questioning his authority in the form of a raised brow that’s returned by him discarding the memory.

Once it’s gone you can feel your breath slowly begin to return. Every thought in your head is clearer, not necessarily crystal, but with fewer distractions you can finally see the hefty rise and fall of his chest.

“I hope you have fun with your tiefling,” you say then, letting yourself grin in such a petty way that you see his jaw shift ever so lightly before you turn on your heel and walk towards your tent. -

TAGLIST: @poohxlove @gaiasmight @sassy-stupid @novarex @v-gremlin @sapphiccloud @lipstickghoulie @kuroitsukyo @jjkchk (if you'd like to be added to the taglist fill out this form)

#if thoughts could tease #astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion fan fic #astarion series #astarion x female reader #astarion x reader #astarion x you #summer writes

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lovelykhaleesiii · 1 year ago

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A King to Fear...

PAIRING: King!Aegon ii Targaryen x Stark!fem!Reader

WORDS: 2,218.

SUMMARY: What you had intended to be a short, innocent trip to King's Landing, had turned into a bitter pleasure that would forever change the course of your life.

WARNINGS: thicc!aegon, infidelity [on Aegon's part], swearing, thigh riding, breeding kink, corruption kink, degradation kink, exhibitionism, p in v sexual intercourse, female receiving (fingering), brief mentions of cockwarming/creampie.

A/N - since the trailer dropped, the little glimpses we got of Aeg continue to haunt me and this is the product... I need this man to down me so bad, it's not funny anymore.

The chiming bells had rung a bellowing rhythm throughout the city. You felt as though the ancient, stone walls themselves shuddered from the distant echoes of the bells, shaking its very foundation, that Aegon, the Second of His Name, now roamed as the newly anointed King of the Seven Kingdoms.

His liege Kingsguard had rounded the spare subjects, yourself included, like shepherds tending to their frolicking herd. A part of you rooted inside, taunted at you for ever thinking it logical to leave Winterfell. Had Cregan received news of the scandalous outpour in the city, you were certain the wolves would be on the hunt... It was only a matter of when their arrival you had anticipated anxiously.

Hesitantly making your gradual way into the throne with the harrowing sound of scuttling feet, as you felt yourself confined in the centre of the bewildered crowd: every lord and lady by your side fearful of the King before them...

You had seen Aegon in passing before, during his days as a Targaryen Prince. You never found his looming presence to be threatening, nor intimidated by his appeal, often absent from royal events, or found drowning himself in his cups. Yet the young ladies of the court spoke often of his infidelity, that was all you could gather of the eldest Prince. Yet, in this precise moment, a different man sat atop the throne with might, and with his identical face.

Your gut viscously churned as your sole attention remained fixated on the young King. His hair had grown an inch longer, now resting atop his broad shoulders, his ruggedly handsome face looked fuller, as to match the sturdiness of his body. Mahaps, he grew to fit the heavy burden of the crown. He sat perfectly on the Iron Throne, as if the seat was made precisely in dedication to him. Those strange, alluring lilac eyes, remnants of the ancient ancestors of Old Valyria, remained visible as his stern eyes gazed upon his entering subjects. Rather than looking empty and sullen, as you had often remembered, there was a darker, more jeopardising tinge to their hidden intent.

"You stand before King Aegon, the Second of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men. You have all been led to swear and declare your loyalties to the true King and heir of the Seven Kingdoms. Honour your King, and be rewarded generously... Or suffer the consequences of your treachery."

The uproar from the familiar faced, Dornish knight, Ser Criston Cole, sent an immediate wave of chills across your body. The familiar and other strange faces surrounding you began to anxiously peer, stretching from one another, as you all questioned the ordeal.

One by one, Ser Criston has called upon the noble houses, and those that stood present to come forth, some needing to be harshly pulled apart from the crowd, to make known. And one by one, some would see to it that the reward be mercy itself, whilst others, had been dragged away, in support of their loyalties and ties to Rhaenyra Targaryen.

The horrific sight before you, the terrifying screeches and screams of husbands and wives being separated, engraved into your saddened memory. You had completely grown oblivious to Aegon's silent presence, as his henchmen carried out his work.

It was only when the dark, booming echo of his voice, uttering the word "stop" had halted the commotion, an uneasy stillness filled the room.

"What of the North?"

The unseeing mention of home, had captured your attention fervently. As you turned towards the voice that spoke of your livelihood, you were met with the unfaltering gaze belonging to the King himself, his attention had already been fixated onto you, before the eyes of the room followed.

"Th-The North, your Grace?"

"Speak up to your King, woman!" Ser Criston Cole's voice boomed, an aggressive passion seeping through his words.

"I-I have no control over the judgement of the North your Grace, nor their fealty to the throne... I am merely a woman of the North."

"You are not Cregan Stark's younger sister? The beloved she-wolf of the North, that as I have heard, every man has pined and fawned for? Every Northern man, boy and bastard born has sworn to protect with their lives... It is you that, am I to believe, has no indifference with the North?"

Your anxious breath hitched in your throat, struggling to compel the words from your stuttering lips, that would ultimately determine your fate. You felt the dire wish for Cregan and his pack of wolves to burst through the grand, oak doors, ready at arms to savour your life. Those sworn men that Aegon had mentioned, were absent and you felt petrified.

"Y-Your Grace, I-"

"Everyone, out! Except for the she-wolf of the North."

"Aegon-" The sternly still tone of his grandsire, the Hand, Otto Hightower, proclaimed from the foot of the steps. Witnessing the exchange of their grim stares, almost convinced they had exchanged heated words telepathically, did his Grandsire finally retreat defeatedly, disappearing into a door in some narrow corridor. His Kingsguard were the last to leave, Ser Criston in particular, as he took the responsibility to body search you for weapons at arms. Your elder brother had from time to time introduced you to such weapons, yet you felt no obligation to soak in the training, and with your racing mind and empty hands, you had no hope to fight your way out of this.

The sudden shudder of the doors creaking close, sent your body into a complete state of suspense, frosting up like frozen petals during the winter.

"So it is true, I see. That your beauty was captivating enough to lure men to seal their fate. A fate to protect your own greedy, little life... Where are these men now to save you from me?"

Your eyes darted from the stony, grey steps of the throne, back to the hefty King that sat atop the violent throne. You felt his lilac orbs swallowing you whole, as your stomach churned uneasily against his words, desperately holding your hands together ever so tightly to avoid the terrible habit of fidgeting.

"The whispers that reach your ear from the North, your Grace, can be skewered. As I said before, I hold no power over the council of men... Even in the North."

"Do not toy with me, woman... I am the King, the rightful heir by law, and by the Gods. I want to hear where you stand in judgement of my reign."

"My opinion is not credible, your Grace. I-I hold no value here-"

"Answer me- Or I will fuck the answer out of you."

A flustering heat waved over you, as the sudden outburst and intent of Aegon's carnal words sparked an interest in you, snatching your complete attention once more.

"I-I cannot say I extend the pledges taken by my ancestors to heart. I do not know you, my Grace, nor do I know of your kin... I-I take a more... liberal approach."

"Get up here-"

Instead and wrongfully so, you felt your feet shifting backwards, taking slow paces back, adding more distance between yourself and the man who calls himself King. The chill in his tone felt colder than the blizzards of the North.

