#I SWEAR IT WAS A MERE ACCIDENT

[cherriiramen]

THIS ISNT THE JOHN DRAWING I MENTIONED DRAWING, BUT…. listen, my finger slipped when I was studying poses 🖐🖐

[chaussetteblanche]

and they were roommates pt. 4

pairing : Spencer Reid x fem!student!roommate!reader summary : 2.3k word count : your experience with the unsub warning : canon-typical violence (it gets a bit gory, torture-ish, implied sexual violence), swear words > read at your own risk, you are responsible for the media you consume A/N : thank you all for the support and love on this omggg <333 Emily's a tiny bit of a bitch in this one, whoopsie. y/n cries the whole time, I figured that was what I would do. would you guys like a part 5, maybe Spencer taking care of y/n after such a traumatic experience? some comfort after hurt?

part 1, part 2, part 3

The first thing you noticed when you came to your senses was the throbbing in the back of your head. Your first reflex was to bring your hand up to where you were sure to find blood, but you couldn’t move either of your arms. Opening your eyes wearily, you noticed that your wrists were restrained, binding you to an old wooden chair.  “What the-“ Your heart rate picked up as the memory of being hit over the head came back to you. Frantically looking around, your breathing started getting short and ragged when you realised your surrounding were wholly unfamiliar to you. You jerked your wrists to the sides, hoping that maybe the tight ropes would untie themselves. 

“Don’t tire yourself out,” an icy voice drawled from a dark corner. You could barely hear over the sound of the blood rushing in your ears. You cursed yourself when he stepped out of the shadows, greasy locks pushed behind his ears. You should have told Spencer. You should have known.

His face was barely visible in the dim light. The smell of dust and mold which clung to the room suited him well. His gaze on you made you feel dirty and you hated it. You examined the enclosed space you were in and realised you were in an abandoned art room on campus. You'd discovered it once with your friends by accident, years ago. Art supplies, canvases and desks were strewn about in a careless manner. You tried not to think too much about the blood dotting the floor in multiple places.

"Why did you bring me here?" you asked, doing your best to remain calm. He was clearly unstable and you didn't want to trigger him if you could help it. “Don't worry about that, just know you’re not getting out of here any time soon, honey.” He smiled, a frightening grimace, and licked his lips. Nausea clouded your senses for a second. Tears gathered on your waterline. “Oh yes, I will.” Your voice shook as you spoke and you hated how weak you sounded. His brows raised and he let slip a little, mocking laugh. It made your skin crawl. A tear slipped down your cheek and, humiliatingly, you couldn't wipe it away. “And why do you think that?” he asked, feigning interest. You scowled at him. “The FBI is going to find you, you sick fuck. If they couldn't before this, they definitely will now." 

Your head whipped to the side as he slapped you across the face. He bent down, placing his face mere centimetres from yours. Another tear fell from your eye as you felt your cheek sting and then get uncomfortably warm. “You stupid bitch,” he snarled. “You better watch your tone. You actually think they’ll find you? That's cute." You swallowed, opting to stay silent.

Spencer knew something had happened as soon as Hotch stepped into the room. Over the years, he'd learned how his boss functioned and how to separate all the micro-expressions he used before assembling them back together and interpreting them. Today, he could tell something was seriously wrong.

He hadn't even thought of you at first. In his mind, you were safe. The unsub had been arrested and proof was being searched for. The guy fit the profile and the profile never lied. So why did Hotch ask him to sit down?

"W- what?" "I think you may want to sit down for this." Spencer was getting agitated, he didn't like being kept out of the information loop. "Hotch, just tell us what's going on," pressed Morgan, brows drawn together. "You know how we asked all the professors to contact us immediately if anyone fitting the victimology didn't show up for class?" "Yeah," Emily nodded, urging Hotch on. "We got a call." The Unit Chief's eyes fell on Spencer and the latter knew what he was going to say before the words were uttered. "Spencer, Y/N's professor said she didn't show up to class this morning."

"O-okay, wait, that doesn't mean anything, we arrested a guy, she could just not be feeling well," Emily spoke hastily, concerned about the look on Spencer's face. "No, we must have the wrong-" Spencer was interrupted by Morgan: "Wait a second, the profile says-" "I don't care what the profile says, Morgan! Y/N's first class today is Germanic Ethos and Christian Faith in Medieval Literature, that's her favourite class, she's never missed it in the entire semester! And she was feeling well this morning, we had breakfast together and she would have told me if not! Clearly, we have the wrong guy!"

Silence reigned for a short moment after Spence's outburst. The entire team was left speechless by his behaviour, which was entirely unprecedented. Spencer ran a hand through his hair, letting out a small sigh. "I- Can you try calling her at least? Before we jump to any conclusions." Emily crossed her arms over her chest. Spencer sent her a dark look before whipping out his phone and pressing on the first name in his contact list. He put it on speaker and let it ring.

"No, no, please," you sobbed, "no more! Please! No, stop!"

Your voice was raw from screaming. Judging by the three shallow cuts he left on your right shoulder, the unsub enjoyed seeing your blood pearl and run down your skin. He also revelled in watching you writhe and scream in pain. "What did I tell you? Shut the fu-" He raised his hand in the air and you flinched away by reflex only to find the blow never came. You held your breath.

"I'm breaking dishes up in here all night, uh uh! I ain't gon' stop until I see police and lights, uh uh! I'm a fight a man tonight, I'm a fight a man-"

Oh, the irony. You didn't know whether to bless or curse Rihanna. "What the fuck is this?!" he roared, swivelling sharply on his feet to press the blade of his bloody knife into your cheek. You whimpered quietly. You couldn't help but think of all the infections you would be vulnerable to because of his dirty and rusted weapon. How could someone have so little care for basic hygiene? "It's- It's my ringtone! It's just my ringtone!"

"A man, a man, a ma-a-a-an! A man, a man, a ma-a-a-an!"

"You little bitch," he hissed, quickly untying your hands and grabbing your throat. He lifted you up by the neck and slammed you into the nearest wall, yelling about what a deceiving, conniving whore you were. You cried out in pain, desperately pulling at his hand which was wound tight around your throat. "You think your little friends are going to come and get you?!" he mocked, smushing your cheeks with his other hand. "Tough luck, doll, you're all alone and you're going to-" "Wait!" you spluttered, "Wait!" Your vision had begun going blurry but your mind remained intact. "If- If I don't answer, they'll know something's wrong! And then they'll send everyone out looking for me, for you!"

His grip on your throat lessened and you coughed, forcing air back into your lungs. Your eyes burned with tears. "What does it matter to you?" "Look- I- It doesn't matter, my ringtone is about to stop! And they'll come for sure!" Making a split-second decision, he stomped over to where he'd thrown your bag and sweater carelessly on the ground. You slid down onto the floor, wiping at your eyes. Hastily ruffling through your bag, he pulled your phone out after a second. You lamented all the flyaway papers you'd annotated with bright and lively colours now most likely stained with grime and blood. The unsub answered the call and roughly pressed the phone against your ear. You winced.

"O-Oh, Y/N! It's Spencer, are you alright?!" Big, fat tears rolled down your cheeks at the comforting sound of Spencer's voice. You wanted nothing more than to be near him, away from this living hell. If anyone could understand a message and find you, Spencer could. You were painfully aware of the little time you had left before the unsub got on with his routine and got rid of you. You cleared your throat, wanting to appear natural. "Hey! Yeah, I'm- I'm fine, I'm heading for my Wax Tablet Workshop, we are going to look at how writing on wax is art which has been abandoned by scholars, like universities." "O- Okay, sweets, I'll come get you after class okay? We can go for a coffee together!" "Sounds great, Spence!"

The unsub threw your phone onto the ground next to you and crushed it with his foot. You let your tears fall freely. Spencer had understood. He was coming.

"That was a hidden message, she doesn't have a Wax Tablet Workshop. It's not even a course the university offers." Spencer's brain was working even faster than usual. The BAU team had never seen him like this before. "Garcia, look for all abandoned locations on university campus. Maybe a classroom?" he urged.

The sound of a keyboard typing incredibly fast was heard on the speaker. "I've got one." Penelope's voice was urgent and contained no trace of its usual lightness. "There's an abandoned art studio on the East side of the campus. I'm sending you the address now."

"Let's go," ordered Hotch.

You'd never wear shorts again. Exhausted, beaten, bruised and tied to a chair, you didn't have the energy to do anything more than move your knee when he trailed his finger along it. You were starting to lose hope. There was no clock in sight, but you could guess your time would soon be up. Some part of you wanted to give up. You knew if Spencer were here, he'd tell you to keep fighting, to keep hoping. But you were tired, so, so tired.

You suspected you had a concussion from when he'd knocked out and when he'd slammed you into the wall. Your vision was blurry. Although, maybe that was due to the tears. They hadn't stopped coming since he'd first slapped you. But when his cold hand found your thigh and squeezed it roughly, the kindling fire in you regained strength. No. You would rather die than suffer whatever else he had planned for you. As he started moving his repulsive mouth towards you, you jerked your knee upwards, hard, right into his groin. He roared in pain and doubled over, stumbling backwards.

"Stay the fuck back!" you screamed hysterically. "Don't you dare fucking touch me, you psycho!" He met your eyes with a frenzied look you'd never seen before and pounced on you. The chair you were sitting on shattered with a loud noise and you screamed, finding yourself lying on top of splintery wood pieces. As he brought his arm upwards, knife facing downwards, towards you, you closed your eyes. You didn't want him to be the last thing you saw. You thought of all the good things in your life, your family, Spencer, Geoffrey, Spencer, your friends, Spencer,...

"Put it down!!!" bellowed a familiar voice. "Put it down now!" You opened your eyes. The door behind you had been broken down. FBI agents flooded the room, all aiming their guns at the man on top of you. His eyes darted frantically between Agent Morgan, whose voice you'd recognised, and two other agents you couldn't see.

"I want a deal!" the unsub cried out, "I want a deal!" "No deal," a deeper, more authoritative voice spoke. The unsub raised his arm again, preparing to strike. You closed your eyes.

BAM!

To this day, you didn't think the unsub expected to be shot. You figured he was expecting to be imprisoned. You didn't see the look on his face when he was shot, only felt the dead weight of his body falling on top of you.

Shrieking hysterically, you struggled frantically to move his corpse off you. Someone shoved him off you, promising you in a soothing voice that you were safe.

"Spencer." His name had never been spoke like that before. It was a haunting sob, a cry for help. He was at your side immediately, ridding you of the ropes around your wrists and pulling you away from the broken chair.

It was only when he called your name a third time that you finally found your grasp on reality again. Spencer pulled you into his arms, being careful not to squeeze you too tight. You wrapped your arms around him, burying your face in his shoulder. The comforting smell of him, of home, engulfed and grounded you. "It's okay," he cooed softly, lips brushing your ear, "you're safe now, he can't hurt you anymore." "Call an ambulance," you heard someone order in the distance. Sobbing hard into Spencer's shoulder, you pulled him impossibly closer to you. "I'm so sorry," you bawled, "I had seen him before on c- campus, like- like your boss said but I didn't want to tell you! I thought he was an- an exchange student!" Spencer shushed you, hands still shaking from taking the shot he took with no hesitation. This would be one of the kills he wouldn’t loose any sleep over. "You have nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart, you did everything right, I promise you."

"I- I didn't do what you always say," you hiccuped sadly, mouth moving against the material of his sweater vest, staining it with blood and tears. It was an article of clothing which would be ruined for both of you. Spencer would give it to charity a week later, you wouldn't miss it. "I didn't play into his fantasy, I kept telling him you were going to find me, and he was so angry!" "Baby." This was the first he'd called you that. It stopped you in your tracks. "Listen to me, you did everything right. You may not still be alive if you'd played into his fantasy. You were perfect, I promise. Just breathe, now, alright? You’re okay." "Are- are you sure?" "Yes, baby, I'm sure."

Taglist : (thank you for the support my loves <3) @princess-ofthe-pages @usuck @theylovemelody @empressgraytea @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @lillianacristina @venomsvl @user-3113s-blog @pumpkin-cake @redros3y @faunrasthewinterelf @puppykinsthepotato @bookishnerd1132 @bonza-bear @teeshamcbeesha @hades-disappointment-child @princesssparkle2024 @darlingcharling-blog @yasmin12312 @khxna @jamieeboulos @addyyodaddy @lunavelha @scottybitch @rivwritesiguess @lunagalaa @solacestyles @mgg55lovr @salty-sister @angrygalaxyduck @kayybay @arusio @ill-be-okay-soon-enough @perfectmilkshakeruins @pleasantwitchgarden @slutforwordsfr @chicaconfundidaycuriosa @bippityboppityboob1tch @navs-bhat @amethyst0532 @theamuz @gretaandthatsit @digitalhearts

[emmyrosee]

What would boyfriend sukuna do if he accidentally made his beloved cry? 👀🩵

*claps hands together and bites lip* AYO-

You’d been arguing about something minuscule, about whose turn it was to wash the dishes, and he merely rolled his eyes and said he could find someone else who would do it.

Because sukuna doesn’t think. No matter the time, the context, the situation, when he’s on defense, he’s going to bring out the big guns and says things to hurt. To damage, to break, to shatter.

Because sukuna is not a good person. He may smack on this “learning how to love” facade, he may hold doors open for you and cradle you when you cry, he may introduce you to his friends and family, but at the end of the day, he’s a trashy man who just fends for himself and only thinks about himself.

Or. That’s what he thought.

Until he sees the hot, betrayed tears bubbling in your waterline. He sees the way your shoulders are tightened, and the way your bottom lip wobbles. He sees the way you look at him in disgust, in hatred, you hate him you shouldn’t even be looking at him right now, but you’re so in disbelief that he could conjure such a claim to you that, like a car accident, you can’t look away. Your eyes glaze over his body in distain and god, fuck, he would do anything, worship any gods, fight any evil and give up his greatest treasures if it meant you’d never look at him like this again.

“Why would you say that?” You whimper, and he sees your hand twitch as it makes a move to wipe the tear, but you never connect the movement. The tear falls, and so does your clenched hand. “Did that make you feel better? To hurt me like that?”

“No,” he chokes. “No, no, this isn’t right, I didn’t mean that-“

“You sure had a hell of a time hiding it,” you scoff, and your arms come up to hug yourself, an action that he should be doing, but he feels like if he moves he’s going to shatter. “God, fuck, what were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t,” he rasps. He cards a big hand through his hair, “fuck, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to say that, not to you, never to you.” His hands ball into fists as he loses himself, “fuck, fuck fuck, god, I swear I didn’t mean that, I would never-“

“But you did, Sukuna,” you wail in anguish. “And you said it so easily, what, do you have someone else on the back burner?”

“I don’t!” He says, mind melting and heart pounding because he ruined this, he ruined one of the few good things in his life, all with one stupid phrase he never should’ve even let cross his mind, let alone his lips. “It’s only you, I’m only ever obsessed with you! I love you!”

Love is not a word Sukuna uses. It’s more well intentioned hugs and kisses, he’s a shower not a teller, and he takes in a big gulp of air as the foreign word tingles his tongue. You blink at him in awe, and he lets out a shaky sigh, “god, fuck, I love you. And… And-And-And I’d never want to make you hurt this. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

The room is quiet. The air is heavy as sukuna watches you cautiously, not sure where to go from here.

Then, you sniffle and walk towards him. You slip into his arms, and sukuna thinks you’re made of glass, too fragile to be in his cruel embrace. He gently cradles the back of your head as you cry softly into his chest. “I’m sorry,” he echos. “I mean it. Never going to say that shit again.”

“You fucked up,” you sniffle.

He swallows the thick wad in his throat and blinks up to the sky, begging to be grounded in his heightened state.

“I know.”

“I hate you.”

But he’s got you, for now. That’s all he cares about, and if you ever smarten up and leave him for the dirt he is, he’d never blame you.

But for now…

“I know.”

[a-simple-imagine]

Don’t They Know a Rabbit Can’t Cry pt.2

Synopsis: the road is long and winding. You've been through so much. but the hardest thing to deal with is the newest revelation from Lilia.

Pairing: rio vidal x fem!reader, agatha harkness x fem!reader x rio vidal

words: 3.3k+

A/N - gave up on trying to make this something i couldn’t. It ended up focusing on the readers relationship with Rio sort of separate from Agatha. Sorry if that's not what you' expected

WARNINGS- swearing, descriptions of blood and injuries/pain

PREV //

The vibrant orangey-red sky and comforting embrace do little to distract from the stinging bubbling across your palm. It hurts something fierce. Red hot and wet. You keep your hand in a tight fist; blood bubbling beneath. It tickles a little as droplets spill down your wrist and onto the fabric of your clothes. Agatha sits behind you with her legs on either side, cradling you like one would an injured child. Soft voice in your ear an attempt to encourage you to show your injury. You stay curled into yourself. Shunning her pleas. It was just a scratch. It would heal in time. The other woman didn't need to fret about you any more than she already did. You hear another voice before you notice them. Rio must have returned from her trip. A few words were shared with Agatha before her attention was diverted to you.

"show me,"a temperate request.

"no," you urge. Twisting more into Agatha's embrace. Her grasp tightens slightly. Rio merely sighs before snatching your wrist and tugging your arm out. Your brow furrows.A tiny grunt of discomfort. She pries your fingers apart with ease, revealing the gash across your palm.

"How?" she catches your gaze but you don't answer so her eyes flicker to Agatha an instant later.

"accident in the woods."

"Can you not speak?" rio questions, fingers a smidge tighter around your arm.

"Can you let go?" you shoot back, attempting to pull away but she holds on tight.

"you must be more careful," Rio leans down, lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your palm "My love."

"you needn't worry," you express as she eventually releases your hand. A faint red scar that would go away in time. "I am fine."

"for now," Rio shows a smile. Tiny and gentle. Easy to miss. She cups your face and you instinctively lean into her touch; thumb brushing over your cheek. "does it feel better?" said warmly. You nod. "I am glad."

"This is why you should listen," Agatha scolds

"you know, should you need you can just call for me?"

"I do not wish to bother you." you express, a touch warmer. Softened by the soothed hand.

"it matters not when it is you," Rio murmurs. A brighter smile.

"and it is me who is too soft?" Agatha scoffs. "hardly,"

"This is different," a hand held out as she stood. "it's getting late. We should go inside before you catch your death."

"a little cold never hurt me." you accept her hand allowing the help up. "Agatha and I finished making jam earlier, you should try some."

"you made jam just for me?"

"it was not made for you," Agatha comments following behind the two of you. "you just happened to return."

The end was so close you could almost taste it. The bitter taste of death. It's not that your wish was to die right at the end but to rid yourself of the burden of immortality; and live a life that would one day end for that was what made it worth living in the first place. Hundreds of years of a life that should have ceased years ago. You would also be rid of Agatha and Rio. No longer a spare moment interrupted by their presence. Agatha Harkness who grew more unbearable to be around the further you travelled the road. And Rio Vidal… a green witch you used to know. Maybe Lilia had been lying. There was no way to fact-check now. There are but three others left. Agatha, Jen and Billy. You have no idea where they are. Agatha had basically charged out of the last trial. Jen and Billy were a mystery. You had wandered in search of respite. Searing pain encases your arm; a trail of blood droplets leading towards a tree. You tumble against it. Breathing through the overwhelming sensation.

"whatcha doin'?" such a playful tone could only belong to one witch. Rio. Too focused on yourself you hadn't even noticed her presence but now the slight chill in the air was beginning to shiver up your spine. Her magic always felt a little overwhelming. She possessed a great deal.

"where have you been?" words harsh as your eyes search for her. A shadowy figure across the way leaning against a tree. A pit begins to form in your stomach "Rio?"

