#Fire Summoner Heat

[n41r]

A quick comic(?) I made, inspired by Hell Assassin Edge's and Wind Sieg's cut-in dialogue and a random post I saw while browsing tumblr-

The team combination here is based on an enemy team I encountered on New Prologue, since I actually don't have either Kurt or Sieg in my team yet-

This was the post that inspired this drawing-

[nerosdayinanime]

midnight city(M83)

[milimeters-morales]

thinking of Miles being super powerful and not realizing just how powerful that means again!

[soothingmoonlight]

@dreamingthroughthenoise

Fëanor breaking the Silmarils at the End of Times.

[ohimsummer]

GIRL, I NEED A TASTE ft. PUPPYBOY! SATORU

— minors dni, needy + lovesick + puppyboy! satoru x fem! reader, tít sucking, subby! satoru, humping (dryhumping??), breeding + creampie mentions

⭑ ࣪ ˖ sum’z notes.ᐟ i went a little overboard writing this <//3 strongest ‘puppy-dog eyes’ user everyone

wc 1.4k

you give puppyboy! satoru an inch, and he will take several miles.

he’s ready to pounce on you 24/7: when you wake up, when you return home, when you’re fresh out of the shower, when you come back from a 5 minute bathroom break during movie night. it’s insane the way, if it were up to him, your pussy would never know peace.

in satoru’s “defense”, he can’t help wanting to stuff you full of himself all the time. he loves you, he’s in love with you and, in his eyes, what better way to show it than the overwhelming amounts of euphoria he could put you both through? satoru loves to give, give, give to you; his heart, his attention, his affections, and his cum at the end of it all.

you suppose his reasoning is understandable, more so from satoru’s point of view, but fucking every minute of every day isn’t sustainable—it’s only fair you tell him ‘no’ sometimes. and that’s when satoru brings out the theatrics: whining, crying, whimpering and complaining about how he’s “sooo harddd” and he’ll “be super quick”. fluttering snowy white lashes to beg with those woeful, blue, puppy-dog eyes, glistening with tears that he seems to be able to summon on a dime.

satoru flashes you the cutest pout as he presses himself up against you, grinding his bulge against your ass as he nuzzles and nips at your cheek. slow, impatient sways of a fluffy tail, the perk of those twitching, adorable ears whenever you cast him even a glance. satoru whispers a hopeful “pretty pretty please…just once?” as he licks at the shell of your ear, raising goosebumps from your neck to spine.

it doesn’t matter, really. he can do it all for as long as his heart desires, because in the end…

…it’ll get satoru exactly what he wants every time.

the movie you put on isn’t nearly as immersive as you’d hoped. and even if it was, satoru keeps pulling your attention away with every nip and lick to your thighs.

“toru.”, you deadpan, and he instantly weaponizes those wide, doe-like eyes of his. paired with a slight wag of his tail, a friendly gesture which he aims to placate with, and satoru has easily dodged your annoyance once more.

you brush off his bad habit with a sigh before your attention returns to the screen in front of you. and then, not even five minutes later, the sharp poke of his fangs sinks back into the fat of your thigh. it’s always steady and deliberate; satoru wants to see just how much you’ll allow before jabbing an irritated finger to his forehead in disdain. meanwhile, once he’s satisfied with the depth of his teeth, he sucks harshly at the skin, glancing between you and the newfound hickey now blooming. then he goes in again, quicker but that’s only because he’s expecting a sure-fire dose of your wrath this time.

“satoru—“

“look!” he interrupts, tail wagging eagerly. “bit ya in the shape of a heart, because i love you.” technically not a lie, but not the full truth, either.

and you’re so distracted with looking at satoru’s little sign of affection, which is indeed adorably heart-shaped, you forget altogether your reasoning for addressing him in the first place: to chide him again on biting you so hard—which is all part of his plan.

it takes no time before satoru has squeezed way more out of you than you meant to give. when you stopped warning him about the biting, he readjusted to “cuddle” you. his head is on your chest like always, hands on your hips, but they quickly dip underneath the hem of your shirt to knead at your waist. and then they’re slithering up further, grazing at your underboob before finally squeezing one of your breasts.

“satoru.” he cowers under the angry heat of your stare. “if i have to tell you one more time…”

his tongue darts out to lap at your exposed neck, causing you to wriggle at the needy gesture. “ ‘m sorry, they’re like my little stress balls. can I touch, please?”

and you shouldn’t have relented and said yes. of course you shouldn’t have, you knew that. if you agree to this, he knows now that you’ll agree to pretty much anything. but satoru stares at you with those dreamy eyes, gleaming with stars to whisk you away to a bad decision. it takes a single, pleading blink as he gives you a small squeeze, and you have fallen victim to his spell once again.

your shirt is pushed up hastily to expose your tits, leaving them subject to satoru’s merciless greed. he pinches, pulls, and tugs with both hands and mouth, sinking fangs into every inch of your breasts since he cannot stand to not see signs of himself on them. because he thinks you’re pretty, duh, but he thinks you’re prettier when your body is spotted up with the marks he loves to leave.

not long after, he’s shed you of your pants, tossed somewhere over the edge of the bed. what started off as a slow grind has turned to satoru’s bare cock humping your thigh, searing and sticky as he leaks a mess of precum all over your skin. just the sensation of it sends an aching rhythm of throbs to your core, your painfully empty hole sporadically fluttering around nothing.

in your mind—buried beneath thoughts of this dreadful movie and the excruciating desire to have satoru’s cock battering your insides—are the very last remnants of willpower you cling to. you can visualize clearly the smug look sure to grace his face if you whine a single plea about satoru fucking you. after all, you’re the one who was all ‘no sex right now, ‘toru’. if you can’t keep your word for even one night, you might be just as sex-crazed as he is.

there is a nonstop background noise of his tail thumping and sweeping against the bed. satoru’s wags haven’t let up since you gave your first yes, and only grow stronger with each new whimpered plea you yield to. they pick up with the pace of his thrusts, a beat to harmonize with the sinful song of his desperate whimpers right before gojo reaches another high—he lets loose a muffled cry into your chest, still pathetically humping your leg like a lovesick mutt as he gushes yet another pool of cum to coat your thighs and panties. after that, his wags ease up to a slow, easygoing thud, now overpowered by the raspy heaves of air he sucks into his lungs.

and it’s the same song and dance every time. satoru takes a few minutes to catch his breath, and then he’s ready for another round. from the corner of your eye, you notice those teary blues have locked on to you. he tests the waters, gradually rutting against you again, mouthing at your breasts to see if you’ll tell him ‘that’s enough, ‘toru’. he is pleased when the words never come, and his actions only grow bolder the longer you let it go on; he licks at your jawline, down your neck before placing a few nips here and there. tweaks your sore nipples between his thumb and index, plunging his dick harder and faster along your thigh for another repeat of the last few hours.

with each daring action over the course of the night, satoru has dragged you a little closer towards the edge with him. first it was pushing your top up, next, it was taking off your shorts. then, it was a bold move of pawing at your clothed pussy, which almost turned into his hand in your panties if you hadn’t pinched his ear and told him no. though, he could just as easily get you to let him anyway if he asks in that very sweet voice of his, the one he always uses when he longs for something from you.

“can I take off your panties?”, satoru finally asks, tilting his head to stare you right in the face.

you won’t meet his eye, and he knows you won’t. because both of you know if you do, he will quickly shred that last bit of self-control at the tips of your fingers. a single bat of his lashes and you’ll be nodding your head, raising your hips so he can tear away your underwear. and then it will only be a matter of time before satoru’s pinning you down to stuff his cock in your walls as deep as you can take. it’s all he wants, all he craves. but as long as you avoid looking into his alluring eyes, you may hold off satoru and his contagious desires for just a little longer.

tagz: @blkkizzat @teddybeartoji @lxnarphase @hellkaiserinphoenix @cinnamoneve @satoruxsc @rosso-seta @sapphireandange @starlightanyaaa @manyno @sugu-love @leilalilox @sataraxia @apatauaia @luvvforliaa @purplegemadventures @v0ctin @kissesfrombelle @babytoshiii @biscuitsngravie @neptuneblue @staryukis ( HAPPY BIRTHDAY AGAIN LOGANNNNNN😼😼‼️‼️💚🩵💛💚🩵💛💚🩵💛💚🩵)

[illyrianbitch]

Body Count

Pairing: Reader x Azriel

Summary: Anxious about how your lack of experience compares to Azriel's, you ask him about his body count. Unfortunately for him, he misunderstands the question gravely.

based on this funny lil request!

Warnings: angst if you squint, miscommunication, silly az and silly cassian making fun of silly az, mentions of death/killing, a sweet lil kiss! fluff!

Word Count: 3.3k

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

You’ve always had a soft spot for Azriel. 

It wasn’t just his mysterious aura and brooding looks that made him irresistibly attractive to you— though those definitely added to the appeal. Azriel was thoughtful. He was attentive. He seemed to understand you and your needs in a way that none of your other friends could. 

Your feelings for him had grown over time, blossoming into a full-blown crush.

And for the most part, it seemed like Azriel enjoyed your company too. 

There was a playful flirtation between you two, a spark that you hoped would ignite into something more. It had grown even hotter these past two months, through conversations that were held entirely too close to one another, stolen glances, and brief touches that sent shivers down your spine. 

But deep down in your stomach, there was something holding you back— a bitter, nauseating feeling. You weren’t just nervous, you were insecure. 

It wasn’t a secret that Azriel, Cassian, and Rhysand had their fair share of lovers. After all, they were all extremely attractive and had lived for centuries longer than you. But the idea of Azriel’s love life had begun to spin itself into an anxious, terrifying web in your mind. You weren’t experienced in such matters— at least, not nearly as experienced as Azriel must've been. The thought was daunting to you. Terrifying, really.

It was late at night now, and the last of your family had bid their goodnights, retreating to their respective rooms and homes. You found yourself alone with Azriel in the dimly lit living room, the small crackling fire mixing with the remnants of the celebration that lingered in the air— the heady scent of wine and the distinct smells of each of your loved ones. 

You stole a glance at Azriel, noticing the way his cheeks were slightly flushed, eyes bright with mirth. His shadows were calm, dancing playfully around his feet and his arms. He caught your gaze instantly, offering you a lopsided smile, the corners of his lips turning upwards in a way that made your heart flutter.

This was your chance— a perfect, quiet moment to confess something to him. To tell him how you felt. 

But the nauseating feeling in your stomach bubbled up once more. You bit the inside of your cheek. Perhaps it was the perfect moment indeed. Not to confess your feelings quite yet, but to get rid of the spider web of overthinking you’d created. 

Summoning up the courage, you leaned closer to him, the alcohol emboldening you. "Hey, Az," you began, your voice soft and hesitant.

Azriel turned to you. "Yeah?" 

You took a deep breath, your heart pounding in your chest. "Can I ask you something?"

Azriel’s face seemed to soften. "Of course."

You held his gaze for a moment, taking in the hues of his eyes that seemed more golden in the firelight. A small blush rose to your cheeks and you swallowed nervously, your fingers fidgeting in your lap. 

"What is your body count?" 

Azriel blinked. His cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink as his mouth slightly parted, and you watched as his gaze seemed to dance around your face. He opened his mouth to respond, but a hiccup escaped him instead of words.

"I'm just... I was just wondering," you stammered, your cheeks burning hotter with heat. "If you're comfortable sharing, that is."

Azriel smiled at you, letting out another small hiccup as he repositioned himself to lean closer.  His shadows seemed to reach out towards you, a subtle, almost subconscious gesture of reassurance. "It's alright," he said, his voice gentle. "I don't mind sharing."

He took a moment to compose himself. “8,754.”

As if you’d been doused in icy water, your alcohol-induced haze dissipated instantly. 

"Oh," you breathed out, your eyes widening in shock. "Oh."

You would’ve tried harder to hide your shock, but the only thing you could focus on now was the large, heavy, number. It hit you like a ton of bricks, the weight of it settling heavily in the pit of your stomach. 

You expected a large number, sure. You told yourself that you could come to terms with it, learn how to be comfortable with the gap in your experiences. But you hadn’t prepared yourself for this large of a number, and suddenly you felt… uneasy. 

Azriel watched you closely, his expression quickly filling with concern. "Are you alright?" 

Azriel had been with over 8,754 people?

You nodded slowly. Unable to meet his gaze, you casted your eyes towards the carpet in front of him. "Yeah, I'm fine," you murmured, "I, uh, I think I need to go home. I must’ve drank too much."

Azriel seemed to sober up immediately. His shadows, which had been lazily swirling around his feet, suddenly grew still, sensing his shift in mood. He sat up straight, a look of worry crossing his features. "Here, let me walk you to your room," he offered, his wings slightly unfurling as if ready to rise.

You avoided his gaze once more, shaking your head quickly. "It's alright. I got it," you insisted, standing up a bit too quickly. You swayed slightly, and his wings twitched as if he wanted to reach out and steady you. You quickly regained your balance. "Goodnight, Az."

Azriel watched you go, shadows trailing after you slightly before retracting back to him. His wings sagged, a sense of helplessness washing over him as he watched your retreating form disappear down the hallway.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Azriel was tense. Every muscle in his body, every movement he made, it all felt constrained– stressed. Troubled. His shadows swirled restlessly around him, their hurried movements perfectly mirroring the deep agitation he felt in his gut.

Days had passed since his last proper conversation with you. He missed it— missed your presence, missed your laughter. He’d grown so used to your company, had begun to look forward to your conversations and the small flirty banter that he’d gained the confidence to indulge in. But you were distant now— awkward, even. And it was driving him mad. 

It was hot out, the afternoon sun blaring down on him and Cassian as the sound of clashing blades filled the air. Heavy sweat trickled down their faces, to a point where Azriel’s hair clung to his forehead like glue. 

But Azriel’s mind was anywhere but the training ring. And his brother quickly noticed.

"Alright," Cassian said, stepping back and lowering his weapon. "Either you're losing to stroke my ego, or something's going on."

Azriel grumbled, parrying another blow. "I'd never lose for your ego.” His wings twitched in annoyance. 

Cassian frowned, a scrutinizing gaze watching Azriel's movements closely. Something was definitely off. He tied his hair back up, securing it tightly. "Alright, spill it."

"No," Azriel replied curtly, his grip tightening on his weapon. His shadows seemed to wrap tighter around his form, as if trying to shield him from the conversation.

"No?" Cassian echoed, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm not going to talk about my feelings with you. We're not twelve.”

Cassian let out a small scoff, raising his hands in exasperation. "By the Cauldron, Az, just tell me why you've got a stick up your ass."

Azriel glared at him. A moment passed. And then he sighed, sheathing his weapon. 

"Y/N has been avoiding me, it seems."

Cassian frowned. "Are you sure?"

The question only brought a scowl to Azriel’s face, who threw Cassian a glare. 

"Yes, Cassian. I'm sure."

There was an itchy, prickling feeling of annoyance filtering through Azriels skin. His shadows flared out briefly before settling back into their usual orbit.

"Well, what did you do?"

Azriel’s shadows twisted tighter and his wings rustled uneasily.

"I didn't do anything.” 

Cassian gave him a skeptical look, crossing his arms. "Really?"

Azriel threw him another withering glare. But when Cass only responded with a raised eyebrow, Azriel’s shoulders sagged slightly. "At least, nothing that I'm aware of."

"Alright," Cass said, "Maybe you offended her somehow. What happened the last time things were normal? Can you remember?"

Azriel paused. He remembered quite clearly despite the drunken haze he had been in. He grimaced as the memory drifted into his mind, bright and clear as day. 

"She asked me for my body count.”

Cassian’s eyes widened. He stilled, leaning forward slightly. "And?"

"And I told her.”

There was a pensive look on Cassian’s face, a furrow forming between his brows as he processed Azriel's words. He narrowed his eyes at his brother. "What is your body count?" 

Exactly like that other night, Azriel replied without hesitation. "8,754.”

Cassian coughed, his eyes widening in disbelief. "I-I’m sorry?" he spluttered, caught off guard by the staggering number.