"Now."

Your thoughts had swayed to their senses, as your body became intact with your mind once more. Rather than ignorantly disobeying, you adhered to Aegon's command, taking hesitant step by step paces up the stony steps until you were a step beneath his Grace. Admiring him this up close, in finer detail, you noticed the faded scars across his supple face: unlike his younger brother, Aegon was much fuller, less lean. He had a bulkier build, and a more threatening, uneasy appeal.

"Wrong answer.... It seems the she-wolf has met her match with the dragon."

Aegon subtly reached over, pulling you strongly in by the arm, closing the last remaining distance between, as you felt his touch beneath your sensitive skin. He remained seated, almost as if he had been forged to the Iron Throne, as his hungry eyes lurked over every inch and detail of your body, before meeting your gaze peering wearisomely down above.

"Is the she-wolf scared? Does the dragon frighten her so? She need not be... Dragons protect the ones they take a liking to-"

Immediately, without a second to spare, Aegon began to hike up her lush silk gown, guiding her body to turn around, as she looked onwards from his royal perspective.

"Y-Your Grace, y-you are married-"

"Stay quiet, or I'll have that smart mouth of yours stuffed shut with my cock, balls deep in your mouth. You speak when I fucking tell you to-"

Once more, your mind instinctively shut, body mindlessly obedient to his demands.

Guiding your bare ass and cunt to seat itself down atop of him, you felt the hard, tense bulge brewing beneath his pants, between your cheeks. With each adjusting motion, your body would grind against his sturdy lap, your flesh colliding with his, only to cause a natural urge to crave for more.

"Look at what the she-wolf has done to her King, look at the power your sheer presence has over me. You think you have no value in court, yet this is your doing..." Aegon's warm breath, cooing his words directly into your ear. His strong, fleshy arms wrapped around your shaking body, coiled firmly around your waist and arms, as if to avoid you from escaping his strong grasp.

"What if I have my way with you, and send you back to the North carrying my bastard seed... What will the North think of their precious she-wolf then, hmm? What will your brother think of you?"

In unison with your King's haste movements, Aegon stood himself as he swiftly undid his trousers, his rigid, thick cock plunging out with excitement. Guiding his cock with one hand between your folds, his fingers ever so lightly grazing between as he teased your opening, making certain he aligned himself perfectly to your sweet spot.

"Already soaking for me, sweet one? It seems I have my answer after all."

Without so much as a second to spare, Aegon thrusts himself deep inside, burying his stiff, throbbing mass as your walls clench over his cock, desperate to ease the stretching tension. One muscular arm remained snaked around your waist, his calloused hand managing to reach to your bosom, where he cheekily squeezed and firmly kneaded your tit by the handful. Keeping you positioned steady as you sloppily bounced on his wide lap. His other hand however, oblivious to your own incoherent mind, to the front of your cunt, his pudgy digits teasing at your clit, pursuing to edge you more, enhancing the pressure that pulsated from inside. Your swollen bud, he intently enjoyed flicking at, earning a grizzly snicker each time you moaned and squirmed in retaliation.

"A fucking mess for me already. If only your dear, stupid brother could see you. The whimpering whore that you are, moaning my name like that. Accepting me as your King."

"A-Aegon-"

"Seven Hells, you feel so fucking tight for me, precious girl. A cunt made just for her King, already so obedient, so frightened of her King, she'll let me fuck her senseless, huh?"

"Hmm, A-Aeg. I-I shouldn't-"

"B-But you want this, baby. I can smell your ooze dripping. So fucking wet. A she-wolf as my pet. Where is the North to save you now? You don't want to be saved, though, look at you!"

"Mhmm- Your G-Grace-"

His thick fingers delved deeper, pumping hastily as his thrusts grew more forceful. Your breathless moans, incoherent besides a few words and his name, you could only build the sheer strength to muster. Your skin felt as hot as the summer wind of the city, Aegon's lips found themselves latched to your mottled hair and sweat-beaded skin. Sucking your very scent in, your taste lingering in his mouth, as he lowly growls.

"No-No, say it- Introduce me as you would your King."

"Hmm- A-Aegon, the S-Second of his N-Name-"

"That's it, sweet girl. Say it all."

"K-King of the A-Andals, the R-Rhoynar a-and the F-First Men. L-Lord of the S-Seven Kingdoms- Ugh A-Aeg-"

"Keep going, baby-" His tone thick and heavy, breathless, his own stocky chest heaving intensely in sync with your own breaths.

"A-And P-Protector of th-the R-Realm."

"That's it, b-baby. Such a good-good job, princess."

With his tender, soft-spoken words, Aegon's warm seed spills into you feverishly, a crescendo of mindless moans escapes your soft, moist lips, as Aegon's wetly coated hand leaves your raw, aching cunt, guiding your head to turn towards him. Meeting your lips with his own, as he seals the ecstasy with a passionate kiss.

"Let me taste you-" His tongue hungrily laps up the remnants of your cum off his thick digits, his alluring eyes shut as he blissfully devours your taste.

"Fucking delicious, they don't make them like the North do... Stay on my cock, princess. Be the good, little whore you are for me. My she-wolf will obey me and stay. I want to make sure you swell with my dragon seed before I send you back to the North."

general taglist - @chompchompluke @fan-goddess @malfoytargaryen @bibli0thecary @m1ndbrand @connorsui @elegantsplendour @randomdragonfires @s-we-e-t-t-ea @sahvlren @watercolorskyy @hypnos-daughter-certified @urmomsgirlfriend1 @backyardfolklore @snowprincesa1 @aegonslawyer

Aegon ii taglist - @who-told-you-this-was-butter @f4ll-for-you @amiraisgoingthruit @jawline-of-steel @daughter-of-the-stars11

credit for dividers - @/itbmojojoejo

#aegon ii targaryen #tom glynn carney #aegon ii targaryen imagines #aegon ii targaryen imagine #aegon ii targaryen fanfic #aegon ii targaryen fanfiction #king aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii x fem!reader #aegon ii x y/n #aegon ii x stark!reader #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd imagines #hotd imagine #hotd fanfic #hotd fanfiction

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dixonsbrat · 1 year ago

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𖥔 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐍' 𖥔

summary ; steve comes home to find you more than just asleep

pairing ; steve harrington x girlfriend!reader

notes ; female oral seggs, slightly pervy steve, kinda exhibitionism, somnophilia. let me know if i forgot any !

do not transfer, translate or share my works to any other sites.

the air was sticky, cascading a blanket of humidity over your body. a light sheen of sweat present on your now dewy skin. it was hot — too hot for your liking — and you cursed your shitty old air conditioner for breaking at the hottest time of the year.

given your losses, it was enough to warrant your desire of wearing absolutely nothing while having to spend the day cleaning your small apartment. you weren't sure how you had let things get so far behind, but with multiple loads of washing and a kitchen sink filled with dishes, you weren't about to slug yourself around and torture yourself with unnecessary layers of clothing.

you danced around the kitchen, twirling on the tips of your toes as you placed dishes into their designated spots. sticking the occasional finger up at the broken air conditioner for damning you to endure such insufferable temperatures, and for making steve take on more shifts at work so that you could afford to fix it.