"working," eventually answered. Working. Even back then it was always her reason for taking days away. You never really challenged it. You had no reason to. And Rio never seemed interested in explaining what she got up to. "where are the others?"

You dare a shrug. The fire spreads in response. You swallow a groan as best you can but it is much harder to hide your face. You had never been exceptionally good at that. "somewhere up ahead. Listen closely and you'll probably hear Agatha yelling," An attempt at a joke but your heart is hardly in it. You takea resounding breath and let your head tumble back against the bark. Seems like you spend a lot of time amongst the trees. Rio used to say it was important to foster a good relationship with nature. It's what sustains all living things. She was a green witch though so her connection in particular probably made her biased. You always enjoyed exploring with Rio. Many hours spent in grassy fields or harvesting fruit for sweet treats and whatnot. "I just…"

"you're hurt," a knife between fingers twinkles in the moonlight. "and Agatha just left you?"

You never wish to defend Agatha Harkness of all people but in her defence, she wasn't aware of your injury. None of them were. A rogue sword managed to catch you before you could jump out of the way. You would be fine. It wasn't a devastating blow. Just grazed the skin all the way down your arm. Probably looked worse than it was. "nothing new then."

A bark of laughter that quickly settles from the green witch. "she was practically sobbing when that boy got hurt," pushing herself up, she starts stalking towards you. "guess we know where her priorities lie," you swallow hard. Guess we do. While you had made it rather clear you wanted nothing to do with her. Rio bringing up her reaction to Billy did pull at your stomach a little. Once cared so much. Now cared so little. It wasn't like you were hiding your injury well if Rio's quick evaluation was anything to go by. One momentary glance away from the other witch and she was suddenly towering over you. "shame," she crouches down to your level, hooking her index finger under your chin and lifting ever so slightly. "to leave such a pretty thing behind," heat floods your cheeks, making you feel a different kind of warmth. She was playing to your softer side. The vulnerability of being injured. A cunning fox playing with her food. You wait for the enviable moment she switches. Often her treats were paired with tricks. A hand around your throat. A knife in your back. Disappearing one night without a trace. But she doesn't. "let me kiss it better."

Rio was an extraordinarily healer. No need for spells or chants she preferred physical contact. In the past, it was often a kiss; much like the famous saying. You'd witnessed her lick Agatha a few times to dispel her injuries.

"no, it's fine," your free arm shoves her away. "get off me."

Entirely unfazed.A slight chuckle. "still mad?"

"fuck you."

"guess so," the corner of her lips quirk up into an almost missable smirk. "it'll only take a second," a furrowed brow is met with a viper fast root vine that slithers around your wrist and yanks your arm out on display. An audible groan dragged from your lips. Eyes scrunch up as tears begin to swell.

"what the hell?" typical Rio. "don't lick me."

A threat rather than a statement. You know her games. The attempts to rile you up. A roll of her eyes. She crosses her legs as she sits down opposite you. The tip of her thumb swipes over her tongue before cold fingers wrap around your arm. You watch her gradual movements, applying pressure around the edge. "does that hurt?"

"you know it does." you grit your teeth. Willing yourself not to cry. She didn't deserve it. She presses even harder. Pain pricking around her fingertips. You squirm but it only makes your arm burn and her grip tighten. "Rio," voice low. A little whiny. Begging for something; her to let go or heal it, you're not sure. "please," her thumb drifts slowly. Collecting blood and leaving a faint scar in its path as the stinging sensation begins to fade. A few stray tears manage to fall your cheeks. The green witch pops her blood-soaked thumb into her mouth. Holding your gaze a satisfied smirk grew. A low hum. the delicious taste of your suffering.

"just like old times," muttered quietly. She sounds almost timid. Perhaps a response to reminiscing on the past or she knew the reaction she would get bringing it up. If you didn't know her well enough, you'd think she was fond of your time together.

"Can you… let me go now?" the vine tightens before slipping away. You run your fingers over the scar, stretching your wrist out. It was feeling a lot better. Rio watches you carefully. No attempt to get up. You make no attempt to push her away. Softened by a soothed arm. She reaches out once more. Hesitating as if giving you a chance to stop her before she wipes away the remnants of your tears.

"better?"

You nod a little and her hand lowers. "thanks."

"this game you're playing ends soon. Do you think you'll get what you want?"

"why wouldn't I?" you query.

Rio's hands maneuver across the dirt around her in smooth steady motions. "nothing feels…" a handful of dirt brought up between the two of you before pouring to the ground. "off to you?"

Your eyes narrow in contemplation. Does anything feel off? Nothing felt normal. You were on a magical road. The Witches Road. The stuff of legends. "should it?" a soft sigh falls past Rio's lips.

"you may think you've changed- almost convinced me with that whole tough girl act" She shakes her head. Almost like she's disappointed. "but you're still that same girl." she expresses. No venom in her words. Hardly an emotion at all. "naïve. Trusting. I could say the world was ending and you'd probably believe me."

"I'm not," you try to sound as firm as possible. Fingertips going back to your arm. "I wouldn't believe a word that comes out of your mouth."

A chuckle. "and yet you believe this road is the answer to all your problems."

"Agatha is the one who asked me to come,"

"and you just believed her?"

"She is the only known survivor," many witches attempt the road. That much you knew. Nobody ever comes back. It wasn't that you believed Agatha. She was on some misguided trip for power. It was more an act of desperation.

"notorious liar and serial killer Agatha Harkness."

"you need a coven for the road and I-" you continue but she's not listening.

"hid behind dark magic."

"Rio,"

"the woman who abandoned you-"

"Rio. stop it," you state loudly.

"I'm not doing anything," she shrugs. "just speaking the truth."

"I know what she did- what you did," you huff. Your eyes flicker down to the small pile of dirt Rio made. You reach for it. Rolling pieces of the road between your fingers. It felt rough. Sharp. Real. that sword that sliced your arm. The blood that spilled. It was real. "I need this- I need the road to be something." you drop it back down. smoothing it around the ground with your hand. It had been a long road. It was hard being here. Seeing them again. Sharon. Alice. Lilia. You hardly knew them but they didn't deserve to die. This couldn't have been for nothing. You needed to get to the end. To prove you weren't that stupid girl they thought you were. You needed the suffering to end. It had to be real. It just had to be. "I can't keep searching forever." your words hang heavy in the air.A despairing confession to the road.

"Why do you see immortality as a curse?" the other witch asks. Your eyes flicker up to find her staring at you. You feel hot under her gaze and quickly look away. "and not a blessing?"

A blessing? That was ludicrous. It brought you nothing but suffering. Endless life was no gift. How could it be? How could Rio of all people believe that after what Lilia said? Unless it wasn't true. "Rio."

"yeah?"

"why didn't you tell me?" or more so how could she not tell you? You had known her for centuries. And yet it was Lilia who revealed her true identity.

"tell you what?"

"Lilia said you're…"

"I'm…?"

"death," a whisper on the breeze. Death. Rio was death. Is death. Some living embodiment of a concept. It wasn't easy to comprehend. Your brain still didn't quite understand how it worked or if it was even true.

"What happened back there?"

"you'd know if you'd been there," a bitter tone. You don't know why. It just felt like one minute she was there and the next she vanished. Back then and even now on the road.

"do you think you would have handled it well if I had?"

You shrug. Who knows. Back then you navigated the world with an unchecked sense of naivety. You would never deny the girl you once were. You would have followed Agatha and Rio to the end of the world had they asked. They were everything. You truly used to believe they had your best interest at heart. It was stupid thinking back. To trust two predators so easily. there were plenty of red flags that you chose to ignore. You don't know how you would have reacted to the news. There was no way of knowing. You're not that girl anymore. "maybe."

"not even a little."

"you don't know that,"

"I do," her voice is forceful. No room for misinterpretation. "I really do."

"I don't get it," she reaches for your hand. Slow and cautious. You don't pull away. You let her have the moment. The original Green Witch was something you were familiar with. You had originally thought that just meant she was a really powerful witch which is still true but different. a cosmic entity. It's hard to understand a concept such as death having a physical form. Never mind one that looked so ordinary. Well, not ordinary but humanoid.

"you do get it, trust me" as she squeezes your hand. Presumably an attempt at reassurance. You pull away. Perhaps she was right. Maybe you just refused to accept that Rio was death. Maybe it was just too hard to understand. As you stare into captivating eyes you see a world that once was. Silk black hair spilling out from a spring green hood. Kissing wounds so minuscule just to save you some discomfort. The prettiest of flowers just so happened to appear on your strolls. Delicate locks embellished with perfect petals. Sure, she had never been the gentlest of souls. Not like Agatha who was always there to catch you when you fall. But Rio Vidal had her way of showing affection. How could someone like that possibly be death? "you're trying to apply human morality to death. But death is neither right nor wrong. Good nor bad. It simply is." it simply is. Death didn't discriminate. It wasn't fair or just. It simply is. Hated by so many. Sought after by others. Death wasn't good nor bad but Rio? Could her actions really be excused? If all the bad she did wasn't her doing then neither were those little moments of goodness. Was something like death even capable of feeling? "I am the natural order of all things."

"not me though," you say quietly. "does immortality not go against your natural order?" Rio's eyes flicker away but you reach for her face. Firm hands cupping cold skin. She always ran a little cold. Guess that made more sense now. You can tell she's surprised as you push her to face you. Force her attention to remain on the unnatural. "did Agatha know even back then?" rio nods against your hands. Of course, she did. Maybe that's why they ran off together. A serial killer and the embodiment of death. Quite the pair. "oh,"

"it's how we met actually- before you," that small pocket of anxiety sinks deeper at the mention of a time before you. To a relationship only they shared. You had your moments with each of them. But they had many more without you and that would always mean something. "death doesn't wait for you at the end of this stupid road. I've always been right behind you."

Anger settles but never gone. Your jaw tense. Nails digging into the back of her neck. She doesn't even flinch. There is some truth behind her words. You've been chasing death for as long as you care to remember. Searching for her in textbooks and scrolls. Bitter potions and fruitless spells. But in actual reality, you have known her all along. It was funny in its own way. Ridiculous. Even now as you hold them in your hand, it's still hard to understand. Your mind races with questions. So you merely sink into death. Wrapping your arms around her as you bury your face in the crook of her neck. Inhaling the familiar earthy scent and dewy undertones. It's a second or two before her arms wrap around you and her body relaxes. Her grip is fierce; bruising even like she's been waiting for this instant. Fearful you'll slip away again if she lets go. It's a comfort in a way. Terrifying in another.

"you're not mad anymore?" you very much still were. There had been no apology. Barely an explanation. That flame still burned inside. This wasn't forgiveness by any means. You were just overcome. Tears threatening to spill as you cling to her. Allowing your emotions to wash over yourself. It's strange. It's confusing. It's Rio. She's never held you with so much urgency. So much sentiment.

"te he extrañado," a painfully tight squeeze that gives you a point of hesitation. An admission you never predicted. Not now. There's a twist in your stomach. A tug at your heart. A deep inhale of death. It makes no sense and yet so much. Possibly a joke. Some sick game she was playing. How was the embodiment of death was somehow capable of missing you and yet…

"I miss you too," confessed against the skin of her neck. Her grip falters and you take the opportunity to pull back. You come face to face with her once more. Offering a small almost sad smile. Rio looks to the ground and you follow. a single white daisy. She plucks it. Rolling the stem between her fingers as she looks to you once more. flower so lovingly placed behind your ear before rising to her feet.

"you should head back to the others," she insists, brushing herself off. "wouldn't want you to get lost out here," a sharp turn on her heel. You scramble to your feet as she begins walking away. Brow furrowing.

"Rio," you call out. She halts but doesn't turn your way. You know there's no point in chasing after her. "did you… do this to me?"

"do what?"

"curse me," she lets your query linger in the air for an uncomfortably long time.

"Maybe," she answers back. "run along now rabbit."

[b00kdiary]

Could I request Azriel and Plus Size reader where they’re both new to the mate bond and she overheard Azriel and Rhys’ conversation about the “Cauldron being wrong.” She left before she was able to hear Azriel call himself a fool for even believing it for a second, knowing that he’s already kissing the ground his own mate walks on. She starts comparing herself to Elain and then starts lashing out, going to Rita’s every night and avoiding Azriel whenever she sees him.

Cauldron Blessed | Azriel

Azriel (ACOTAR) x Plus Size Reader

Warnings: Mature themes (18+), swearing, body-image issues, angst, and eventual smut.

MASTERLIST - 1 and 2

'The Cauldron was wrong, so wrong.'

Those words played and replayed in my mind again and again, all day, every day, for the last week.

Wrong.

He said that the Cauldron was wrong- about us, about me.

Me, his mate- wrong.

It had been an accident, me overhearing them that night, a coincidence I had decided to come home early from my girl's night with Nesta, Gwyn and Emerie. Though with the Cauldron, there was no such thing as an accident, no such thing as coincidence.

I'd waded through the House of Wind, tipsy on wine and giggling softly to myself as I banged into the walls, thumping clumsily against the art pieces hanging and tripping over my own two feet. Giddy, I had been giddy, stumbling through the halls in search of him.

Azriel, my mate.

Only a few hours apart and I missed him, yearned for him, I felt the distance as if it spanned miles and the more I drank, the more I craved him. That's all I had been thinking of when I trekked through the empty halls, closer and closer to the lounge- just of my mate.

And that's when I heard it.

"The Cauldron works in mysterious ways," Rhysand's laugh drifted out to me in the corridor, and I came to an unsteady halt at the sound. "Feyre was my salvation; I didn't expect anything good to come to me Under the Mountain."

I smiled to myself, my hand coming to my mouth, shielding any sound that threatened to slip past- Az always teased that my lips loosened when I drank too much. Instead, I lean against the cold wall, warmth filling me as he gushed about my High Lady.

They were Cauldron blessed, that was clear to see.

"I think five hundred years of waiting for her was enough, brother," Cassian snorted, and I heard the faint sound of liquor pouring into a glass, wings rustling as one of the powerful males moved. "I know I never imagined my mate as a twenty-five-year-old human female, with a bite worse than mine."

I bit my lip as Cassian laughed, a loud, bellowing sound, so full of joy, so full of content, the mere memory of Nesta, human and utterly indomitable against him something that still brought him to his knees.

"The Cauldron must have a sense of humour," Rhysand teased, and I could practically envision Cassian rolling his eyes, a vulgar gesture thrown between the two males. "Connecting people in the most unexpected pairs, in the most unexpected ways."

"Like Elain and Lucien," Cass scoffs, loudly chugging back the remnant in his glass, "There's a pair I could never have foreseen, not in a thousand years."

"Proof that the Cauldron isn't always right," Azriel muses for the first time since I arrived, and my body almost croons at the sound- low and rough, moving over me as sure as if it were his hands. "She deserves better than any male friends with Tamlin, that's for sure."

She deserves better.

It was silly I knew, for the mere mention of her, the thought of her to make me feel nauseous, make my smile instantly fade, but I couldn't help it. It was hard for me to see a female as lovely as Elain Archeron and not feel inadequate by comparison.

Another who was blessed, so lovely that she had been gifted her seer abilities by the Cauldron itself as if her beauty and delicate demeanour weren't gift enough.

"Brave words, Az," Rhys whistled, and I had to force myself to blink away the picture-perfect image I had conjured of the middle Archerson sister, forcing myself to focus on their conversation instead. "Openly opposing the Cauldron."

"Brave or stupid?" Cassian counters tauntingly, and I knew he was drunk just from how loud his voice was, practically bouncing off the walls. "You think the Cauldron makes mistakes?"

"I know it does," Azriel challenges and it was that voice, that sure, quiet demeanour that I adored and desired so fiercely. I inch closer to the door, grinning at the idea of popping out and scaring them- but then he says it.

Says the thing that makes me stop dead in my tracks, makes my heart stop dead in my chest.

"Look at me and Y/N," Azriel sighs, and there's no joy, or adoration or yearning in his voice in memory of me, not like Rhys or Cass- no, there's dread. "The Cauldron made us mates... the Cauldron was wrong, so wrong."

There's a loud crack that echoes through the room, and it's that sound, and the feel of sharp debris against my palm, that pulls me from my memories. I blink through the tears, looking down at the crumbling marble sink, the corner pieces breaking off into my hands.

I sob through my teeth at the sight, small cuts leaking stark red blood down my fingers as I bring my hands to my chest. I can't see the looking- glass before me, not through the haze of tears, tears so strong it's as if I were made of them.

As if they had become a part of me.

It was all I had done the past week, cry and cry and cry- and avoid Azriel.

Every morning I skip training and breakfast, feigning fatigue or a full stomach, just so I wouldn't see him there. Each afternoon I'd get lost in the stacks and stacks of books in the library, so vast and endless that Azriel never stood a chance of finding me in the maze.

And at night I'd find solace wherever I could find a drink- Rita's, taverns, the Music Quarter, anywhere. Anywhere but at home, anywhere that I didn't have to see him.

I couldn't bear it, couldn't bear the sight of his face, even now the thought of his tilted smile, the beam of his soft hazel eyes, the touch of his scared hands and wild shadows, it made my whole body wrecked with sobs.

I couldn't bear any of it anymore- because none of it was real.

Every smile and touch, every kiss and moment where our bodies joined as one, where he confessed his love and devotion to me, it wasn't real. Azriel thought we were wrong, a mistake, a confusion, just wrong.

My hands shook as I wiped the tears from my cheeks, rougher than necessary, blood-smearing, but I was tired of tears, I was tired of crying, of feeling so unworthy. I was unworthy of him; he was beautiful inside and out and deserved so much better than me.

I sniffed as I lifted my gaze to the looking glass before me, and my heart hurt at the reflection, knowing that this was what Azriel saw, that this was why he knew the Cauldron was wrong. Every curve and roll and inch of flesh that I had, all of it, it was all wrong.

And I hated myself for it.

Wrapping my arms around myself, I take a step back and then another step, away from the reflection that taunted me, and mocked me, before forcing myself to look away. I swallowed against the dryness in my throat as I moved across the cold floor of my bathing suit, my body desperate for my bed.

And as I step over the door's threshold, and back into my old room in the House of Wind, I know it's not the same as when I had left it ten minutes ago.

He was here.

"Azriel," I gasped, halting at the sight of him- sat on the edge of my bed, his broad shoulders and powerful wings rising sharply at the sound of my voice, those hazel eyes meeting mine and filling with something honeyed and warm. "Wha- what are you doing here?"

He rises from the bed, elegant and still, his shadows dancing around him at the feel of my presence, the scent of my skin, and I shiver as he watches me, keen eyes gracing my stiff figure.

"Y/N," He sounds almost relieved as he says my name and my breath is caught in my lungs as I stay rooted to my spot, and he seems to sense my unease, as he doesn't move any closer to me. "You've been staying here for a week now; I missed you at home."

Home- the apartment we shared in town together, a cosy space that we had made our own.

Another thing I couldn't bear to face.

"I've been catching up with the girls," I say quietly, ripping my eyes from him and walking forward on numb legs. I tug at the hem of my nightshirt, his nightshirt I had stolen, feeling too bare before him and his eyes narrow at the movement. "It's just easier to sleep here when we have plans every day."

As spymaster it was Azriel's job to scrutinise, to observe and I felt every single part of that slot into place as he watched me now, watched as I moved toward the bed. I wasn't looking at him, I couldn't hold his stare- and he couldn't figure out why.

His shadows dance through the room, through the distance between us and I jolt, biting my lip when one brushes against my bare thigh- before scurrying back to Azriel in surprise. He inhales a sharp breath when his shadow whispers to him, telling him that something is wrong, I was wrong.