Azriel's confusion deepened, a frown marring his features. "You know this.”

"No," Cassian countered, shaking his head emphatically. “I do not know this.”

Azriel clenched his jaw, offering Cassian a cold unamused and irritated stare. “Yes, you do.”

"Apparently not.” Cassian let out a scoff. “Hell, I would’ve remembered if you slept with almost nine thousand people, Az. That's more than me."

Azriel’s face twisted into a scowl, a deep crease forming between his brows. His wings flared slightly. 

"Slept with? What the hell are you talking about?" 

Realization flickered in Cassian’s widened eyes, and suddenly, an understanding dawned on him. "Oh," he breathed out, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. He let out a hearty laugh. "Got all the skills in the world but that brain still fails ya, huh Az?" 

Azriel fought the urge to send a swift hit to his brother's jaw, if only to knock the amused grin off his face. 

"Can you be serious for one godsdamned minute?" Azriel snapped.

Cassian's laughter subsided, his expression sobering as he met Azriel's gaze— only slightly. The grin still persisted. "Body count doesn’t refer to your kill count," he explained, "It’s how many people you’ve fucked."

Azriel's face dropped and the color drained from his cheeks. From behind him, his wings fell limp. "You can’t be serious.”

"Deadly serious, brother.”

Azriel glanced to the ground, his mind racing through that moment with you. He thought back to your response, to that small “Oh” that haunted him, to the way your eyes widened. He’d simply assumed that you were disgusted by the amount of lives he’d taken, that you’d spent the night imagining how much blood was on his hands. For some reason, this new reality of what the question meant— it felt even more intimate. Oh gods.

"So does Y/n think that I..." he trailed off.

"That you've fucked almost nine thousand people?" Cassian finished for him, a subtle grimace painted on his features.

"But I haven't," Azriel protested.

"Well, you should probably be telling her that." 

Azriel didn't waste another moment. He turned on his heel, desperate to immediately find you and explain the very apparent miscommunication. 

"Wait!" Cassian called out. Azriel paused, turning around with an impatient glare. 

"Take a bath. You stink," Cassian said, wrinkling his nose for emphasis.

Azriel's glare deepened, and he flipped Cassian off before continuing his stride toward the exit.

Cassian's laughter boomed behind him, the sound trailing after Azriel as he walked away. "eight thousand seven hundred and fifty-four," Cassian muttered to himself, still chuckling in disbelief.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Azriel rushed down the hallway. Following Cassian’s unasked for advice, he was freshly bathed, hair still damp and clinging to his forehead. His shadows flitted nervously around his feet, his wings twitching restlessly at his back. 

He had no time to waste. Azriel really liked you. He needed to find you and clear up the misunderstanding before it began to fester into something deeper, something much harder to clean up. 

He found you in your room, catching you just as you were about to leave. “Y/n,” he said, as he came to a stop in your doorway. His voice was a bit louder than he intended.

You jumped, letting out a small scream as you spun to face him.  You caught his gaze as your hand flew to your heart. “Azriel,” you breathed out, a nervous smile playing on your lips as you steadied your breathing. “You scared me.”

He gave you a sheepish smile, his wings shifting slightly– a small, but clear sign of his embarrassment. “Sorry,” he said softly.

You let out a small laugh. “Hi, Az.” 

His smile grew. “Hi Y/n,” he responded, walking further into your room. “Are you heading out?”

You blinked in an attempt to break away from his gaze, casting a quick glance down towards your window. “Oh, yeah. I was just gonna go walk about Velaris, get some fresh air.”

Azriel hesitated for a moment before asking, “Would you like some company?”

You hesitated too, a part of you wanting to say yes. But then the infamous number came to mind, and the bitter, nauseating feeling returned. “Maybe another time?” you said, trying to sound as genuine as possible.

Azriel could tell you meant it, but the disappointment was clear in his eyes. “Alright,��� he responded softly, his wings drooping slightly. “Enjoy your walk.”

A wave of sadness rolled through you at his response, at the way his shadows seemed to still at your rejection. Your eyes scanned his face, taking in his wet hair and the way his eyes seemed to plead with you. 

“I’ll see you later,” you said, offering him a small smile before making a move to side-step him. 

Before he could overthink it, Azriel reached out and gently grabbed your arm. The touch was soft, but it stopped you in your tracks. You turned back to him, finding yourself suddenly very close to him, faces only inches away.

His shadows wrapped around your wrist where he held you. A giddy flutter spread through you as his touch sent warmth racing through your veins. You melted into his grip, feeling a hunger for his closeness after just a few days without it. His gaze held yours, intense and searching, before flickering down to your lips. You took a deep breath.

“I’ve taken 8,754 lives,” Azriel finally spoke, his voice low and hesitant.

Your eyes widened in surprise. You took a step back, properly facing him now, trying to process his words. “What?”

Azriel looked sheepish, his eyes flickering with a mix of embarrassment and uncertainty. 

His shadows fluttered around him.

“The other night, you asked me what my body count was. I told you 8,754.”

You nodded slowly. “I remember.”

“I thought you were asking how many people I’d killed. Not—” he paused, a small blush reaching his cheeks. “Not how many people I’ve slept with.”

Your lips parted in an O of realization. You took in his face, observing how his shadows swirled tirelessly around him. Azriel offered you a small, unsure smile. A small laugh left your lips.

“Why would I be asking you how many people you’ve killed?” you finally asked. Your voice was soft with confusion and a hint of amusement. A small gleam grew in the shadowsinger’s eyes. 

“I don’t know,” Azriel responded honestly. “Why were you asking how many people I’ve slept with?” 

You blushed, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. “It’s silly.”

Azriel reached forward, gently grabbing your hand and pulling you closer to him. His shadows wrapped around your wrist where he held you. You fluttered at the sudden closeness, feeling a rush of warmth and nerves flow through your body. 

“It’s not,” he insisted softly, his eyes holding yours with unwavering sincerity.

“I just wanted to prepare myself. I haven’t… I’m not experienced in these types of things.” You paused, holding his gaze for a moment. And then the corners of your lips tugged into a smile. “But gods, it’s good to know I don’t have to compete with the experience of almost nine thousand previous lovers.”

Azriel’s expression softened, a fond smile tugging at his lips. “You never have to compete with anyone, Y/n. Especially not with me.”

A warmth settled in your chest. His thumb stroked your hand, a soothing rhythm that seemed to cause butterflies in your stomach with every touch. 

“Well, that’s good to know,” you replied softly, meeting his gaze.

“Yeah?” 

Azriel’s voice was soft now, a low cadence that made you feel like puddy in his hands. 

“Yeah,” you confirmed with a small smile.

The smile on his face grew further. You traced the movement with your eyes, taking in the small smile lines and dimples that formed. His smile dropped slightly as he frowned, brows furrowing slightly. 

“Wait.”

You tilted your head curiously. “Hmm?”

“It doesn’t bother you that I’ve killed 8,754 people?

 “I know you have your reasons.” You shrugged gently. “Also, I don’t have to compete with dead people.”

Azriel’s shoulders relaxed slightly at your words, as if a weight had been lifted off him. A chuckle left his mouth. It was warm and genuine, and the sound resonated deeply within you. “Just one of the many reasons why I like you.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

“You like me?

Azriel nodded, his gaze unwavering— something soft, almost sacred. “I do.”

A rush of warmth spread through you at his confession. You took a moment to let the words sink in. Your grin widened. “I knew it.”

Azriel shook his head, a smile of amusement tugging at the corners of his lips. “I wasn’t really trying to hide it.”

Your grin widened even more and you met his gaze with a playful glint in your eyes. His thumb continued its gentle rhythm on your hand.  “Do you feel the same way?” he asked. 

“I wasn’t really trying to hide it,” you admitted, mirroring his previous words with a soft smile.

Azriel’s expression seemed to soften further, his eyes reflecting a warm sense of longing. His eyes flickered from your eyes to your lips. 

Slowly, he leaned in, closing the distance between you. His hand cupped your cheek delicately, his touch sending a shiver down your body. You took a deep breath, feeling his scarred fingers run alongside your cheek. He met your eyes again, his gaze heavy, seeking something— permission. 

“Can I kiss you now?” 

Words eluded you for a moment as you met his gaze, your heart pounding in your chest. You simply nodded, breath catching in your throat as you whispered, “Please.”

For another fleeting moment, his hand cradled your face delicately, thumb brushing over your cheekbone with a tenderness that made your heart ache. And then he closed the remaining distance between you, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that was sweet and fervent.

It was shy at first— a hesitant, tentative meeting of lips that conveyed unspoken feelings that had never been fully addressed until now. You welcomed the warmth of his lips against yours, the sweetness of the moment overwhelming your senses. You pressed yourself further into his touch, fingers moving to tangle themselves in his hair as you pulled him closer. 

Azriel let out a sound of content as the kiss deepened, his shadows wrapping around you both like a protective embrace. You felt their cool, feather touch around your body, felt as lone tendrils weaved through your hair. 

When you finally pulled apart, breathless and smiling, Azriel rested his forehead against yours, eyes still closed as he savored the closeness between you. His fingers traced gentle patterns on your cheek. 

“I’m glad we cleared that up,” he murmured.

You let out a soft laugh. 

“Me too.”

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: 

@rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon 

@glam-targaryen @cheneyq @darkbloodsly @pit-and-the-pen @azrielsbbg

@evergreenlark

azriel tag list🫶🏻:

@thisiskaylin @serrendiipty

[peachessndreamss]

Weirwood Tree

Summery : While in labour with their second child, Cregan and his wife take s short walk to the Weirwood tree to help get things moving.

Characters : Cregan Stark x f!wife reader (no use of Y/N)

Warnings : Pregnancy and childbirth (nothing explicit)

Word count : 3k

A/N : Turns out you never shake being a Stark girl, Ily Cregan so much.

“I’m sorry t’say it, my lady, but your labours have slowed up,” the midwife said softly as she drew the sheets back over Lady Starks bent knees before dipping her hands in a bowl of water. 

“Slowed up?” Lady Stark repeated incredulously, dropping her head back on the feather pillow, “but it's been hours already,” she added, tears burning her eyes. 

The second child of Lord Cregan stark and his lady wife was in no rush to make their way into the world. Despite the frequency and strength of her earlier pains once the midwife and maester had been sent for, everything seemed to have come to an uncomfortable halt.  

The midwife had brought her ancient grandmother along with her, known through Winterfell and the winter town as Auld Joan, she had been a midwife in her own time and had delivered Cregan's father and uncle. She was mostly blind and deaf now but still attended births but spent most of the time sitting as close to a heat source as possible and dispensing wisdom if necessary. She was currently sitting in a chair next to the roaring fire, her ancient hands clasped on her lap, knuckles bulging out of shape and fingers curled like claws. 

“I know it's been a while,” the midwife said soothingly, placing a warm hand on Lady Stark's knee, “but sometimes it's just like this,”. 

“The last one wasn't like this,” Lady Stark grumbled, her mood darkening as she tried to shift around into a more comfortable position. 

“You mustn't compare one with another,” the midwife soothed before touching a cold cloth to the lady's forehead. 

“A walk will geyit moving ,” the old woman wheezed from her seat by the fire, “no’ this lying about,”. 

The maester, who had been mostly disinterested in proceedings up until this point shot the old woman a dark look, he was standing in the far corner of the room, a leather case of vicious metal tools clutched jealously to his chest. His grey robes matched his grey and sickly looking skin. He wasn't particularly interested in births or deaths or the everyday ailments of life and resented being summoned to the birthing room of any woman. 

“This position is agreed upon as being the correct way for labouring mothers,” he said coldly in a clipped southern accent. 

“Agreed by men who know nothing about it,” the crone grumbled. 

“What does she mean?” Lady Stark asked the midwife who was now gently feeling the swell of the lady's belly. 

“Baby's not quite in righ’ place, that's why things have slowed,” she explained as she pressed on the left side of the belly, Lady Stark winced, “but grandmother thinks a little walk might get things moving again,”. 

The midwife glanced over at her grandmother who had closed her eyes and was now looking peaceful in the flickering light of the fire, she looked back at her lady and dabbed the cloth over her cheeks before putting it back beside the bowl of cold water. 

“What do you think?”Lady Stark asked. 

She shrugged, making a point not to look towards the maester before replying. 

“It helped me with mine, and it wouldn't do you any harm,”. 

The maester opened his mouth to disagree and lady stark held up her hand to silence him. 

“Just walking through the keep, out into the godswood for the fresh air should do it,” the midwife continued. 

The lady nodded and lifted herself up onto her elbows, she addressed the maester, privately enjoying ordering the sour faced man about. 

“Lord Cregan is outside the door, fetch him in,” she said. 

Cregan Stark had paced the halls outside of his wife's rooms since he'd been asked to leave them several hours before. While he wasn't accustomed to being removed from parts of his own castle he respected that father's, even lords, were not expected to be present at the births of their children,so he was surprised to hear the door opening when he was fairly certain nothing much had happened yet. 

“My Lord?” The voice of the maester echoed off the walls as the lord strode into view, “your wife would like to see you,”. 

He nodded, his face stern as he stepped past the man and into the warm, dark room. 

“Seven Hells,” he murmured as he pulled at the collar of his shirt, instantly feeling the heat of the room rolling over him like a wave, sweat breaking out on his forehead and upper lip. 

As he looked around the room he was surprised to see the midwife helping his wife into her fur boots, a long, heavy cloak already covering her shoulders. 

“Going somewhere?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. 

She turned her flushed face to him and smiled. 

“Yes, we're going for a walk,”. 

Cregan’s brows rose but he nodded without further comment, knowing better than to ask questions.  He watched nervously as the midwife helped his wife to her feet, ready to spring forward at any moment if it looked like Lady Stark might lose her balance. 

Once he was happy she was safely on her feet, Cregan stepped towards them, offering his arm to his wife, who took a small step and linked her arm through his. 

“Twice around the godswood’ll do it,” Auld Joan spoke from the chair, she opened one ancient eye that could just be seen through the folds of skin that made up her face. 

“Or as far as you need’t,” the midwife added, her eyes flicking towards the maester. 

From the darkest corner of the room the maester muttered under his breath “foolishness” but no one else could hear him or pay him a moment's more attention. 

As the Lord and Lady of Winterfell stepped out of the stifling room and into the cooler corridor of the keep they both gave a sigh of relief. As they walked they instinctively drew closer to one another. Finding comfort and strength in each other's presence. 

“This is an unexpected pleasure,” Cregan said as they stepped through the door of the keep and into the much colder air of the inner bailey. The ground was a mess of mud, straw, snow and grey brown slush that cracked and crunched under their boots. 

“Yes,” she agreed, her hand tightening on his arm as her foot slipped a little on a patch of hidden ice, “Auld Joan felt this would be the best way to get things moving again,”. 

Cregan nodded, “She's seen a fair few babes born in her time, she knows what she's talking about,” he paused and took a deep breath of cold air, “I think she might have even delivered my grandfather,”. 

“Surely not!” She exclaimed, looking up at her husband's handsome profile, “that would make her more than a hundred years old,”. 

“I've heard of stranger things in these parts,” Cregan said with a shrug. 

They walked quietly together, moving slowly and carefully through the slush.

“Not as easy as last time then?” He asked as they made their way past the archery butts where the young men of the household were practising and past the stables with their snorting horses and young boys shovelling straw. 

“No, this one seems to have an obstinate Stark streak in them already,” she replied with a soft laugh that sounded like music to Cregan's ears. 

“I seem to recall your own family are known for their stubbornness so I won't be taking all the responsibility for that,”. 

“Pigheadedness, I believe my father called it,” she replied with a laugh, Cregan gave his own snort of laughter. 

“Your father certainly has a way with words,” he agreed. Recalling a few choice phrases her father had used for him during their courtship. 

As the pair crossed into the godswood the sounds of the keep and the town beyond the walls seemed to fade away and they became the only two people in the world. The ground was covered in a dusting of snow which had frozen overnight and now crunched under foot. From the dark canopy of the trees small birds sang between themselves and bounced from branch to branch, leaves rusting and falling to the ground in their wake. 