after hours of cleaning, the warmth finally starts to take its toll, tiring you out until you couldn't possibly stand on your feet any longer. you seek refuge in the bedroom, falling into a heap on the bed where your book from this morning still laid.

the sheets are soft against your bareness, fitting into every curve and crevice. the window above your bed is open, letting in small gusts of summer as you slowly flip through the pages once more. but not even the words of your favourite author could keep you awake, and your eyes begin to flitter closed.

it's not until the late afternoon that steve finally ventures home from the video store, climbing the staircase in the building and letting out an exasperated sigh when he reaches the door to your apartment. his fingers are tired from constantly prying open video covers and sifting through tapes to scan — all he wants is to see your face.

his shoulders fall when he enters, expecting you to be sitting in the lounge reading a book or baking away in the kitchen like you always were — you loved to surprise him with new recipes — but you weren't doing either of those things.

he's surprised by the silence, and even more so when he makes his way to the bedroom and sees you in bed. the furrow in his brow quickly dissipates, and breath catches in the back of his throat. your face is all cute and puffy as you sleep, lips swollen and cheek squished against your book, but he's mostly surprised by the view he had been granted the second he walked in the door.

another gust of warmth dances across your body, causing your nipples to taut. it was a new sensation, one that you seemed to like, as you stir from your sleep, tossing and turning to get more comfortable atop the sheets. spreading your legs open for some sort of relief while also giving steve the perfect view of your flower as he stands at the foot of the bed. he swallows hard now, his jaw tensing as a heat begins to build up inside his pants, his member straining against the compact of his jeans.

there was nothing steve loved more than the sight of you opening up for him, showing off your velvety centre and letting him bury his head between your thighs. he loved the sight of you — the taste of you on his tongue — and as he stood there watching as you had unintentionally given him the thing he desired the most, he couldn't not think about how you tasted in that moment.

slowly, he slips off his shoes, unbuckles his belt and lets his jeans fall to the floor in a heap, giving his shaft some release as a growl forms in the back of his throat. his family video vest and polo shirt following suit, and with careful motions, he crawls across the bed towards your middle.

he wanted, no needed, you on his tongue now.

he moves forward enough to wrap his hands around the underside of your thighs, large fingers holding them apart in case you felt the urge to close them on him. then, taking in the sight of your beautiful sleeping face once more, knowing how much you were going to love his little wake-up, and with a smirk splayed across his lips, he slowly swipes his tongue across your goodness.

he revels in the taste of you. sweet on his tongue and already slightly wet. you must've been having a good dream.

it takes you a moment, slowly stirring from your sleep, grasping at the sheets around your head while steve laps up your taste. he begins to move his tongue at a faster pace now, making sure to get you nice and wet before starting on your sweet little bundle of nerves.

the instant contact sends a rush of goosebumps across your skin and sets you alight with ecstasy, a whimper leaving your lips as you finally come to. your chest is heaving, rising and falling so dramatically that it takes you a moment to collect yourself.

"w-when did you get home?" you ask between heavy pants, a moan escaping you at the end when he hits your most sensitive spot.

he pulls his tongue away momentarily and you instantly regret asking the question, wanting his touch back on you. his hair tickles your thighs as he moves to press a chaste kiss on your lips, letting you get a small taste of yourself, "a few minutes ago. i couldn't resist..." he smirks before delving right back into your sweetness, this time with the help of this thumb on your clit as he works magic on your core.

"well, i'm glad you couldn't - fuck, stevie." you cut yourself off, the pleasure consuming your every last thought.

steve rubs small circles on the nub, as he tongue-fucks your hole, insatiable moans leaving you. your back arches, hips jutting, and fingers snaking through his hair, gripping onto the loose chocolatey curls as he pushes you closer to your high.

“fuck, right there,” you cry as the pressure grows, a pulsing inside daring to break free.

you can feel the ball inside your stomach, a coil begging to snap, as your hips jut into steve’s face once more. hands now grabbing at the sheets, the pillows, anything to help you ride it out. “god, you’re so fucking beautiful.” steve mumbles, his big brown eyes staring up at you through his lashes and dishevelled hair.

it’s then that the orgasm hits, crashing down over you like a wave as you hold his gaze. he doesn't take his eyes away for so much as a second. he watches you intently, thumb still working you as his tongue licks up your slick. the only sound in your otherwise quiet apartment is the mixture of moans and curses leaving your lips.

steve doesn't stop, wanting you to get the most out of your orgasm, as he takes in the sight of your shaking body. your eyes now rolling into the back of your head as your mouth forms the most perfect 'o' shape. it was a sight he would never get sick of, one that would continue to consume his every thought for as long as he lived.

as your high comes to an end, steve can feel you pulsating on his tongue and presses a soft kiss to you before eventually pulling away. a roguish grin immediately takes hold as he moves to lay with you, slumping down on the sheets.

still breathless, you pant, "that was the best wake-up i've ever had."

"maybe you should be naked when i come home more often," he chuckles softly, brushing the hair from his forehead.

turning to him, a smile present on your lips, you say, "maybe i should."

#— 𝐯𝐞𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬 .ᐟ ᡣ𐭩 #— 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧 ᡣ𐭩 #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington smut #— 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐟𝐰 .ᐟ

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taintandviolent · 1 year ago

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feed my Frankenstein ; Frankenkyle x reader

summary: stripper!reader decides to dress up like a zombie for Halloween, and when the girls bring Kyle to the strip club…. He makes the decision for himself that he’s going to be with his kind. w a r n i n g s: 5k words! stripper!reader, female reader, cunnilingus, rough sex, violence, mentions of blood, biting, graphic descriptions. kyle being a big, horny zombie who doesn't understand his strength. a/n: [🎃 part of lizzie's halloween fics! 🎃] probably some errors, whoops. I didn't want to label this as dead dove don't eat, but Kyle literally tries to eat reader, so be warned, I guess??? also my ending is very... cliff-hangery. don't come for me, this fic took on a life of its own very quickly. thank you for reading if you did!!! full fic & taglist under cut!↓ / ao3 link here! / ♪ recommended playlist here! ♪

You dab a stippling sponge against your neck, hiding an edge with a speckle of grey makeup. You’d put a lot of effort into your silly little zombie look - but it was Halloween after all, and hardly any of the other girls had dressed up. Sure, they’d started out in low-effort costumes of Dorothy Gale and Snow White, but as soon as those came off, they were just their normal selves again. You… not so much. You went the extra mile. You’d spent hours applying prosthetics on your limbs, and painting your flesh to mimic the rotting corpses seen in cult classic horror films. Specks of blood around your perfectly lined lips, uneven skin, stitches from your neck down the front of your body.

It wouldn’t be everyone’s cup of tea, you knew. Some of them would lose their boners at the sight. It was time for your first shift. The club was rowdy, you heard it from behind the door. You lean against it, gulp down the last of your water, and fluff your hair before spinning on your red, patent leather heels and pulling open the door.

“I don’t know if this is such a good idea, Madison…” Zoe confesses, nervously. She holds onto Kyle’s arm tightly, guiding him around a booth like an elderly man. He was already entranced by the vibrant lights that swept back and forth in shades of orange and green. It reminded him of his show. Colours….

“Oh, please.” With a roll of her eyes, Madison flips her blonde hair over her shoulder. “This is the best place to put a braindead man… look, they’re everywhere.”