"I know you've been spending time with the girls," Azriel continues slowly, his voice tentative and soft as I move to the other side of the bed, furthest from where he stood. "I just feel like I haven't seen you at all... I miss you, sweetheart."

Sweetheart.

A sob threatened to rip from me at the name, so soft, so endearing on his lips and it took everything in me to not fall apart at that moment, to not crumble under the weight of it all. I shake my head, my back turned to him now and he watches as I tug back the duvet, my actions angry now.

"It's only been a week Azriel," I breathe through my clenched teeth, my tone so at odds with his and my body locking tighter at the sound of his impending footsteps. "Sometimes space can be good, it can be eye-opening, show us things we don't want to admit but know deep down."

My words hit him head-on, like a slap across the face- I don't need to see him to know it, I can tell just from the stillness in the room, the silence, so strong that even his shadows have withered.

I clench my eyes at the feeling, at the touch that strokes against my soul, him reaching out to me through the mating bond- and me slamming up every wall I have to keep him away.

"What does that mean?!"

I don't hear him until he's right behind me and when his large hand touches the small of my back, I jolt, stumbling into the bed to get away from it. I turn on shaking legs to face him, and I'm pressed into the mattress to keep the distance.

"What? Y/N-" His face pales, and I see the pain in his eyes, unlike anything I had ever witnessed from him before. It was raw, vulnerable as if five hundred years of existence couldn't hide the hurt, knowing that I had flinched from his touch, flinched from him.

A rejection- something he feared the most.

"Sweetheart, please, I don't understand," He shook his head, his beautiful face twisted into an agonised frown, and his voice trembled, weak, as weak as the hand that now reached for me, shaking as if scared to touch me. "Why won't you let me touch you? Why are you pulling away from me, why-"

He stops, and for a moment I think it's because of the tears steadily leaking down my face, the way my bottom lip trembles with the effort to hold myself together- but it's not. His nose flared, and the hazel in his eyes turned dark, narrowing down upon my hands.

"You're bleeding," He mumbles hoarsely and the pain in my chest triples when his scarred hands inch closer, my eyes fluttering shut the second he touches me, holding my palms in his and examining the small cuts. "What happened, sweetheart-"

"Don't! Don't- don't call me that, don't touch me," I croak out, my voice breaking and Azriel flinches at the cry in my voice, wings rustling when I yank my hands-free from his hold, as if his touch burned me. "Stop pretending, stop making me think you care, just-just stop."

"I don't understand, what do you mean pretending-" He pleads, his voice splintering, and I can see him thrumming with emotion, desperate to reach out to me, to hold me, but trying to respect what I had asked him. "I don't understand, help me understand what I did wrong-"

"I know how you feel about me, a-about us," I sob, my weak hands coming to my face, and I cry into them, so loud that nothing can muffle them, and I feel Azriel's' helplessness down the bond, still reaching for me, "It was cruel, to make me think-to make me think you loved me-"

"I do love you!" He snarls and my eyes snap open when I feel the familiar roughness of his hands against my wet cheeks, his grip unrelenting and needing as he draws me to him- and I don't have the strength to fight him. "Of course, I love you, why would you say that?"

His thumbs brush away the tears that won't stop leaking from my cheeks and somehow my fingers have found purchase in the material of his shirt, nails digging desperately, clutching him as tightly as he held me.

"You said it was wrong," I whisper, the words slurring in my throat, and I force my heavy eyes to his, force myself to look into those teary hazel eyes and confront him, with the burden I had been carrying alone this whole time. "You said that we were wrong, that the Cauldron was wrong."

His forehead creases, lines forming between the thick, dark brows as he peers down at me, and his hands don't release me, if anything they draw me closer.

And I see the moment realisation hits him, like ice-cold water seeping through his veins.

"I heard you talking to Rhys and Cass, you said we were proof," I gasp, feeling his shadows curl and wreath around my wrists and fingers, as if afraid to let go, as if trying to comfort me as I sniff. "You said we were proof that the Cauldron could be wrong, so wrong."

"I didn't mean you, Y/N, I would never mean you," He beseeches, his breath caressing my face, my lips and his eyes are so intense, so vibrant that I can't look away, "I didn't mean you, I meant me, I'm wrong!"

I suck in a harsh breath at his outburst and I feel it then- the self-deprecation, the vulnerability, the fear, it was all aimed at himself, it was all about him.

The silence stretches on as we stare at each other and my face must hold every ounce of my surprise and confusion, because he sighs, his forehead resting against mine. I see his wings sag behind him, as if defeated.

"I don't know how much you heard but I did not mean that the Cauldron was wrong to pair you with me," He mutters, his words unsteady, and my eyes flutter shut at his words, "I meant that the Cauldron was wrong to pair me with you- the Cauldron has blessed me but forsaken you."

"Azriel-" I gasped, and it was now my hand that lifted between us, my hand that cupped his stubbled cheek, forcing his eyes to mine. "That's not true, I'm not forsaken, I'm blessed, I'm Cauldron-blessed, Mother-blessed to have you-"

"Y/N you deserve the world, the sun and the moon and the stars," Azriel's voice breaks, a sob gurgling in his throat as he nestles against my palm, now wet with his tears. "I have spent five hundred years being unworthy of anything, and now that I have you, I will spend the next five hundred being unworthy of you."

He felt unworthy of me, he thought that he did not deserve me.

"Don't say that don't- you've given me the world and more," I shake my head, forcing every inch of surety and strength into my voice, "I love you, so much, so much that the thought of you thinking we were wrong, it killed me Az, because you're all I need."

He shakes his head against my hold, but his hands slip down my back, down my waist and to my hips and thighs, fingers digging into my flesh, holding onto my meat for leverage and pressing my soft body against his firm one for dear life.

"Not once did I ever think you were the problem, I thought it was me," His brow furrows deeper at my words, and I see the denial in his eyes, in his face, "I see a male who is beautiful inside and out, who is powerful and skilled, who has been a saviour to this Court in so many ways and I can't come close, I can't ever be equal to that Az."

"Y/N, no-" He growls, nails carving crescent moons into my flesh.

"I'm not a warrior like Nesta or a ruler like Feyre," I continue, and I open up the walls I erected to keep him out from my soul and mind, letting the mating bond flow freely again- to let him see all I had thought these few days. "I'm not beautiful like Elain... I'm not enough."

"You are everything," He hisses, and I can feel his overwhelming pain as sure as if it were my own as he graces over my feelings and thoughts- as he takes in every disgusting, horrific thing I had thought about myself, about my body. "You are everything and more to me, Y/N."

Power flashes through his eyes and then his head ducks toward me, capturing my lips in his.

Time seems to slow when his lips meet mine in a gentle collision, the kind of impact that steals the breath from my lungs, the kind I can't get enough of. Azriel grumbles at the taste of wine on my mouth, his tongue lapping at mine as if devouring the sweetness.

"Azriel," I sigh, like putty in his capable hands, and like always, he's skilled with how he handles my body, so easily turning us so my legs hit the mattress, my body weightless as he lifts me to sit on the edge.

"I have seen you navigate politics and arrogant High Lords in a way that has us all on our knees," He mutters against my lips, and I croon at the feel of his hands languishing up my thighs and hips, squeezing the flesh, his eyes dark with desire now.

His nose brushes against my cheek, so bare, as he kisses and trails his tongue along my jaw, moving down my neck and I can't do anything but moan softly as he lies me flat on my back, his powerful body towering over me, covering me wholly.

"I have seen you cut down soldiers triple your size as if they were little more than weeds in a field," His canines scrape against the racing pule-point at my neck and my eyes flutter, neck exposing for him and back arching when his hand cups my breast over my shirt.

He settles between my thighs, and he groans when his hard length brushes my wet core, the smell of arousal heavy in the air, the kind of stimulation that made us both dizzy with need. I arch my hips up to meet him, needing to feel something, anything from him.

"And I have seen males and females alike marvel at your beauty, at your body, desiring to see you without a scrap of clothing on," Azriel's voice turns furious, dark, as if the mere thought of someone else seeing me naked made him violent, honed to kill.

"Az, please," I mewl, fingers clawing at his back, feeling the muscles ripple under my touch, his shadows in a frenzy, caressing and dancing and wreathing around my body, feeding off every moan that escaped me. "I need you Az, please."

He presses long, wet kisses against my jugular and I sigh in relief when I feel his body shift, hips lifting and the sound of a belt clinking as he unhooks his slacks, freeing his hard length from within.

"I love you, sweetheart," His head lifts, face tight with sincerity and I can feel the thumping of his heart against mine, those intense eyes capturing me wholly. "I love all of you, I love all that you are-"

"Body," His fingers hook into my underwear, and I gasp as he tugs the wet material to the side, fingers brushing my clit.

"Mind," Our sounds meld as he rubs the tip of his cock against me, parting my folds, spreading my arousal from my entrance to my clit, and his breathing deepens as I whimper.

"And soul." He pushes into my entrance, stretching me just from the tip and automatically, my thighs clamp around his hips and my back arches at the feeling of him.

"I love you, Y/N," He pushes in until his long, thick length hits my cervix and my cunt is stretched thoroughly, throbbing around him. I trace my hands up his arms, nails scratching along every muscle, every strong, lean plane of him.

"I love you too, Azriel," I whisper back, and when my eyes flutter open, I see him above me and I know that nothing else, no one else could feel this right.

He doesn't move, merely staring down at me, his eyes burning like embers- feeling the thought as intensely as I did.

The Cauldron was right, so right.

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

@mis-lil-red @hyemishii @assaultsofthought @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @loveareum @infintyfandoms @sarawritestories @eerievixen

Comment to be added to the tag-list >3

[radiance1]

A byproduct of this au.

"I do believe that my greatest magical feat was figuring out how to remove stains from my clothes."

Zatanna paused. "Did you not use large scale teleportation magic on your home throughout time and space to land in our dimension?"

Sam laughs. "Oh dear, that one was on accident!" The witch waved a hand through the air, causing a tea set to hop through the air and set itself on the table. "Tea?" She offered.

The teapot poured itself as a plate of sugar cubes as well as a small pair of tongs appeared on the table, silent offer to take and adjust as they felt like it.

"You moved your entire castle here, on accident?" Constantine asked, dropping two sugars into his teacup and stirring with the spoon helpfully and magically provided for him.

The witch took a sip of tea, then nodded. "Oh yes, my calculations were quite perfect-that I made sure of- but something knocked my spell off and, well." She gestured around. "Here I am."

"And you would place removing stains above such a feat-even if accidental?" Zatanna raised an eyebrow as she picked up her teacup.

The witch merely nodded in response.

"I would have to agree with the lass." Constantine wrinkled his nose. "Stains are a shitty thing to deal with. What about you Batsy? Feel like departing your wisdom on us magic folk?"

Batman was quiet for a moment, staring down at his teacup before slowly reaching for sugar cubes and dropping them into his cup one at a time. It took 5 cubes before he decided to stop and stir. "They are." Was all he said before taking a sip from his tea.

Everyone present could swear they heard a faint, goddamn purr from the man.

Constantine stared incredulously, even going as far as pointing a finger as Zatanna held her face to her head and quietly cursed the gods in esasperation.

The witch just stared at them with amusement in her eyes and a smile on her lips that she hid behind her teacup.

[perlelune]

Oxytocin | Coriolanus Snow | i.

One act of kindness from a peacekeeper may be your salvation or your doom. Possibly both.

Warnings: NON-CON, Blackmail, District 8 Reader, Stalking, Kidnapping

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

Bitterness burns in your gut as you watch the yellowed pages of one of your favorite books curl and blacken amidst the weak flames of the hearth.

You want to cry. You really do. But it wasn’t the first and it won’t be the last. The winters of District 8 are infamously harsh and long.

You wouldn’t have survived it. So you stare with dry eyes and an empty chest as your childhood memorabilia turns to ash.

A wheezy cough tears through your melancholy. Panic rips through you as you get up and whirl. You dash to a small bed across the room and hunker down near your cousin.

You hold her hand, despising how tiny and feeble it feels in yours. 

It wasn’t always like this. She used to drag you around the cabin, eager to play, her high-pitched laugh bouncing off its molded walls.

Tears you managed to quell before now rush to your eyes.

You cup her face. Sickness has drained the color from it.

“You’re gonna get better, I swear.”

She gives a weary smile, but it’s interrupted by another fit of wet coughs that makes her entire frail frame shake. Your stomach plummets at the sight. Even you struggle to believe the words that crossed your own lips.

Everyday your younger cousin seems worse off than the one before it. Her medicine has long since run out. So has the food. Your modest wages from working in the factory won’t come for another fortnight. And there are little to no wares left to trade in the rickety wooden cabin. 

Nothing except you. 

The mere thought sends a shudder through you.

Though the virtue of some lowly district 8’s guttersnipe isn’t worth much, you bet you could easily find a buyer. A warm body is as good as any after all. Besides, you haven’t missed the lascivious glares wandering your way sometimes when you hasten through the streets of the city at night. 

You shake your head.

No.

While your virtue isn’t worth much in this awful world, you will hold on to it for as long as you can. Some modicum of dignity. Maybe it’s too much to ask for someone like you, too…greedy. But it’s the one thing you get in this life. Your one gift. You belong to yourself and no one else.

“Hungry…” your cousin whispers between pained exhales. The orange glow from the chimney outlines the sickly grayness of her skin and the sweat dotting her forehead.

You squeeze her hand, rubbing her fingers against yours. Maybe some of your warmth will seep into her. You can only hope.

“I know, Tilly… but there isn’t any food left anymore.”

At the mention of food, your shriveled up stomach reminds you of its unfortunate existence. Hunger twists your insides, vicious and relentless. As always.

Determination sparks inside you, tiny embers shifting into a furnace of iron hot will.

You rise to your feet. 

Tilly will not die. You will not die.

You plant a soft kiss on her forehead. Her eyes flutter closed as she drifts away, her glassy gaze finding the cracks and webs scattered across the ceiling.

She seems to look at nothing at all. It worries you. Tilly’s all you have left, the rest of your family having succumbed to disease, failed uprisings or some accident at the factory.

“I promise to bring food, and something to cure your cold.”

A cold. 

Another lie. For her or for you… who knows this time. Deep inside, you’re aware no common cold lasts this long or is this nasty. 

But you cling to the lie. Because you need it. Because without it you have nothing. 

Nothing to wake up for, nothing to go work another unending, grueling day at the textile factory, nothing to suffer another day in the hell that District 8 is. 

A few minutes later, you’re at the door. 

Outside, the winter winds swaddle you in their cool embrace. White clouds surround you as you unleash a deep breath. Through the thin soles of your shoes, you can feel the icy stones with each step. You slither through the narrow alleys, hood low on your brow as you ponder the plan you hatched less than an hour ago. 

It’s beyond stupid. You could get thrown in jail if caught. Or worse. 

But what else is there to do? 

You’re past the age to sign up for tesserae, and you’d never subject your cousin to the disturbing possibility of being chosen in the next reaping just to fill your stomach. 

You finally reach the grand marketplace. It’s crowded with folks, like every morning. You remain hidden by a brick wall, a strategic spot where shadows engulf you, where you can survey the place as you wish. The perfect way to begin enacting your stupid plan. 

Anticipation has your fingertips twitching against the stones.

You note how easy it’d be to mingle with the crowd, how some of the merchants don’t keep a perpetual eye on their wares.

And most importantly, you note the lack of peacekeepers. You squint, seeking a glimpse of the terrifying blue uniforms. Disbelief flutters through you at the realization none of them is here.

Such a chance never presents itself…yet it’s prancing right before you today. 

As your eyes land on a luscious spread of colorful fruits sitting on a stand a few feet away, your mouth waters.

How easy it would be.

When’s the last time you ate anything solid? You can hardly recall.

Slow, ginger steps drag you right before the stand. Busy chatting with a customer, the merchant doesn’t see you. 

Hope blooms inside you. This is your shot. You just need to be quick, so quick he won’t even notice before you’re long gone.

Your tremulous hand creeps out of your coat. The uproarious drumming of your heart fills your ears, louder as your fingers get closer to the tantalizing skin of the fruit.

Just a few inches. 

“What are you doing, little bird?” 

Startled, you release a sharp breath. Long, pale fingers cinch around your wrist, causing you to drop the fruit. It hits the wet cobblestones with a soft thud, sending your hopes crashing down alongside it.

You whirl to the stranger beside you.

“You little thieving whore…”

Numb with fear and shock, the merchant’s irate curses dwindle to a faint echo. 

The stranger’s towering frame forces you to lift your gaze to the sky, and you are met with eyes bluer than its expanse. 

Lost in his unsettling stare, you take entirely too long to notice his uniform. The gear is unmistakable. You have threaded your fair share of the fabric over the years, sewn hundreds of uniforms just like the one before you.

A peacekeeper. 

A wave of snow ripples through your back. 

Your entire body turns to stone in his grip, your eyes as wide as plates.

This is exactly what you feared would happen. And now it has.

As stormy irises take you in, you see your miserable life melt in a smoldering sea of blue.

Run.

It’s the only thought in your head as you jerk your hand away from his fingers.

Your body leaps into action, adrenaline pumping through your veins. White puffs of your short breaths flow around you as you dive into the nearest dark alley, hoping to disappear through a drain hole and lose your pursuer. 

But you don’t get far. 

Only a few minutes into your panicked race, the hard sole of a boot connects with the back of your knee. A shriek of pain tears from your throat as you tumble to the floor. 

Wincing, you lift your head.

The tall, lanky figure of the peacekeeper looms over you. Your chest seizes. He holds up the bright red fruit you tried to steal in his right hand. Sunlight limns his frame, threading silver in his white hair, making him appear almost angelic.

How deceptive when he is your doom.

If it weren't for him, you’re convinced you’d have gotten away with it. 

“Hey, I think you forgot this,” he deadpans.

Your brows knit at his casual tone. You wonder if he’s toying with you.

“Please, I… I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

Mirth illuminates his cerulean gaze as he scoffs, “So you meant to pay?”

Unsure what to respond, you choke on your words.

“I…”

Silence expands, its oppressive weight clogging your airways. 

You could lie, or try to. But he saw you, stopped you. He knows exactly what you attempted to do.

So instead of stating your case, you bolt to your feet. Ignoring the needles pricking at your knee where he kicked you, you attempt to flee again.

This time it’s barely seconds before he catches you.

He picks you up and slams you against the wall with frightening ease. Fighting him would be for naught. There is no strength left in you. Still, you try.

The pitiful attempts to claw at his bicep leave the peacekeeper unfazed.

His deathly grip on your neck doesn’t relent.

“Where do you think you’re going, birdie?”

“Please, my cousin needs me.”

He studies you and your stomach sinks at how empty his eyes are. An errant tear makes a slow descent down your cheek.

He plucks it, the soft pad of his finger tracing the salty trail.

“Stop crying. I’m not like them. You can trust me.”

“You’re a peacekeeper,” you retaliate, forehead creased in confusion. Peacekeepers exist to enact the Capitol’s will by any means necessary. Their name couldn’t be more misleading, as peace is rarely how they go about solving an issue. 

The blond’s cheek flares ever-so-slightly.

To your utter shock, his hold on your neck slackens.

You gulp a wide lungful of air, rubbing your throat where he held so tight. It’s sore. You wouldn’t be surprised if it were to bruise the next day. 

“My name’s Coriolanus. What’s yours?”

While he backs away, he’s still crowding your space in a way you don’t like. 

Stubborn lips remaining sealed, you glare at him. He steps away from you.

“You don’t want to say?” The corner of his plump lips twists upwards. “I’ll keep calling you bird then, since you keep trying to fly away from me.”

You gasp when he suddenly tosses the crimson fruit in your hands.

“Eat.”