“Aly is worried we won't have enough time for her when the baby arrives,” Lady Stark said as they passed under the first dark boughs, “she kept asking me if we were going to send her away when I was putting her to bed last night,”. 

“She's a sensitive soul,” Cregan replied with a soft laugh, his mind wandering to the little girl who was at that moment playing in the same nursery he played in as a child, waiting for his own younger sibling to be born. 

“I dread the day we do need to send her away,” she lamented, drawing her body even closer to his in the cold air. Her free hand resting low on the swell of her belly. 

“We've many years before that day, my love,” he soothed, “and perhaps many more babes to fill our home,”. 

Lady Stark laughed softly, feeling the dull ache of her labours growing in strength as they followed the well known path through the trees.

“You are insatiable, always wanting more,” she said softly and Cregan laughed. 

They had been married 6 years and now were as comfortable with one another as any married couple could expect to be. Having been friends before they’re union had made things easier but the months after Cregan’s return from war had tested them to their limits. The time spent apart had been long and difficult for the both of them, when Cregan had left he was already old beyond his years but on his return he was darker and colder than the longest winter night. He’d forgotten laughter, softness and gentleness and his first few months back in Winterfell had been fraught as the two learned to live with one another again and find their way back to the happiness they’d briefly shared before the dragons tore the realm apart. 

The followed a well trodden path through the woods, her arm wrapped tightly through his and his hand resting over hers, warm and solid. As they walked, Cregan listened to her breathing, noticing every change to her breath and hitch in her voice. He was ready to take her in his arms at any moment to rush her back to the midwife if was necessary. 

They turned a corner in the path and were now on course to the weirwood tree, its ancient face seemed to watch their approach and its blood red leaves reflected in the black water at its roots. 

Suddenly Lady Stark stopped, her free hand going to her belly with a sharp intake of breath, she groaned, her teeth biting into her top lip as a strong contraction wracked her body. Cregan tightened his hold on her, fear gripping at his heart and twisting his stomach. 

After a few seconds of pain her face relaxed and her eyes opened, her cheeks were flushed with colour and despite the cold there was sweat at her hair line. 

“I think this might be working,” she said with a small smile, “or perhaps the baby can feel the tree,” she added, glancing toward the weirwood. 

“A good Stark then,” Cregan replied, forcing a lightness in his voice he didn’t feel. 

She stepped toward the tree and he followed her closely, never letting her more than an arm's reach from him. Once close enough she placed her hands on the tree, feeling the rough bark rasp against her skin. 

“Do you think the old kings of the north were born under this tree?” she asked, turning her face up as a shaft of wintery sunlight broke through the dense leaf cover, “snow and leaves for their midwife?”.

Cregan raised his eyebrow in thought for a moment before replying. 

“They were certainly conceived under it,” he smiled.   

“Yes, I remember the stories,” she agreed, turning to look at her husband and seeing the playful glimmer in his eyes. 

During the long months of the war she’d found comfort in the thousands of books in the Winterfell library, starting with the histories of the North going all the way back to the first men and how those ancient kings of the North did everything important in their lives in sight of a weirwood tree, they were born, married, made oaths and died as close to the trees as they possibly could. The histories had included stories of rituals the ancient peoples had contrived to conceive their children under the boughs of the weirwood trees, they believed these children would have the gifts of prophecy or live impossibly long lives because the powers of the tree flowed through them. 

“Perhaps, when you’re healed, we should try it ourselves,” Cregan teased. 

“When this one is delivered I’ll let you know if you’ll be welcome in my bed again,” she replied with a sly smile, before adding “my lord,”. 

Cregan gave a bark-like laugh, stepping closer to her and slipping his arm over her lower back and around her waist. She turned to face him, moving her hands from the ancient and cold bark of the tree to the living warmth of his shoulders, she studied his features before taking a deep breath and letting her forehead press against his. Another contraction wracked her body, she groaned and gripped tightly at the fur and wool of his cloak, taking strength from his body into her own. 

“I think we need to go back,” she said softly, their foreheads still pressed together. 

“I think so,” he agreed without hesitation.

Keeping his arm wrapped around her waist the two of them turned, she leaned heavily on Cregan as they completed the loop around the godswood and headed back through the castle courtyard. The space now almost completely empty as most of the household had been summoned for the midday meal. 

The progress was slow but they soon made it back to Lady Stark’s chambers, the room was cooler now, the windows had been thrown open but the coverings drawn across them to keep the room dark. The two women were sitting by the fire, talking quietly while the maester was still standing in the corner of the room, glaring. 

The midwife jumped to her feet and took Lady Stark’s arm, allowing her to slip from Cregan’s hold and move toward the bed. 

“How are you feeling my lady?” the midwife asked softly. 

“It helped, the pains are coming much more quickly now,” the lady replied. 

“Baby will be here soon,” the midwife agreed, “perhaps before the noon meal is over,”

Lady Stark glanced over her shoulder at her husband pausing by the door. His broad shoulders blocked out almost all of the hallway behind him.

“I want you to stay,” she said softly as she was helped back onto the bed. 

He smiled but shook his head. 

“This is not my place” he said softly, as he felt a burning sensation at the back of his throat and in his eyes as he fought the sudden overwhelm of emotions. 

“Thank you, my lord,” the old crone said from her seat, “we’ll take care of them,”.

Cregan nodded, knowing well enough when he was being asked to leave, he gave his wife a final look before stepping out of the room and closing the door behind himself and resuming his pacing. He wondered if his own father had paced nervously or if he had taken to the woods to hunt until the deed was over with and the child was cleaned and neatly wrapped in a blanket. He couldn’t imagine being any further than the castle gate while Lady Stark laboured. 

As the midwife predicted the midday meal hadn’t finished before there was the high pitched, squalling cry of a newborn that caused Cregan to stop in his tracks and lean heavily against the wall of the hallway, his hand clutching at his heart that was beating fast enough to burst. 

The door to the chambers opened and the midwife stepped out, a smile on her face as she saw her lord in a moment of unguarded emotion. 

 “A son, my lord, hale and hearty and with plenty to say for himself,” she said, the sounds of the crying child still coming clearly from the room behind her. 

“God's be praised,” Cregan said, his voice cracking with emotion. 

“Come meet him,”. 

Cregan felt his knees turn to water when he stepped into Lady Stark's rooms, the sight of his beloved wife cradling a squalling newborn was a joy that pierced his heart like an arrow. 

“Your son, my lord” she said with a tired smile, turning the bundle just enough for Cregan to be able to see the child's face. 

He stooped and took the child, cradling him close to his chest, for a few seconds the child stopped wailing, his blue eyes opening wide and taking in his first sight of his father. The two of them looked at each other for a few seconds, Cregan's own eyes filling with tears. One hot tear was about to track down Cregan's face when the baby in his arms screwed his eyes shut, opened his mouth and started to howl, his cries even more desperate than before. 

Lady Stark laughed from her seat on the bed, holding her arms out to take the child back. 

“Give him back, you're upsetting our son,” she said, grinning at Cregan who jealously clung onto the child, rocking him gently and trying to sooth the screaming babe. 

“Sorry my boy,” Cregan said softly, “but you'll just have to get used to me,”.

[yandere-wishes]

˖ ࣪⊹𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐅𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐞/𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐈𝐜𝐞 ⊹ ࣪ ˖

⸸ Yandere! Capitano x reader

༒︎ Summary: He's the ice bearer, the monster sent to snuff out the flames of your homeland. But isn't that just love? To kill with such passion. Wouldn't anything else just be a lie?

🗡Warnings: Yandere behavior, blood, and gore, reader has a pyro vision and wields a claymore

𓌜 author's note: I made some Girlypop Capitano edits to sorta fit the vibe: One & Two

๋࣭ ⭑𓆩✧𓆪⭑ ๋࣭

Do you love me? Or do you love how I make you feel?

๋࣭ ⭑𓆩✧𓆪⭑ ๋࣭

Kachina is lost

She does not emerge from the scared flame

Nor does her ancient name echo across the skies.

Life stills, death looms.

light wanes, darkness reaches.

The glow of the sacred flame burns your eyes.

It's ambers whispering grime truths.

"I volunteer to go, too. You'll need all the help you can get."

Mavuika's flame mane rasps across her shoulders as she shakes her head. Lips taut in thought, sepia brows furled in eccentric fret. You've yet to see this shade of worry painted across your archon's face.

"I can't afford to excuse you, especially now that I fear my powers are dwindling. I need someone to have my back. Besides I'm sure the champians can handle it."

Duty first, that's the oath of the Princesses of Flame. Guard the archon with your life, protect her through any means necessary.

You force your head into a sharp nod.

The chill in the stadium air sends a nervous tang rippling through your spine. You've heard the Wayob speak of this sort of frost before. This all encompassing thing.

His boots grace the stadium floor with all the grace of falling stars. Ethereal armor glows in the soft roar of dancing flames. Icicles in dawn's first light.

The tall figure tilts his armor-clad head up at the archon's perch, with impertinence. You almost swear you hear a chuckle of mockery chime from the inside of his helmet.

"Pyro Archon" he speaks, voice distant and distorted, ice on ice through hail storms. The chill glides across your body again, how can one man be so cold? Shouldn't the cold be a sweet thing? Relief from harsh suns and harsher fires?

"Since the oath made five centuries ago remains unfulfilled, what use is the gnosis in your hands?"

He is all ice. But not the sugar-laced ice cubes that float leisurely in spiced cacao milk. No. He is the harsh verglas only spoken of in hushed tones around grisly campfires. The ice that leaves plains frozen and destroyed. It kills all things warm, all things that breathe.

There is a chill in the air.

It penetrates the skin and nests between the bones.

subconsciously you run your fingers across your neck.

"I challenge you for the gnosis, for the right over Natlan's rules" He shrugs off the heavy cape, the multilayered garment with too much wool and heat.

Strange, strange thing.

It amazes you how he hasn't melted from wearing such stout apparel in such smoldering climate. He tosses it to the side careful to never ripe the precious fabric.

"Fight, or summon your champion"

Your hand rests heavily on Mavuika's shoulder. Eyes transfixed in a silent plea.

The people need their Archon.

Natlan needs its Archon.

Besides this is your duty.

Mavuika nods.

Red eyes never once straying from the intruder.

Vicious sparks flicker across your palm. Like sparking a match across dried bark. You feel the inforno's kiss licking past your skin, weaving into the bone, as your weapon materializes. Your fingers ring across the worn, burnt handle of your loyal armament.

"I shall fight you fatui, for the honor and glory of Natlan and the Pyro Archon."

He watches you through the mask, through the ebony darkness that shields his mysterious visage. He reminds you of how Saurians watch their prey. Weighing each tiny breath, tasting each heartbeat through the air. He looks nothing less than regally monstrous.

Like death, doom, and despair.

You've tasted this before, engraved the bitterness upon your tongue, and honed your body to fight it. He will not take Natlan, he will not condemn your home to his cold.

The weight of your claymore pulls you down. Plunging into hard rock. You watch as he bats the dust with his hand. Gloved and armoured. What is he hiding? You wonder. What man truly needs so many layers? Armor, ice, frost, steel, wool. You long to peel them away, desperate to find something human underneath. Something squishy and worm. You want to feel his heartbeath between your teeth. Drink from his warm blood and relish in the sweet aftertaste. A testament to how you conquered the cold.

You've never seen someone so eager to be hidden in layers up layers.

Snow on ice.

Ice on iron.

"You're awfully young to take on such a big responsibility little girl"

his voice makes you shiver, you can almost taste his ice on your tongue.

Bitter, like barbwire and salt.

"Don't mock me Fatui" You warn, molding your body into a battle stance, knees folded almost kissing the stadium floor, weapon clasped with both hands. Eyes on the target.

Just like Mavuika taught you.

Just like you taught Kachina.

You can feel the heat from your vision coursing through your body, cracking your bones and mingling with marrow. You wait, just one more breath. You use the pyro blessing to project yourself through the air, like an arrow aimed straight for the man made of ice and lies. Swinging your claymore, ready to dent his helmet - and hopefully his head inside-  but he blocks it with his glacier sword. Just a thin dainty thing, capable of quelling your inferno-laced colossus.

Capitano advances, with a flick of his sword he pushes you back. Your heart hammers wildly, someone so skilled so strong, it's almost a shame he can never compete in the pilgrimage. That he can never be on your side.

You use the momentum of his push to frontflip through the foggy air. You land squarely on his wide shoulders, digging your foot into his trapezius muscle, while your knee scrapes his other shoulder for balance. You swing your claymore once more, trying to strike his head off. But to your shock, he parries it with the back of his rime gauntlets.

You keep pushing trying to slice through ice, armor, flesh, anything. Yet everything about this man seems to be made of inviolable steel adorned with everlasting cyro. For a second the metal of his helmet kisses the inside of your thighs. There is no shame in battle, no flirting with the opponent. There are only two bodies entwined until death and defeat. Until one rises and one falls. Still, there's something about the way his black face, regards yours that has a shy blush creeping on the hollows of your cheeks. The man, no this formidable monster is far too close, it's almost as if he's longing for a kiss. You leap back, whispering patronymic blessing to the Archon when your feet meet solid rock once more.

"You fight well little girl, but your attacks are careless, loose. You can not defeat opponents if you can not penetrate their defenses."

He dashes, so quickly you almost think he's flickering between the ground and air. You feel his familiar cold before, you feel the hilt of his sword nestle into your abdomen. He leans forward, helmet sending frostbite through the side of your head "You smell so sweet, like the roses of Snezhnaya". Capitan thrusts his sword with raw force sending you soaring into the stadium walls, the rocks crumple around you, as you struggle to lift yourself up once more.

Your eyes try to carve sight through dust and debris. The air is thick, hot and cold. You blink twice desperate for your eyes to focus. There are silhouettes dancing towards you twirling through the air like Yumkasaurus.

Capitano's ice projectiles glide through the air, they're almost beautiful if you could doubt their lethality. He commands them with flickers of his wrist, and it's only when their frost kisses your body that you fully remember this is a battle, not a dance. They lounge themselves between your ribs, underneath your heart, in the plump of your thigh, the bullseye of your shoulder. Pretty icicles cut open your flesh burying themselves deeply inside you, you'd almost dub it romantic, with how the icicles intonate to your erratic heartbeat.

The frost begins to infiltrate your vascular flow, cauterizing you from the inside. Spreading through the outside, you hiccup out a low moan. Capitano laughs, in a tone that feigns mockery. "I see my ice is to your liking". You bite your lip holding back another moan, it's so wholly painful yet so satisfying. You were right the cold does offer such a delicious relief from the blazing inferno all around.

Your opponent stalks closer, kneeling by your freezing body. You doubt Muarvirka can see through the grey air permutating the stadium. Maybe that's why, away from all prying eyes. The captain lifts his helmet revealing smirking lips. He grazes the side of your mouth with a faux kiss. savoring your warmth before, parting your lips, and deepening the kiss. Even his lips are utterly frozen, he sucks you flames from your mouth extinguishing your fires, with blood-deep frost. He runs a cold iron-clad claw across her cheek, scrapping up the skin, creating a rivulet of red. Before licking it lovingly with his icy tongue. "Why are you so cold?" you shutter, "Why so frostbitten? Has no one ever taught you the joys of the flame?"

He laughs, really really laughs this time. And while you still can't see his eyes, you swear they soften. "I've been burnt too many times, trust me the cold has its merits. But one must be willing to surrender to them."

Capitano plucks your body from the ground. He cradles you roughly in his arms.

He has no warmth to offer.

No heat.

He is only ice.

The fog yields, as you look up. Mavuika screams, her anger palpable. "I'll accept her as my prize for now archon" Capitano spits. "But next time I shall challenge you and know that I will take the gnosis too."

The flames in the stadium roar, trying to melt away the frost plaguing your body. Trying to replenish your spark. You begin to flail and kick, desperate to be liberated from Capitano's iron and frost-clad grasp.

You need to break free, to return to your archon's side, to be there when the others return with Kachina. You can not let this monster pilfer you away from your home, your people, your archone.

