#I just have drawn way more of her than I bargained for and that will be it’s on post (pun unintended)

[dogerbooger]

Some Hermit gals………..what more can I say

[lovelivision]

LET'S SUMMON A DEMON.ᐟ

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: kamo choso/reader

𝐖𝐂: 17k

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: when summoning a demon is successful, you suddenly find your life turned upside down. both you and the demon getting more than you bargained for in the other.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 18+ only, smut, swearing, mentions/depictions of reader being stalked, mentions/depictions of the supernatural, light blood warning, cunnilingus, fingering, p in v sex, creampie, f!reader, she/her pronouns used, virgin!reader, choso probably ooc (demon)

This wasn’t a good idea hours ago and it’s certainly not a good idea now. Your friend rocked up earlier today, rambling about how she’s had a fantastic idea to summon a demon and bind it to do your bidding. Muttering something about needing revenge against one of her coworkers for always eating her lunch.

At the time, you had looked her square in the eyes and said, “You cannot be serious.”

“I am,” her eyes had sparkled and her mouth was curled up in an overly excited smile, “Don’t tell me you’re scared?” She was goading you and you knew it.

It’s fair to be scared though, you think anyways. You haven’t told her – or anyone for that matter – but you have a predilection towards the supernatural that you tend to keep to yourself. So, you very much believe and you very much were scared.

By the way she was talking about it, you could see she wasn’t completely serious, not believing that you’d actually successfully summon a demon. You however, well, you weren’t convinced it would work but only because you have no idea where she had gotten the summoning spell from, otherwise you one-hundred percent believe it’s possible to summon something otherworldly.

In the back of your mind, you thought it possible and if it was, you seriously doubt she’ll be able to contain the thing. So no, you did not summon a demon with her, at least… not at first. You had denied to, vehemently in fact, but the girl is good at one thing and it’s convincing you to follow through on horrible ideas.

She is the one common denominator in all your questionable actions and it doesn’t help that she’s obsessed with the occult and witchcraft and ghosts and just about every other ‘spooky’ thing you can think of. How many times did you see or feel something and have to pretend you didn’t? You lost count a long time ago.

Things are attracted to you, so you stay away, or at least you pretend you don’t see them, it makes your life easier. Telling her would just result in her curiosity piquing and possibly putting you at risk and you’re certainly not going to tell her of your ‘ability’ or unfortunate circumstance, not today… or ever.

Despite your better judgement and despite her history of having bad ideas, you’re sat across from each other on your living room floor. Floorboards marked with some kind of summoning circle drawn in a red paint pen she had brought with her. A little bowl is sitting in the centre of it, what looks like miscellaneous herbs and paper sitting in it.

“This is stupid,” you grumble at her, looking at all the candles she’s set up and lit, far too many in your opinion.

“Shush,” her tone is sharp, “I’m trying to focus,” she’s squinting down at the old looking book she has sat in her lap.

It’s actually really old looking, “Where did you get that?”

Groaning, she looks through her lashes at you, “Seriously, be quiet, do you want this to work or not?”

Tone dead when you immediately reply, “Not.”

“Sceptic,” she rolls her eyes.

Scoffing, you accuse, “You don’t even think it will work.”

“Ah, But I hope it will,” a smile is present on her lips again.

It’s quiet after that, unsettling so, but her sudden words are even more unsettling. Murmuring some kind of incantation, the words send a shiver down your spine, a bad feeling settling in the pit of your stomach.

The lights in your apartment are off but they flicker on for a second before going back off, you don’t like this at all. You don’t think she feels it but you do, the air is charged and all your hairs are standing on end.

Her words don’t stop though, eyes focused on the words in front of her, the feeling inside you keeps increasing. Like it’s pitching higher and higher, it’s making you feel high-strung. When she reaches the end of the page, it all drops at once. The feeling completely gone from you, like she messed it up at the last second or like there’s more that needs to be done.

Your friends voice shocks you, “Man… the lights flicking on totally had me thinking it would work.” She sounds disappointed.