His steely inflection is more order than suggestion. You scowl down at the fruit. Every cell in your body longs to take a bite of it…but you don’t.

“What?” you reply dumbly.

It has to be some kind of trap. Is the apple even safe to eat? Maybe this peacekeeper is the sadistic type and he wants to watch you wither in agony for his sick pleasure.

Still, the longer you peer at the luscious, colorful flesh of the fruit, the more your stomach growls, begging you to just take a bite even if it means running headlong towards your possible death.

Coriolanus heaves out a deep sigh.

“I can tell from the way you were eying that apple earlier that it’s been a long time, right?” he guesses, all too accurately for your liking.

His gaze holds yours.

“I know what it’s like to be hungry, sweet bird…” You go statue-still as he bends over to whisper in your ear, “So hungry, you’d do anything for it to stop.”

The faint scent of roses tickles your nose. You smelt it once before, on a lavish dress you spent hours sewing meant for one of the fancy ladies at the Capitol. You recall shoving the tiniest piece of the silk in your pocket and smelling it every chance you got. But the nice scent quickly faded.

Yet that same scent, that crisp, delicate, slightly dizzying aroma…It clings to the boy in front of you.

You glower at him.

“How would you even know? You’re one of them.”

His jaw ticks as his eyes flicker.

“Eat,” he insists, this time more firmly.

Your insides wrench. You could fight him on it, again. But you have an inkling that this boy, this Coriolanus, usually gets his way.

So you bite into the apple. 

The sweet juice that coats your tongue and chin afterwards is heaven. The savors explode in your mouth. You could weep. It’s been an eternity since you ate something this fresh and delicious.

But once you realize his curious stare is on you, you stop eating and hastily wipe your mouth and chin. 

“See? Isn’t it better?” he inquires smugly.

You don’t tell him how good it felt, especially after so long. Days, maybe weeks. You don’t know anymore. Every day tends to blend into the other here.

Instead, heated words pour out of you.

“Why are you helping me?”

He shrugs. “Why not?”

You don’t like his cryptic demeanor. Nor his nice smell. Nor his striking eyes. Nor his sharp, handsome features.

Everything about Coriolanus seems so out of place in District 8.

After a few minutes of silence, he nods and walks away.

“See you around, sweet bird.”

A shiver travels along your spine.

You wish for the opposite, to never ever see him again. And though the words never escape the confine of your lips, it’s as if he could hear the unspoken venom sizzling the tip of your tongue.

Coriolanus smiles at you as he leaves.

[hxney-lemcn]

Falling for Him — Jing Yuan x gn! reader

summery: falling for Jing Yuan was a simple as ever, and falling for you was just as easy.

tw: insecurities (?), mentions of a unfair power balance.

a/n: I swear I'm not a 12 y/o learning about metaphors, a vision just struck me

wc: 0.4k

Master List

Falling in love with Jing Yuan was like falling asleep on a warm sunny afternoon. It's warm, cozy, and you don’t notice until it's too late. Every tender smile he’d sent you was like the sun beaming down on you. Every touch was like a gentle breeze tousling your hair. When Fu Xuan scolded the general for using you as a distraction, that was when the gentle warmth turned into a scalding boil. You tried to ignore the banter between the two, but your mind was overrun with thoughts about the general. You were distracting him? But you were merely doing your job, how could you possibly be distracting him? Your face burned even hotter when you heard Jing Yuan chuckle in response to Fu Xuan’s scolding, not even rebutting her accusations.

It was then that you started questioning your own feelings. Did you love the general? Was that even allowed? You were his worker, that would be unprofessional, and no matter how you looked at it there would be an unfair power balance. The boiling hot summer had now turned into a cold winter as you thought over all the ways it could go wrong. Every smile from the beautiful man now left a cold chill. But somehow his voice still managed to warm you, like a fire keeping you warm from your snowy doubts. Even though he was the cause for your concern, he was also your respite. 

For Jing Yuan, falling for you was a complete accident. For a long living lifeform, he was getting up there in age, his friends either rebirthed or nearing mara-struck. He didn’t want to pain someone with his fall, and yet he found himself drawn to you like a moth to a flame. Yet instead of burning him, you comforted him, soothed him like balm to a wound. The way you smiled at him melted his heart. When you couldn’t meet his eyes after he flirted with you sent  his heart soaring. It took a lot to interest him, he had lived long enough to nearly see it all, and yet you had managed to make him realize he still had much to witness. And as much as he loved teasing you, he noticed it was taking a toll, how your smiles turned strained, how you avoided him as best you could, how you sent someone else to fetch him. 

He couldn’t let this go on, he adored you too much to let you slip through his fingers. And so like the general he was, he had cornered you, forcing you to approach him so he could ask you on a date properly. Just like that, the cold winter had thawed into a flowery spring, new opportunities popping up within a blink of an eye. Reaching out to grab his hand, you realized you could get through all the seasons, as long as Jing Yuan stood by your side.

[twis-world]

The Remedy That Is You (Riddle Version)

Mentions: Fluff, Riddle-Centric, Second Person, Gender Neutral Reader

No matter how many a time the students of Nightraven College witnessed how their Housewarden did a complete 180 in your presence, it never ceased to amaze them.

It eventually got to the point where a majority of students began to question if you really were magickless. There was just no way your mere presence could bring out such light in their eyes, face softening and a smile so tender it was as if they were gazing upon one of the Seven.

Just how did you do it?

Riddle

“You imbecile!” Riddle’s voice boomed, echoing all throughout Heartslabyul. Fear set into all who heard it, a chain reaction flowing through their bodies as their hearts beat quicker, palms growing clammy in a cold sweat. No matter how many times their beloved Housewarden proved that he had changed, that he was no longer the cruel tyrant they all once feared, it did not stop the utter terror that ran through them when they did succeed in trying his patience.

Especially when it concerned the prized animals they cared for.

“Have I not made it clear several times that you are not to directly hit the hedgehogs?” Riddle continued to scream, face flaming red as he cradled the delicate creature in his arms. Whether or not the poor thing was shaking of its own account or fear of the one holding it was to be determined, but it mattered not with all eyes on the beholder. “Are you so dense that you cannot remember something as simple as that?”

“Housewarden Riddle,” the victim stuttered. It was a first-year clearly, face deathly pale and looking as if his soul would leave his body any moment in a fit of desperation. Anything to get away from such a ghastly scenario. “I-I…I swear it was a-a-an accident-”

“How do you accidentally do such a thing?” Riddle snapped back, nearly frothing at the mouth as he marched forward into the other’s space. The surrounding students gasped, taking a step back in turn and preparing for the inevitable as his hand noticeably itched for his pen. The first-year clearly noticed as well, eyes bulging and feet shifting in preparation to run if need be. “Even so, there is no room for such impertinence. Why, I should have your head for that!”

“Riddle?”

The effect was almost instant.

The speed at which the male stepped back was almost inhuman, head snapping back so quickly a few flinched at the thought of such inevitable whiplash. The snarl on his lips dropped, not taking on a smile but smoothing out the lines his earlier scowl created. In fact, the only evidence of his incredible fury from but a moment ago was the ever present brightness of his face, taking its time in ever so slowly draining away.

Then, they saw it.

The moment you managed to break through the crowd, eyebrows furrowed and mouth slightly agape as you surveyed the situation, the sharpness in his gaze disappeared. It was almost comical how instantly his pupils blew, nearly overtaking the storm in his eyes. Some swore that if it were possible hearts would most definitely be shining from his orbs, beating in tune with the one confined by his mortal body yet still promised to you.

Great Seven, the way he greeted you as well. It nearly ached how tenderly a soft ‘My Rose’ escaped from his lips, and it was then they all knew that in his mind the rest of the world faded away until all that lay within it was you.

“Ace nearly gave me a heart attack when he blew up my phone, spewing nonsense of a bomb about to blow the whole of the dorm,” you gently teased, stepping towards him with such ease despite the still shaking of Riddle’s body. Yet, as you placed a delicate hand on his arm, the tremors all but disappeared. “Guess he wasn’t that far off for once.”

The red fury on his face was now one of shame and embarrassment, tucking his head down and staring as he gently calmed the still shaking hedgehog. “He exaggerates…” he nearly mumbled, refusing to look up at the gentle smile you were giving him. 

You stared at him with the same fondness he just had moments ago, thumb softly rubbing against his arm. Words could not explain the relief they all felt when you looked up at them all and nodded your head back to the main dorm building, silently giving them permission to finally escape.

At the sound of their retreat Riddle’s head shot up, confusion evident. “Who gave you all permission to leave?” he called out, stepping out of your grasp and staring at their retreating backs. If his hands weren’t occupied you were sure he would be waving them in a blind fury. “Come back! You have yet to-”

“Riddle,” you interrupted, cupping his face in your hands and turning his gaze to you instead. It was a miracle that he had yet to pass out, blood still continuously rushing to his face as he had no choice but to lock eyes with you. Fingertips caressed under his eyes, exaggerated breathing from you goading him to follow with, not once turning away. Not daring to escape the land you’ve trapped him in.

He didn’t know how much time passed, just the two of you standing there and the animal in his arms long since passed out, nor did he care. Just your touch alone was enough to soothe his soul, your gaze and sweet words were simply a bonus that he thought himself unworthy of, yet here he was.

“There we go,” you cooed, dropping your hands but not once breaking contact from his face. Down his cheeks that you held for a moment, nails barely scraping down his neck in tune with the pleasant shiver it sent down his spine, dancing across his shoulders and tickling his waist before coming to a stop there. “Why don’t we sit and enjoy some tea to help calm you down more, hm?”

“It’s not yet past the lunch hour,” he responded, yet almost drunkenly. “Rule 148 states-” The small burst of laughter that left you was enough to shut him up, watching as your head tilted back and shined even brighter than the sun that warmed you both. He decided that he really didn’t want you to stop anytime soon. “Though…though I suppose I could make an exception…”

A few more chuckles rang, and you gave him another playful smile along with a gentle squeeze. “How kind.”

Yes, yes you really were quite magical.

[anyarose011]

"There Must Be Something in the Water" {Aemond x Reader}

Summary: Many men with one eye have followed you home before...but never one with silver hair. What could he possibly want with you?

Part 1 of 3 (Masterlist)

Warning(s): Swearing, vulgar jokes, talk of sex, prostitution, and spice (but not smut)

I jumped on the HOTD bandwagon, and even worse (I don't know how it happened, seriously, I don't), I started loving Aemond "Mommy Issues" Targaryen. I came up with this lovely little mini series, and I hope you enjoy it! If you know where the song in this chapter is from, 100 points to *insert your Hogwarts House*! Also, please don't try and keep a timeline of events (the show for sure doesn't), and if you need help on the Westeros money system, use this.

Word Count: 4.2k

You knew a man was following you one lonesome night. It was like clockwork though; you walking through the empty, darkened streets of King’s Landing, a hollow water jug on your hip as if it were a babe.

It didn’t matter if it was the same one who’d been following you all week; what mattered, was what he had. You hadn’t caught sight of him yet, so perhaps he was a different man. Still, if it wasn’t, then simply from how his eyes must traced over you, he’d plan on coming closer that night.

Wearing only your sandals and a thin dress, you continued down the narrow path. It must’ve been…oh, perhaps three hours before sunrise? If you’d gone any sooner or any later, than members of the City Watch would surely be out.

Whether they wanted to aid or hurt you, it would all be the same.

As faint torches began to appear alongside the walls you walked, and you knew you grew closer to the well, you began to hum lightly at first. Then, you sung even softer; no words, just your voice in its purest form. It was only when you finally made it to the well, and after you sat atop the stones, did you finally add a story to your song.

“Father’s hunting in the forest, Mother’s cooking in the home. I must go to fetch the water, ‘til the day that I am grown.”

You cranked the bucket down into the well, still singing.

“’Til I’m grown, ‘Til I’m grown. I must go to fetch the water, ‘til the day that I am grown.”

You glanced up and saw the shadow of the man who had been following you. He was still peeking out from behind an alley, but once he saw your head move, he stepped out. Yet, you merely kept your back to him, cranking the handle on the well to bring the bucket up.

“Then I will have a handsome husband, and a daughter of my own. Then I’ll send her to fetch the water, I’ll be cooking in the home.”

Taking the bucket off its hook, you poured it carefully into the jug. Setting the bucket back, you then stood up, taking the full jug of water into your arms. Slowly, you began to walk uphill and out of the area of the well, singing quietly.

“My own home, My own home. Then, I’ll send her to fetch the water, I’ll be cooking in my home. My own home, My own-.”

You’d gotten better at making it look like an accident when dropping your jug of water. The first time you’d done it, you glanced back to make sure your unsuspecting victim was watching and let go of it. Needless to say, he was the one that robbed you that night.

The jug rolled down the cobbled hill, and ricocheted off the well, spinning in place. Soon, the silhouette of a man became visible as he came closer to the jug. Your eyes drifted up from the ground. When you saw his face, the first thing you noticed was only one eye; the other, his left eye, covered by a humble patch.

Then, the one thing that frightened you: Long hair that was almost the shade of the sun, it was so light.

This wasn’t a drunken man wandering alone at night, this wasn’t a Kingsguard who had an itch to scratch.

No…no, this was Aemond Targaryen, a prince. A prince who could do anything to you, and you wouldn’t be able to resist; even if you fought.

And he was staring at you from the foot of the hill. You weren’t even at the top, only halfway. In actuality, this wasn’t the most afraid you’d ever been in a situation like this. Still, the way he bent down to pick up the jug without his smile wavering, or his eye never leaving yours, greatly unnerved you.

Then, he turned away from you, approaching the well. Setting down the jug, he began to turn the crank of the well, lowering the bucket back down into the water. This wasn’t the first time a man had done this…yet from a prince?

“Come down now,” he beckoned, not looking at you. “I won’t cause any harm. You look ridiculous.”

You hadn’t any idea at the time what words he would say…but those weren’t what you expected at all. Making a sour face, you slowly trailed down the rocky hill until you were at level with him. Aemond stopped cranking, and finally looked at you.

“I know you aren’t a mute.” He taunted. “You wouldn’t sing so sweetly if you were.”

Still, you refused to speak. Instead, you folded your hands, standing tall as if you were an equal to him. This only widened the smile upon his face. He sat atop the rocks of the well, leaving a space for you.

You approached him, but did not sit. Even as his eyes trailed over your figure (and how little of your curves the dress hid), you remained stoic; at least, as best as you could. It certainly wasn’t the first time a man looked upon you with lust…but it felt stranger now.

“Don’t tell me I have to pay coin solely to have a conversation with you?” He laughed.

“No.” You finally spoke. “But you are the second Targaryen I have witnessed to take comfort in brothels whilst mourning his line in succession.”

…If you were going to die at any point in life, you at least thought you would die in a fight. This wasn’t the one you were imagining, but it would do.

He nodded, his voice returning to what you assumed to be normal; a natural edge to it that one would find difficult to discern if he was angry at them. “I assume my brother was the first to receive your comfort then?”

“He has never laid eyes on me.”

“I have heard the stories of you.” Aemond hissed. “A living siren, luring those thinking with the head between their legs, only to rob them of all they have. How is it possible he has not seen you?”

“Perhaps you underestimate the King’s intelligence.”

“You followed me.” You wanted to say, but only did so in your mind.

He sighed, standing up to be almost toe to toe with you. “If you are not a whore, then how did you come to know I have visited the Street of Silk?”

Dropping your eyes to the ground, they were soon brought back up by Aemond’s hand cupping your jaw. You did not know if it was shock or stupidity, but you weren’t the least bit afraid. He wanted answers, and he wasn’t so pigheaded to kill you before you gave them.

You backed out of his grip, sighing as if he was an inconvenience (he was, but you couldn’t tell him that). “For years I have made deals with the ladies of the night. I come to them in the evening, they tell me what men are still sick with lust, I lure those men, rob them, maim them, kill them if I have to, and share whatever I have taken.”

A smile lurked in the corner of his mouth. “You’ve killed men before?”

You crossed your arms. “Yes.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“It doesn’t matter to me what you believe.”

“Did the women tell you to lure me?”

“They did not tell me it was you.”

“But you knew I was in their attendance.”

“Are you going to fill my jug of water or not?”

Aemond turned back to the well, your empty water jug still resting on the stones. “Answer my question.” He gritted his teeth, yet still brought his hands to the crank and turned it.

You leaned against the basin, watching him and debating your words. “Have you spoken to any women outside your house?”

He snickered (to your surprise and your delight). “You’re very strange.”

“Answer my question.” You teased gently.

“Yes, I have.” The bucket resurfaced, and he took it off the hook. “If my frequent visitations to the Street of Silk haven’t made you aware, then I would say that the gods have cursed you with selective attention.”

“Then you must know that women like to talk.” You sat upon the rocks. “That it would be impossible for them to keep quiet about a silver-haired prince with one eye.”

Aemond said not a word as he poured the water into the jug. When it was filled, he set the bucket back on the hook and walked to stand in front of you. His hands resting on the stones outside of your thighs, caging you.

“Do you favor talking?”

“Only when it brings me favor.”

He brought one of his hands up to your thigh, dancing dangerously close to the inside of it. You sucked in a breath as he asked. “This is what it takes to grant you favor? Dressing yourself up like a doll, singing like a bird for men?”

“Why did you follow me?” You brought your face just a little closer for him to hear your whisper.

“I thought I already told you.” He held your face in his other hand, shutting his eye and hovering his nose above yours. “I have heard the stories; I wanted to see if you were real, and as beautiful as many have claimed.”

You brought your hand to grip onto the wood of the well, steadying yourself as you felt his breath upon your skin. “And what are your thoughts?”

He opened his eye, wearing that same smile. “You’re not…unpleasing to look at.” Pinching your cheek, he drew himself away from you to see the state you contorted your body in. He scoffed. “Seven Hells, you thought I’d push you, didn’t you?”

Relaxing, you hopped down from where you sat, cradling the heavy jug of water into your arms. “You can never be careful around men.”

He hummed. “Especially those who look like the monsters mothers tell their children hide that under their beds.”

“I would’ve thought that if I hadn’t spoken to you.” You tried to pass by him.

His hand came to rest on your bare shoulder; his fingers playing with the thin strap. “And now that you have?”

You felt bold that night (if it wasn’t obvious prior). So, holding the jug on your hip, you brought your other hand over his; softly caressing his knuckles as you smiled. “You’re funny.”

He didn’t laugh, not even smiled. Instead, for a moment, you saw his eye grow. You pulled away from him, your stomach churning at what you had just said and done. You offended him, you must have.

“Goodnight,” your curtsied. “your grace-.”

“-Aemond.”

Now it was your turn for your eyes to enlarge.

“You may call me Aemond.”

He said it as if you would surely see him again. Taking a crisp breath, you smiled shyly. “And what if I were to call you ‘Little Prince’?”

“Perhaps when I hear you sing again, I might allow it.”

 “Then I bid you goodnight, Aemond.” You curtsied playfully, quickly turning on your heel to walk away from him.

You heard his footsteps behind you. “You have not told me your name.”

“Perhaps when you hear me sing again,” you repeated his words. “I shall give it to you.”

You expected him to follow you for the second time that night. To maybe pull you into a dark alleyway and make you tell him your name in the most pleasant way possible. Yet, you did not hear a retort as you walked back up the cobbled hill and turned on the first right to where your home was.

The sound of life soon flooded your ears as you walked through the main part of the city. Even with it being almost sunrise, there were still enough people out and about. It was only when you were nearing close to home, did the events of the night truly dawn on you.

You ran into the prince, and not only had you come out of it unharmed but also liked by him. It couldn’t possibly have been anything more than him wanting to wet his cock again (wet his cock with a girl his own age to put it more accurately, but you could never say that aloud). Despite how much the interaction thrilled and entertained you, you hoped to any gods above you wouldn’t see him again for that very reason.