"Let me go!" you scream, your last attempt at a battle cry.

"Shhh, war trophies have no right to refuse."

⋆⋆⋆༺𓆩⸸𓆪༻⋆⋆⋆

Super tempted to draw the reader's outfit!!

🪐 @definitely-asexual-volcano @eth3realc0rps3  @numberonefanfury  @madara3437 @crystalkat6747 @m00nlight-mexican @dilucragnvindr-my-beloved @orcasandtea @tecchoukisserr

[elizzsush]

Future Child | Twisted Wonderland

Malleus Draconia X Reader

----It wasn’t everyday you’d find a three year old running around campus causing a ruckus. Usually students wouldn’t have to deal with this, but with Crowley you had to deal with everything. Now… why is it when you catch this small trouble maker it calls you “momma”?

AUs: None Rating: SFW

Note: Hi, hi! So, basically, I wasn't going to finish this and posted it as a WIP and people really liked it. So, then I had no other choice but to finish it! And I hope you like it.

____________________________________

Crowley in-listed you to help with the child problem around school. No, wait that sounded bad. A young fae no older than five got into night raven campus and has been running amok. Some students say he appeared out of thin air. So, obviously, you: the defenseless, Magic-less human with no knowledge of fae or even how some of these basics of this world work, you were the schools best bet against this ‘threat.’ And so, your oh so kind instructor pushed this task onto you and left.

Not without you demanding an extra allowance, but still.

Thankfully, you were well equipped with a grumpy cat-weasel thing who is so glad to help and definitely did not try and run away. “Ehh? Why do I have to help ya??” Grim whined as he hung limply, your hand firmly grasping his scruff as you held him up. He was so generous and did not need to be bribed at all.

You sighed, “I’ll put some money aside from this to get you tuna.” Technically, that was a lie. No, you were going to fix the window Grim broke from practicing his magic in the house, again.

“I want two cans!” The motivated cat purred and jumped onto your shoulders. Now, you can finally begin your mission and take on this… threat...?

This threat was a real threat!

The sight of the frozen cafeteria did scare you. You had learnt that after you had stumbled upon the frozen dinning hall; all of this was from the baby fae! What on Earth were you suppose to even do once you caught the child?

How would you catch this kid without being frozen exactly? Why were you put on this task?

There was a mountain of ice and a many frozen students who were actively being saved by other students most of whom were made to help. They had gotten lucky in your option. They didn’t have to find the kid. “So much magic…" An awestruck student said, "it’s hard to believe a kid did this.” The nameless person mumbled as they helped thaw the room out. You couldn’t help but hum in agreement to yourself.

What kid could do this when Deuce struggled with making anything but cauldrons while he was somewhere new! It was… overwhelming magic for sure. Even for you to stand in the middle of it, magicless. And this was just the dining hall!

Apparently, you had three more places to check out.

“Not much to see here.” Grim grumbled from your shoulder, just then a ball of fire came hurtling towards the two of you! “Eek!!” Grim squealed jumping of your shoulder while you ducked.

“Sorry!” A no name student called out… He had been using the fire to dethaw some students.

“We should leave… and fast.” You said as you turned to leave in a hurry. You tripped on the ice almost tripped on the ice while you left.

.

.

.

The very next place you checked was the courtyard, where Mr. Vargas liked to make you run in the blistering heat. PE was horrible. Everyone else got to be on their dumb magic brooms while you were stuck doing laps.

Mr. Vargas did like to make the boys sweat afterwards though. You got to sit on the grass and laugh at them cheer them on! Especially Ace, who always lagged behind.

Anyway, in the place of the field of green grass that your peers used to practice flying on a broom, was a field of fire. Green fire no less. At least it was still green? You stayed a distance away while you watched a group of five students try and summon water magic to help fight these flames. “If you don’t do this right, it’ll be off with your heads!” Next to them, a familiar short, red-haired boy was shouting at them and telling them what they were doing wrong.

You liked to think it wouldn't actually be off with their heads, Riddle was above that... Now. You liked to think it was just motivation to make them work harder!

Because it was mostly Heartslabyul students, it worked. "Hey! Riddle?" You called out to the boy. The Housewarden looked at you and jogged up to meet you a way away from the green flames. Was Sebek here as well? You swore you heard his voice shouting...

"You shouldn't be here. This area is off-limits to anyone outside of the Equestrian club because of the danger." Riddle crossed his arms; his tone was pretty gentle though. You nodded along to what he was saying, because it made sense.

"Crowley wants us to find the Fae doing this, do you know anything about it?" You decided to get right to the point. Riddle was busy enough as it was. He seemed to appreciate it too.

The boy glanced back at the students trying to figure out how to calm the fire and shook his head. "I think I heard a few third years mention a blur of H/C going into the school." He mentioned, you mostly knew the kid was in the school. It was one of the places Crowley wanted you to check out, Mr. Trein's class, after that you didn't really know where the kid could be.

You smiled and thanked Riddle before turning to leave, the boy glanced back at the fire before stepping a bit closer to you, a slightly embarrassed look on his face. "Uh- Y/N, I was wondering if you wanted to have tea with me later I-"

"Dorm leader! it's spreading!" A student shouted out, a panicked look on their face as they rushed up to the two of you. Riddle muttered something under his breath, before jogging back to the fire. To step up to calm the flames even more than what the regular student could do so you left.

“This seemed handled enough…” You muttered, a bit disappointed that you didn't get to finish your conversation with Riddle, Grim simply rolled his eyes and you two turned to leave.

.

.

.

You went to Mr. Trein’s classroom next. Your most boring class of twisted wonderland, history, uh... you think. Truthfully you hadn’t stayed awake long enough to know what class he taught.

It was not for lack of trying either!

He just drew out his words and spoke in just a boring robotic tone, it could put anyone to sleep! I digress. The cat: Lucius liked you too, he tended to let you sleep more while waking up other students.

Anyway, in place of the classroom was… an overgrown forest? In the center of it, you noticed a tall, well groomed, teal haired male, squatting down to examine what appeared to be a mushroom….

Obviously. it was Jade. He was part of the Mountain Lovers Club. The sole member actually if you remember right. Crowley mentioned something about the clubs handling the situations. So...

This seemed… handled-ish….

You would be taking your leave now. You closed the door silently and Grim groaned. "This is so boring." He whined, "Why do we have to do this?!" You shrugged slightly.

"Crowley said he'll give an extra allowance this week if we do this." You mumbled, "We could really use it to fix that window you broke." You reminded the cat. He huffed and glared at you a bit childishly, crossing his furry arms silently on your shoulder.

"I thought you said I could have extra tuna?" He realized, jumping off your shoulder he pointed at you in an accusatory manner; you sighed a bit.

You didn’t have time to find him right now. "We can talk about this later." You walked past him but when he didn't follow you, you turned around.

Where did Grim go...? You looked around the halls for him, "Grim?!" Didn’t he know not to wonder off while there was a threat on campus!

Where did Grim go...? You looked around the halls for him, "Grim?!" Didn’t he know not to wonder off while there was a threat on campus!

This fae would eat him alive!

Feeling even more motivated and slightly panicked, you ran off to find the cat and disregard the threat that was getting killed by meeting this Fae kid unarmed. Uncated? Either way.

.

.

.

.

“Someone help me!” You finally heard Grims's voice after looking for him for... quite a while actually. Pushing the door to the classroom open, you found...

Nothing.

Every potion was on its self, the stirring sticks where the usually go, nothing burned, frozen, or overgrown nothing was… well anywhere. At least anywhere out of place. “Someone, help me!” A cried out a very familiar voice squeaked out. Hesitantly, you walked closer to where you heard Grim’s voice.

This felt like something out of a horror movie.

A cauldron, inside of it was the soft glow of blue flames. No doubt caused by Grins fire ears. “Grim…?” You spoke softly. Peeking inside the steel pot, you saw a young boy, a long tail curled up beside him and one horn on the side of his head. In his arms was Grim, held tightly like he was a stuffed animal. He sniffled and then looked up at you with the most striking green eyes you’ve ever seen…

“Y/n!” Grim cried out, relief flooding his voice and breaking you from the little boy's curse of cuteness.

You plucked Grim from the kid's arms and He crawled onto your shoulders.

“Momma!” The boy, still in the cauldron yelled out, stumbling to get up and jump into your arms, get hindered by the caldron he found himself stuck in. His face was red from tears, and he looked scared… his small hands shaking with fear. He sniffled more, his chubby hands rubbing away his tears as they fell. Your heart ached slightly seeing those tears.

This can't be the same boy running amok in the school's campus. He was just so... non-threatening?

So, without a second thought. You picked the small boy up and cooed at him. Grim stared at you bewildered, His experience far more intimidating them yours.

Didn't you know how tight that boy was holding him?! Poor Grim almost didn't make it. He whined and frowned at the attention you were giving the boy.

Now, you just had to take this sweetheart to Crowley.

Either way, the small boy was absolutely adorable! Sure, he may or may not have caused this week's class cancelations but really, Ace was thanking the boy for it, so all was fine! Back at ramshackle, you realized, he was just a kid.

He was using some crayons to draw. He screamed like a bit of a brat when you tried to make him eat some broccoli you got... You thought it would be good for you and grim and neither of you ate it.

His big electric green eyes that reminded you of… someone? But who was it again? Well, it didn’t matter. The boy had green eyes, H/ced hair and these two small slightly curled horns on top of his head.

His ears were pointed just like a fae’s but just slightly? They weren’t as long nor as sharp as a regular fae’s like Lilia. It was hard to explain. It was the oddest thing- he had a tail as well! A long blackish purple one at that. And he was excellent at magic, if the destroyed campus told you anything. “Are you mad at me?” He looked up at you with teary eyes after you informed Crowley you caught him.

“Why would I be mad at you?” You asked the small boy curiously, blinking at him a bit confused at the question. His large electric green puppy eyes weren’t exactly helping you stand strong and not coddle him either.

“Because I made the rooms a mess…” he rubbed his large cheeks free from stray tears. Not that he was any good at it either, you just shook your head and kneeled to the floor, wiping them away for him.

Something about this boy made you wanted to care for him and protect him- he was just do cute. “Nonsense, you were scared. A little mess is fine as long as you weren’t hurt.” When you looked at him you felt something akin to cuteness aggression. This little fae was adorable! If Crowley didn’t find his parents, you’d take him in!

Ignore how poorly you yourself lived in ramshackle! And how much of your food was canned tuna because Grim insisted on it over actual food.

And the window that you still needed to fix and were most likely going to spend this week's allowance on...

The boy nodded, cuddling into your side like a small cuddly cat.

__________________________

He was adorable but children were a handful.

Crowley, after assigning you to catch the kid, gave you the poor child to take care of. So, you had been living with the child for three whole days.

Not to say the kid- who’s name you learned was Casper- was a handful. In fact, he was a sweetheart. He tended to shy away from things a bit, and he was a bundle of nerves sometimes.

He definitely got overwhelmed when left by himself, often resorting to crying and when he cried his magic tended to...

Anyway, Despite the amount of magic he held at his fingertip, he’d rush to you at the slightest creak of the floorboards, held onto you tightly, and hide his face in your shirt.

When it was finally time to go to school you didn’t really know what to do with the kid…? We’re you suppose to just… bring a kid to class with you? I mean, you already bring a cat, and the kid would probably be more well behaved then Grim.

So you brought Casper with you. And it was fine He was very sweet, maybe a little to shy, the teachers did love him. He introduced himself to them from behind your leg.

That was two days ago, now you were in the cafeteria. You hadn't been here in two days because, well you weren't sure if Casper would be okay around the crowd of students. Some of whom were still bitter about the Ice things... and the green fire thing.

“Fufufu, what do we have here?” Lilia popped up out of absolutely nowhere. "I heard a rumor about a trouble make~" He smirked.

“Grandpa Lilia!” The kid for once didn’t shy away. You had expected him to start crying. (He had before after all, when Jade introduced himself to the boy.) Lilia simply smiled and accepted the boy's affections, nodding along as he babbled about his day. Meanwhile, you were staring bewildered at the boy.

And... That was your lunch.

With of course, Ace and Deuce coming to keep you company while Lilia entertained Casper.

Most of your lunch you'd glance at the two. 'Grandpa Lilia?' You wondered why he was unusually not shy? He was a talkative boy to you, but with a stranger, no way... “Where Papa?” He asked looking up at the older fae with his large sparkling eyes. Oh, maybe Lilia knew the boy's parents! He was an older fae himself, right?

“Yes, good question indeed where is your papa?” Lilia asked, before he looked at you, a small smirk on his face, he looked at you like you’d know! You didn’t. You had tried to correct the kid on you being his mom before two- he cried and sulked over it for a while after that. “Well, I best be Off now!” Lilia cheered and gave you the kid back before disappearing off somewhere.

That was weird right?

You day went on- Ace and Deuce were good around the kid. Casper was pretty decent around Ace and Deuce, not too shy but he wasn't rambling like he was around Lilia. "Is something on your mind?" Deuce asked curiously, a mild layer of unwarranted concern.

"It's fine..." You shrugged, "I just hope Crowley find Caspers parents soon." You sighed, and the boy in question looked at you confused. He called you Mom and you basically took care of him, so you figured he thought you were his mom.

Not that you really minded, it wasn't like he thought you were old, fae tended to not age and stay good looking forever basically. Case in point, Lilia.

You really didn't mind, you already took care of Grim, so what's another, milder tempered Grim who didn't run away? "Speaking of the kid- Where is he?" Ace asked, looking around.

Scratch that, the kid wondered off.

"Oh no." You sighed and looked at the Adeuce duo with an exhausted look they couldn't say no too. They'd help you find the kid.

__________________________

How on earth did Sebek of all people get Casper?

Sebek, a first year in your class. Some loud guy who you got partnered up with once.

Why didn't Casper run away! You most certainly would and have. Instead, you found Casper on Sebek Zigvolt of all people's shoulders. Now you and Ace were whispering about how to get the kid back. No way you were going to go up to Sebek of all people and have to listen to his "fae are superior" speech... again.

"We should... Lure Casper away with candy." You whispered, Ace gave you a look and shot down your idea.

"Do you want to give him the impression that you should follow random people with candy?" He said looking at you like you just had the worst idea ever. "I say we just grab him and run."

"No, Sebek is faster than us." You noted, "Especially you, he runs laps past you in PE." Ace bumped your shoulder with an eyeroll.

"Where's Deuce?" Ace frowned, you watched with wide eyes as you saw Deuce confidently walk up to Sebek... "oh no." Ace groaned and run up behind Deuce.

You cursed to yourself. "We don't have to follow right...?" you asked the cat who agreed with you, but you knew you kind of had to follow them.

"Hey- Sebek." You smiled awkwardly.

"Mama!" The kid called out to you and reached out towards you. he almost fell off Sebek's shoulders- thankfully you caught him. Sebek looked at you in confusion and maybe a bit judgmentally...?

"No- he isn't..." You sighed and gave up.

"A human couldn't mother a Fae of Caspers caliber!" And so... Sebek began his rant. He started with how Lilia informed him of the situation, and he was here to lift the burden of Casper from your human shoulders.

Really, it saved you the time of informing Sebek you were in fact, not a teen mom. Also, it was weirdly insulting? Like hey, come on, you’ve taken care of him for three days! Almost four, “Casper is pretty happy with me, right sweetie?” You asked the boy who nodded hesitatingly. Wait- hesitantly? “Huh?”

Sebek looked a bit disheartened the Fae kid rejected him, but he was also kind of confused as well. “It’s just… I miss Papa, Mama…” the boys lips quivered a bit.

“No, no! You're not in trouble.” You fell to your knees to comfort the boy.

Apparently Sebek was hanging out with the child because he thought he was Malleus but something went wrong. Perhaps someone used their unique magic in the future ruler of briar valley.

Um… who’s Malleus?

________________

Day four of having a child.

Today you were going to find this kid someone who looked close enough to his dad. I mean, you apparently looked like his mom enough, so… yeah!