Men cluster around the stage, watching hungrily as women take their clothes off, gyrating their hips close enough to their faces that they could reach out and take bites out of their full asses. The bouncer in the corner makes sure that doesn’t happen, though.

Over the PA, a loud voice says: “Alright! Put your hands together for our resident nerdy girl, our very own reanimated sexpot…”

As though it was on hinges, Kyle’s head swings heavily to face the stage. H

“Look, he’s already fitting in.” Madison nips.

You prance forward, reaching for the pole in the centre of the stage. Men holler your name, the few regulars that came every night you were working. You’d earned yourself a reputation as the nerdy girl because of your penchant for dressing up on the themed nights. Your hips roll to the beat of the song, coming daringly close to the hands that hold dollar bills. When they don’t get the chance to slip them into your outfit, they flutter at your feet, decorating the stage. You undo the tie of your shirt, revealing white bikini with gratuitous blood spatter. You’d done that yourself.

You wrap one leg around the pole, latching onto it. As it spins, you reach behind your back, undoing the tie of your top. Your breasts fall free, nipples hardening in the air conditioning. You hold the bra out proudly, smiling as the hoots and cheers fill the room.

“C’mon,” she starts, taking hold of Kyle’s thick wrist. His skin is always slightly cooler than everyone else’s. She remembers how cold the inside of his mouth was when they first — She blinks away the thoughts, actually disgusted by the idea. After all, she’d never really wanted to fuck a dead guy…

“Hey!” “Watch it, sweetheart!” “Get outta’ the way, you’re blockin’ the view, toots!”

Madison ignores the heckling, and continues to the front, pressing her bony hips against the lip of the stage.

“Hey! Dead bitch!”

Her voice is loud enough that it carries over the music, and you furrow your brow. She wasn’t wrong, but the bitch part seemed unnecessary. Still, you make your way over to the cluster of them, and bend at the waist to hear her.

“Yeah - what?” You ask, still swaying to the song.

“This is our little zombie — ”

“His name is Kyle,” The other girl interrupts pointedly. Madison throws a look towards the other girl, who nods with a fake smile. Truly, she didn’t care what you called him. As long as she didn't have to deal with him, she was happy.

“Kyle — and he needs a babysitter. He’s a little…” she makes a face, stretching her mouth out in a sneer. You knit your brows together again, unsure what that means.

Kyle, you think to yourself. What a frat boy name. In fact, he looks like a frat boy with really really good makeup. Full head of curly blonde hair, dark eyes, strong but soft features… looks like he can absolutely devour a keg.

He’s wearing an open black shirt and jeans, and beneath the black shirt, you can see raised flesh, scars like he was put back together. Funny that you’d chosen to do a dance number to Feed my Frankenstein.

“Do your job and keep him entertained, okay?” She pulls the peeking string of your thong far enough out to freely press a one hundred dollar bill against your hip and lets go. It snaps back against your skin, hard enough to sting. You wince.

Before you have time to protest, the girls are walking back towards the entrance without their little zombie in tow. One of them casts a woeful glance over her shoulder, and you’re left wondering why if she cares so much, why was she still walking away? You fill your lungs with air, exhale and lower yourself down onto your haunches.

“Hey baby,” you coo, wrapping a single blonde curl around your index finger. It’s angel-soft, and bounces back as you let go, straightening up. He seems to melt towards your touch, starved for it. “I like your costume.”

He watches as your ample cleavage sways with the gentle motion of your body. He repeats the word back to you, laboriously. “Cos…tume….”

“That’s right,” you say, running your hands over your thighs as you stand upright. The long heels of the shoes elongate your legs, making you tower over the club’s patrons. “I like it, it’s cute.”

Kyle watches wordlessly as your hands glide over your body, carefully skipping over the stitches at your knees, along your stomach, and finally up to the long stitch around your neck, which to him is holding your head on. Kyle’s eyes blink repeatedly with recognition.

You dip down, reaching for his hand. The crowd woooo’s as you hand him the string of your skirt. He grips it hard before looking at it deeply. You take one step back, flashing a coy expression to the men in the front row. Another step, and the tie begins to slip through the bow, unravelling. Another step and the skirt falls to your feet. A cacophony of approval fills your ears.

You’re in nothing but the blood-spattered bikini bottoms now, and you sink to your knees again, flashing Kyle a bright smile. He blinks, your skirt awkwardly hanging from his hand by the string.

On all fours, you crawl towards him, popping your ass to the beat of the song. Dollar bills shower the stage, and when you slide your knees out to the sides, allowing men a delicious view of your backside, someone tucks another $100 in your bikini.

Kyle is watching you, but his hands drop to his groin where he makes a fist, and rubs it awkwardly over his now-throbbing erection. You immediately notice this, and your eyes widen. That’s a sure fire way to get kicked out, and for whatever reason, you’ve clocked him as too innocent to let that happen. There’s either a) something wrong with him, or b) he’s really committed to acting like a clueless, braindead boy. Both options require action.

“Okay, okay,” you murmur, guiding him to the side of the stage. There’s an empty chair, and with a heel, you push him back into it. Sit. Stay. He does. Good boy.

He never takes his eyes off you though, and every time you’re looking at him, his jaw hangs slack, staring at you with half-lidded eyes. He keeps trying to get up, and you have to slowly shake your head at him, teasingly. He seems to understand that gesture, and stays put.

As you dance, you find yourself watching him, too. Inexplicably drawn to him, for whatever reason. You don’t usually take guys to the back, but $100 is a pretty good tip. Besides, you didn’t want to run into that girl again, and especially not angry.

As your routine comes to an end, Kyle gets up out of his chair, knocking into the edge of the stage. A few guys turn their heads, trying to figure out what this guy’s deal is. You’re too busy picking up your tips, and gathering your clothes to notice. With arms full, you race to the back, throw on a t-shirt and bolt back to the front, praying that Kyle is still where you left him.

He is. He may be trying to climb up on the stage, head craning in the direction of where you exited, but he's still there. You heave a relieved sigh, and saunter up to him, softening your expression.

“Hi, Kyle…” you murmur sweetly. You slip your arm underneath his, linking it with yours and softly pulling him down into a normal standing position again. There’s a small moment of processing and trust before he looks at you and smiles very weakly.

Destinee is next, and while she’s a nice girl, you absolutely loathe her taste in lighting. You enjoy a good rave, sure, but this is like the Electric Daisy Carnival in a much, much smaller space.

You learn very quickly that Kyle doesn’t like it either. At all. In fact, he might dislike it more than you. As soon as the beat is thumping and the bright red and orange lights are washing over the establishment, Kyle wrenches away from you, covering his ears. A low groan starts in his throat, bubbling up through his lips until he’s practically screaming.

“Shhh, shh it’s okay!” You try desperately to console him, but he can’t seem to hear you. Glancing nervously at the guests around you who are starting to take notice of him now, you smile apologetically. “Kyle, it’s okay!”

There’s only one solution - the private dance rooms. They’re quiet, secluded and a perfect spot to store a stressed out zombie boy for a few hours. You looked towards the spiral staircase that led upstairs, and hesitated. You were a dancer who rarely used the private rooms. You had been hard pressed to avoid being alone with any man, especially one that had paid you and felt entitled to whatever he wanted to take. Kyle, however, didn’t seem like the type to… well, do that. Or even articulate that he wanted to do that — did he even understand that you’d been paid to babysit him? Likely not.