Trying to sound neutral, you hum at her, “You know it never does…”

She seems completely unaffected, probably not realising just how close she seemed to be to summoning something you probably shouldn’t mess around with. The fact it didn’t work is for the best.

“Whatever, you wanna watch a movie or something now?” She gets up easily, hands patting her thighs as she does.

Warily, you ask, “What kind?”

Shooting you an evil smile, she gleams, “The Exorcist.”

Grabbing a cushion off the couch beside you and chucking it at her, “Oh, fuck off.”

Catching it easily she laughs and tosses it back on the couch before helping you up off the floor. You do watch a movie together but it is not ‘The Exorcist’.

It’s late when she’s shuffling out your apartment door, you’d told her she was welcome to stay but she had said her parents were visiting early tomorrow and didn’t have faith in herself getting there before them if she stayed.

Of course, she didn’t clean up her mess, left everything behind. Almost everything, she remembered to take the book with her. Sighing to yourself, you wander over to the summoning circle. Your curiosity gets the better of you, and crouching down, you reach into the little bowl, wondering just what she had put in there.

Something sharp pricks at your finger and you hiss through your teeth, not expecting it. When you pull back, you’ve accidentally left drops of blood in the bowl and inside the circle itself, what the fuck did she put in there?

Looking at your finger, you can see the little amount you’re still bleeding. Cursing your friend internally, you’re about to get up when the lights in your apartment suddenly go out. All the candles that had long since been extinguished flick back on, that heavy feeling weighs in the air again and you want to run but you’re frozen to your spot.

A cold feeling runs down your spine and the room feels like it’s full of static electricity, your blood growing hot quickly. Your eyes shut for a moment and you hope whatever is happening stops soon, pretend you don’t see it, pretend you don’t see it, you chant to yourself. It’s always worked before; you pretend you can’t see anything and you get left alone.

Though that may not ring true when you’ve literally summoned whatever it is into your apartment of your – almost – own free will. When you open your eyes, it’s hard to see. All the candles having gone out, but a pair of black boots are stood in front of you. You’re still crouching down on your haunches, head tilted down, the boots are throwing you off… do demons wear boots?

Whatever it is, is stoic, unmoving, just standing in front of you and waiting. Attempting to be brave, you pry your eyes up, scaling its body and… it’s… a man? Well, appears to be anyway, it’s– he’s standing there, looking down at you, somewhat impatiently.

His expression doesn’t change, “Do all humans crouch on the floor for this long or are you unique in that aspect?”

You frown at that; you know when you think demon you expect them to be murderous and angry but not… verbally hostile. “I’m scared.”

He squints at you, “Stop it, it’s inconvenient to me.”

“Having a demon in my apartment is inconvenient to me,” you mumble.

His arms cross and he seems genuinely ticked off by your statement, “Oh? Maybe you shouldn’t have summoned me then.”

Finally, you gather yourself enough to shoot up off the floor, standing to your full height, which feels like a poor choice when you realise he still towers over you. It’s not just his height that’s intimidating though, mostly you think it’s just him, his essence, his aura? Energy? You don’t know but he’s what you were feeling, the overwhelming pressure that makes your blood hot.

“Hmm,” he leans forward slightly, getting a closer look at you, “You’re a bit interesting, aren’t you?”

You don’t know what exactly he’s seeing but you don’t like the implication, “No.”

“No?” He doesn’t understand why you’d deny it, to him, it’s fairly obvious that you are different than most humans of today’s age. He leans back out of your space but keeps his eyes trained on you, “So…”

You’re still frightened but he’s not done anything, he’s not moved his two feet from that same spot he first appeared in, “So what?”

Sighing, he groans, “What do you want?” When you don’t speak straight away, he adds, “My interest is fleeting, tell me what you want so I can leave.”

“What I want…?”

“Yes, that’s what the summon was for,” he pinches the bridge of his nose, “Why mess with things you don’t understand?”

Your voice is smaller than you want it to be throughout this whole interaction, “I didn’t mean to summon you…”

He looks down at the summoning circle and all the candles, all signs pointing towards yes, you did mean to summon him.

You rush to explain, albeit poorly, “Okay, I know how it may look like I meant to but I didn’t mean to.”