Also, perhaps his brother went to this school and that was how he ended up here. Finding him a dad sounded fun though.

It was a solid plan… “Casper?” You woke the boy up. You put Casper in the guest bedroom ace usually occupied when he was collared. Which was often. Even with Riddle being looser on the rules Ace always pushed sadly. “Today we’re finding your father.” You informed the boy.

“Really!” His eyes lit up. Why didn’t you do this sooner?

“Mhm, just tell me what he looks like-“ and so began Caspers rant on how amazing his father was. How he always makes time for you two even though he’s so busy, how good he was at playing superhero’s- and so on.

You didn’t even realize superhero’s existed here. Crazy. “He has black horns like me!” He grinned up at you, “oh- and black hair and we have the same eyes!” He giggled before again going on about how awesome his dad was.

“Horns, black hair, green eyes…” you mumbled, “and you're a fae, so we should probably go to Diasomnia, they have the most fae of the dorms” you smiled brightly. “This Malleus guy seems promising- and if he doesn’t want to, I’ll just make him!” You cheered and with Casper on your shoulders you were out the door!

.

.

.

Was it just you or was Diasomnia slightly terrifying?

 Either way, with Casper on your shoulders like you were going to the zoo, you walked on the winding path with thorns around it and into the dorm. The halls were… very long and castle-like. 

Eventually you found the dorm's common room. Witch had three students, only one of which was a fae. With as much confidence you could muster, you approached them. “Hello! Good evening gentlemen… Um, do you happen to know someone whom this child looks like?” You smiled and proceeded to the kid. 

They very politely actually said that they think he looks like Malleus. You asked them to point you to this Malleus, and they again very politely refused. Apparently he was a busy man which was fair. But he was a father now! If casper deems him fit enough (By that you mean mistake him for his father like the boy did you.)

Still, throughout this process, you couldn't help but wonder if you were forgetting someone. 

You kept glancing at Caspers horns… who else did you know with horns? “Tsunotarou! That's who you look like!” You finally realized after an embarrassingly long time. In your defense you had only met the guy once or twice while you were dealing with Leona’s stupid plan, and didn’t Leona mention Malleus during his overblot?

“That's what you call Papa!” Casper cheered, his eyes widening in awe. Okay so, either that was a common name… which you doubt or Casper had a weird background. 

“Khee Khee what do we have here?” Lilia appeared out of nowhere! …again, still you jumped! 

“Mama is going to find Papa today!” Casper cheered in all his three year old glory. Picking the boy up and lifting him to sit on your hit you nodded. 

“Mhm! I’m going to meet this… Malleus demands he becomes Caspers father or pay child support!” You claim confidently because in reality, you were beginning to doubt the plan you came up with at 3am and woke up early for. “Tsunotarou would be a better bet but I really don’t know where that guy is… or his real name.” you muttered to yourself. 

Either way, Lilia clapped and with a large smile said this: “You're in luck! Malleus just finished his breakfast and should be heading over for his morning coffee.” So, without verbally questioning why he knew that you smiled and plopped down on the common room’s chairs watching a bit nervously as Lilia wandered off again. 

So… You were really dumb. Realistically this was a horrible plan bound to fail, but you already came this far. 

Didn’t all your friends always comment about how scary Malleus was? Wasn’t he like one of the top mages of this world? 

Okay, maybe if you didn’t come up with this plan at 3am last night you wouldn’t be so royally screwed! Hah, get it because Malleus is supposed to be some royal of… a whole nation right? Yeah, this was a bad idea. 

Getting up to leave, you heard Casper cheer for his father.

“Child Of Man?” 

“Tsunotarou?” You turned around, “Actually- no this is better than getting smited by some scary mage! Okay so I have been looking for… you, for a while!” You smiled, “This is our son: casper.” You introduced them. 

“Papa!” 

__________________

“Mm, He does look like me.” Tsunotarou hummed; he knelt beside the child, titling his head curiously as he observed the child. “Your horns are coming in nicely aren't they?” He commented with a small smile, the boy nodded enthusiastically. 

“Mhm! They should be as big as yours soon!” Casper giggled. 

“Your speech is also advanced for a child of your age.” The older boy smiled, It was a very touching sight actually. 

“It is. Ace and Deuce have been helping me teach him some bigger stuff too.” you stated proudly as the younger boy nodded along. You sat beside where the boy stood in front of his new father. Your back against the armrest, you sat planted on the floor. “The headmage said he would be dealing with getting him back home but I have to take care of him till then.” You sighed. 

“I see, so you thought to find me as I am the child's father?” Malleus asked curiously, an eyebrow raised almost teasingly.

“If you’ll believe it, yup.” You nodded along, I mean if he believes that the kid is his, why not get him to take responsibility for that sweet child support money?

“I see, so Crowley is making the proper arrangement to get you back to us in the future.” 

“Wait, so he's actually my kid?” you couldn’t help but blurt out. Tsunotarou merely chuckles. “Am I dumb or are we actually like his parents?” You whispered a bit to Tsunotarou and stood up, he followed after you standing up as well. 

“Mm? Crowely didn’t inform you?” he said with an amused and sly smile. “I suppose it's time anyway we get properly introduced seeing as you are my future spouse” He smirked, his hand on his hips.

“I am Malleus draconia”

__________________________

Fun Fact:

The events of this takes place after Heartslabyul’s and Savanaclaw overblot. So y/n doesn’t know Tsunotarou is Malleus.

Also, Lilia knew all along.

Also, also, I'm sorry this sucked lol

NOTE: Sorry this slightly sucked I didn't really plan to actually finish the WIP I posted it as "Forever unfinished" and people liked it so I thought I'd do this anyway!

________________________ ________________________

Some of Ya'll wanted to be Tagged: @yu-night-raven @kelsyntam @reivelmin @thisisafish123 @cheshire-kitsune @dmiqueles @ranbutler-epicsans-moon @dontmindmelove @swivi @halseyhatter @barbatoss-bitch @itslucieen @bell7duck @whatever-fanfics @ziankenvirus @blcknebula @leilakaro @sarraisme

(I'm not quite sure if I did it right but thank you for liking the WIP enough to comment and want to see another! I hope it was good, I kind of think It wasn't that good but Thats why I made it somewhat long... To compensate!)

[soulofapatrick]

Wingspan - Azriel x female reader

Summary: You decide Azriel's lap is where you'll sit which leads to something new

Warnings: Semi-smut; male orgasm

Words: 5K

Notes: I feel like im teasing you all with no real smut these last few ACOTAR stories hehe - you will get your smutty pt 2s I promise

Y/N's POV

As I step into the lounging area of the House of Wind, the warmth from the fire crackles softly in the background, but the room is full of quiet laughter and relaxed conversation. Every seat is taken.

Cassian is sprawled out on the couch nearest the hearth, his muscular frame looking far too large for the space, his arm slung lazily around Nesta. She’s sitting beside him, legs tucked beneath her, engrossed in a book but absently resting her hand on his thigh. Across from them, Feyre sits next to Rhysand, her head resting against his shoulder as they talk quietly, her soft laugh occasionally filling the room. Rhys lounges with that familiar ease, and the moment I step inside, his eyes meet mine. A brow quirks, and I know instantly that he’s about to summon another chair for me.

I shake my head, just the smallest movement, and his smirk widens knowingly.

Elain is seated next to Mor, both chatting lightly, and Amren is perched in an armchair with a drink in hand, glancing up from a book now and then, clearly uninterested in the chatter around her.

But my eyes find him. Azriel is sitting alone in a solitary armchair, slightly apart from the others, his long legs stretched out in front of him, one ankle crossed over the other. His shadows swirl faintly around his shoulders, and he holds a barely touched drink in his hand, eyes distant as if lost in thought.

Without a word, I make a beeline for him, my heart picking up speed as I approach. His hazel eyes lift when he senses me coming, a flicker of surprise crossing his features. His expression softens almost immediately, though, his gaze innocent, confused, as if he can’t quite believe I’m heading straight for him.

I don’t stop. I reach out, nudging his arm gently, and he instinctively shifts the glass from his lap, his breath catching in his throat as I slide smoothly onto it, settling into his lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

For a moment, he’s utterly still, his body tense beneath mine. The faintest hint of a blush creeps across his cheeks, and I can feel the way his breath hitches slightly, like he’s trying to keep his composure. His free hand hovers awkwardly for a second, unsure where to rest, before it finally settles on my waist with a cautious, almost reverent touch.

Azriel says nothing, but his lips part as if to speak. I glance up at him, catching the quiet storm of emotions swirling in those beautiful hazel eyes—surprise, uncertainty, but beneath it all, a soft warmth that he tries to hide behind his usual stoicism.

His shadows dance lightly around us, curling closer as if they, too, are reacting to the shift in our proximity. The room around us seems to fade, the others’ conversations becoming distant as we sit there, close, his breath steadying but his chest still rising a little too fast. He’s not used to this kind of attention—not from me.

I reach for the glass in his hand, gently prying it from his grasp. His fingers linger on the cool surface for a moment before he releases it, watching me closely. Without breaking eye contact, I raise the drink to my lips, taking a slow sip. The liquid is smooth, warming as it slides down my throat, but what really heats me is the way Azriel’s eyes darken, honing in on the way my tongue darts across my bottom lip to catch the last drop.

His gaze is searing, intense, as if he's committing the moment to memory, and for a heartbeat, it’s just the two of us in the room. Then, as if by some unseen force—probably Rhys or Amren—the glass vanishes from my hand. I barely have time to process its disappearance before Azriel moves.

It’s instinctual, primal—the way his scarred hands slide up my waist, firm and possessive, pulling me closer. Before I can react, his face buries in the crook of my neck, and I feel the warmth of his breath as he inhales deeply. He’s holding me like he needs to, like being close to me is the only thing keeping him grounded. I can feel the faint tremor in his arms, the way he tries to keep his composure even though he’s giving in to some deeper urge.

I relax against him, sinking into his embrace, my body shifting slightly in his lap as I try to get more comfortable. The movement causes his grip to tighten, and a low, guttural sound escapes him—a growl, quiet but unmistakable, rumbling from deep within his chest. The sound sends a shiver racing down my spine.

That’s when I feel it—him. Stirring beneath me, hardening as I shift, and it’s my turn for my breath to catch in my throat. The weight of him beneath me is undeniable now, and suddenly, every inch of space between us feels electric. I can’t breathe, can’t move, trapped in the tension that pulses between us, my heart hammering against my chest.

Azriel's breath hitches as I shift slightly in his lap again, the movement sending a jolt of awareness through both of us. His grip on my waist tightens, almost as if he’s afraid I might slip away. His face remains buried in the crook of my neck, and I can feel the warm brush of his lips against my skin, his breath coming in uneven, shallow pulls. His scent—night-chilled wind and cedar—wraps around me, intoxicating and overwhelming, and I can't help but lean into him, the tension between us crackling in the air.

For a moment, all I can hear is the sound of his breathing and the steady thrum of my own heartbeat, loud in my ears. His hands, calloused and scarred from years of battle, hold me like I’m something fragile, but there’s a rawness to the way his fingers press into my skin, as though he’s fighting the urge to pull me even closer.

I shift again, just slightly, and this time, a soft moan escapes his lips, barely audible but filled with a need that sends heat pooling low in my belly. My own breath catches in my throat, a shiver coursing through me as I feel the hard length of him press more insistently against me. My heart races, and I know that he feels it too—the pounding rhythm of it against his chest, the rising heat between us.

Azriel finally lifts his head, and when his eyes meet mine, they’re darker than I’ve ever seen them, his usual calm shattered by the hunger simmering just beneath the surface. His gaze flickers to my lips for a brief second, and I see the way his jaw clenches, like he’s holding back from doing something he desperately wants to do.

I feel his grip loosen slightly, his thumbs brushing against the fabric of my shirt in small, absent circles, but his eyes never leave mine. The tension between us hums in the air, almost unbearable now, as if the world around us has disappeared, leaving only this moment. My body feels like it’s on fire, every nerve on high alert from his touch, his closeness.

I open my mouth, trying to find something to say, but before I can, his scarred hand moves, sliding from my waist to the back of my neck. His fingers tangle in my hair, gentle but possessive, as he tilts my head just slightly, his face so close to mine that I can feel the heat of his breath ghosting over my lips.

"Are you... okay?" His voice is low, hoarse, like he’s barely able to get the words out, his control hanging by a thread. There’s a vulnerability in his question, as if he’s afraid of what my answer might be.

I nod, swallowing hard, my body trembling against him. "Yes," I whisper, my voice breathy and uneven, and his grip on my neck tightens, just slightly.

The corners of his lips twitch, but it’s not quite a smile. More like he’s relieved, as if that simple word unlocked something within him. His gaze drops to my lips again, and this time, there’s no mistaking the hunger in his eyes.

Before I can even process it, his mouth is on mine—slow at first, tentative, like he’s still unsure if he’s allowed to have this. But then I kiss him back, and something inside him snaps. His hand tightens in my hair, pulling me closer, and his other arm wraps fully around my waist, holding me against him as his lips move hungrily against mine.

His kiss is fierce, consuming, like he’s been starving for this moment and can’t get enough. I melt into him, my hands finding the front of his shirt, clutching at the fabric as if it’s the only thing tethering me to reality. Every brush of his lips, every stroke of his tongue sends sparks of heat racing through me, and I can’t think—can’t focus on anything except the feel of him, the way he tastes, the way his body responds to every movement I make.

When we finally break apart, both of us are breathless, our foreheads resting together. His chest rises and falls rapidly, his eyes still dark with need, but there’s a softness there now, too, something tender that makes my heart ache.

His voice is barely a whisper when he speaks. "I've wanted this... for so long." His confession hangs in the air between us, raw and unguarded, and I can see the vulnerability in his eyes, the fear that maybe I don’t feel the same.

But I do. Gods, I do.

I press my lips to his again, softer this time, letting him know without words that I want this too—that I want him. His body relaxes beneath me, the tension melting from his shoulders as he kisses me back, slower now, more controlled, savouring the moment as if we have all the time in the world.

And in this moment, in Azriel’s arms, it feels like we do.

Our breaths mingle, warm and shallow, as we slowly pull away from the kiss. The world seems to stand still around us, every sound muffled by the rush of blood in my ears, by the feel of his hands still gripping me, like I’m the only thing keeping him anchored. I finally glance around the room, blinking as if waking from a dream, and that’s when I realise we’re alone.

The others—Cassian, Nesta, Feyre, Rhys, Mor, Amren, and Elain—they’re gone. At some point, they must have quietly slipped away, leaving us here in the lounging area, tangled together on the chair like some kind of forgotten secret. My face flushes with sudden awareness, the intimacy of the moment crashing over me now that we’re truly, utterly alone.

Azriel must sense it—the sudden flush creeping up my neck, the way my body stiffens just slightly. His eyes narrow, a flicker of concern passing through them, but before I can even speak, the world around me shifts.

It happens so fast—one moment I’m sitting on his lap, surrounded by the warmth of the fire, and the next I’m engulfed in darkness. Not just darkness, though—his shadows. They wrap around me, soft, velvety, and thick, their weight comforting and familiar as they pull me under. I barely have time to register the sensation of falling before I land, gently, on something soft beneath me.

I blink up, my breath catching as I realise I’m on my back, lying on the plush surface of a bed. The shadows swirl around me before retreating, leaving nothing but the low glow of candlelight to illuminate the room. My heart pounds in my chest as I take in my surroundings—the large bed beneath me, the soft sheets crumpled around my legs, the faint scent of night-blooming flowers hanging in the air. And then, I see him.

Azriel is hovering above me, his body blocking out most of the dim light, his wings half unfurled like a dark halo around him. His hands are braced on either side of my head, caging me in, and his face is only inches from mine. The shadows still dance around his shoulders, swirling lazily, but his gaze… his gaze is locked on me, and it’s intense, burning with something that makes my breath catch all over again.

He’s staring at me like I’m something precious, something he can’t quite believe he’s allowed to have. His lips part as if to speak, but he hesitates, his eyes flicking over my face as if he’s memorising every detail. His presence is overwhelming—warm and solid and intoxicating, and I can’t help the way my body reacts to him, my skin buzzing with the nearness of him.