Whilst turning another corner, a hooded man had tried to do the same, causing the two of you to collide. The jug fell out of your arms and crashed onto the road, the water spilling out.

“Cocksucker!” You cursed, falling to your knees.

You glanced up at the man who caused this, but he quickly pushed past you. For a moment, you thought you saw silver hair.

It was an open secret amongst the Smallfolk how…peculiar the Targaryens were.

Sighing heavily, you pulled yourself up along with the jug. When you began to walk though, you heard soft clinging from the jug. Stopping soon as you started, you glanced into the empty jug, and a faint shining momentarily blinded you. You reached in and pulled out five silver coins.

Stags…they were Stag coins.

You could pay half a years’ worth of food, a somewhat nicer place to live, clothes that were your own…but it wasn’t enough for passage on a ship, none the less, a new life.

Sliding the coins back into the jug, you continued on your way home as if nothing had happened. All the while, pondering if running into the little prince again would do more harm than good.

Not the day after you ran into Aemond, but the day after that, you were in the streets with the other smallfolk, weeping with his sister and his mother.

The same night you first met him was the same night Prince Jaeherys was beheaded. You hadn’t an idea how old he was until you watched his little body wheeled through King’s Landing. There had never been a procession like this, and the whole event made you feel ill.

It felt strange to call it an event; to have the same word used for festivals and celebrations describe a funeral. 

As you attempted to escape the crowds that were reaching out to Queen Halaena, a daunting thought dawned on you: Was it Daemon Targaryen, the traitor to the Crown, uncle and husband to Rhaenyra, that you saw the previous night?

Swallowing down the sickness that stirred within you, you decided to cauterize your doubt with work.

“You know,” one of the brothel workers, Valda, smirked. “a certain, silver-haired dragon keeps asking about you.”

Scowling, you looked at her in the mirror while sitting at the vanity, one of the other girls doing your hair. “And what have you told him?”

“I’ve told him nothing. Chansey though-.”

“-You said you wouldn’t tattle!” Chansey, after running a comb through your hair, threw  it at her.

It was dinner for most of the girls, and every one of them laughed as they ate in one of the sitting rooms.

“What did you tell him?” You interrogated.

She sighed. “When he came last night, he asked for ‘The Woman at the Well’, and if I knew your name. I said you’d have to tell him yourself, and that you left an hour before he arrived.”

“So now he knows I’m here right now.”

Valda rolled her eyes, kneeling to your height and wrapping her arms around you. “If he cared so much for you, why isn’t he here right now?”

“I don’t want to know.”

He was more than likely fucking Sylvi as you spoke.

“What did you do to the Kinslayer to make him act like this?” She jested.

There was that name people were calling him. He killed Lucerys Velaryon, son of Rhanerya and probably the reason there would be a war in the coming month. People said that the boy fell from his dragon, others said Aemond’s dragon ate him, you didn’t know at the time. All you knew was that you wanted the conversation to end.

But, Valda persisted.

“I know you’ve never lain with anyone, but I didn’t know you sucked cock like a goddess.”

“What?!” You shrieked, and the girls howled with laughter. “I did nothing of the sort!”

Chansey giggled. “Don’t tell us you let him nurse on your tits like a newborn babe.”

“…Huh?”

More giggles followed as she said. “That’s what he does to Sylvi-!”

“-Who does what to me?”

Four little words silenced the room quicker than a drawn sword would have. All eyes darted to the opened door, and Sylvi entering. She only looked at Chansey.

She swallowed thickly. “No one, Madame Sylvi.”

“I hope you aren’t shaming the activities that I or other girls have done in this house; considering you have spread your legs and filled your mouth for far longer than half of the women in this room alone.”

“I didn’t intend any harm, Madame.” She dropped her head solemnly. “Please, forgive me.”

Sylvi approached her, caressing her cheek. “All is forgiven unless I hear those ugly words from you again. That goes for the rest of you, understood?”

They nodded and mumbled their agreement. Sighing, Sylvi announced. “Take the rest of your dinner in your quarters. If any men request you, tell him to wait, you still have fifteen minutes left. I need to speak with our ‘Woman at the Well’, as the title has been given to her by the prince himself.”

The girls chuckled, offering sincere goodbyes as they passed by you before exiting. When it was only you and Sylvi, she sat down on the long couch just behind where you were sitting. She looked at you through the mirror and tilted her head. You got up and sat beside her.

“Did you get anything from last night?” She first asked.

Nodding, you took out a small pouch from your boot. “It was the man visiting from Essos.”

“The rich one or his pageboy?” She opened it, revealing two copper Star coins, and one Groat. That answered her question.

“Apparently,” you relaxed further into the couch, leaning against her. “the rich one grew a conscience and decided to go back to his wife instead of fucking Valda. Did she tell you that?”

“You know her.” She stretched her arm to hang behind you. “She doesn’t like being left dry.”

“Does anyone?” You giggled.

Sylvi lightly tugged a piece of your hair. “Don’t slouch, you’ll mess up Chansey’s hard work.”

Playfully rolling your eyes, you sat up. “It’s already dark, is there someone waiting for an innocent woman at a well?”

She shook her head. “No, not that I’ve heard of now, but tonight, perhaps. There’s so much talk of war, I’m feeling ill already thinking of it. Still, it will bring fortune for the both of us.”

“I suppose so.” You sighed, leaning forward.

Her hand came up to stroke your back, her finger trailing your spine. “Is it true you still haven’t fucked anyone?”

“Sylvi!” You laughed.

“Is it wrong I find it hard to believe?!” She shoved you playfully. “You’ve done so much good for us throughout the years; I’m confident there isn’t one handsome fella who wouldn’t want to bed you. Or one of the ladies, if you prefer.”

“I’m alright.” You had told her that a hundred times prior, and you felt as if you would tell her a hundred times more.

She sighed. “Suit yourself. Come back in an hour or two, we should have someone drunk on cunt for you to sedate.”

“Of course.”

You dusted yourself off and stood, heading to the door. Sylvi called your name, and you turned.

“I don’t want you speaking with the prince.” Her face was sullen. “You shouldn’t have to deal with his burdens.”

Nodding, you opened the door. “Tell him to leave me be if he asks again; I don’t want to deal with him either.”

You had decided on not wanting to see him again; even if he gave you a hundred Dragons (…that’s a lie, you would).

So, after wandering around King’s Landing for another hour, sticking close to the well-lit parts of the city and almost enjoying the merry crowds, you went back to the brothel, changed into your thin dress, and applied a light coat of makeup. Valda had been with a boy who turned two and twenty that night; friendless, wanted to do something extraordinary to celebrate his name day, and she had been the first person who made him cum. He didn’t even get to slip his cock in her, he was so overwhelmed.

She said he was sweet; you almost felt bad as you spotted him whilst preparing around the corner.

You began to sing the same song you sang every other night, carrying the jug on your hip. You were bolder that night knowing he was more innocent than you, so you glanced over your shoulder and beckoned him closer.

As you sat on the well, letting the bucket lower, you could feel the boy’s presence grow stronger. When you finished your song, you finally looked at him, grinning from ear to ear. Then, your eyes fell to a figure in the alleyway behind him.

“Does your mother know you’re here, boy?”

Said boy turned to look over his shoulder and was met with the face of a hooded one-eyed man, grinning like the devil. The boy’s jaw quivered and only stammers escaped. Aemond walked closer to him.

“What did you think would happen tonight?” He taunted. “You’d come up behind her and fuck her senseless?”

“N-no, I-I-!”

“-Leave us.”

The trembling boy said nothing more; only kept his head down and walked quickly away from the well. Rolling your eyes, you drew them away from the prince once it was only the two of you.

“You’re welcome.”

‘You’re welcome’ he said.

You looked back at him, your face falling into disgust. “What do I have to be thankful for?”

“I assumed you didn’t take pleasure luring little boys night after night.” He sat beside you. “Seems like a chore.”

“It’s worse.” You sighed, cranking the water bucket up. “It’s a job; something us smallfolk need.”

He snickered. “You believe I’ve never worked a day in my life.”

“For coin? Yes.”

“Is there anything else you do for work? Or are you just a siren?”

You looked at him, halting yourself. “Why did you pay me that night?”

He shrugged. “You gave me a service.”

“Someone to talk to?”

“Entertainment.”

Leaning against the wooden post of the well, you asked. “So will you pay me in gold this time? Considering you entertained yourself so much I lost a quarry?”

“We’ll see.” He stood up and placed his hand on the crank.

Humming, you stood as well, turning your whole body to him. “And no, I don’t just do this.”

“What do you do?”

“I usually tailor, sometimes look after children; many odd jobs.”

“Where do you tailor?”

You smirked. “Try asking me later.”

He took the bucket off its hook once it appeared. “I won’t, if you tell me your name.”

“How much coin do you have for that?”

“You didn’t have to pay for my name.”

“I already knew who you were.”

“Well, then you didn’t have to pay for the privilege to use it.” He poured the water into your jug.

You shrugged. “You made me lose a quarry, so…”

Aemond rolled his eye, but you could still see a smirk playing on his lips as he reached into his pocket and took out three silver coins; Moons. Your own eyes grew, and like a greedy child, you instantly stretched your hand out to grasp them. He was quicker, holding them closer to his chest.

“Ah, ah, ah, your name, and something else…”

That’s what made you lose interest. You forced yourself to stand taller, but your heart was trying to beat itself out of your chest and run away in terror.

“I’m not going to…to…”

He tilted his head, mimicking you. “To…to do what?”

“How plainly am I allowed to speak to you?”

“As if you were my own brother.”

“I’m not going to fuck you.” You forced out. “And I won’t let you do that to me either.”

Aemond chuckled, shaking his head. “Is there a difference?”

“Out of the both of us, you’re the only one who’s been in a pleasure house for its intended purpose. I thought you would know.”

“And you have thought correctly.” He pocketed the coins. “I don’t wish for that; only a walk.”

You furrowed your brow. “To where?”

“Nowhere, just around King’s Landing.”

This was stranger than the first night. The coins were meant to be found after you left, but now there he was, paying you directly for a service. He more than likely had his fill with Sylvi earlier, and after you first mentioned him to the girls, one of them let it slip that Madame Sylvi was the only woman he pleasured himself with.

So, despite how much he would deny it, Prince Aemond Targaryen was paying you to be a friend.

And damn it all, even though you had a feeling it would all end in tears, you couldn’t stop yourself from giving him your name.

[dixons-sunshine]

Bloody | Vamp!Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, sexual content, blood, accidental injuries.

A/N: Requested by @holdmytesseract. For week two of @lazyneonrabbitt’s Halloween challenge.

With a carefully practiced precession to ensure that he did not accidentally hurt you with his inhuman strength, Daryl lowered you onto the bed in your shared room, his lips never leaving yours. His hands clutched the hem of your shirt in a manner that bordered on desperate. The man’s usually slow beating heart beat faster than normal under the palm of your hand that rested on his chest, and his skin was flushed with a heat that far surpassed his usual body heat, which was slightly colder than the average person’s, but not entirely cold to the touch.

It was clear that your current predicament had begun to alter your partner’s mind, his movements turning more frantic, more fast-paced. Instead of merely removing the shirt over your head, he ripped it to shreds instead, his hands finally being able to feel the smoothness of your soft skin. The feeling of your flesh against his hands, paired with the delectably overwhelming smell of your amazing scent had his mind drifting off into the ether. So much so that he failed to notice his accidental slip up until a drop of blood found its way into his mouth.

The moment the taste of the delicious crimson he relied on for his survival infiltrated his senses, his eyes shot open and he instantly pulled himself away from you, scrambling off of the bed to put some distance between you both. He furiously wiped at his mouth, a futile attempt to rid himself of the mouthwatering taste of your blood. It was not been the first time that he had tasted your blood, but it was the first time where he had lost control of himself to the point where he accidentally hurt you like that.

“Dar, what’s wrong?” you asked him, still breathless from your mind altering make out session with your partner, moving yourself to sit up on the bed.

The sound of your angelic voice snapped Daryl out of his thoughts. His ocean-coloured eyes—now painted with specks of red in them—peered at you from behind his hair. His breathing was ragged, both from your prior activities and the fact that he was attempting to hold himself at bay and control his slowly growing hunger.

“Fuck. M’so goddamn sorry, Sweetheart,” Daryl apologized to you, his eyes showing sincere remorse at the accident. He had not realized that his fangs had elongated. That was the reason your lip had been nicked, and was now bleeding. Because of him. “I swear, I didn’t mean for that to happen. I’d never take yer blood without yer permission. M’not like that.”

You were confused at his words. However, when you brought your hand up to your lip, you winced as your finger made contact with your busted lip, and you knew what he was talking about. And you did not blame him in the slightest. If anything, the minor accident kind of turned you on even more. Daryl’s fangs only ever made an appearance during sex when he was getting drunk on your scent. More often than not, he would lightly scrape his fangs over your body as he went down, but never hard enough to leave an injury.

This was the first time that had happened.

After a moment of silence, you let out a small giggle, confusing Daryl entirely. “What?” he inquired gruffly.

You shook your head, your laugh dying down into a small smile. “Nothing. You’re just so adorable.” Before he could protest, you stood up from the bed, shaking off the last remnants of your destroyed shirt, and walked over to him. You looped your arms around his neck and pressed your body against his, your lower half making contact with his hard erection. You successfully elicited a small groan from him, making you smirk slightly.

“You have nothing to apologize for. It was an accident. I didn’t even realize it happened until you pointed it out.” You leaned forward to whisper in his ear, your tone low and seductive. “Besides, you know I don’t mind if you take some of my blood. I was gonna suggest you do that, anyway. But not on my lip. I was gonna say somewhere more…” You took one of his hands in yours and guided it down, letting it hover right above the clothed skin of your cunt. “...enjoyable for us both.”

Your words barely had time to sit in the air. You were hoisted off of your feet and practically flung back onto the bed. A light laugh escaped your chest, and you smiled at the sight of Daryl clambering back to hover over you, his hands clumsily but eagerly working to free you of your jeans.

When you were left in nothing but your bra, Daryl moved up to slant his mouth across yours for a gentle kiss. His tongue swiped over your bottom lip a few times, his spit coating your mouth. When he was satisfied, he pulled back and stared down at you, a small, lopsided smile on his face.

“S’gon’ make sure yer lip heals faster,” he explained, although it was unnecessary. You were well aware of the healing attributes his saliva held.

“Daryl, please stop worrying about a small cut on my lip and just fuck me already.”

Daryl chuckled at your impatient tone. He pressed one last kiss to your lips before pulling away again. “Yes, ma’am.”

[belokhvostikova]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤: 𝐂𝐥𝐮𝐛 𝐏𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐬

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 | After finding out about their exclusion from the school yearbook, Hellfire—Eddie Munson—isn't keen in letting his feelings fall for your attempt to fixing said issue.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Swearing, yelling, crying, and mentions of bullying.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | Don’t know why, but I have an obsession with referring to Eddie by his full name, lol. If there are any necessary warnings that were accidently left out, please feel free to let me know!

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 | One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐱𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞

By the coming of the fall season of 1982, the Hellfire Club had garnered the stigma of satanic cultists that tainted the lives of those associated. 

What started as a throng—four losers—of curious minds, on an endeavor to escaping the suffocating suburbia of Hawkins, Indiana, transpired into a league of camaraderie, fighting the hellscape of dark wizards and evil lords. Perfect comb-overs and pristine pom-poms who lived on the green laws that housed Reagan signs couldn’t touch them under the guise of their characters who built their strength and thick skin to defeat the wicked of suffering towns and cities through quests. Those four were invincible in the threshold of the drama room.

But in the real world, they had a target on their backs that merely grew as the years passed. 

And Eddie Munson was victim number one, placed at the forefront of all propelled abuse. 

But the beauty of Hellfire allowed the proffering of solutions, in which he quickly found solace within. See, the notion of characters, and qualities, and disguises permitted the perfect opportunity to build a facade unlike one’s truest self, that protected the vulnerable inside. 

The terrors of childhood abuse, loss of loved ones, and the torment of classmates couldn’t be seen on the sneering smirk and scowling eyes that accompanied Eddie Munson everywhere he went. The act of toughness was not a thing to be found difficult; he saw it in its worst quality within the bruteness of his father, and he saw it in its best quality within the perseverance of his uncle. 

Eddie Munson had no issue opening his arms to those who were caught in the pressuring seas of conformity, and he surely had no issue abusing back those who started it first, with a insult or shove being met with his harder kick and punch.

See, both aspects of toughness.

And while the idea may have protected him from the superficial blows of a socially divided high school, it actually hurt the potential improvements to his well being, suppressing all that left him weak and vulnerable, and choosing the outlet of a drink or substance that disabled his mind from the thoughts of reality. 

But Eddie Munson couldn’t care about himself, no ever did anyways. 

Until you. And he hurt you. 

“This is bullshit! Complete and utter fucking bullshit!” If it hadn’t been for the cacophonous shrills of the school cafeteria, surely Eddie Munson would have garnered the usual attention from his antics. But instead, everyone’s attention was captured by the occurrence that was happening on the southern end of the crowded room. “I mean, really, what the fuck is this?!” His broad hand flung a pretzel out of frustration, not bothering to acknowledge the innocent bystander that got caught in the crossfire of his heated action. 

To say Eddie Munson was pissed would be the understatement of the century. 

The gnawing agitation that seemed to innately follow him wherever, had now been triggered by the bright smiles of individual students, paraded in their best attire, with glee of acknowledgement. Today was club picture day, and Hellfire was not included. As the lunch period progressed to its ticking last minutes, students of all age ranges savored the remaining bits of their glorious thirty minute break from school hell, but not Eddie. Nope. Because for every minute of those thirty minutes, Eddie watched as clubs, one by one, walked the notorious stage where all Hawkins High’s productions had been showcased, and sat with cheesy smiles at the notion of being a valued representative for their school’s yearbook.

But not Hellfire.

The heavy, black curtains provided the cleanest backdrop for its low budgeted cost, giving ample focus to the students, who sat with the straightest of all postures, amongst the perfect array of chairs—the good ones, too, not the ones that make your butt go numb after twenty minutes. Row by row, everyone had a place, even being complimented by the two large, fake plants that added a splash of color with their faux green leaves. 

Gareth sighed. “It really is, man.” He turned back from watching the drama club get their picture taken, returning to pick at the cold spaghetti that stained his plastic tray. Everyone got photos, Hellfire got stale food. “But what do you expect, dude? This school already treats us like garbage, as it is.”

“We shouldn't tolerate this treatment, Emerson!” Eddie snapped, slapping Gareth’s hand that was causing the insistent scratch of his fork scraping his plate. The boy could only scoff in defeat at his ruined lunch, now that his plasticware landed on the dirty tiles of the lunchroom. 

Eddie was becoming revved up. He groaned in irritation, feeling the need to slam his palm into the table, eliciting the flinches of each boy.

“Look, well, there’s nothing we can do.” Mike, at an attempt, reasoned with Eddie. But he merely got a seething glare that asked him who does he think he’s talking to. 

“Oh, no?” Eddie snuffed with a mocking face. None of the boys were daring to challenge his eye contact. None of them ever did when he got like this. His worst days. “You boys gotta learn to take what you deserve.” He spoke too calmly for anyone’s liking. “It’s the only way people like us make it through life.”