He raises a brow at you, “This is incredibly annoying; you know that right?”

As you look up at his unamused face, you feel your eyes burn with your question, “Are you going to kill me?”

He grimaces at you, “Kill you? Do you know about how any of this works?”

“Not really, no…” your eyes flick behind him for a second, “…I meant it when I said I didn’t mean to summon you.” As your eyes adjust to the dark, you can take in his appearance more. Dark hair and eyes, pale skin, you regretfully notice that he’s attractive. Though, that’s hardly surprising, wouldn’t you want to be appealing to the people you wish to trick?

His head tilts at you but he stays quiet, he’s hoping you will offer the information yourself, asking you things has been woefully unhelpful so far. Only serving to make you more anxious and confused about what’s happened.

The silence is becoming unbearable to you. It’s the way he’s just staring at you, like he’s interrogating you with his gaze, “My friend wanted to summon you… not me.” You don’t know how much you should tell him.

He clicks his tongue, “So, why am I bound to you and not your friend?”

Bound? He’s bound to you, oh this cannot bode well, “I don’t know?”

Scratching at the back of his neck, his tone is tense, “Just tell me how the summoning happened. What did you do?”

Your hands lift in defence, “Not much at all, honest.”

For the first time since he appeared here, he moves and grabs your wrist, his hand pulling yours close. He inspects your finger, the one with the nick on it, “You bled.”

It’s scary, you’re scared, he’s fast and strong and now you know he can move and was just choosing not to, “Only a little bit… not on purpose.”

Dropping your hand again, he moves back, giving you space, “But you did.”

“Yeah.”

Frowning, he explains, “You’re the one who bled so now I’m bound to you, not your little friend.”

You nod as if this is all common sense, as if summoning a demon is so natural to you, “Oh… I see, okay, well… can you stop… being bound… to me?”

“In short? No.”

You guffaw at him, “What?”

He scrunches his brows, “Did your friend not bother explaining any of it to you?”

“Obviously not,” your answer was unintentionally sharp and you feel bad, since he’s been, well not kind but he’s not hurt you, “Sorry, no… she didn’t… How exactly does it work?”

“The way this particular binding works is – you summon and bind me with blood, which you have done,” he looks down at your pricked finger, “Then, I can’t leave until you ask a favour of me. After I have completed it, I can leave but I will still be bound to you and when you call my name, I’ll be summoned back and I can’t leave until you ask a new favour of me.” His frown settles deep on his features, “Essentially, girl, you have bound me to you forever.”

You’re wide eyed and surprised, who knew binding spells were so… permanent? “Oh… that’s… not nice, sorry…” You purse your lips, “Is there not… a spell to counteract it?”

“No,” he looks down his nose at you, features resetting back to neutral, “You shouldn’t have been able to summon me in the first place, I thought I got rid of all your human books that contained the information.”

Your brain gets a little stuck on ‘human books’, the implication of ‘demon books’ interesting to you and also amusing. He seems very forthcoming but you’re still cautious, “Why tell me all this? Would it not be easier to use underhanded trickery and get me to ask for a menial favour and leave without telling me your name?”

His gaze sharpens at you, “A ‘favour’ has to be specified, I don’t follow your every whim. You have to specify that the favour you’re asking for is the one I am required to follow through on.”

It’s awfully particular, it feels like whoever figured out how to bind him was very careful about how to do so in a way that would benefit them most, “Okay… you know it’s not lost on me that you’ve not mentioned your name.”

“Names have power to demons,” his brow twitches, like he’s annoyed that you’d noticed that, “You’ve not mentioned your name either.”

“You’ve not asked for it,” you shrug, “Human names don’t hold that much significance though.” Not as much as demons, considering you can literally summon him with his.

“You’re not going to give me your name?” He’s taken aback by your unwillingness.

Shaking your head, you say, “Not until you give me yours.”

His brow raises at you, interested, “My name will mean you can summon me freely.”

“I suppose so but I don’t really have any intention of using it like that,” you’re not lying, you don’t even intend on asking a favour, you mean, what the hell are you meant to do with a blood bound demon?