Azriel’s wings flutter slightly as he hovers above me, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts, eyes locked onto mine with a fire that seems barely contained. The room around us is dim, the only light spilling in from the moon outside the windows, casting long, gentle shadows that seem to dance across his features. His wings frame him, dark and powerful, the membranous folds trembling with barely concealed tension.

I feel it too, the overwhelming tension that hangs between us—thick, electric, like a storm about to break. My pulse races, the heat between us coiling tight in my chest, and I can’t help but take in the sight of him. His muscles are taut beneath his shirt, his shoulders broad and wings extended just enough that I can see them twitching, the sensitivity of that velvety skin so evident even from where I lay beneath him.

His eyes are locked on me, dark and molten, and the connection between us, the bond we share, hums with the weight of his desire, of his need. I feel his emotions as if they’re my own—raw, unfiltered hunger. It’s like standing on the edge of a cliff, knowing there’s no way back, and part of me is already tumbling over it.

The bond pulses with an intoxicating mixture of want and restraint. I sense his struggle to hold back, to keep himself in check, even though the thread of control is so thin it feels like it could snap at any moment. His shadows swirl restlessly around us, as if they, too, are caught up in this moment, drawn to the fire igniting between us.

“Azriel…” I whisper, my voice barely audible in the quiet of the room, but the sound seems to break whatever thread of control he was holding onto.

His gaze softens, and without a word, his head dips, his lips brushing against my throat, feather-light but sending sparks racing through my veins. His breath is warm against my skin as he inhales deeply, as if he’s savouring the moment, the feel of me beneath him.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” His voice is a low, gravelly whisper against my neck, filled with equal parts wonder and restraint. His hands, those scarred, powerful hands, slip down to my waist again, pulling me closer to him as he presses his body flush against mine, his weight grounding me.

I shiver beneath him, the flush on my face deepening as I feel him everywhere—his solid chest pressed against mine, his hips brushing against my legs, his scent surrounding me, wrapping me in warmth and desire. My pulse races, and I know he can feel it, can hear it with those sharp senses of his.

I open my mouth to respond, but the words die in my throat as he lifts his head, his eyes meeting mine again, dark and full of that smouldering intensity that makes me feel like I’m the only person in the world. His thumb brushes against my hip, a simple touch, but it sends a wave of heat coursing through me.

Azriel's lips curl into the faintest of smiles, and then, as if unable to hold back any longer, he leans down, his lips capturing mine in a kiss that’s slower this time, more deliberate. It’s not rushed or desperate like before, but deep, exploring, savouring. His mouth moves against mine, teasing, tasting, and I can’t help but arch into him, the heat between us growing more intense with every passing second.

The soft sheets crumple beneath me as I reach up, my fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer as I kiss him back with everything I have. He responds with a low, guttural sound in the back of his throat, the sound vibrating against my lips, and it sends another shiver down my spine.

His body shifts above me, his weight pressing me deeper into the mattress, and I feel the hardness of him, unmistakable now, as he presses against me. My breath hitches, and I can’t stop the way my hips move, instinctively arching up toward him, seeking more of that delicious contact.

Azriel breaks the kiss with a sharp intake of breath, his eyes hooded and dark as he pulls back just enough to look at me. His expression is raw, full of want and need, but there’s something else there, too—something vulnerable, as if he’s asking for permission.

"Tell me to stop if you want me to," he murmurs, his voice hoarse, barely above a whisper, but I can hear the restraint, the effort it takes for him to hold back.

I meet his gaze, my heart pounding, and slowly, deliberately, I shake my head. “Don’t stop.”

That’s all it takes.

The moment the words leave my lips, Azriel’s entire demeanour shifts. The restraint he’s been holding onto starts to unravel, his gaze darkening to a molten amber that sends a shiver through me. His hands tighten on my waist as though he’s been waiting for this—waiting for permission to lose control.

And then, his mouth crashes back onto mine, but this time the kiss is deeper, hungrier, as if he’s been starved for this. His tongue teases mine, coaxing and tasting, and my body responds with an intensity that surprises even me. I can’t help but arch into him, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as I pull him closer, needing more of him, more of his touch.

Azriel groans softly, the sound rumbling through his chest and vibrating against me. His hand slides down to my thigh, his strong fingers digging into the soft skin as he hitches my leg over his hip. The movement presses our bodies together in a way that has me gasping, feeling every inch of him against me.

And gods, he feels good. So good it’s almost overwhelming.

He drags his lips from mine, trailing hot kisses down my jaw and to my neck. Each one is deliberate, like he’s savouring the taste of me, and I tilt my head, giving him more access. He doesn’t hesitate. His teeth graze the sensitive skin of my throat, and I gasp, the sensation sending sparks of pleasure racing through my veins. His wings shift slightly behind him, a subtle twitch as if even they are responding to the growing tension.

I slide my hands down his back, feeling the hard muscles beneath the fabric, and then lower, fingers brushing the edge of his wings. His reaction is immediate. A low, guttural sound rumbles from his chest, and his wings flare, just slightly, the movement causing him to press more firmly against me.

I do it again, trailing my fingers along the sensitive membrane, and Azriel gasps this time, his breath hitching. His wings are trembling under my touch, the connection between us growing more electric.

"Careful," he murmurs, his voice hoarse, strained. "They’re... sensitive."

I smirk, teasing him again with the softest brush of my fingertips along the arch of his wing, watching as his reaction mirrors the way he would if I touched him elsewhere—his body tensing, his grip tightening on my waist, his breath catching in his throat.

“Sensitive?” I murmur back, voice low, playful. “Good to know.”

Before I can do it again, Azriel’s patience seems to snap. In one swift motion, he pulls back, grabbing the hem of my shirt and yanking it over my head, discarding it without a second thought. His eyes rake over me, dark and full of hunger, and he lets out another growl, the sound making my pulse race.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, barely loud enough to hear. But I do, and it sends a flush of heat through me. 

Without hesitation, his hands return to my body, but this time, he doesn’t stop. His mouth follows the path of his fingers, trailing hot kisses down my neck, across my collarbone, and lower still. His lips and hands explore every inch of me as if memorising me, worshiping me.

And all the while, his wings—those magnificent, powerful wings—shudder in time with his touch, as if they are just as desperate for contact, just as in need of attention.

My breath hitches as I lift a hand, letting my fingers gently trail over the scars that line his forearms, feeling the tension thrumming beneath his skin. His breath falters, and I can sense him tip just a little closer to losing himself, feel the wild, unconfined need rippling through the bond.

Without breaking eye contact, I let my hand drift higher, toward his wings.

His reaction is immediate. The moment my fingertips graze the soft, sensitive skin of his wing, a shudder runs through him. His wings flare slightly, trembling as though he’s fighting not to let them fully expand. I can feel his breath catch, the bond between us flaring with the intensity of his pleasure, the sensation so strong it nearly knocks the breath from my lungs.

I don’t stop, letting my fingers trail along the edge of his wing, marvelling at how the slightest touch sends shockwaves through his body. His wings twitch, and his control slips just a little further. His whole body is trembling now, the tension in him barely held together, and the bond surges with the primal, visceral pleasure he’s feeling.

"You’re playing with fire," he growls, his voice low and dangerous, but there’s a glint of amusement, a challenge hidden behind the heat.

Before I can respond, he’s kissing me again, harder this time, more possessive. His hands slide lower, fingers digging into my hips as he presses his body more firmly against mine, and I can feel every inch of him, hard and ready, against me.

The intensity between us builds, a slow, burning heat that’s all-consuming, and I can’t help the soft moan that escapes me, my body arching into his touch. A soft groan escapes him, low and guttural, as his hands grip my waist, holding me as if I’m the only thing anchoring him to reality. But when I press a little harder, tracing the ridges of his wing, something in him snaps.

He buries his face in the crook of my neck with a desperate, almost feral groan, his breath hot and ragged against my skin. I feel the sharp bite of his teeth grazing my neck, almost too hard, but the pain mingles with pleasure so intense it sends a shiver down my spine. His hands tighten around me, pulling me impossibly closer as his wings tremble violently beneath my touch.

Before I realise it, Azriel’s entire body convulses with the force of it, a full-body shudder that ripples through him as he comes undone, his breath heavy and laboured, his wings quivering beneath my hands as the overwhelming pleasure tips him over the edge. His face remains buried in my neck, his lips pressed hard against my skin, and I can feel the pulse of his heartbeat racing, hear the low, guttural groan that escapes him as his body tenses and then releases in wave after wave of pleasure. His hips jerk into mine and I can feel the way embarrassment tinges the thread of our bond to I just kiss the side of his forehead as he rides out his orgasm. 

The bond between us flares white-hot, filled with the intensity of his release, and I can’t help but gasp, feeling every shudder, every tremor as if it’s my own. His wings continue to tremble beneath my touch, and I keep my fingers there, gently stroking the sensitive skin, letting him ride out the final waves of pleasure until his body slowly begins to relax.

Azriel’s breath is still hot against my neck, his body pressed so intimately against mine that I can feel every lingering tremor that still rocks through him. For a moment, neither of us moves, suspended in the quiet aftermath, with only the sound of his heavy breathing and the rapid beat of our hearts filling the room. But then, I feel it—the unmistakable tension of his body growing rigid again, the slow but deliberate shift of his hips against mine as the evidence of his renewed desire presses hard against my thigh.

Slowly, Azriel raises his head from where he’d buried it in my neck, his breathless groans now replaced with quiet, almost desperate pants. His hazel eyes lock onto mine, and they’re no longer merely molten—they’re molten chocolate, deep and swirling with so much raw need that it nearly knocks the breath from my lungs. His gaze is intense, but beneath the fire burning there, I see something else—something that makes my heart stutter in my chest.

He’s pleading.

“I need you,” he whispers, voice rough and low, his hands shaking as they grip my waist just a little tighter. His forehead rests against mine, eyes heavy-lidded but full of a barely contained hunger. His lips part as if he’s about to speak again, but it’s as though the words are too difficult to form. Instead, they tumble out, strained and needy, “Please…”

There’s no mistaking the fervent desire coursing through him. His body, his wings, even the bond between us pulses with it. He’s already hard, ready, and I can feel it—the urgency in every inch of him as his hips press forward, seeking any relief. But despite the wild hunger coursing through him, despite how his entire body shakes with need, he still waits. He still pauses. His fingers twitch slightly at my sides as if every fibre of his being is fighting for control, waiting for permission.

The gentleman in him, even in this frenzy, is waiting for me to say yes.

One word, a singular thought, chants in my head over and over again, echoing through the bond, through every breath I take as I look up at him. It’s a need that matches his, an all-consuming fire that burns hotter with every second that ticks by.

Mate.

I reach for his shirt without thinking, my hands trembling with the same need that’s consuming him. My fingers curl into the fabric, and I don’t even hesitate. I rip it in two with a force I didn’t know I had, the sound of tearing fabric filling the room as the shirt falls away from his body in tatters.

Azriel lets out a low, rough groan as the shirt is discarded, his wings flaring slightly, and his eyes darken even further—if that’s possible. His skin is flushed, the muscles of his chest and arms rippling under the soft moonlight, and I can’t help but run my hands across the broad expanse of his chest, feeling the way his breath stutters beneath my touch.

But we’re not done.

Azriel’s hands move down to his trousers, and with one smooth motion, he’s shucking them off, kicking them aside with an urgency that leaves my heart racing even faster. The sight of him, naked and unashamed, standing over me with every inch of him ready and willing, sends a fresh wave of desire crashing through me.

My own body burns, flushed with heat as I feel the bond between us pulsing with an overwhelming surge of need. He moves with precision, fingers deft but trembling as he does the same to me, discarding every layer between us until there’s nothing left, until I’m as bare to him as he is to me.

His eyes never leave mine, and there’s something almost reverent in the way he looks at me now, like he’s seeing me for the first time, or maybe like I’m the only thing that exists in this moment. His hands are gentle as they skim over my skin, but there’s a trembling edge to his touch, a tension that speaks of the frenzied desire threatening to overtake him.

And through the bond, I feel it too—the storm brewing inside both of us, the need to come together, to consummate what’s been simmering between us for so long.

Azriel’s wings twitch, his breathing erratic as he hovers above me, every muscle in his body taut with restraint. He lowers himself, his body pressing against mine, skin to skin, and I feel the weight of him, the heat of him. His breath ghosts over my lips, and his voice, husky and raw, whispers again, “Tell me… tell me what you want.”

I feel his body trembling, barely held together by the thread of control that’s slipping fast. His hands are on either side of me, but it’s his wings that twitch, sensitive and exposed, sending a shudder through him every time they brush against the sheets. His eyes plead with me, and I know that this moment is the tipping point. All I have to do is speak the word, give him the permission he’s so desperately seeking.

And the bond between us pulses, thundering in my chest, as that singular word echoes louder and louder in my mind.

Now.

ACOTAR Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 12th Oct 2024

[confused-wanderer]

No because I can’t be the only one who thinks that the other batkids mess with Damian’s non-existent knowledge of jokes and references. Each of the batkids already has their own niche of bad jokes they love saying. And Damian is just adding fuel to the fire by being an unsuspecting victim:

Dick: Knock knock

Damian *who’s seen Superman and Jon do this all the time* : .. who’s there?

Dick: Nobody

Damian: …nobody.. who?

Dick:

Damian: ?

Dick *keeping a poker face*

Damian: Grayson.. nobody who?

Dick *shaking with silent laughter before walking out of the room*

Damian: .. Grayson has lost what little brain cells he had left. Shame, it was the most anyone had in the family.

Alfred: Master Damian.. it is you who didn’t understand.

Damian: .. what?

Alfred *raises an eyebrow*

Damian:

Damian *realisation dawns*

Damian *marching out of the room while unsheathing his katana*

Alfred: Keep away from the carpet Master Damian.

OR

Jason: You know.. you always see flamingoes sleep with one leg lifted off the ground..why do you think that is?

Damian: .. you pose a good question for once Todd. I suppose it could be a form of protecting body heat.. what is the reason for this?

Jason *wheezing*: It’s ‘cause if they had both legs up they would’ve fallen over.

*doubles over laughing at his own joke*

Damian:

Jason *now fallen over, rolling on the ground*

Damian: This is why Father doesn’t love you.

It has also led to an unintended common ground between him and Tim, who are both just so done with the rest of the family. Stephanie is just waiting for the day Damian realises that Tim references vines almost everyday. She’s sure Tim’s going to lose a kidney when that happens.

Bonus points if Tim already does, but Damian just looks at him weird every time and just chalks it upto another “Tim thing” like:

Tim: .. it is Wednesday my dudes.. *screams*

Damian: … Drake it’s Friday. The only thing you succeed at is disappointing me.

OR

Tim: Do it for the vine.

*jumps into blazing fire with a bomb hidden somewhere in the building about to collapse without informing anyone or taking proper equipment to find said bomb*

Damian: Father told me I must not hate you, but if you were on fire, and I had a glass of water.. I would drink it.

And

Tim *driving while in a high-speed chase with a villain about to summon the end of the world while the car is on fire*: Road work ahead? Uh yeah, I sure hope it does

Damian *over the comms* : Father I fear Drake has more brain damage than he usually does. I have genuine concern for my safety. If I kill him, you should know it’s in self-defence.

————-////

Edit: The first joke is a knock knock joke but when Dick says nobody it means nobody is at the door, so no matter how much you say “nobody who?” you won’t get a reply because there’s no one at the door. Hope this clears it up😅

[n41r]

Fun time doods

Some are based on the battle from 4th of December, some are just funsies

[saphiccarma]

Heyyy may I request Rio x reader who are exes and reunite when Rio shows up at the road? Angst that turns into fluff and obv happy ending? Thank you🥺

- Wherever you go I'll follow

Relationships - Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary - Rio had abadoned you after she had to take Agatha's son. It left you with a simmering anger, but you think you would see her again until she, and in turn you, was summoned to the witches road.