You force his hand down as gently as possible, interlacing your fingers with his. “Kyle,” you say. “Kyle, look at me.”

His head moves sluggishly, and his eyes gradually follow. He looks at you with big, black eyes, the surrounding skin darkened and mottled. In the changing lights, he looks so lost, and your heart throbs desperately. Shucking the worries of whispers aside, you lead him through the club towards the wrought iron staircase.

“Hey Lance,” you say. “Private room open?”

“They sure are…” he replies with a large grin, his heavy accent coming through. Lance was one of the bouncers and rotated positions, so you had gotten semi-close with him. He enjoyed your presence and penchant for the strange. “Last door on da’ left.”

With Kyle in tow, you head down the long, red hallway. Each of the doors were painted black, with gold trim. Kyle’s gaze travels from each door, picking up on the various sounds that seeped from behind them.

“Okay…” You say, your voice a touch softer than before as you push open the last door, praying that it’s been cleaned adequately. You cock your head to the side, urging him inside. His concerned eyes swept from you to the door and back to you before he finally decided that it was safe enough for him to enter. “Look, no strobe lights. No loud music. Just you and me.”

“You… and me….” He grumbles. The door clicks shut behind you. His words are painfully slow and slurred, but you can’t help be charmed by the innocence of them. “You…. You’re…. l-like me.”

“That’s right, baby… I’m like you.” In a quiet, joking whisper, you say: “Raaaaauuuuggghhhhhh…. Brains.”

Kyle seems to like this. The tiniest of smiles forms on his mouth. His chest heaves, and without warning, he lunges for you. His strong arms wrap around you in a steely grip that at first terrifies you; your arms are pinned at your sides, locked into place. His tongue slips over your collarbone, wet and cool like he’s just finished eating ice cream. It slips over your neck, along your jawline, and up behind your ear. He’s licking you, devouring you with such pressure that he has to have eaten some of the makeup by this point. You wince as he nips at your ear lobe, his teeth grinding down on the flesh. With some inhuman gurgle, he descends, covering your chest in his saliva.

You were used to men being hungry for you, acting like rabid dogs the second that they caught a glimpse of your plump tits or your juicy ass. It was part of the gig, came with the territory. But not this. This guy was on something. Had to be. Without warning, he yanks your cropped shirt up, and his jaws clamp down on the meat of your exposed breast. You yelp, pushing him off. He looks hurt or confused, or maybe both. Immediately, you scramble, feeling like you’ve just taken candy from a child.

“Hey no.. it’s okay. You can bite me… I like being bit. But not too hard, honey… that hurt.”

He doesn’t understand. Or he doesn’t look like he understands. His brows knit together sadly, while the dark, ink pools he has for eyes glaze over.

“….biiiiiiiiiiiiiite….” He says.

“Softly,” you finished, with your cutest zombie voice. “Biiiiite soft…ly….”

He cranes forward, mouth finding your flesh again. His teeth continue to graze your skin, slightly softer than before though, so maybe he does understand. His tongue lolls out sloppily to taste every inch. He nears the jumbled up mess of liquid latex on your elbow, and you expect him to stop, or skip over it — but he doesn’t. He feels uneven, soft flesh and his front teeth clamp down on it with a guttural sound. He rears his head back far enough for the liquid latex to streeeetch, and snap.

This gorgeous, blonde boy has a chunk of faux flesh hanging from between his teeth. Fake blood dots his pale lips, and he’s looking at you with the most confused expression you’ve ever seen on a man. It’s a grisly sight, really, but it fits the theme of the night. He’s committed to the zombie act, you’ll give him that.

“Hey, hey, take it easy, spit that out…” You reach up, rubbing the fake blood off his bottom lip. flatten your slender fingers on his broad chest, skin smooth like stone except for the deep scars. These are really good prosthetics. You can’t even see the seam. Because there aren’t any…

Like a dog, he drops the wrinkly skin-toned mass from his mouth and frowns. He looks genuinely disappointed, like he expected blood and guts. “B-bad… th-that… didn’t taste….. gooood…” he stammers. "Hun..gry…..”

For a moment, you’re frozen. Your realization clicks into place painfully slowly, slower than his brain seems to move. He’s really too good at the whole zombie act, and a panicked thought writhes its way into your mind, penetrating it the way that a tissue absorbs blood. Just sucks it in, becomes a part of it. No, no way.

Heavily masking the nerves in your voice, you clear your throat and reach for his shoulder. You stroke the smooth roundness of it, raking your nails against his skin. “You want something that tastes good, baby?”

That ‘something good' is your cunt. You’ll let him eat you out so you can think. You assume he’ll eat you out like most men do — boringly — and you can process the realisation that this poor creature in front of you is actually really badly scarred, and possibly, a victim of head trauma, or something. Because there’s no way you’re meeting an actual zombie. Even on Halloween in New Orleans. That’s insane. So, you’re going to let him eat you out while you sort this out in your mind.

That was the plan, anyway.

Except the second you sink into the vinyl chair, he’s on his knees, looking at your pretty cunt with hungry eyes and the visual wipes your brain clean. It was like you put a plate of food in front of a starving man. His mouth opens. You untie both sides of your underwear, letting them fall to the floor. His eyes drop heavily, watching every move.

At first, his tongue juts out, curiously tasting what you’ve put in front of him. It presses between your folds, pauses, before wiggling around. Your eyelids flutter; you were ready to zone out, but Kyle’s inexperience, his curiosity feels so good.

“Good,” he growls, the word vibrating your cunt. His cool breath washes over your core, sending a chill up your spine. He delves deeper, tasting more of you.

His tongue flicks at your clit, flipping the swollen bundle of nerves mercilessly. Your whole body is trembling, and you feel the first of your orgasms rushing towards your centre. Carefully, not wanting to scare him, you grip his angel curls and ride his mouth slightly. Shit. Almost instantly, the throbbing starts and you make a mess of his poor boy’s face, squirting over his lips and chin.

“You like that?” You ask, through uneven pants. The first of the night always feels sooo good.

He nods heavily on your cunt, still lapping up the juices that leak from your slick hole. Your legs start to quiver and a fire burns deep within your cunt. You try to pat his shoulders, wordlessly telling him to stop. His tongue delves in, and he freezes.

“Kyle?” You ask nervously. Unconsciously, you clench around his tongue. He snaps to life, like someone flipped a switch in his brain. His strong arms wrap around the front of your thighs, tightly. Very tightly. He starts to pull you off the chair, lifting you up into his arms. Your ass cheeks are pressed against his chest and the back of your head is on the chair’s cushion now. He’s holding you tightly, upside down, still swallowing mouthfuls of your sopping wet cunt. He can’t seem to hear your desperate, pleading cries to stop.

You blink back tears, your vision throbs. You don’t know if it’s because the blood is very obviously rushing to your head, or because you’re coming again so quickly, but he’s drilling his tongue into your cunt like there’s a cream centre. If there is, he’s found it.