Your only intent is uncovering more information, he’s giving you answers and telling you things freely but he’s also keeping things from you, specific information. You’re not dumb, you’re not going to trust some demon just because he – presently – doesn’t seem to want to bring you any harm.

He challenges, “Ask a favour so I can leave then.”

You’re blunt and straight to the point, “I don’t want any favours from you.” He looks completely annoyed by your answer and you can understand why, “…You’re not going to kill me are you?”

He grits his teeth, “I can’t.”

“You can’t?” You find that unlikely to be the truth.

He speaks slowly, “I am capable of doing so but I can’t.”

“So, which is it? Can or can’t?”

“I can but I won’t,” he rolls his shoulders.

“Why not?”

“You have a lot of questions,” he’s growing tired of answering them, “The bind means I can’t harm you.”

Thinking on it for a second, you consider how to ask your next question, “What about the bind makes it so you could theoretically harm or kill me but also means you can’t?”

He sighs like he doesn’t really want to answer you, “We are bound. If you die I die–”

“–So why use the word harm?”

He stops, “What?”

“You said harm not kill,” it’s an interesting distinction, “Do you also take on whatever injury I may get?”

His eyes are intense, paying close attention to you, “Anything other than something of your own doing or natural occurrences I will be aware of… though, I imagine I probably won’t feel it as much as you would.” He cracks his neck, “I could torture you into asking a favour but it would hurt me too, though again, not as much as it would you.”

You’re trying to sort through everything he’s said when he interrupts your thoughts, “You’re getting very caught up on if I’m going to do something to you, if it matters, I wouldn’t want to even if I could.”

That gives you pause, “Why tell me that?”

He waves you off, “You’re very stiff, it’s uncomfortable to look at.”

He answers properly when you ask him things directly… you don’t know if he’s choosing to or if he doesn’t have a choice in the matter. Everything you know about demons are the things that everyone knows, or the things your friend has told you but you don’t exactly trust her sources. In either case you’re unsure if you can even trust any of his answers so far.

Even though you won’t believe his answer fully, you ask anyway, “Have you lied at all?”

Shrugging, he says, “Not so far,” and then he gives you the same question, “Have you?”

“Not intentionally.”

He hums at you, intrigued by your answer.

Against your better judgement, or will really, you’re beginning to relax slightly. His presence is overwhelming but after sitting in it for a bit, it’s not… off putting. It’s not a feeling you’re completely unfamiliar with, the little shadows that follow you have the same static feeling to them, just lesser. You hadn’t ever really considered what they were but you’re wondering now.

“The bind… is very inconvenient to you,” you’re simply making an observation, if he’s been telling the truth – which you’re still not sure on – this situation is incredibly beneficial for whoever binds him and incredibly annoying to him.

“It wasn’t made to be convenient for me, it was made for the express purpose of aiding the person who binds me.”

“…Right…” tilting your head, you look him over a bit more carefully, “…Is that why it’s so extensive?”

Either he wasn’t listening or he’s confused on why you pointed it out, “What?”

“Well, I’ve just noticed there are a lot of rules that make it harder for you to have your freedom after the summoning… so either you’re lying to lure me into a false sense of security or whoever made the rules really didn’t want you to have an easy way out,” you’re getting tired of standing here like this.

He notes, “You really don’t trust me.”

It feels a little silly for him to point that out when he’s a complete stranger and also a demon, so yeah, excuse you for being a little sceptical on whether he’s trustworthy or not.

Instead of being rude, you ask, “Do you trust me?”

He eyes you over, like he’s sizing you up, “Humans are supposed to be incredibly stupid.”

You scratch the back of your neck sheepishly, “Ah, we are.”

He makes a sound like he was about to laugh before coughing to cover it, “You’re perceptive, is what I was trying to say.”

“I suppose I have more reason than most to be cautious but I’m no smarter than the average person,” you shrug.

Clicking his tongue, he changes the topic, “Since you’re coming to understand, ask your favour, I’d like to leave.”