Warnings: Some angst

A/N: All the requests I've gotten make me so happy, so I hope I did this one justice. Hope y'all enjoy.

The first thing you heard when you clawed your way out of the ground was surprised shrieks and yells, followed by an amused, slightly psychotic, but familiar laugh. Dread pooled in your stomach. You tore yourself out of the ground with a gasp and brushed the dirt away from your face. Nearly instantly, your eyes locked with a certain witches. Rio had an insane smile on her face, her lips spread wide as she fiddled with her knife.

"Well look who it is," she cooed, her voice taunting and insufferable.

You were not doing this. With a huff, you spun around and started walking away from them. You had seen at least five other people there, but you really could not deal with Rio. Faintly, you heard her gasp in fake shock, her footsteps trailing after you. It wasn't long before she was walking alongside you, her breath warm in her ear as she breathed down your neck.

You could hear her lick her lips, "I've missed you."

Shoving at her, you curled your lips into a snarl, "Fuck off." All that did was draw a laugh out of her, maniacal and insane.

"Only if you watch," she teased, taking absolute pleasure in the way your cheeks heated and you spluttered, "There's the flustered girl I remember, the one who brought me pretty flowers and greeted me with kisses and kept me warm at night."

You scoffed, crossing your arms and continuing to walk forward. Fire crackled inside of you at her words, the small spark igniting after so long. Heart beating frantically in your chest, you tried to gather your thoughts, even as you heard Rio trailing after you with a huff. In all honestly, you had no idea where this place was, with its dark surroundings, looming trees, and vibrant night sky. What a shitty time to be a familiar. The likely scenario was that Rio was summoned, with a formal incantation, and that meant you you were summoned as well. The curses of being a familiar tied to her.

"Sweetheart," she sang song, "We're on the Road. You can't leave."

That made you stop in your tracks, spinning around to face her with furrowed brows. The Road had always been fake, you both knew that.

"We both know that's fake."

The Road was made up by Agatha, a con she created to steal other witches’ powers. Rio let a sly smile cross her face, tongue poking into the side of her cheek. She took a step closer, so her hands were grazing against yours.

"Apparently not," she whispered, linking her fingers with yours. Every fiber of your being wanted to pull back, but for some reason you let Rio pull you closer, her breath ghosting on your lips. Your eyes fluttered as she licked her lips.

A throat was cleared and the two of you sprang apart, your hands burning as if they were on fire. A warm heat spread through your cheeks as you saw Agatha standing there, an unamused eyebrow raised as she stared at the two of you. The rest of what you assumed was her coven stood behind her, with perplexed faces. You cleared your own throat, taking several steps away from Rio.

"We're supposed to walk this thing?" Rio asked, gesturing at the Road. She took off with a skip in her step, knife twirling in her hand. You watched as Agatha scoffed, her coat swishing as she followed, quickly taking lead with her little...pet following.

You hung in the back, your thoughts swirling with so many emotions. Mainly anger. Angry at Rio for abandoning you. All those years ago, ditching you as if you meant nothing, as if you were just a piece of trash. You were born for her, a being created to serve and stand by her side for eternity, tethered to her until the end. But then she left one day, leaving you standing in your small cottage with a bouquet of flowers in your hand with a longing look in your eyes. Rio never came back after that.

Before that you knew she had something going on with Agatha, and you were fine with that, you had to be. You were just her familiar, it's not like the two of you were really anything. You were just born to serve her however she pleased. That didn't stop the sting when she created a child and then left you. Faintly, you heard the rest of the witches muttering about her in front of you. Rio was always the center of attraction.

The teenager pulled back, walking with you, his steps unsure and his eyes curious. You raised a brow and cleared your throat, urging him to speak.

“How come you were summoned? I thought we only summoned a green witch.” he asked, his fingers fiddling with a leather book he held in his hands.

“True,” you agreed, “Have you heard of familiars?” You watched as Rio skipped closer to Agatha, whose anger was so strong you could feel it from here.

He paused for a moment, biting his lip, before he shook his head, “No.”

“They’re people, or creatures, it really depends on the witch, that are tethered to a witch. In my case, I’m tethered to Rio – she’s basically my owner.” The term made a faint blush paint your cheeks.

“Oh.” He said, his hands still fiddling with his book, “So since she was summoned, you were too?

You sighed, “Unfortunately.”

^____________^

The coven sat around a fire, the flames crackling in your face and their warmth spreading around the small circle, sharing battle wounds and stories. It felt familiar, comforting even as you sat the closet, absorbing the warmth it gave off. Agatha had joined not long after the conversation had started, reporting that Teen would be fine after all. Rio twirled a flower in her hand as she side-eyed Agatha who sat next to her. A pang of jealousy hit you at Agatha's proximity to Rio.

"I have a scar." Rio said suddenly, her gaze focused on the fire.

"No, you don't," Agatha scoffed.

"Yes. I do." Rio insisted, her gaze flickering towards Agatha, "A long time ago, I loved someone," and even though her eyes meant yours, you knew she wasn't talking about you, "and I had to do something I did not want to do. Even though it was my job." She cast a pointed look at Agatha and swallowed thickly, her hands stilling from their fidgeting with the flower, "She is my scar."

You felt jealousy boil in your stomach as Agatha stood, Rio following her. Rio was meant to be yours; you were born for her. The rest of the coven sat awkwardly around the fire, their eyes following Agatha and Rio. The pain cut deep at the sight of them walking off together. Clenching your hands, you sucked in a sharp breath as you watched them disappear around a bend, Rio's hands reaching for Agatha.

I've missed you. Did she really miss you though? Based on her apparent attraction to Agatha, she didn't miss you at all, her heart lied elsewhere. It no longer lied with you and you wondered if it ever did. Rio could have just stuck with you because she was obligated to. You were nothing more than a pawn, a tool to make her job easier. Guiding angered souls, the ones who were so reluctant to go they managed to stay with their body, was your job. It took one more thing off of Rio's plate.

"Do you have any scars Y/N?" Alice asked, dabbing some of Jen's homemade perfume on her wrists.

You thought for a moment, trying to think of one, before a very specific one popped into your mind. It was probably your only one. You rolled the sleeve of your shirt up to your elbow, revealing your forearm to the group, the fire illuminating it. A fading R was carved into your skin. Despite what some might believe, Rio didn't carve it into you, even if she wished she did.

"I was born with it," you said quietly, "A symbol of who I belong to."

Your statement was meant with a stunned silence, the rest unsure of what to say to that. Rolling your sleeve back down, you awkwardly stood, mumbling some excuse about needing to stretch your legs. You walked off in the opposite direction that Agatha and Rio went. The forest provided some sort of comfort, with its dark atmosphere and large trees. You settled beneath one, your back pressing against the harsh bark, and you made a little flame come alive in your hand.

You weren't a fire witch, per say, but you could control fire. Some people say fire as danger, something to be avoided lest you get burned. And you agreed, fire was dangerous and shouldn't be played with. However, if treated right, it could provide warmth, a light in the darkness. Rio had learned how to treat fire like that, but she always played. Rio always played. Her words would be taunting and teasing, making the fire inside you flare up, but other days, she was soft. That's when the fire crackled with content inside.

Playing with the fire, you let it hop from hand to hand, the little ball burning with passion. It was a struggle to keep a small with all the emotions swirling inside of you, but the fear of burning down the forest was stronger. There was a certain comfort to playing with the fire, the warmth on your fingertips. Being away from Rio had dimmed your powers, draining them slowly, but now that you had returned, they were becoming stronger again. That was one thing you had always hated about this gift. It became a curse when you were tethered to someone you hated.

"Playing with fire again I see."

Your head snapped up at the teasing tone, your faint smile being replaced by a scowl. Rio was twirling her flower in one hand, the pink, a vibrant contrast against the dark forest, her other hand settled on the hilt of her knife that was strapped to her thigh. The fire in your hand flared up, the flames licking your face before you put it out with a flick of your wrist. Skipping over, Rio plopped down right next to you, her front facing you. Ever so slowly, Rio slid the flower into your hair, disregarding your flinch and sharp inhale. She smiled happily once it was settled into your hair.

"There's my pretty pet," she whispered, and you searched for the usual teasing tilt in her voice, but there was none. Just pure adoration, which had to be a trick because Rio never adored you. She only used you.

You flinched at the nickname, "I'm not your pet," you spat.

"The mark on your arm says otherwise," The Green Witch rolled her eyes, "You've always been my pet."

The words cut deep inside you, reminding you that you had always belonged to her. Even when she left you. You were meant to be hers, whether you liked it or not - you were tethered to Death for eternity. If you somehow died, Rio would still be able to keep you.

"You left me," you snarled, "I'm not your pet."

Rio blinked harshly, pulling back a little. It was only then that you noticed how close she had gotten.

"I never wanted to leave my love," she said softly, in a tone that was only ever reserved for you, "But duty called and I had no choice."

You scoffed, "What duty? You mean fucking Agatha?"

Rio laughed at your bold statement, throwing her head back with a maniacal cackle. It did nothing to soothe your worries and the growing fire inside you. But it did give you a view of her neck, the one you would bury yourself in after long days, the one you would kiss and bite and love.

"I did fuck her," Rio agreed, "But that's the past. You've always been my favorite, darling. I never wanted to leave you, never."

You flinched away when her hand came close, wrapping around the back of your neck. She pulled you close, her touch rough and soft. Her lips were inches away from yours and you smell her earthly smell.

"I hate you."

Rio smiled, "I know."

She crashed her lips onto yours, she tasted like flowers and the earth. A part of you wanted to pull away, but the feeling of her lips on yours, her hand pulling at your hair, and her tongue entering your mouth, it made the fire in your stomach flare with pleasure. You whimpered softly as her tongue explored your mouth for the first time in centuries.

You pulled away from her, panting ever so slightly, "You can't kiss your way out of this."

"Can't I?" Rio smirked, moving to crash her lips back onto yours.

"No," you pushed her away, "I'm still mad at you."

Rio laughed, throwing her head back before leaning in close, her breath ghosting against your earlobe as she whispered, "Are you?"

When she first kissed you, you thought that was what you had wanted, even if you wanted to pull away, but you know that's not it. You want to be close to her, but not in a sexual way. You wanted to hold her like you used to - for it to be like it used to.

"I want to hold you," you whispered, "I've missed you."

Death's lips pursed, her eyes flickering away before she softly muttered, "Alright."

The two of you shuffled to lay beneath the tree, your arms spooning Rio as she curled into you, her back pressed against your front. You made your entire body warm to contrast the cold of her skin and the air. Rio let out a content hum, burrowing even further into you. You held her tight and pressed a soft kiss on her temple.

"I missed you," you whispered.

"I missed you too," Rio twisted her head and planted a soft kiss on your lips, her touch gentle and sweet.

You let sleep take you away with Deaht wrapped tight in your arms.

[that-nerd-who-writes-fanfiction]

I wanna write a really mundane magic reveal.

This has definitely been done before (please send fic recs) but I’m procrastinating and really want to write it.

Literally nothing is happening, Arthur is having a bath, Merlin is tidying up in his chambers one night and everything is basically fine.

Arthur asks Merlin how he manages to always get the bath water perfect and Merlin jokingly says “must be magic” while he’s distracted, Arthur stops and starts thinking about all the fallen tree branches, how his armour is perfect and even if Merlin is late, his food is always hot.

So Arthur realises Merlin is a sorcerer, but not a very good one if all he can do is boring stuff with chores. And if he’s not using magic to defeat all the bandits, it must be because he can’t defeat all the bandits. Not that he’s trying not to die or anything. In fact, the thought of killing Merlin, or of Merlin being punished for his magic, never even crosses his mind.

Arthur shrugs, because Merlin made the joke before, it was just his fault for not noticing it, also his father is still king, so it’s probably for the best that Merlin never said anything, and he tells Merlin to be careful about his magic and to only use it if he’s locked the door.

Merlin’s too shocked by the easy acceptance to panic, so he’s just like: “you’re cool with it?”

And Arthur, oblivious but in love, is just like “well, at least you’re good at something.” Because, sure, Merlin isn’t powerful, but he’s not about to piss off the guy who gives him perfect baths. Then he’s like, “maybe figure out how to lie so my father doesn’t find out about you though. We can figure out the ban once I’m king”

I’m picturing this to be in early/mid season two. Morgana never turns evil, Merlin helps her with her magic because I said so.

So Merlin and Arthur have a while for Arthur getting used to Merlin magically lighting fires, sharpening his sword, adding protection charms to his armour, heating his baths, removing stains from his clothes and even putting them back to being like new if they lost buttons or anything.

Then they go to find the dragonlord, Balinor survives also because I said so.

Merlin tells Arthur Balinor is his father in the inn before they meet him. Arthur is a little worried for Merlin, but ultimately happy for his friend.

Then Merlin uses magic infront of Balinor and Arthur after Merlin told Balinor that he’s his son. Balinor shoves Merlin behind him protectively and Arthur is confused, “why would anyone assume he’d hurt Merlin? It’s Merlin. If anything, he’s more useful as a servant and more honest as a friend since he found out about the magic.”

Balinor is floored by it, and starts treating Arthur a lot better. Arthur gets to ask about pre purge stuff, Balinor tells him a bit about his mother from when her parents visited his when they were kids, then about Ygraine visiting the dragons and how she, Balinor and others in court at the time were friends.

They take him to Ealdor after the dragon is defeated/banished and Arthur looks over at Merlin and realises “oh my god, you summoned the wind.”

And Merlin is like, “yeah? No big deal.”

So Arthur is left wondering why Merlin is downplaying what he thinks is the strongest bit of magic he’s ever done. He comes to the conclusion that Merlin is embarrassed that it was a fluke, he tries to reassure Merlin that he can always practice and learn to do stronger magic like that. Merlin is confused because the wind wasn’t strong magic?

Balinor realises what’s happening and decides he wants nothing to do with it so he stays quiet. (He’s already sensed a lot of power from Merlin, so he knows he’s strong.)

Anyway, they keep going to Ealdor. Merlin still hasn’t caught onto the fact that Arthur thinks he’s a weak sorcerer, Arthur hasn’t caught on to Merlin being strong and just thinks he’s a little bit embarrassed about not being that strong of a sorcerer.

Then they get to Ealdor, everything is great for about two days until it starts down-pouring. Enough rain to flood the village and everyone is worried because Cenred or Lot(?)(I don’t remember when Cenred dies in canon) isn’t going to do anything because he just doesn’t care so their fields will flood and they’ll starve and not be able to afford taxes.

Arthur tries to reassure Merlin that it’s okay, but Merlin just hums. He asks Arthur if they can still lie and say they were on a hunting trip if he does something about the rain, Arthur tells him he shouldn’t push himself or anything, but Merlin says he won’t and Arthur trusts him so it’s fine. Merlin then goes outside and casually stops the rain, clearing the clouds and moving the rainwater into the river.

Arthur is shook.

Then he’s got to realise that Merlin is powerful, but again he never lied about it so he can’t really get mad, so he decides it’s better to just be shocked and carry on as usual until he gets used to the idea that Merlin is stronger than he looks.

There’s also a little bit of a bi panic in there somewhere because Arthur definitely has a thing for competency. We all saw his crushes on Gwen, Merlin, Lancelot, Mithian if she wasn’t just the wrong person for him, I’m pretty sure Percival too. There’s definitely others I haven’t noticed or forgot about. You get the idea though.

He sees Merlin being good at Magic and is suddenly very confused by the feelings he’s too emotionally stunted to recognise. Even if it’s just small things, Merlin is good at something and ‘what the hell happened to the bumbling idiot who forgot to hand him his sword the first day? What? Huh?’

Then after he accepts Merlin is really good at magic, he decides: “great! He can train with me now! :D” and he drags Merlin out of Camelot to spar which is basically just Merlin teaching Arthur how to defend himself against magical attacks. Arthur thinks he’s helping Merlin to protect himself because ‘if all he can do is wind that’s hardly an offensive attack so he needs more help mastering that. And considering no one else knows, it’s my responsibility to make sure he’s safe if he ever needs it.’