A scream fills your lungs and your body lunges upwards, trying to find leverage — something, anything to hold onto. She clenches again, pulsating around his cold, slippery tongue. Kyle’s practically drinking you with each clench. The overstimulation is crippling, and you can’t help but scream out.

“KYLE! STOP!”

At the shrill sound, he immediately drops you and your body hits the ground with a heavy thud. Your ass aches a little from the fall, but it’s nothing that’s going to ruin the night.

He’s frowning at you, his lips and chin glazed with your cum.

“S-sorry…” he grumbles. “Sorry. Bad.”

“No, no… not bad. Accident. Accident. Kyle?”

You call his name and he’s looking at you with those big, hopeful, dark eyes of his. You can tell — he isn’t sure if you’re going to scold him, or praise him and the uncertainty terrifies him. You get to your knees, crawling towards the sofa. Once you’re up on it, you pat the spot next to you three times.

“Can I see?” You gesture to your own body, tracing the remaining prosthetics with a single finger before pointing to him. He looks down, his bottom lip jutting out. He nods after a few seconds and lumbers over to you, sitting down heavily.

Your fingers dance over his skin. He was literally pieced back together. His head, his arms, his legs, the lower half of his torso… he was sewn back together like Frankenstein. Different parts connected as one. You’re sitting next to an actual zombie.

And then it dawns on you. Those girls. You’d seen them before. You knew their faces. They lived in the massive mansion on Jackson Avenue. They were witches. Witches were a dime a dozen in New Orleans — in fact, it was weirder if you didn’t practice some kind of craft. But zombies… you’d only ever heard stories. You’d never seen one, let alone be eaten out by one.

You stroke Kyle’s broad chest. For being a zombie, he’s surprisingly soft. You’d always imagined them as dried out, crusty creatures, but he only had a few patches of dry skin. In fact, he had more patches where you could see dark blue pooling underneath his skin, where blood had settled after death. He is cold however, and that’s the most jarring part.

You ease him back on the leather sofa, making sure his head goes down softly onto the arm rest.

“It’s okay, Kyle…. I like your body.”

“Costume….” He says. You shake your head.

“Body. Body.”

His hips give the tiniest little buck, and it slips between your ass cheeks. He whimpers, trying to get a visual of what he’s feeling. Gradually, his thrusts increase in pressure, and you adjust for your own pleasure.

When you adjust, forcing his cock to slide in between your cunt instead, he feels the slick warmth, and his feral nature returns, stronger than before. His thrusts pick up, and he seems to realise that you are a living thing, with pulsing blood and a throbbing heartbeat. Something else is throbbing again, too.

You whine and match his thrusts, letting your head loll back.

Kyle has a different idea, and before you can stop him, he has your forearm in his mouth, teeth clamped down on the soft, warm flesh. It only takes a few seconds for you to feel the stinging ache consuming your arm. It hurts… bad. The muscles in your fingers contract, twitching limply. He aggressively shakes his head, and your heart drops. The terror sets in, and you’re suddenly running cold.

“Kyle, no- OW! KYLE!”

He shakes his head again, biting down harder and digging his the ridges of his teeth deeper into your skin. You don’t necessarily feel the flesh tear, somewhere near the top, but you certainly feel the warm flow of blood that drips down your arm, dribbling onto his chest. Your pupils dilate. The blood keeps flowing, and you feel him start to rear his head back. Something pulls back with him. The ache is replaced by a searing burn, and you realise that if he pulls back any further, he’s going to pull off skin. You’re panicking now, and don’t know what else to do but try again. This time though, you roar at him, bringing back your zombie voice. It’s not so cute this time. “Raaaaaaaaauhhhhhh, KYLE. KYLE STOP. STOP!”

You try to rip your arm away from his mouth, while pushing his head. Thankfully, his powerful jaw goes slack and your arm slides out, strings of spit stretching from his lips. Your blood is smeared across his chin and bottom lip, and collects in the corners of his mouth.

With your vision bouncing thanks to Kyle’s furious thrusting, you look at your arm, watching the bright crimson well up in the indentations of the bite mark. Amidst the rest of your makeup, the bite doesn’t look out of place. You hold your arm out further, trying to come up with a story for this one. Maybe the makeup had stained in an absolutely mind-blowing way. And you had a reaction to it, hence the bizarre swelling and scabbing. That sounds good, sounds believable.

“Want… more…” He says, and your stomach drops, praying that he doesn’t mean more flesh. You’re not sure you can handle another one. Mid-thrust, Kyle’s thick, veiny cock angles just right and slips into your cunt. She swallows him easily, still wet from being eaten — a mixture of cum and Kyle’s viscid, slimy saliva. You plant both hands on his chest, letting out a breathy, melodic moan. He feels good enough to make you forget about the bite, and as you begin to ride him, it seems that he forgets too.

You’re taking control, grinding on top of him, using his cock like your own personal toy. It’s hitting every spot you want it to, pressing into your walls with its girth, and you can’t help but whine about it. Pausing to smear your blood across Kyle’s chest with your middle finger, you leave deep, red streaks across pale skin. You shouldn't find that hot, but you do.

Kyle wraps both hands around your waist, pulling you down onto his cock relentlessly, each thrust feeling harder than the last. You lean forward, pressing your tits against his almost bare chest, and allowing him to take control, thrusting his cock up into you. The slightly bent positioning of his cock, head grinding against your spongy insides is enough to make you cum right then. You don’t though, holding back, clenching your pussy as tight as you can.

“You like it, Kyle?” You ask, through shaky pants. “You like that?”

Kyle nods, heavily, his darkened eyes watching the way that your body quivers on top of him, wordlessly marvelling at the way your thigh muscles contract and shake on top of him every time he slips out, and buries himself inside your dripping pussy again. He loves how it feels, even if he can’t articulate it the way he wants to, the sensations are everything he wants. Everything.

He grips you harder, lifting you off his cock and slamming you back down, repeating this violent display of strength over and over again. Your cunt shudders, unable to hold back your orgasm any longer. Kyle feels it first, and the sudden tightness has him growling, snarling and pushing his length into you as deep as he can. Kyle digs his heels into the sofa, lifting his legs. You feel the pressure against your cervix as he bottoms out, and press against his cock, forcing his cock deeper into you, until you feel the ache. You ride out the waves of your own orgasm, feeling his as it comes in thick, sticky ropes.

There’s a gentle knock at the door, and you quickly get to your feet, pulling your shirt over your head. You scramble, trying to find the bikini bottoms and once they’re tied, you throw open the door. It’s Lance, who is looking very concerned. Your legs are pressed tightly together, in fear that Kyle’s load is going to start dripping down your thighs and onto the floor.

“Miss Y/N. The club is closing… are you alright in there?”

Closing? What? It was bareley eleven when you brought him into the room. The seedy, slick realisation that you’d been fucking this zombie for almost four hours made your cheeks blossom with heat. You immediately tuck your bitten arm behind the door, flashing Lance a charming smile.

“Yes! Fine! Just uh, finishing up a dance. Hey - Lance… did two girls ever come back, asking for this blonde guy in here?”

He pauses, thinking. After a few moments, he shakes his head and apologises.

Okay, guess he’s coming home with me, then. “Thank you, Lance. I’ll be down in just a second.”