Eddie jumped from his chair, the force too heavy for the flimsy thing, as it scraped the tile flooring before clashing with the ground beneath. All eyes were on him. Puffing the laps of his jacket, he strutted his way to the stage, all leather and chains, bumping shoulders with those who stood in his way. Done diligently, his worn sneakers stomped the couple steps, announcing his arrival. Those in the drama club were quick to move out of the way, refusing to become belittled for their judgemental stares against the Freak. But they were disregarded. Closest to Eddie Munson sat Nancy Wheeler, co-editor of the 1986 Hawkins High Yearbook. She rolled her eyes, fidgeting with her precious pen that had been used to check-off every name of every member of every club to ensure publication was precise and correct.

“Wheeler.” Eddie taunted, coming close to her table, tightly-balled fists supporting his weight as he leaned close to her face. “Funny,” he peered at his watch, “lunch is almost over and you have yet to call us up.”

There was no need to clarify “us.” Everyone knew—for worst reasons—who they were.

Nancy huffed, professionalism embedded in her character as she responded with such cadence, “That’s because you’re not on the list, Eddie.” And it was such professionalism of cadence that ticked him off. As she held up the roster of all clubs and members, contaminated with the ink of her pen, scratching titles off, Eddie snatched the paper from her hold, Nancy wincing at his aggression. 

“The Art Club, the Aviations Club, the Math Club,” He read off, “the fucking ROTC shitbags!” He slapped the paper down with a harsh slam. “Some fucking wannabe soldiers, who aren’t even a fucking club here, can get their fucking picture taken, but not Hellfire?!”

Nancy was attempting to control her emotions from the ambush of his angry words, his spit coating her delicate makeup with every yell of his tirade. “Look, Eddie, that’s the list Principal Higgins gave us.” She pointed between herself and you. 

Shit, she pointed to you. 

You, who’d been quietly watching this shitshow go down, standing near the edge of the stage, with a camera held tightly in your sweaty palms. While his outburst had you racking with worry, it also elicited a wave of sympathy due to their obvious exclusion, clear as day as to why Principal Higgin’s didn’t want their association with Hawkins High. It was fucking awful. 

But Eddie Munson didn’t see you. He saw you.

You, as in the fake smile that accompanied your obnoxious cheers, where’d you hangout with your bitchy friends, mingling amongst Jason Carver’s goons, before heading back to school the next day where you ran the student body government, finding yourself involved in all school activities, making the Principal's List and Honor Roll every year, and was about to be crowned prom queen by May and valedictorian by June.

And now, partnering with the Newspaper Committee to create ‘86’s yearbook.

Though he may not have known you, Eddie Munson fucking hated you. 

He followed Nancy Wheeler’s pointed finger, now aiming his degrading scowl that shot bullets at you, and you peered down from the intimidating stare. “Oh, I see!” His terrorizing laugh stifled the already straining atmosphere. “Fucking, little Miss Pom-poms jerked Higgin’s cock to make sure we weren’t included. Isn’t that right, princess?” His sneering smile showed just how amusing he found your evident discomfort to be, as he marched his way towards you, the tip of his toes scuffing your pristine sneakers. “Tell me, sweetheart, was Carver there, too? Huh?” 

“N-no, w-we didn’t do, uh-”

“Uh, uh, uh.” Eddie mocked. You could feel his large eyes scan your face, taking in all your features, and seeing your chest heave from the confrontation. “Bunch of fucking pussy, all of you, huh?” He glared, refusing to break from you luring eyes.

Saved by the bell, the obnoxious ringing gave you an out, and Eddie was quick to jog back to Nancy, who was beginning to pack up her station. For a second, his daunting demeanor relinquished, and his eyes softened with panic. “This isn’t fair, Wheeler, and you know it. C’mon.” He pleaded. “We’re as much of a club as any other bullshit clique here.” Eddie tried to reason, as Nancy sighed, trying to quickly gather her things.

Despite his hostile behavior, there was merit to his concerns. Hellfire was a club, and though Eddie Munson was the biggest asshole you’ve ever met, you understood his petition. Everyone knew why they weren’t included. They were never included. 

“Your own brother is in the club.” Nancy stopped in her tracks and looked at Eddie. “Look, I’m sorry, Eddie, really, I am. But if you have a problem, take it up with Higgin’s not-”

“Maybe we can just take their picture.” You felt stupid for interrupting, hearing your voice waver under their snapping, stern stares—one more of anger than the other. “Um, Higgins already approved of our, uh, layout, so he may not even see the final draft until it’s already been printed.”

“And then what, we get in trouble? Not happening.” Nancy affirmed, more comfortable with disregarding Hellfire than staining her clean track record. 

Eddie scoffed. “Fucking screw this!” He stood straight, adjusting his posture. Any shot at his ego and feelings went unnoticed, as he returned to his callous attitude. There was a moment in which he simply stared you down; all that was clouding his judgment was your refined Hawkins High cheerleading sweater. Your well known name printed at the forefront—cursively embroidered in velvet gold—encasing the pinnacle of all things Eddie Munson hated. As Nancy Wheeler left you be, Eddie trudged his way against you again, hot breath fanning across your smaller stature. “I don’t need your fucking bullshit pity. You understand?” He gritted with clenched teeth.

 And he merely left it at that, nudging passed you, as he joined the stagger of students who were fleeting out of the cafeteria. 

And you stood in disbelief. 

-

You were crazy. You were out-of-your-fucking-mind crazy.

It was late into the night, and you were ready to break school rules for something so trivial, but seemed so desperately important to others.

You groaned in the palms of your hands, as you stood outside of the newspaper room, stolen key in hand. Why were you even doing this? Eddie Munson was an asshole to you. He didn’t like you. But this wasn’t for him. No, this was for the other members. Yeah, the other members, like Nancy’s brother, Mike Wheeler, or Lucas Sinclair, you sweetest kid you’d ever met on the basketball team, who were both totally innocent in all. Jesus shit.

“Hey!” Chrissy waved out to you, as you watched her flood out of the gym doors with the rest of the squad from practice. Clearly, your plans of leaving early to avoid them fell through. “What are you doing, I thought you left already? You coming?”

“Yeah, no, I just need to check over some things for the yearbook.” You lied, with your infamous fake smile. “Don’t know how long it’ll take, so I’ll just have my dad come pick me up.”

“Make sure my picture is front and center!” Jessica joked, as the girls laughed, and waved you goodbye.

As soon as they left, your head dropped back in your clammy palms. In all honesty, leaving would probably be a better choice, right now; you could drop your heavy cheer bag, get out of your sweaty shorts, have a nice bath, and dine out on some food. But instead, for whatever reason you tried to excuse in your brain, you’re here. Probably getting ready for whatever shit Eddie Munson was going to shout in your face when you appeared. 

But fuck it.

-

“The weathered wood creeks beneath your feet as you confront the abandoned foundations of Barlok’s Tavern.” An unnerving sense consumed the boys, as Eddie’s bravado narrations subjected their quest through the ominous grounds of Havocs Beacon. “The merchant of Dunbar Armory has promised this place to be of pure seclusiveness, unknown to even the commoners who dwell the treacherous forest.” All attention was sucked, this was the escape. The escape from the conformity that abused the boys. And Eddie Munson was their protector. “The fate of decision lies in your hands, boys. Do you enter or run?”

They peered at one another, unsure of their next move. “Remember, there is no shame in running.” Eddie’s malicious smile worried them.

But before a consensus could be determined, a soft knock spooked the boys, Dustin’s shriek being most evident. Eddie’s eyes shot at the door, narrowing with his brows furrowing. Everyone went quiet. Too quiet. Maybe they misheard. But sure enough, a delicate knock came again.

Eddie trajected from his throne. “One of you expecting someone? On Hellfire night?!”

His agitated voice was quick to receive a series of stern no’s and insistent head shakes that saved the boys from an invective of shouts for interrupting Hellfire. But for whoever was behind that door? Yeah, they were about to be hit with a diatribe of yells. 

Eddie’s breath heaved with irritation as he stomped his way to the large door, swinging it open with a heavy, “What-” But he was quick to shut up. 

You timidly dropped your balled fist from the air, and held eye contact with Eddie. His gaze was intimidating, but unlike the earlier occurrence in the lunchroom, it was weirdly softer. His eyes widened at the tired state in which you appeared; sweaty hair messily splaying your head, face heated from clear exertion, your lip plumped raw from your nervous chewing, and then he looked down. Unabashedly, too. You watched his eyes peer at your glistening chest that was displayed from your low cut long sleeve, then found his attention primarily focusing on your tight spandex shorts that hugged your hips and exposed your legs. 

“Um.”

His eyes shot back to yours, but you lost the ability to formulate words, both of you staring silently at one another.

“Uh, Eddie?” Jeff’s voice snapped him back to reality, as he turned back to see his buddies—all terribly confused—watching his blanking face obviously check you out.

His vulnerability was showing. And just like a switch, Eddie turned back to you, “What the fuck are you doing?!” You cowered at his sudden yelling. “We’re in the middle of a fucking campaign!” 

“I-I’m sorry.” You stuttered from embarrassment, as you saw his friends watch and wince at you. “I-I just needed to, uh, take your photo. F-for the yearbook.”

“What?” He scoldingly questioned you. 

“Your picture, um, Hellfire’s picture.” You pointed to his shirt. 

Before Eddie could get another word out, Gareth, who you only recognized as a random friend of Eddie's, did, “We’re getting our picture taken?” A small smile appeared on his face at the idea of inclusion.

“Wait, seriously?” A young, curly-haired boy spoke up.

There was a glimmer of hope oozing from their expressions, one that they didn’t get to experience often or lavish in, just at the mere idea of getting their picture taken, because it was a big deal, and seeing their excitement was enough to take Eddie’s hatred with honor to grant them their wish.

So you nodded your head. “Yeah, I’m here to take your picture.” You smiled, waving the stolen camera to prove so.

“Is this some fucking joke to you?!” And just like that, your smile was gone. “Don’t mess with their feelings for some sick joke!”

“N-no, this isn-”

“This is just a prank?” Eddie’s friends’ sullen voices simultaneously asked. 

“No!” You were quick to assure. “I promise, it’s not. I would never.” You ignored Eddie’s scoff. 

“Then why didn’t we get called up during lunch?” Mike, who Nancy Wheeler informed you about, asked. 

“That was totally on me. After lunch,” you nodded towards Eddie, “I asked Higgin’s why you weren’t included, and he was just as confused.” You lied. You never visited Higgins. It was obvious why he didn’t want to include them. “And, well, apparently it was just some fluke with the system, and you guys were included! All of you, uh, Eddie Munson, Mike Wheeler, Lucas Sinclair… and t-the rest of you.”Lucas gave you a shy wave, which you softly returned, as he’d always shared his sense of not fitting in just yet with the basketball team. You were there to reassure he was okay and welcomed—and right now, thanking god that you knew him and Mike’s name to confirm your lie. “It was all on the revised list, and I should have checked the first one better. Totally my fault.”

Eddie stared at you warily. 

“So, uh, come on!” You smiled, and the guys were quick to flood out of the drama room. 

“Wait! W-We’re in the middle of a campaign!” Eddie warned. “We’re not fucking stopping for some dumb photo! I mean, c’mon, guys.”

Everyone stopped.

The younger faces of the group fell, as they contemplated going back or following you. Jeff sighed, walking up to his longtime friend with pleading eyes. “Come on, man. Just let us have this.” He whispered. 

Eddie groaned, taking in the faces of the younger crowd, and nodded regardless, “Fine.” And a cheer of the younger boys echoed through the empty halls. “I’m bringing our logo! Wait- can I bring our logo?” Dustin—the young, curly-haired boy—asked.

“Uh, yeah, by all means, go ahead.” Logo? With a gummy smile, he ran back into the drama room, shortly returning with the round shield that mimicked the drawing on their shirts, encapsulating all that was the beauty of Hellfire. 

Lucas smiled up at you, “So where are we going?”

“Oh, well, I didn’t have time to set up the fancy stage, so…” you thought quickly, “…against the wall in the main hall should be fine. Is that alright?” You grinned back. “We can just hang your logo up, though you guys will definitely stand out from the formality of the other photos.”

“Good.” Eddie mumbled. “Wouldn’t want to conform to this bullshit school, anyways.” He sneered, bumping into you with no apology. 

Ignoring his hostility, you cleared your throat and directed the group of boys into the main hall, clear of all lockers, and decorated with plaques and awards honored to the Hawkins High establishment throughout the decades of operation. Catching sight of the familiar photo of Principal Higgins—one that had been countlessly vandalized by yours truly, Eddie Munson—you made the rash decision to dismantle it from the rusty nail that was drilled in six years ago when he first became principal. “Okay, hand me your precious shield.” You smiled at Dustin.

“Handle her with great honor, your majesty.” He unleashed his greatest—not so great—British accent with a bow to his knee. 

You giggled, joining his playful antics, “Wouldn’t think to do any less, kind soldier.”

Eddie studied your interaction. His lips were fighting to flash a tiny smile, but his ego was stronger, choosing to focus on his sneaker scuffing the floor rather than you. 

You, who was breaking every belief in the Munson Doctrine about prissy cheerleaders who hung off the arms of meathead jocks, and who was actively making his group of bullied outsiders feel included with your kindness; such kindness that Eddie was adamant he could not fall for. No matter how nice, how pretty, or enticing you were, all he saw was you. 

You stepped back from hanging up their logo. “Okay, how’s that?” You asked the boys. After Dustin’s insistent need of a little to the left and just a bit to the right, it was perfect. “Alrighty, you guys line up there, and we can take a couple.” You smiled.

Every member was quick to find their designated spot against the wall, Eddie though, he slowly walked up beside you, as his friends got ready. He sighed, as he looked down at your warm face, “Are you actually putting us in the yearbook?” For a moment, you wanted to savor the little moment of bliss, in which Eddie Munson wasn’t throwing an insult or condescending comment towards you, but his genuine concern about your sincerity had your heart aching at his unmistakable plea to wanting to be included, also. 

You softly spoke with a gentle nod to your head, “Yeah, of course.” You smiled at him. “Right where you guys deserve to be.” But his deep stare into your eyes had you pulling back from the moment that was happening, “J-just like Higgins said to do.” You were quick to add. 

 His heart could only manage a tight-lip nod back. “Right. Higgins.” He eyed you before joining his friends. 

You took a deep breath. “Okay, guys-”

“Wait, you don’t expect us to, like, stand up straight or whatever?” Mike interjected. 

“No, no,” you laughed, “be yourself, do whatever you’d like and just be comfortable.” You smiled, holding Eddie’s eye contact for a second longer than the others. “Okay, big smiles!”

Lining the camera to focus on the seven boys, you peered through the lens to see their uniquely catered pose establishing themselves through their individual personalities. Thumbs up, leaning postures, hands on hips, and beaming smiles, you snapped the photo with a large flash. You peered away from the camera and titled your head at Eddie. “What about big smiles did you not understand?” Your lips twinkled with delight of teasing. “You, too, Wheeler.” You giggled.

“Trust me, I look best without smiling.” Mike was able to rationalize.

You playfully rolled your eyes, “Okay, and your excuse?” You smiled at Eddie, who was undoubtedly using all his willpower to bite back a grin. 

“I don’t smile.” His stern voice was no match for his wavering smirk.

“Why not, it’s so beautiful?” You giggled, as his cheeks flushed with redness, apparent that he was not expecting such a compliment. “Come on, for me!”

His smile started appearing at you, though his friends were quick to ruin the moment. “Oh, you are so beautiful, Eddie.” Jeff mocked with a girly voice.

“Just wanna kiss you.” Dustin was quick to add kissy faces.

“Fuck off, both of you.” He shoved them, though his laugh was evident along with his smile, and were happy with such accomplishment.

Because you weren’t lying, Eddie Munson had a beautiful smile.

“Alright, alright, alright.” You laughed. “No more teasing. I want big, beautiful smiles—with the exception of Mike—so I can get the most perfect photo.” 

The boys shook out any giddiness, and were quick to, once again, get into their own poses. Eddie, for once, showing you his crookedly perfect smirk as he leaned into his friends comfortably. Instructing them to get ready, you realigned the camera and focused on their beings, capturing the fun that was occurring at Hawkins High’s center hall at 8:59 p.m.

“How lovely.” You smiled at them, as they cheered and excitedly congratulated each other for actually being in the yearbook. 

As you watched the utter glee consume their face, you caught eyes with Eddie. He flashed you a small grin, one that lingered longer than he was anticipating, but how could he not? No one had ever thought to include them, and here you were doing just that, tugging on the string of his heart because you cared. You actually fucking cared.

“Okay, um,” you caught their attention, “sorry for interrupting your game, you’re free to go back. I’ll be sure to have these quickly developed for the yearbook.” You smiled.

You were quick to get a multitude of thank you’s from the boys, though it was then when Eddie suddenly fell uncharacteristically quiet. He cleared his throat, snapping back to reality, and once again, his apathetic face was nimble to mask his genuine smile that was once shining on his face. As the boys started flooding back into the drama room, you turned to catch his staring at you, though when you went to flash him a smile with a small wave, you were only met with cold eyes that stared your figure down. The same eyes that degraded you nine hours earlier at lunch. The eyes that you thought you managed to break through after today. 

Speed walking away from his glare, you fumbled into the newspaper room, returning the stolen camera. You took a minute to adjust yourself, still stuck in your sweaty practice clothes, that only seemed tighter after Eddie’s scowl. But maybe you were just reading too far into it. He had been smiling at you before, maybe he was simply slipping back into his character to resume his campaign. 

Placing the camera back—Nancy was going to have one out with you when she found out—you locked up, closing the heavy door quietly behind you. It was once you did so, a heavy hand prevented you from walking away. Turning you around, you were, once again, faced with Eddie’s daunting demeanor as he stood over you. 

It seemed like a common occurrence now, that every time you came face-to-face with him, his unnerving eyes were always studying your face, from your eyes to your lips. “H-hi.” You gently spoke, breaking his trance from his detailed staring.

He cleared his throat, “I know Higgins didn’t tell you to do that.”

He wasn’t wrong, and it wasn’t like you exactly sold your lie too well. “Uh, yeah, b-but you guys still deserve to be included, and well, I’ll just take the fault if Higgin’s does find out. But I can assure you he won’t, so you’ll still be in there, I promise.”

Your reassuring voice that was laced with nervousness made him drag his hands across his face in frustration. It made all what he was about to do that more difficult. “Look, what you did back there…” He huffed. For a second, you thought that he may actually thank you and apologize for his previous actions towards you. But that’s not reality. “Don’t ever fucking do that again.” The way your face dropped had him slowing the lump in his throat knowing that he caused it. 

“W-what?” Your eyes became round with confusion, and Eddie screwed his eyes shut to refrain from looking into them and being swept away. “B-but I thought-”

“No, no, stop.” He cut off your quivering voice that was sinking his stomach into a deep pit. “I, uh, I told you before that I don’t need your pity. We don’t need your pity.” He casted his face down, unable to face your disheartened look.

“No, Eddie, I promise, this wasn’t out of pity.” You were swift to defend. “I did it because you guys deserve to be in the yearbook, just like you said. I swear-”

“You’re gonna get their hopes up!” His. His hopes up. You flinched at his booming voice, attempting to find the strength to control the stinging in your eyes. “Some gorgeous, popular cheerleader being nice to them, leading them to believe all’s good, they won’t get hurt, only to come back and find you and your friends tormenting them as if today never happened!” 

“No, I wouldn’t! I never even have! I’ll tell my friends to back off, Jason and Andy, I’ll tell everyone to stop, I promise. I didn’t do this to be some savior, you were just right earlier, and it wasn’t fair to exclude you guys.”