Merlin is just glad to be accepted and that Arthur is willing to learn how to protect himself against the numerous magical attacks every week so he lets Arthur think whatever he wants about why they’re sparring.

But yeah, there’s minimal trauma, it’s not a big deal and they get the happily ever after they deserved.

[gilverrwrites]

Being Bruce’s secretary, a recent college grad straight from the temp agency, that Bruce has the hots for. But he tries to keep a distance because…well, you’re a little young for him. Until you accidentally ingest sex pollen and you’re looking at him, sweaty and embarrassed as you try to keep your hips from obviously grinding into your chair, praying you aren’t leaving a wet spot, because you need to be played with so desperately. He feels awful, especially after you awkwardly confess that you don’t have a ton of sexual experience, but your temperature is only going to rise unless you get some sort of relief. You need his big hand to toy with your pussy until your skin stops heating up and you need to big cock to fill you until your temperature goes down. You’re so shy about having your hot boss get you off, but if it’s a life or death situation…Bruce isn’t going to let you die on his watch.

I love being sent little stories like this, it's like a reward. A delicious little treat and I had to extend on it. Warnings: age gap, boss/employee, dubious consent via the nature of sex pollen.

He tries to keep a distance because…well, you’re a little young for him. But everybody in the building has noticed that he’s been in the office far more since you’ve been hired than, well, ever.

Slowly your duties are extending past typical secretarial work. “You should really hire a PA, Mr Wayne.” You joke.

“And have no excuse to summon your pretty face to brighten my day? No thanks.” He answers instantly, kicking himself under the table when you laugh softly in reply.

And ‘Mr Wayne’. He’d insisted on you calling him Bruce but you’d refused, citing wanting to maintain an air of professionalism, but he’s pretty sure you do it because you know it stirs an untameable fire within him that nobody else has come close to. It’s almost as bad as that tight little pencil skirt you like to wear. The one that’s just an inch above the dress code, not that he’s say anything, or that he’s even looking at the skirt of of his secretary who is no older than most of his children.

You’re wearing that very skirt the day it happens. He could tell something was wrong the moment he got off the elevator. The distinctly sweet, earthy smell of Ivy’s latest batch of pheromones permeates your office space, mixed with something else, something strong and tangy. It smells like sex.

You’re looking at him, sweaty and embarrassed. Shifting in your seat, your chair pulled up uncomfortably close to your desk. He watchs you intensely as he rounds the room. You don’t know that he’s piecing it together; the package of vials he’d had sent up from the lab and how there’s a damp patch, it must have leaked out and got on your skin somehow. The way you’re trying to hide that your skirt is hiked up to your hips, your panties in a bunch unsuccessfully hidden under your heel as you obviously grind into your chair.

You just know that his bright blue eyes are only making you feel worse; so hot and desperate. 

His hand is like ice as he presses it to your clammy forehead and you hiss, leaning back, uncaring that you’re now shamelessly exposing your soppy, swollen pussy.

“M-Mr Wayne, I need help. I n-need you.”

Bruce has never been one for swearing, but he can’t help uttering a quiet “fuck” At your display, at your breathy, needy voice and your enticingly spread legs. But he can’t take advantage of you like this.

“No. You need release.” He informs you, ignoring how his dick is throbbing, trying to sound as formal and cold as possible without slipping into his Batman voice. “Do it here, then go home. Stay there until you’re better. Don’t worry about money, you’ll get full pay.”

He’s been studying the pollen and its effects for weeks and the stuff you’d touched was an attenuated version anyway. You’ll be fine once you ejaculate it out of your system and get a good rest.

You don't question how he knows what's wrong with you or how to fix it, your mind obviously occupied with the burning sensation that's pooling through your body and making you an anxious, needy mess.

He backs up, determined to enter his office and give you some privacy but you grab his arm with a strength he didn’t know you were capable of, staining the sleeve of his suit with your slick. He can see the unease in your eyes, the bite in your lip. You don’t want to say what you’re about to say but you awkwardly confess; “I’ve been trying, I can’t do it. I’ve never done it. Please, Mr Wayne, I need you.”

He's not proud of how easily he succumbs to temptation, in fact he feels awful as he drops to his knees. Needing his big hand to toy with your pussy until your skin stops heating up is where it starts. You’re so responsive, thanking him repeatedly between such sweet whimpers as your cunt twitches around his thick, curled fingers, getting louder and louder with stroke.

He does his diligence though, trying to protect any pride you have left by calling the reception team and telling them that nobody, visitors or staff, are to be allowed on his floor until he states otherwise before he crosses the line by fixing his lips to your clit. Your whole body jerks, it’s endearing, how you want it so badly, yet can’t control yourself, can’t sit still long enough to take it, even when you grab at his hair to try and reel yourself. Makes him feel like a sick, lecherous old man for enjoying the turmoil of a woman far too young for him.

But he won’t prolong your suffering, he isn’t going to let you die on his watch. So he holds you down with his spare hand, keeping you in place as he takes care of you, his other hand plunging between your dripping walls, his mouth never leaving your sensitive clit no matter how hard you pull on him until you release all over his mouth, adding to the stain you’d already ground into your chair before his arrival.

That’s where he should call it a day, but in an emotional show of gratitude, the moment he leans away, you pull him into a heated kiss. Unbothered by the taste of yourself as you whisper ‘thank you, thank you, thank you' into his open mouth.

You’re still shaking when he lifts you by your thighs, hurriedly placing you on your desk, he’ll replace anything broken later. Right now, he needs to keep kissing you, keep hearing you moan for him. Needs to fill you up with his cock, just until your fever breaks. Just to be sure.

Brucie taglist: @wandalfnation

[gloomwitchwrites]

Demon's Thrall

Incubus Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: noncon/dubcon elements, demon!Simon, incubus!Simon, accidental summoning, deal with a demon, descriptions of future sexual acts, power imbalance, master/slave, witch!reader

Word Count: 2k

A/N: Requested by @coffeecaketornado for 3.5k Spooky Bingo (Summon a Demon)

Attempting to return what has been lost, you seek the Void, with the hope that someone will reply. What responds is a creature from hell. They return what you’re asking for but the price for such an ask is your soul.

ao3 // main masterlist // 3.5k spooky bingo masterlist

There is fire in the air. Salt on your tongue.

Power surges through you, heating your blood, and lifting you into the air. Words, old and ancient, drip from your lips. The grimoire in your hands glows, the pages tinged in blood-red. Its cover is leathery, made of human flesh and lined with animal teeth.

You've been searching for years, delving through dimensions to seek a spell that might return what you've lost. The pentagram on the floor radiates yellow light as the candle flames around you go out.

This is your last hope. A final attempt.

Little witch.

The voice is deep, whispering in your ear. It is not one you recognize.

Ignoring the voice, you remain focused on the spell, chanting until the air kicks up and roars in your ears. The pentagram's glow increases, almost blinding in its intensity. There is a heavenly bright quality to the light, and hope swells in your chest, spurring your chanting to a louder crescendo.

Little witch.

A dark form takes shakes within the light. It’s slightly round in shape, like a hunched figure. You are so close. This is what you’ve been waiting for. Everything you’ve lost will be returned.

You will be whole. You will be happy.

The final words fall from your lips, and a sense of completion settles over you. The ritual is done. It is complete. You’ve finally succeeded after years of trial.

The wind dies, the air calming, and your feet return to solid ground. The pentagram’s glow dims, revealing the figure crouched within. Whatever dark shadow obscured them within the light melts away in tendrils of black sludge, revealing…wings.

Leathery, bat-like wings.

They ripple. Shake.

Expand.

As the bat wings unfurl, the first thing you see are stone grey horns. They curl slightly out and back, the sharpened tips pointed upward toward the ceiling. They are connected to a man, his skin flushed a subtle shade of red. His legs and torso are bent, his arms crossed over his knees protectively.

Behind the thick, muscled arms is movement. The man lifts his head, and you’re met with eyes so black they resemble bottomless pits. They are consuming and yet empty, begging you to fall inside and tumble forever without ever knowing the relief of death.

Staring directly at you, he blinks slowly like a contented cat. Some of the darkness bleeds away in his eyes, revealing fiery pupils. A wickedly cruel smile forms, stretching across his face in a way that unsettles you.

The quiet after the ritual is drowned out by his power, the intensity of it slamming into you like a wave. It is immense. Suffocating. You feel no pain. No hatred. It is violent arousal, so pure and unfiltered that your body shudders as if in ecstasy.

Incubus. Demon.

"I did not summon you," you growl, fighting through his demanding presence. It wants to wiggle in, you twist around your heart, to make you orgasm to feed his infernal desire.

"Oh, little witch. You did," he purrs.

With a languid, hypnotic sway, the naked demon before you revealing himself completely, standing tall and proud in the middle of the pentagram.

He is solid muscle—all strength. Broad shoulders give way to a firm chest and abdomen. Scars pepper his skin. They are not haphazard or random. There is a pattern. There is a purpose. The scars on his chest and abdomen spiral downward, circling the base of his erect cock in a mandala-like pattern.

Your gaze lands on the hardened appendage. It is ribbed and pierced on the underside. The base is slightly rounder, the skin a bit loose as if it could swell. His testicles are heavy and large. There are scars there, too.

He is terrifying, yet entirely alluring.

"I didn't call for a sex demon."

The demon smiles, showing his fangs. "You asked for something to be returned to you.” He extends his arms in a placating gesture. “And I have granted it."

Bitter hope blooms in your chest though you know that demons enjoy a good lie. "You grant me nothing."

The demon's smile doesn't fade. "If I could not grant your request, I'd be in your thrall. Trapped within this pentagram. Unable to touch you.”

"You are in my thrall, demon.”

He shakes his head. "No, love. You are in mine."

With a snap of his fingers, a heavy weight seizes your neck. Instinctually, you claw at your throat, dropping the grimoire. Your seeking fingers find solid metal.

A collar. A fucking collar.

“What have you done?” you ask, panic rising in your voice.

The demon does not reply. He lifts his hand, palm upward, and then brings his fist together as if he holds an invisible robe. He tugs that transparent tether and you jerk forward, falling onto your face.

The wooden floor slams into your stomach, pushing all the air from your lungs. The demon tugs again, and you’re dragged across it. Gathering your wits, you flip onto your back, your own hands clawing at the air in front of you to find the invisible chain.

“No!” you screech, finding the connection. “You are contained!”

A sob quickly rises with the panic, threatening to burst forth from your lips as you dig your heels in. Every tug draws you closer and closer to the pentagram.

Glancing over your shoulder, you seek the grimoire where you dropped it. As if sensing your intent, the demon pulls on your chain harder, yanking you back around to face him. With a snarl, you jerk back against the chain to put distance between the two of you.

The demon is stronger, and with a final tug, you’re yanked onto your feet and hauled over the pentagram. You slam into him, but the incubus is a solid wall, and his hard cock pokes at your stomach like a demanding prod. It’s a threat of what’s to come.

You've heard the stories. Incubi love witches. They last longer in hell, and their wombs can carry demon spawn easier than any human. For them, witches are a treasure. Human women are shared. Witches are hoarded. At least this one won't share you with others. He'll keep you for himself. He'll keep you alive and healthy but only for his own ends.

"You asked for revival,” he purrs, breath warm against your skin. “The one you sought dwells in my realm. I granted your request. Now you're mine. Forever."

The incubus snaps his fingers and the grimoire ignites, consumed in flame. With a roar, you lash out with all the power you have.

Nothing swells. Nothing ignites.

You are empty. Hollow.

Your magic does not answer your call.

"What have you done?" you gasp, staring down at your hands before turning your threatening gaze on him.

"It's only silenced," he murmurs. "Not gone."

You pound your fist against his chest but the demon does not falter. It's like hitting a brick wall. You use your other fist, striking out repeatedly but the demon is unfazed.

"Are you done with your tantrum, little witch?” he asks, bored.

"You've made me your slave," you hiss.

The demon's pleased purr only tightens the leash further. "Your words. Not mine."

"You've put a collar around my neck."

"We made a bargain."

"We did no such thing,” you insist.

The demon’s head tilts slightly, amused. “You called out to the Void. You asked for help. Any help. And I granted it. If you didn’t want something to answer, then why do it?”

Because I want everything to be as it was.

You remain silent, jaw tense as you grind your teeth. You will not justify yourself to this monster. Your actions are your own.

“I have nothing to say to you, demon,” you reply slowly.

"Ghost," he corrects with a cocky smile. "That is what you are to call me. Or," he shrugs.

"Master. Since you seem to prefer that."

"You're foul," you mutter.

Ghost's smile is almost mocking, as if you're a petulant ignorant child who knows nothing of the world. "Oh, little witch. You'll change your tune. I guarantee it.”

You lean as far back as you can which isn’t much. Ghost’s hold on your chain is unrelenting. "What is worse than being at the beck and call of a demon?"

Ghost’s head dips intimately as if to kiss you. You jerk back, but wince when the metal of the collar bites into the nape of your neck.

"Any hellspawn might have answered your call,” he whispers gently. “Would you like one of the Grand Dukes? They’re an…interesting bunch. Their harems are vast, but a witch to add to a collection? You’d have them all fighting over you.” Ghost chuckles softly. “Exchanging beds constantly. Satiating their every appetite.”

Your nostrils flare in anger. Jerking on the chain does nothing, and Ghost does not move away from you. He remains close like a lover.

“Or perhaps a Lord of pestilence? Can you imagine yourself in one their laps for all eternity? Constantly sick. Constantly ill. A new disease to test on your flesh whenever they please.” When you don’t reply to his remarks, Ghost continues. “What about a Torturer from one of Nine Circles?”

"You're teasing me,” you growl.

Ghost shakes his head. “I am merely telling you the truth.” He lowers his voice, a menacing promise. “They will take. They will hurt.” His gaze drops to your lips, observing your mouth. His hand upon the chain gives a little tug, and that one little pull almost closes the distance. His thumb traces your chin, the sharpened nail lightly pressing against your bottom lip.

“I am a demon of pleasure,” he purrs. “You’ll spend your waking hours keeping my cock wet and warm. All you’ll know are the orgasms I give you.” Ghost’s head lowers further, lips brushing against your cheek as he continues. “You’ll look beautiful in my lap. Naked. Skin glistening with sweat from hell’s fires. Cunt full of my cock.” The corner of his mouth twitches with amusement. “Promise you’ll enjoy the piercing, little witch.”

“Fuck you,” you mutter.

He sighs. “You think me cruel now. But I promise, little witch, you’ll be begging for me.”

“I don’t beg.”

“For my cock you will.” One muscled arm comes around to your back, blocking escape. “You will resist. You will hate me even. But in time, you will want me. I’m a patient demon. I can wait.”

“Then you’ll wait for all eternity. You are no different from your brothers and sisters”

He exhales, lips tracing against your cheekbone to move to your ear. “I cannot wait to fill your holes. To gift you with my seed. To know what you sound like when you orgasm with my cock inside you.” Deep in his throat comes a rolling groan. “You will want no others.”

“I will never want you,” you whisper, but even your strength is wavering.

Ghost’s grip on your leash tightens until the metal digs into your skin. He draws you in until there is no space between your bodies. His hard cock digs into your abdomen. Through your clothes, you can feel the ribbed shaft. Though you abhor the idea of spreading your legs for this hellspawn, you’re also curious about how he’d feel inside you.

The corner of his mouth quirks in amusement. "Already you lean in my favor."

"You're delusional."

Ghost traces the curve of your ear with his forked tongue. "I can smell your arousal, little witch."

Against your buttocks, Ghost’s tail traces a trail downward. It ventures between your legs. You stiffen as the tip slips between skin and fabric, toying with your entrance. For a moment, you think it might dip inside, but it retreats.

The tip of his tail appears before you. The two of you observe it. It is glossy with your arousal.

In stunned silence, you watch as Ghost licks the slickness off. A pleased groan escapes him. "Beautiful. Tasting you properly will be an honor." The middle of his brow creases slightly, and that wicked smile returns.

"Ready to descend, little witch?”

taglist:

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