You shut the door and lean against it, looking at the zombie on the sofa. He’s staring up at the ceiling, a small smile on his face. “Kyle, do you live on Jackson Street? Where do you live?”

He sits up abruptly, turning his head to face you. “Uhm…” He murmurs. “Big…… white.”

“Big white house?” You repeat, making a house shape with your hands. He nods.

“You wanna’ go home?”

After throwing on a pair of dolphin shorts, collecting your duffel bag and giving Lance a generous tip, you have Kyle in tow, fingers laced tightly with his. Jackson Street was maybe a twenty minute walk, something you both could handle.

Despite it going on 3 AM, the streets were still filled with partiers, people in masks, and drinks in their hands. You and Kyle blend in as you walk, heading down the busy roads. Once you arrived at the Mansion, the gates were open, a fine mist spilling into the sprawling yard.

The woman who answers the door is beautiful, graceful and composed. She wears all black, her honey blonde hair cascading graceful over her shoulders.

“Good Evening,” she says.

“Good Evening. Um.. this is going to sound strange, even for Halloween, but, um…” You want to continue. Desperately, but for some reason, you already know the answer. He does belong here. As though she’d said it to you, plain as day, he belonged here, this is where he stayed.

Zoe and Madison must’ve forgotten him.

Your brows furrow, indignantly. How could they?

Cordelia’s plump lips flatten into a knowing smile. You swallow, suddenly feeling uneasy. You scratch at the liquid latex on your neck, fiddling uncomfortably with one of the edges of the prosthetic.

“Well, Kyle… here you go. Go with…?”

“Cordelia.”

“Cordelia. Go with Cordelia, you’re home now.”

Kyle seems somewhat hesitant, but when Cordelia holds out a hand, he obeys and lumbers inside, looking over his shoulder at you one last time.

“Thank you for bringing him home,” she says, softly. “Would you like to come inside?”

You consider that for a second. Deep within the wetness of your bones, and the warmth of your blood, you feel like you should. There’s something extremely comforting about this place, but… “No, no thank you. I should be getting home. It’s Halloween. Weird things happen on Halloween.”

She smiles again. “That’s quite a bite you have on your arm… did Kyle do that?”

“Oh, uh… yeah. He got a little excited earlier, I’m a dancer, and uh, y’know. Men.”

“I have something for that.”

You look down at your bite again, it looks nastier than before. You clear your throat, ready to reject and explain that your older sister is a nurse and she’ll help, but instead, and you’re not quite sure how that happened, you’re walking through the doors. Kyle is delighted to see you again, pausing on the grand staircase to look at you.

Cordelia’s hands end up being very, very soft.

t a g l i s t : @kaismanwich / @redwoodghost / @elsamars / @silverzoomies / @kaissweetlamb / @thewolveswithin / @80strashbag / @twinkiemaximoff / @spill-the-t / @stucktothetwo / @evansb1tch / @enchanting-evan / @petersevans / @yesdevineruler / @enchanting-evan / @anonymous0316 / @eventually27 / @violetharmonscupcake/ @my-own-walker / @kai-slut / @evanpetersfansblog / @fuckedbykai / @iluwmycats / @nova-kayne67 / @dewberryobssesed / @the-goblin1 / @dirtyfairy97 / @jellyluvr / @strangerthings420 / @kai-anderson-whore / @piecesofcain / @lilthbunny / @quickandsilvers / @tatelangdonsweater / @ifeeltoofuckingmuch / @howtobesasha / @randodummy / @throwinginmythai / @hyperharlz

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tadpolesonalgae · 1 year ago

Text

Azriel x reader: Milestones

A/N: I was listening to FaceTime with my Mom (Tonight) by Bo Burnham for the entire time while writing this :’)

Warnings: fluff

Word Count: 2,255

Visual Prompt here!

You’re so screwed.

So, so, so screwed.

Check the second hand on your watch, dodging out the way of passersby, feet practically dancing over the cobbles as you speed-walk toward the restaurant. There’s no way you’re going to make it. Absolutely no way. Gods, you were already marked late last week. One more strike and the consequences will be inflicted on your salary. You really don’t want to have to rely on Azriel to get food in again.

Eyes flit through shop windows mindlessly, hoping the weather will still be relatively temperate after your shift—your hopes are pretty high. The afternoons have been fairly mild recently, the smallest crispness only just beginning to creep in. Frost dusting the leaves, diamond dew-drops glittering in finely spun web.

A flash of white causes you to come to an abrupt halt, backtracking a few steps to peer through the large expanse of glass, the shop name typed out in bold letters across the pane. Contained within the front display are three dresses: pale yellow, white and pale orange, from left to right. Each is held upon a female mannequin torso, the fabric swishing as customers pass by in the background.

The centre dress. It’s lovely. The stitching, the length…the fabric looks like it wouldn’t itch, either.

Shuffle around some mental calculations…size, width, length. All good.

Damn. It looks like it would fit you.

Your watch practically burns into your wrist, searing your skin, urging you to move forward, time ticking away as you stare and stare. Looking at it alone, you know it’ll be pricey…possibly unaffordable, if you get a portion of your wages spliced off. You just have to try it on. Even if it’s utterly out of your price range, you can get to wear it, just to see if it really is as lovely as it looks.

But for now, you’ve got to sprint to work. You’ll just stop by later. Have something to look forward to.

————

You’re in absolutely no condition to try on that dress.

One slightly too-loud word away from crumpling into a pile of tears and washing down a drain, never to be seen again. Left to wallow beneath the city, dissolving into the Sidra.

Velaris is a lovely place to live, but it’s not perfect. Well, its citizens aren’t perfect. Between the male who had insisted his steak wasn’t properly cooked, to the female who sent her food back seven times, to the group of fae who were short on their bill by five gold pieces… Tears well at the memories alone. You got stuck on cleaning up, anyway—punishment for being late. At least your salary will remain untouched for now. The dress still stands a chance.

However, it will have to wait for tomorrow. Cleaning up takes long enough as it is, but having to do it on your own is a whole new level of misery. By the time the chairs are up on the tables, the floor’s been swept and the remaining utensils washed and returned to their rightful places, you’re on the verge of collapsing. Feet aching, wrists aching, head aching. The moment you get home, you’re going to pass out on the welcome mat.

The key clicks in the restaurant lock, finally done with the horrifically long day, and your back slumps, spine aching. What a miserable day.

Footsteps sound behind you, closer than any of those passing by, and you turn. Only to be overshadowed by—

You nearly burst into tears. “Az…” Lips tilt down in the corners, vision blurring as your voice wobbles.

“You were supposed to be home three hours ago,” he says gently, stepping closer, wings flaring to shield you from the partygoers and other currently unwelcome folk. “I thought you might’ve been hit with a long day,” he sighs, arms reaching out, tucking you against him, wings curving round, swallowing you whole.

You whimper as you fall into him, a few tears slipping out as you grip him, pressing into his leathers as his scent encompasses you. Heat warms your bones, sinking into your skin, slowly encouraging your light to start up again. Tears begin to slow, eyes drying as his comfort soothes you out, calming you down from the utterly hellish day. His hand strokes patterns down your back, pressing kisses to the crown of your head, making you want to melt like butter. Melt and splash onto him, soak into his skin so you can always be together.