“Stop, just stop!” He couldn’t trust your words, though every fiber in his body was yearning to, but he just couldn’t subject himself to do so. His hands pulled on the roots of his hair. He wasn’t going to fall for you, in no alternate reality did Eddie Munson falling for a perfect cheerleader ever work out in his favor. He was an asshole before, and he’ll be an asshole right now, because that’s what kept him safe. “Just stay away from me- I, uh, my friends! Just stay away from my friends.” He choked with a shaky sigh, watching as you were fast to wipe away a running tear while looking away. Fuck.

He sighed, chest heaving with emotions he didn’t want to come out. “Just stay away.”

Eddie Munson was choosing to run.

Before he could crack from your glassy, round eyes, he marched back into the drama room with a heavy slam to the door, leaving you there.

Alone and crying.

[another-lost-mc]

Solomon isn't just immortal. He's a vampire and we find out by accident. The moment MC sees the fangs and it's like the monster fucker light switch flips on. Wanting to see if it's true we feel pleasure as he feeds and feeling him take us til hes empty and full.

If you knows what I mean 😏😉

➤ temptations | solomon x afab!reader

solomon knows all the secrets you try to keep from him. it's only a matter of time before you learn his secret too.

content: nsfw (18+). afab!Reader (gn!pronouns). vampire au. canon-typical vampire behaviour including biting/blood drinking and possessiveness/jealousy, past killing/murder, minor angst, pining, pet names, teasing, thigh riding, overstimulation. 2.5k+ words.

Vampire!Solomon who hides his true identity from you because you’re overwhelmed adjusting to life in the Devildom. He wants to be your human exchange student friend, someone you can trust and turn to. He swears to the others that he’s no danger to you, and they agree to keep his secret in return.

Vampire!Solomon who offers to cook for you sometimes, and you’re absolutely stunned by how terrible his food is. (It’s too bitter, or too salty, and the meat he serves you is so raw it's inedible.) You accept the food with a grimace because he’s so enthusiastic and sweet when you visit him and the angels at Purgatory Hall. You notice quickly that he doesn’t eat when you do—he sits across the table from you with a soft smile and tells you that he already ate or, "Don’t worry, darling, I’ll eat later."

(You don’t remember when he first started calling you “darling” but you realize that you like it, and he knows you do, too.)

Vampire!Solomon who notices the collection of vampire-themed books and movies in your room. He pretends to be curious about what you’re reading, even though he knows the book in your hand is an explicit romance novel about a human and vampire having a steamy love affair. You squirm in your seat and tell him it’s just a silly vampire book, and he doesn’t bring it up again when you awkwardly change the topic.

Later in the privacy of his dorm, he wonders what it is about vampires specifically that you find so appealing. Is it the danger of being approached in the darkness by a handsome stranger? Do you want to be claimed by someone who will protect and worship you in exchange for your blood? There’s so many different versions of vampires in human pop culture, it’s impossible to guess without more subtle investigation.

(He tries not to think too hard about why he cares so much.)

Vampire!Solomon who doesn’t realize that his feelings for you have grown into something beyond friendship until its too late. He follows a delectable scent to the RAD library where he finds you studying by yourself. He tries to convince himself it’s just a new fragrance you’re wearing, or perhaps Asmo has given you some bath products to try.

(He’s been so sensitive to smells lately, and it’s only now that he realizes it’s because of you.)

Vampire!Solomon whose nose nearly brushes against your neck when he approaches you silently from behind. His eyes flutter shut in wanton bliss at the mere scent of your blood, thick like honey and just as sweet, pumping through your veins. He salivates at the thought of sinking his fangs into your skin, and he swallows thickly around the lump in his throat. His fists clench at his sides as he resists the urge to touch you and he steps back quickly, just in time for you to turn around and finally notice his presence. He stumbles through an awkward greeting before he makes his excuses and flees to the safety of his dorm, far away from you.

(He feels betrayed by his own desires. He swore to himself that he would be your friend—but that’s not enough. Not anymore.)  

Vampire!Solomon who tries to ignore his feelings for you, stomping them deep down into the black chasm where his soul used to be. It’s a futile effort—he’s enraptured and tormented by you, the one person in the three realms he shouldn't want but he craves so much. He tries to find relief for his bloodlust in the human world, but there’s none to be found.

When he arrives in the human world to try to satiate his thirst, he tells himself he’s just hungry. Maybe a proper meal instead of bagged blood will alleviate the bitter hunger swirling inside him.

Before he met you, he liked to play with his food. It used to be such a rush, fucking them or choking them on his cock before feeding from them. He doesn’t seduce his prey tonight, even though they try to entice him—the human’s sultry smile and wandering hands across his chest do nothing but make him shudder in revulsion.

The clouds part and moonlight peeks through. He realizes the human he chose looks like a poor imitation of you, and he didn’t even realize it. He’s tempted to bite them anyway, to rip out their throat and bleed them dry in his frustration—but you wouldn’t approve if you ever found out, would you? 

(He stopped killing for fun a long time ago, and he refuses to let this break him.)

He mutters a spell to jumble the human’s memory and lets them wander away from the alley unharmed. He returns to the Devildom hungry and frustrated, and he's determined to fix this problem once and for all.

Purgatory Hall is dark and quiet when you let yourself inside. Solomon called you earlier and claimed he didn’t have anything in particular he wanted to talk about, but he sounded strange. His voice was rough and bitter, so unlike the friendly sorcerer you’ve grown fond of.

“Sol, are you okay? You sound upset about something.”

“Oh, darling,” he sighs heavily into the receiver, “you have no idea.”

“I can come over if you want company, unless you’d rather be alone.”

“You’re so sweet, aren’t you? Very well—the others are out at the moment and I'd rather speak to you privately. I’ll leave the door unlocked for you.”

There’s a flicker of candlelight coming from underneath his bedroom door, and you knock softly before entering. There’s only a single candle lit on the mantle and most of the room is shrouded in darkness. You can’t even see Solomon at first, but you hear a noise near his desk and realize he's watching you from his wingback chair. He crooks his finger for you to come closer when you hesitate just inside the doorway.

He grabs something off his lap and tosses it on the desk haphazardly. The book slides across the smooth surface towards you, and your cheeks flush when you recognize the cover of one of the erotic vampire novels you’ve read.

“It wasn’t as bad as I expected,” he admits, tone far too casual to be sincere, “but like most books, this one isn’t very accurate when it comes to vampire lore.”

You laugh nervously to try and cover your bashfulness. “I suppose you know more about vampires than most humans do?” 

He rises from his chair and walks around the desk so that he's in front of you. He leans back against it as he picks up something that reflects the moonlight—a wine glass, one you didn’t notice before in the dark room.

“You could say that,” he murmurs as he swirls the liquid in the glass before lifting it to his lips.

It would be easier to pretend the red liquid he drinks is wine, if it weren’t for its viscous texture and the metallic scent filling the air. You stare at him as he licks away a smear of blood from his lip; his eyes glow unnaturally bright in the dark room as he stares back.

“You’re…you’re a—“ you're stunned into silence, barely able to utter the word as you try to process what's happening.

He sighs and sets the nearly empty glass on the desk. “A vampire, yes.” He scrutinizes your expression. “You don’t seem afraid, darling—but maybe you should be.” 

It suddenly makes sense now, how the others always warned you to stay away from him. He treated you so kindly, you didn’t believe he was dangerous. Somewhere along the way, your feelings for him changed into something more. You’ve thought about what it might be like to go on a proper date with him, to kiss him and invite him to your bed and feel him move inside you.

You should be terrified, but you’re not.

You think about his sweet gestures and gentle touches, and the way he says your name with so much fondness. You don’t want to doubt him, but you have to be certain you’re not mistaken about his intentions for you. “You're not going to hurt me.” It's not a question because you already know the answer.

"No, I would never hurt you. Quite the opposite, really." His gaze softens, but he still seems uncertain about something. "I’m not sure you can truly understand what it's like to be with someone like me."

You walk towards him before you lose your nerve, and you place a shaking hand on his chest, over the empty place where his heart should be. “Then help me understand, please? Because I like you, as more than just a friend—and learning about this hasn’t changed that.”

He says nothing while his eyes search your expression, and it feels like he’s picking apart your soul until he unburies the truth behind your words. He must be satisfied by what he sees in your eyes because he takes your hands in his and leads you around the desk to his chair. He sits down and tugs you down onto his lap.

You straddle his thighs nervously, trying hard not to put too much weight on his lap while you grasp his shoulders for balance.

“There must be a lot of things you’re curious about,” he says softly as he strokes the side of your face. He brushes your warm cheek with his thumb. “Let’s start with the basics, shall we? At least your book got something right.” He opens his mouth wide enough for you to see the fangs he normally conceals from view. 

You lean closer to inspect them in the dim lighting of his room. They don’t look that sharp and you reach out curiously to touch one. The tip of a fang pricks your finger and you pull back with a hiss. He grabs your hand before you can wipe away the little bloom of crimson where his fang cut you.

“There’s something else you should know before we go any further, darling.” His tongue laps at the droplet of blood pooling on your fingertip, and his chest rumbles with a purr at your taste.

“I don’t like to share.” He watches another drop of blood slowly ooze from the cut. He pops your finger into his mouth with a quiet hum, twirling his tongue and sucking gently before pulling your hand away again. “I won't share your blood.”

His hand on your cheek slides down your neck and pauses over your pulse before smoothing over your cotton shirt. His hand stops on your breast where he feels your heartbeat thrum rapidly beneath his palm. “And I won’t share this.”

His hand glides over the curve of your belly before he dips into the space between your legs. “Or this,” he breathes, spreading his fingers as he rubs you through your pants. He exhales sharply through his nose, surprised at how damp you are already. He teases you a little more with his fingers, mesmerized by the heat of your arousal against his cool fingers. The scent of your slick permeates the air when he pulls his hand away.

“You’ll be mine alone, and no one else’s.” He holds you in place as his fingers clench possessively into the soft swell of your hips. "Can you accept that?"

You don’t know the words to express how overwhelmed and captivated you are by him. He might be a monster, but you’ve never wanted someone more in your entire life. You lean forward and kiss him, and you hope he understands all the feelings you can’t say. 

He groans into the kiss as he tilts his head to slot your lips together. His kiss is hard and demanding and passionate. His tongue flicks at the seam of your lips and you open your mouth to him. You taste blood when his tongue curls with yours, but for some reason it makes you want him even more. You break the kiss with a gasp when you start to feel lightheaded.

He wraps an arm around your back and pulls you to his chest in a tight embrace. “Did you know that I could smell how wet you were when you read those naughty books of yours?” he whispers against your ear.

His lips graze along your jaw as he starts leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses against your neck. “Did you ever fantasize that I was one of the monsters from your stories?" A gentle flick of his tongue against your pulse point. "Did it make you come, thinking about me biting you as I fucked you?”

He huffs in amusement against your throat when you squirm in his lap. "Oh, you did, didn't you?" He licks up your neck and tugs on your earlobe with his teeth. "Don't worry, darling—I thought about it too."

“Solomon, please,” you whine in his ear as you wind your fingers through his hair and to try pull him closer. 

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted this?” he asks as he nips lightly at your neck. “Fucking you senseless, tasting your pretty little cunt, feeding from you after. I don’t think I can wait much longer.”

You whimper when his hand grasps the back of your neck and tilts your head to allow him better access. “Will it hurt?”

His eyes flick up and meet your hesitant gaze; you look so lovely with lust-darkened eyes, brightened with a hint of fear. “Oh, you’re going to love this,” he murmurs darkly, voice thick and full of promise, just before he bites you.

You cry out in surprise when the sharp pinch of his fangs break your skin. The slight pain dissipates and leaves behind a warming sensation that builds where his greedy lips drink from you. Waves of molten pleasure spread down your neck and courses through your veins, and you moan loudly and unashamed as desire pools in your belly.

Your thighs are warm and sticky from the slick soaking your underwear and your clit throbs with need. You grind down against his thigh in search of friction, and he moans appreciatively as he continues to slurp noisily at your neck.

Your fingers dig into his shoulders as you chase your pleasure, riding up and down his thigh as slick seeps through your pants and eases the glide. The wet fabric of your underwear pulls taut against your folds and adds a hint of friction to your clit every time you rub yourself against him. 

He grunts and pushes your hips down, encouraging you to move even faster as he rocks against you. He relaxes his jaw and pulls his fangs from your neck, but the sensation of his tongue licking over the small bite marks is enough to send you over the edge. You hide your face against his shoulder when you cry out his name when you come, another surge of slick coating your folds and seeping through your clothes onto his.

He grabs at your ass and encourages you to keep moving against him, riding out your orgasm and wringing every drop of pleasure from your body. You fall limp against his chest and tremble from sensitivity, exhausted but so satisfied.

“You did so well for me. You’re perfect, darling.”  He rubs your back and waits for you to catch your breath before he tilts your head up for a kiss. It's softer and sweeter than the kisses before, but it still stains your lips crimson.

You groan uncomfortably when you shift in his lap, and you realize just how wet and sticky your underwear and pants are now. There are dark streaks of your slick on his thigh and the pant leg underneath your dribbling cunt is soaked.

He looks delighted when he glances down and admires the mess you made of him. “You smell so delicious, I might never wash these again,” he teases, “but for now, perhaps we should move this to the bedroom? There’s so much more I want to show you, and I’m still hungry.”

read more: the vampire event masterlist | obey me masterlist

[forensicheart]

You.

Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: Max is furious after you cost him a win and the tension between you is high, maybe it's time for Max to settle it

Warning/s: Self degradation

“What the fuck was that?” An angry voice yells from behind you making you turn around only to be pushed, two hands hitting your chest hard and making you stumble back.

“You did that on purpose didn’t you? Couldn’t handle another loss to me, huh?” The man standing before you accused.

“Listen Max, it was an accident, I swear” You tried to defend.

Max Verstappen. Formula 1 champion and your teammate. This wasn’t the first time he had yelled at you. When you first joined RedBull you had been a rookie to Formula 1, you had made a few mistakes that cost Max wins or even points. While the rest of the team had understood, knowing this was all new to you Max had not cared, seeming to be harder on you than anyone else on the grid.

“You still got on the podium” You knew fighting Max wasn’t going to get you anywhere so you simply tried to reassure him.

“Third place. I got third place Y/n. I would have won if it wasn’t for you!” The fire in Max’s eyes merely grew as he stepped closer to you with every step. “Whatever. You don’t get it. You’ll never even have a chance to win like I do. I mean how did you even make it into F1?” Max scoffed as he folded his arms across his chest. Max’s words in these moments had never affected you, you knew he was just mad, probably saying things he didn’t mean and would regret later. But as he spoke those words to you, ones he hadn’t said before, you could feel the tears welling in your eyes. Maybe you were just tired from the race, you hadn’t slept very well last night either having stayed up late to go over your strategy.

“You’re right. Sorry Max” You sounded noticeably hurt and this made Max’s eyes dart to meet yours only to find tears beginning to fall as you turned on your heel and walked away.

“Shit” Max swore once you were far enough away, his hands rubbing his face as he let out a breath.

Back in your driver room you gathered your stuff as sobs racked your body. You had never been so hurt by Max’s words but today you had finally had enough. Max was right, you thought, why were you even in Formula 1? You were nowhere near the talent of any of the other 19 drivers on the grid.

Once you were in your hotel room that night the tears had stopped but the thoughts hadn’t. You had doubted yourself like this before but once you were accepted into F1 it had all stopped, you had finally convinced yourself that you were good enough, that you were talented and ready for this step. And with one sentence Max had made all that confidence, all that hard work, come crumbling down. Now you sat in your bed, a pair of plaid pajama pants and an oversized white top covering your body as you scrolled through the hotel channels. It felt like you had been searching for a decent channel for forever before a knock sounded throughout your room. Glancing at your phone the time read 1:04am. Who the hell needed you at this time that couldn’t just text you? You made your way to the door regardless, pulling it open and almost closing it as soon as it revealed who was on the other side. With fast reflexes the door was stopped, the hand gripping the door tightly and you sighed letting it be open.

“What do you want Max?” Max gave you a look that you couldn’t quite decipher before responding.

“You told Christian you want to leave Red Bull” Now that certainly wasn’t what you had expected to hear him say.

“How do you know that?” You questioned.

“Why do you want to leave?” Max ignored you and made his way into your hotel room in a haste.

“Come on in” You rolled your eyes sarcastically as you let your door close shut with a click.

“Why would you ever want to leave? This is your dream Y/n and you’re amazing at it!” Now it was your turn to scoff at Max.

“That’s certainly not what you said earlier” That made Max stop his pacing and look at you stunned.

“This is about what I said earlier?” You only nodded, your arms folding across your body, suddenly feeling very vulnerable under Max’s gaze.

“Y/n. I didn’t mean any of that, I was just angry, you shouldn’t leave Red Bull just because of some small words I said” You shook your head, you could feel the tears coming back.

“They weren’t just words to me Max, you confirmed every doubt I’ve ever had about my talents. So I’m not only leaving RedBull but I’m leaving racing for good"

"Don't be stupid Y/n" Max scoffed causing you to sigh as your frustration grew.

"I'm just not cut out for this" You declared throwing your arms up as the tears became more evident in your eyes. Max stayed silent for a moment, his eyes searching yours as he hurried to find the right word before taking a slow step towards you, a gentle look on his face you had never received before.

"I understand the feeling Y/n, those words I said earlier? I swear that I didn't mean any of them, not even in the slightest. I have grown up having to always be the best, no exceptions, so any step back upsets me and that is no fault of anyone but myself" Max took a breath, hesitating as he reached his hands out to take hold of yours.

"I let my emotions take over at the worst of times and that is something I evidently need to work on. But you, Y/n, you are irreplicable, not just in F1. You are kindhearted, caring, selfless, understanding, you take care of others needs before your own. Your effortlessly entertaining and being your teammate never feels like a job. You're still new to this and I haven't done my part in helping you adjust at RedBull but your driving proves your worth in this team, in F1, without leaving any room for questions" You're left speechless, staring at him as tears silently fell down your face, your shock and appreciation evident as you took in the genuine look on Max's face.

"Max- I- I don't know what to say" You struggle to speak through your emotions but Max just raises a hand to gently wipe your tears away as he offers you a warm smile.

"Just promise me you'll at least give racing one more shot?" Without a second thought you find yourself nodding in agreement causing Max's smile to grow.

"Good. It would be a shame to lose such an incredible person" You offer Max the same smile he gives you and wordlessly he wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a comforting hold. Your arms find home around his waist as you burry your face in his chest.

"Let's get you back on top of that podium then" You speak with determination pulling back slightly to look up at Max once more.

"I think I can go a few races with it if it means getting you up there" Max's words make you smile widely as you burry your face in his chest once more. You were liking this dynamic a lot more.

[pvrkacciosan]

Secrets and Sex

Summary: After your training session with Bodhi had gotten rather... Heated and progression was inevitable. The desire for one another didn't stop there, but keeping it hidden from your friends may have been more pointless than you realized.

Pairing: Bodhi Duran x Marked Fem! Reader

Word count:

Warnings: 18+ , !NSFW!, explicit smut scenes, swearing, submissive Bodhi It was an accident I apologise for nothing

A.N: I Definitely got carried away with this...

Part 1 | Part 2

☽⋆❈⋆☾

It has been a little over a week since your initial training session with Bodhi and since then, the tether of tension between you both only seemed to tighten. Ensnaring and constricting until it left you both panting and pining after one another, on more then one occasion.

Today was no different, Bodhi has sought you out this morning, as everyone has been on the move for breakfast, capturing you in the hallway and pulling you away to slip into the shadows.

His mouth has been on your own before you could even voice a single word. Not that you had minded in the time. It had been reckless, in the sense anyone in the College could have walked upon you two, the thrill of being caught giving you a shot of adrenaline.

Especially if your friends found out, you weren't sure why you had hidden this... Thing with Bodhi, you'd known him for years and it wasn't exactly like Violet and Xaden had hidden their affections for one another.