Sniffing, you step back, wiping your cheeks; drying your eyes as you manage to get a hold of yourself. Azriel’s hands rest atop your shoulders, holding you together while you gather up the strength to do it yourself. “Feeling better now?” He asks, attention solely on you. Head dips in confirmation, though he waits a moment longer before stepping away. “Let’s get home. Then we can get into bed and forget today ever happened.” A sad smile lifts your lips as you look up at him gratefully. “Thanks, Az.”

He shrugs it off, hand swallowing yours as you begin the darkened walk back, faelight illuminating the way. You don’t miss how his shadows dart around you when you reach a slightly unstable part of the cobbles, how his hand tightens on your own. “Want to talk about all the shitty people?” He offers, a laugh bubbling from your chest. “Not really,” you mumble, “I don’t want to give attention to their shittiness.” He nods in the low light, going quiet.

“You know,” he starts slowly, “I think you’re pretty strong for going back there day after day.” You snort. Hand squeezes you, “I’m not joking. Having to interact with that many people, put up with so much bullshit, and keep going back?” He hums quietly, and the tears well again—you turn your head slightly. “Says the Spymaster,” you mumble, “you’re one of the strongest people I know.”

“And you don’t see me waitressing,” he counters.

Laughter bursts suddenly from your lungs, blaring through the night air. Tears spill as you laugh, squeezing closer to him, feeling how his wing wraps around you affectionately. “I really love you sometimes, Az,” you half cry, half laugh. You can feel the grin on his mouth as he peers at you, a single brow quirked. “Only sometimes?” You sniff again, praying your nose won’t start running this time. “Okay…all the time,” you relent, “but particularly now. I extra-specially love you.”

He replies with a laugh of his own, making you go all soft and fuzzy inside, heat warming your breastbone as your temperature spikes with pleasure. Hearing him laugh…it makes you happy. Especially when he’s happy from you. That’s the Special Happy—only his kind.

————

“Oh…”

You blink a few times, comprehending the words. It was sold a few days ago.

“Do you know…I mean, will there be another?” You ask, trying not to sound as crestfallen as you feel. The shop assistant shakes her head, curls bouncing as she does so, “I’m afraid not. At least, not that I know of. It was a one-off from the seamstress—she generally doesn’t do dresses like that.”

“Oh…” You repeat.

“I’m sorry you missed it,” she tries to console. “If it helps at all, the male who bought it mentioned it was for his wife—it’ll have a loved home.” You nod weakly. It helps a little. You press your lips together in a tight smile, “thank you anyway, for being so kind about it. You probably didn’t want to have to comfort a moping customer today when you clocked in.”

She smiles gently, “it’s no skin of my back. I hope you’ll find something else at some point.” You nod your head dutifully, then turn, glumly padding out of the shop. Azriel remains where you left him, stood just to the side of the entrance—worried about knocking a mannequin over in the compact shop. “They didn’t have it?” He asks, noting your expression. Shake your head dismally, sighing. “Gods, if I’d been earlier that day I could’ve gone in after work. It might’ve still been there.”

His arm wraps over your shoulders, pulling you into his side while you fall into step beside him. “Oh well,” you murmur, “the female was very nice about it, so that’s something, I suppose. Not a totally awful experience.” Azriel hums in response, squeezing gently. Puff air out from your lips, “anywhere you’d like to go, then?” He thinks for a little, pausing to contemplate the question. As if he hasn’t already made a list ranging from highest to lowest priority of places he’s like to visit today. You know his games quite well.

“What about food? A hungry stomach won’t help with your mood.”

“I asked where you’d like to go. Not where my stomach does,” you reply grumpily. He gives you a pointed look and you sigh. A reluctant smile raising your lips. He’s right.

“Will you at least pick a place you like?” You sigh, leaning into him, taking in his scent. He chuckles at that, already leading you away from the shop, distraction having succeeded.

————

A week later, and the dress still glimmers in the backstreets of your memory.

Eyes have begun checking the store front day after day, just to see if another similar one has been sent over, but—nothing. So far.

So far, you remind yourself. There’ll be other dresses. Other nice things to look forward to. Other things to be happy about. Like your husband having been completely free today. A smile curves you lips as you shuffle through your wardrobe, searching for something nice to wear for him.

Neither of you particularly fancied going out to eat—despite it probably having been easier to do so. But you spend so much time around other people eating, and you’d just be habitually tense the entire evening. Not to mention Azriel wouldn’t find it fun, either. So you’re having a quiet night in, after a loud day out, shared with friends and family alike.

He knocks on your door, stepping in soon after. “Looking for something to wear?” He asks, a lilt to his voice. You roll your eyes, smiling none the less, “how’d you know? And you didn’t wait for my answer. I could’ve been changing.” Tongue flicks out to wet his lips, eyes latched upon your own. Heat warms your cheeks, shaking your head, grinning to yourself.

Azriel walks over, large hands settling at your waist, gently turning you to face him. Lowers his mouth over yours, lips slanting together. You’re surprised at first, caught off guard by the soft display of affection, but then you melt into it, hands cupping his jaw, his own keeping you close against his chest. Pull away to look at one another. “What was that for?” You whisper hoarsely, peering up into gentle hazel eyes.

Lips curve, turning you around to face the bed. A cream box laying atop the neatly made duvet, pretty bow tied atop it. “For me?” You ask, looking up at him, head tilting back against his chest. He nods, gentle pushing you forward, “have a look.”

Smiling, you raise the lid from the box, feeling his gaze warming your skin.

Blink.

White fabric…

Eyes lock on hazel, mischievous and adoring.

Turn back to the gift.

Swallowing, shaky fingers dip into the box, latching on the familiar fabric. Stand from the bed, allowing the dress to unfold in front of you, held up by the seams atop the sleeves. It’s the dress.

Your dress.

Lower it slowly, eyes heating as they connect with his, softened with affection. “You…” Azriel nods gently, expression shifting to something a little vulnerable. “I hope you like it.”

The tears start before you have the chance to even try to stop them, lip wobbling as you set the dress down on the bed, hurrying over. Arms wrap around him, burying your head in his chest, willing your eyes to dry. Hands settle against you, stroking your hair, tracing circles over your back, laughing quietly. Keeping you safe in the quiet of your bedroom.

“You like it?” He asks, making sure he’s gotten it right. He could never get it wrong, but you nod anyway. “I love you and hate you so much right now,” you mumble, sniffing. Pulling away a little—enough to peer up at him. “What have I done to earn your hate?” He smiles, hand still stroking your hair. “How am I ever supposed to top this for you?” You murmur, fingers gripping him tighter. “You’ve set the standard so high, how am I ever supposed to match it?”

Azriel laughs, shaking his head, “go put it on for me, and you’ll have done so.”

You doubt it, but follow his instructions anyway, changing out of your day clothes, shifting into the dress. Soft and gentle on your skin, fitting comfortably, not too heavy; not too light. Utterly perfect. Lip wobbles again as you arrange the fabric to sit how you want, turning to look at him, waiting his opinion. “What do you think?”

“I think I pity everyone who’ll never get to see you like this,” he murmurs, silently walking forward, stopping when his feet are either side your own. “And I think I’m the luckiest male alive because I’m the first you chose to show.” Cups your jaw, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Pulls away to look at you, smiling adoringly.

“Happy Birthday.”

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