But they were more? Where they not, you were just sleeping with Bodhi, Right? No string attached. He was attractive, you were beyond the point of denying that fact, but there wasn't anything else to it.

The first time you'd gotten together, it had been a heated training session and tension was running high on both ends. And even after he had been inside you, tongue and cock, after all that when you left to go back to your own bed that night you had merely concluded it had been a heat of the moment act.

But what about every time after that?

The thoughts were dizzying, and you could almost be mad at him for getting you this bothered after your morning make our session. Unable to think beyond his touch, the way he could make your body give everything it had to offer and in turn, you could make him crawl. Nervousness had wracked you the first time you took control, but Bodhi had seemed more keen and interested the more you denied him. Keeping him pining until you decided what he could have and when he could have it.

You would never guess your best friend would be for giving into the submission of letting you lead him through his pleasures. It didn't happen every time you guys slept together, but when it did. Let's just say it always worked into your favour when he turned his attention to you.

Breathing deeply you slouched into your seat on Asra's back, the warmth of her reptilian body radiating beneath you.

You humans and your fickle feelings.

Asra's voice in your head was subtle this time, drifting in through the swarm of thought clouding your mind.

"They are called emotions." You grated out aloud, no need to communicate through your thoughts when you knew she could hear you perfectly well up here. In the skies above the War College, away from the bustle of noise below.

It had become your safe haven, in the clouds the cold air nipping your exposed skin, a deliberate act on your part, to leave parts exposed to feel the winds bite.

You can be easily broken by them. They are fickle.

Taking a second to extend a thought to her words, the thunder of your own pulse in your ears drowning out the sound of the wind ripping your hair from the braid that whipped at your spine.

If you are to love him so be it. Love hard, or hate. Simple. You are a dragon rider, you have no time for fickle feelings which take up your time.

You did not require any further poking from her, you knew she spoke of Bodhi. But did you love him?

Yes, You were insanely attracted to him and when he fucked you, Seven hells it was the best you ever had, but...was that love?

You had been friends since you were young and had spent many years stuck in that station of friendship and after that training session nothing has changed between you, other than the nights you spent many nights exploring one another in the most intimate of ways.

With every pounding thought you always rounded back to the same insistently annoying question which left your stomach hollowing out inside you, Were you in Love with Bodhi Durran?

You're doing it again. Your dragons tone was flat in your head, void of all irritation or feeling

When you both finally lowered beneath the cover of the clouds, your eyes began scanning the grounds below. Your attention instantly attracted to where a familiar Green dragon perched. Watching you descend, her rider relaxed between her front legs.

Steeling your thoughts you said nothing more in the topic, voiding all notions of Bodhi from your mind as Asra began circling the college flight field. Decending downwards in a dive that has you squeezing your thighs against her and tucking yourself behind her neck to avoid being ripped away by the wind.

Gripping to your senses you braced for the impact of Asra connecting the ground. Waiting until the dust cloud to blow away before sliding over her shoulder and down her leg.

Turning, you began inspecting Asra's chest. Searching the areas she couldn't to make sure there wasn't any cuts or wounds that might have occured during the flight manvours before you both flew off in a private flight session.

Despite being a mutual routine you did after each flight, you were fumbling trying to ignore the attention you felt watching your back.

The only warning you got for his approach was a low snarl from Asra which rumbled above your head.

Gentle moving hands slide around your waist. The contrast in heat radiating from his hand shot shivers down your spine.

Bodhi's hands rested at your hip when you straightened. Fingers curling under the rim of your flight jacket.

Asra, is there anyone else in the field?

You waited as she surveys the open expanse of land.

No one beyond those Cuir has scared off.

Good.

Turning in his arms, You take all but one second, one for a breath before you stepped up, wrapping an arm around the back of his neck. You couldn't give a damn if you were just here for the sex. You needed it, a deathly desire.

Bodhi didn't interject when you planted your lips to his own, hands pulling your body closer to his still. Molding your torsos, you could feel every inhale he struggled to take, forced to pick between you and breathing. A warmth spread to your core when he held his breath.

Bodhi slanted his head, inclining it down to slip his tongue into your mouth, warm sliding along your bottom lip, gravity pushed you back and when you bumped into something warm you stumbled, Bodhi's hand keeping you from crumbling.

Asra grumbled softly, Bodhi jerked his head back, and you could see in his eyes clear as day the alarm in them when he glanced up to Asra. The angle awkward from where Bodhi had you pressed against her foreleg.

You laughed softly pushing to hide your face in his chest.

"Perhaps. We should take this elsewhere." Bodhi whispered softly next to the shell of your ear, eyes unblinking away from your dragons piercing gaze.

Wise choice boy.

You tried to stifle another laugh as Asra continued glaring.

Lips tingling for more as Bodhi clasped your hand and began leading you both from the flight field. Keeping pace, you avoided the sound of other students, to evade their attention.

He led you faster, assuming you would be going to his room you felt the tension rise in your arm when he suddenly pulled you into another direction.

Twisting to keep up, You hugged closer to his arm. "Where are we going?"

Bodhi didn't speak, but led you on further and you caught the peak of a boyish grin gleaming over his shoulder, rounding the corner of the main entrance to the college he walked backwards pushing open a door tucked into the wall.

The room was dark, beyond a small line of light creeping through the cracks of the door, a door which had become so warped it didn't meet all the edges of the frame.

There was shelves, but you didn't give yourself time to inspect the contents. Perhaps a store cupboard.

His hands grasped your neck, thumb working small circles into your jaw, as he walked backwards still. He pulled you closer by your neck.

You allowed yourself to be lead and spun until your back met a solid wall. It was cold against your spine, goosebumps racking.

You felt the hot pant of his breath against your cheek before his lips met yours in the darkness. Needy and fast, You worked a hand up and around the ball of his shoulder, arm resting there so you could thread a hand into the hair at the back of his neck.

His shoulders trembles under your touch, giving into the sensation as you pulled and bit into his lip. Bodhi's head titled back away from your mouth as you tugged his hair. His breathing is heavy and uneven, but even in the dim lighting you can spy the look of desire in his eyes, eyes which darted to blink at every inch of your face.

"Want me to stop love?" The light across his face shifts, his brow was raised. But that word made your heart stutter against your ribs. Love.

"I want you," You hover your lips above his, could almost taste yourself on him, you would have ended the sentence there but instead. "-I want you to do as I say."

Watching his face for a reaction, Bodhi hummed low the sound soft, the edge of his lip curved up. "Then I am at your mercy Darling."

His attempt to kiss you was halted when you tightened the fistful of hair in your grip, Bodhi hissed but his eyes rolled at the sensation.

"Did I say you could kiss me?" Tilting your head to watch him under hooded lashes.

Your pulse was thrumming loud in your inner ear, but through the pleasant roar you could have swore you heard Bodhi whimper. Fucking whimper. Something inside you tightened, tension rising as you slowly loosened your grip and used that hand to push his shoulder, coaxing him to kneel before you.

He did so willingly, eyes ravaging every inch of your body on the way down,

Once he was on his knees, you stepped back, flush against the wall. Hand shifting to unbutton the top of you flight leathers, slowly teasing the clothes from you body, the cold air against your warm skin emitted a small gasp from you.

Stripping, until you stood naked for him. Bodhi's eyes darted frantically unable to take everything in at once, you watched them flicked from your breasts down the valley between them, he stilled at the sight of you completely bare before him.

Extending a hand, you waited until he placed his in yours, His breath was swallow and you watched his expression as he zones in on your face, unblinking as you led his hand between your legs.

"Say the words" Bodhi sounded almost breathless, hand inches from grasping you where you needed him most, You could feel the warmth of those fingers hovering below the wetness between your legs.

With the anticipation you struggle with the words, thoughts fuzzy at the sight of him kneeling for you, waiting so desperately for you to let him touch you.

"Touch me." Even the sound of your own voice sounded foreign, undiluted with the desire that was threatening to make your knees buckle.

Damn him. Bodhi smiles, cocking his head sideways, "Need more description then that Love." His words were coupled with the featherlight touch of his thumb against your clit.

You gasped, nerves pulse painfully, aching for touch. Bodhi kept smirking, but did not touch you again.

"I want your fingers inside me. As many as you can manage. I want to come over them-" he brushed a finger along the folds of your entrance, a pause to catch your breath, "Then I want more."

"Tongue or cock?" his voice was raspy, and low.

You broke through the stupor to nod, "Both. Definitely both."

He paused for a long second, stilling.

"Bodhi-"

The first finger entered you without warning, warmth bloomed and pumping through you. He began slow, driving the singular finger in and out, the pace not changing until he added that second finger. Thumb joining the pair already in use as he stretched you, His thumb encircled the sensitive bundle of nerves.

Throwing your head back you could only ignore the pain, when your skull smacked into the wall, back arching slightly as he kept the pace. Your heart was hammering harder as you breathing came out faster, moans of pleasure which seemed to encourage Bodhi on further.

The pleasure was building, he curled one of those fingers inside you, you cried out free hand gripping new fistful of his hair. You felt your release drawing closer still,

Words were a struggle so when Bodhi hit this sweet spot, you shook to stay standing, and without vocal command Bodhi somehow knew to keep going. A blessing you were grateful for, release was barreling into you with the next thrust of his fingers, your nail digging into his shoulder to stay standing

Opening your eyes, you were staring at the dark ceiling, the air fighting its way in and out from your lungs. You had to blink back the dark edges of your vision in order to glance down at Bodhi.

"Please" He begged softly, your mind was so fuzzy you could only stare blankly down at him until he gives a pointed look between your legs.

Nodding, unable to get the words to leave your lips, finger still twisted in his hair, your grip loosened when you feel his tongue on the inside of your thigh.

Lapping up the evidence of your release, the anticipation of him making it to the apex of your leg made your heart hammer once more, His tongue ran along your folds when you were interrupted.

Incoming.

Asra's voice in your head ruptured through the atmosphere. You shifted and moved a hand to Bodhi's shoulder, he glances your way concern lacing his expression.

"What's wrong?" His expression stills. Cuir no doubt delaying information to him, someone was coming this way.

It was only a second later you could hear the footsteps approaching. You separated, Bodhi rising to pass you something to cover yourself with. Holding it against your chest you froze.

"Who is that?" You whispered, Bodhi glanced at the door, perhaps waiting for it to open, In this moment you could finally take a second to look around the store room.

The room was filled with spare riding equipment, replacements for saddles. Spare sizes of riding leathers. Shit. After Flight manoeuvrers anyone could need to come in here and you were completely naked and still hazy from your release.

Swaying on legs that still felt to shaky to hold your weight. Bodhi steadied you with a hand, his other free one coming up to cover your mouth. Wide eyed and trying to slow your breathing and heart beat,

When the door begun to open, Bodhi spun away and thumped his foot against it.

"Fuck." The door stopped, Bodhi rounded it, pushing through the gap of its opening to keep you from sight.

There was a shuffle as the person moved backwards, allowing the spacw for Bodhi to stand in the way of the door.

"Xaden, Anything I can help you with?"

You knew Bodhi said his name loud enough for you to hear through the door, as quietly as you could you knelt to reach for your clothes sprawled on the floor around your feet.

"I'm just looking for some new sizes of flight leather, Violence tore a hole in hers flying yesterday."

You stilled waiting for the door to open, or Bodhi to speak up, which ever came first.

"There isn't any there that would fit Sorrengail." You froze at Bodhi's words, the silence from Xaden causing you to silently drag your flight jacket over your shoulders,

Bodhi stuttered over his words, "I was eh.. looking for some for Y/n, There is a limited supply. Was just on my way to put in an order for some more."

Whether Riorson was going to buy it... You bit into your lip awaiting in the darkness.

Xaden grumbled something which was muffled through the door, Bodhi laughed and you were finally able to breath when their voices and footsteps began to retreat from the store cupboard.

You grabbed for your boots, ramming your feet into them and tucking the edges of the trousers around the rim. Tying them up quickly you ran a hand through you hair before moving for the door.

With a quick check to make sure the coast was clear you slipped out and made your way back inside towards the courtyard.

Satsified?

I know you can hear my every thought without the shield, so I'm going to spare us both our sanity by not answering that. Had you remembered to put your shield up whilst Bodhi...

At the memory of his fingers inside you deep and warm, your breath hitched and as you body warmed, an itch that hadn't been scratched. The session in the store room had been a warm up for more... Because Bodhi would have given more.

There was no doubt what your night activities would include, by your hand or his own should he seek you out.

Approaching the corner that would round into the food hall, you picked at the skin on your finger, What if he didn't come looking for you? What if-

You collided with a body when you walked around the corner, Hand landed against your torso to steady you, Grabbing to the persons forearm.

Glancing up, you still as Cassandra roughly shook your grip off her, as though the hint of your touch was toxic. The sneer was already set in her expression and disgust lined her stare.

- ❈ -

Bodhi was sat beside Xaden and Garrick, Keeping to the numbers pushed onto them by the rules. Three and no more marked ones to be found together at any one time. To keep them from building some sort of rebellion, shame is was far to late for that.

Bodhi tried to ignore the ache in his dick, he had so been waiting to be inside you since he had pulled you aside this morning, the memory of his hands of your, he had to clench his fists to keep from getting himself too worked up.

"The fuck got you in such a mood?" Garrick kept his voice low as a group from first wing strolled past their table.

Xaden beside him laughed as he lifted a cup to his lips, "Blue balls" He muttered it, but both Bodhi and Garrick heard him clear as day.

The older boy laughed but Bodhi simply scowled at his cousin, Xaden tried to ignore it by prolonging his drink.

"Just ask her out already." Garrick tapped the table, drumming the surface with his fingers. Bodhi was gritting his teeth so hard, he thought they might actually shatter and then he might even break something in his jaw.

When he looked to Xaden, Bodhi froze, Xaden was giving him a pointed look.

The bastard knew.

[goldsbitch]

That one Bologna drive

part 2 to That one Christmas flight (strongly recommend reading that one first! made me so happy you guys liked this one, so let's continue!)

summary: They were suppose to not look for each other. So of course they didn't.

warnings: crushing hard, swear words I guess, typos probably

PS: y'all gonna hate me

Lando really wanted to keep his promise not to search for her online. He enjoyed the mystery and the option to keep this little encounter as a nice "why if". Until he didn't.

With the only information he had being her first name and the fact she was a student at Bologna university his private burner account was truly burning up. He must have seen every account of the current Bologna alumni. It was strange being on the other side of these pseudo stalker fan games. There were moments where he deactivated his account, to stop him from doomscrolling. And then there were nights when he did nothing but that.

He was fed up with the emptiness and shallow lifestyle that followed him. His friends were surprised, when he started to carry classical literature books with him. Since he hated those looks, decision to really keep all of this to himself had been made. It felt like a pose sometimes - he did not have to prove anything to anyone, he was fine as he was. But a strange feeling of wanting something more is hard to navigate when the life around you seems dead set in the current ways.

Weeks passed by with his eyes fixed on one moment in particular. The Imola Grand Prix. It felt like a cruel joke when he realized this circuit was a mere hour away from Bologna.

Lando was not sure if he was supposed to be proud or scared when finally found her account. At this point, it was hard to find a better expert on the social life of that university town. But it would be a massive lie, if he said he did not sprint up from his chair when he saw her in one of her friends insta story. Tagged.

He nearly DM'd her about 20 times. But, this was not the way it was supposed to feel. No. It seemed like a way better plan to ride up to Bologna and hang out at what seemed to be her favorite cafe / bar in the centre. If it was meant to be, he would run into her and it could all be called a second lucky accident.

He had an average start of the season. Maybe Imola would bring him luck one way or the other.

//

His plan was to ride up there the evening after his first practice - then the team debrief dragged until late hours. He hit the wall on the second day - his team made sure he went through all and every medical check up, no matter how much he protested. Then there was this and than that and suddenly he realized the only possible evening would be the Sunday one. He requested the latest flight him team would allow.

Finishing fourth felt like a joke, even though it was his best finish this season. Missing the podium by a mere second was a cruel of a metaphor.

Once he managed to run through all his duties, exhausted as truly was, he hit the road.

Within a half an hour, he was in what seemed her most favorite cafe, sitting on a bar stool, ordering a glass of white wine.

She was nowhere to be found. His heart jumped when her friends came in and sat outside, lighting their cigarettes. Lando waited. He had to laugh at himself, pathetic as he was right now. By his luck lately, she was probably in her bedroom sleeping, or worse - on a date with some Italian fuck boy. Going up to her friends and asking was absolutely not an option - he wanted to surprise her, not scare her and creep her out.

He left the bar after one hour for a stroll around. He walked around the lively square filled with young people sitting on the ground and having the time of their life, the one he saw hundreds of times on his screen. Who knew, maybe she'd be around somewhere. Jealousy swept over him, envying those who were fortunate enough to keep her company right now at this very moment. After one hour he was back for a second glass. But this time he heard his name being called loudly immediately as he stepped inside. All of his tired muscles tensed up in disbelief. And to continue with the theme of pure luck - it was an ordinary fan. The surprised guy with a Mercedes t-shirt insisted on a photo and signature. Lando smiled, signed and went back to his car.

He probably needed this closure.

//

Y/N was a person who prided herself on her principles. So when she and the mystery boy from that Christmas flight agreed upon not looking each other up, she kept herself away from doing so. Exam season and university life got in the way, providing a great distraction.

Only when she went on a date with what seemed to be a lovely French physics student, she allowed herself to think back to her encounter with Lando. That's when her internal facade fell apart. She spent the whole date imagining Lando would appear. He'd sit at a different table, right in her view, and then once her date would go on the toilet, they'd run away like little kids would do. They'd sit in a local park and laugh while sharing a bottle of wine. She knew he was somehow famous. He heart crushed at the thought that she was probably overshadowed by girls way prettier than her.

And then, on a random afternoon during a first study session the weather allowed her and her friends to spend outside, in one of the university gardens, one simple conversation she accidentaly overheard from the people sitting nearby, caused her to loose the last chance of keeping the meeting with Lando intact.

"Yeah, Lando Norris. Way hotter than Leclerc, I must say."

"I still don't understand why you love formula 1."

"They just know how to sell the story."

Surely, they were not talking about Lando. "Sure, there must be thousands of well known people called Lando," Y/N replied to her own question.

She took this as a sign, gave up on her principles and went full ballistic on her research. Downforce, penalties, the teams history, qualifying, chequered flag.

Since she was so deep in, keeping her obsession to herself as she had no idea with whom she could possibly share this, she might as well ask her mom for tickets money. The idea that she knew that he was just an hour away and she would miss that was simply not on the table.

Formula 1 race in an event meant for groups of friends to share their passion. So sitting there on the stand alone felt a little bittersweet. She made sure to push down any thoughts about seeing him up close again, let alone talking to him. It was something that half of the people present would try to do. And risking having him look through her, or worse - not remembering her - was not something she wished to live through.

But she cheered for him, she really did. Anytime he passed around her stand she got up, she watched him on the screen during interviews and when it became clear, he would have his best result of the season so far here at Imola, she celebrated with all those around her. Feeling proud that he was doing good. There was an electrifying energy in the air which could not compare to the times she watched races in her room on her laptop. If he had been standing near to her, she knew he would say something to beat himself up for missing a podium. And if she was standing next to him, she would tell him that he is an idiot and should also celebrate.

He looked a bit off during the interviews. Probably the crash few days ago. Y/N stayed sitting there just a bit longer than an average fan would.

Probably to avoid traffic...

part 3

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Tagged all those who like to suffer: @prudyhoo @anuksunamon @sagestack @esquerkaren @ushygushybaby @superlegend216