“I told you I don’t want one,” you don’t mean to be rude but it sounds a little harsh when you repeat your earlier sentiments.

He scowls slightly, “I can’t leave if you don’t ask one.”

You counter him, “I don’t even know what I would ask for.”

“Then ask for something mundane,” he’s getting impatient now, tone curt.

“I’m really sorry, demon man, but I still don’t trust you and I’m not even sure there won’t be any pitfalls to asking you for a favour.” There is always a catch.

His scowl deepens at how you refer to him, apparently not liking it, “Usually you would be right but these are different circumstances.”

The lights finally flicker back on and you squint against the sudden change, it wasn’t even all that light in your apartment in the first place but after sitting in the dark for so long, your few lamps feel like you’ve been flash banged.

Huffing, you turn and walk towards your kitchen, turning your back on him might be dumb but it’s also a way to test his word. If he tries anything, then at the very least, you can die knowing you were right.

His steps trail behind you, ignoring him, you continue your walk to the kitchen. Passing your breakfast bar, there is a little creature sitting on top of it and you falter almost imperceptibly. Recovering, you do as you always do and pretend you don’t notice it. They don’t frequently enter your apartment; you’ve never really been sure on why but it’s presence inside took you off guard because of it.

It's mostly shapeless, dark shadows, sometimes they’re rounder, thinner, spikier, they come in all shapes and sizes and sometimes they’re almost cute but they’re a nuisance. When you acknowledge them, they attach to you and cause trouble. Hence, your avoidance of them, it’s almost like acknowledging them gives them power. A fact you learnt the hard way.

Behind you, the demon make a noise of interest, one that irks you, “What?” You question.

“You saw it,” he states.

Turning, you face him, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He only raises a brow at you.

The creatures shape is twitching, reacting to the demon in front of it, not seeming all that fond of him. He reaches his hand out and flicks at it, the shape disintegrating, gone after he’d put his hand through it.

After touching it, he shakes his hand slightly before tucking his arms crossed over his chest, “Why lie?”

Your brows pinch together, he’s caught you in your lie and you’re wondering if it really will do any good in continuing with it. For the first time in your life, you admit to being able to see them, “It’s easier to pretend I can’t see them…”

He sighs, exasperated, like his situation has somehow gotten so much more annoying, “Ignoring them won’t work forever.”

“I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it,” you’ve been fine this long.

Moving to the sink, you wash your hands, wanting to clean the blood off your pricked finger. While wiping your hands dry, you jump when turning and seeing him right in front of you, “Don’t sneak up on me like that, geez,” your heart is hammering in your chest, he’s really quiet.

Ignoring you, he says, “Being bound to you just became even more bothersome so I’m going to tell you some things I left out.”

“I still don’t trust you.” Again, literal demon in front of you.

His face is incredibly serious, tone grim, “You don’t have much of a choice.”

For the first time tonight, you feel more inclined to listen to and believe what he’s saying. It’s not like he’s been light-hearted all night but he’s not been nearly as stern as he was just now. So, you nod at him, asking him wordlessly to continue.

“I can’t lie to you when asked a direct question, I wasn’t going to tell you because it benefit me more if you didn’t know but continuing without your trust is going to be annoying. I don’t need you thinking in the back of your mind that I’m going to kill you.”

He’s standing a little too close to you now, it’s setting you on edge, “Why do you need my trust?”

“You, are a target, those things follow you because of your energy. In short, you have a lot of it and they want it.” He squints at you accusatorily, like it’s your fault or something.

Taking a step back, you lean against the kitchen counter, giving yourself a bit of space from him, “They’re mostly harmless though, if I ignore them.”

“There are scarier things out there than them,” he alone is proof of that.

You’re trying to remain calm and collected, “That’s...”

“Remember, if you die, I die,” it’s almost like he’s trying to keep you calm, keep you on track.

You need to test if you can trust his words, “I’m really sorry,” he looks confused by your sudden apology, “But if you can’t lie to me… then what is your name?”

Oh, he didn’t like that at all, his face contorting in anger, “Choso.”

There’s a slim chance that he’s still lying to you, to get you to trust him but the utterly frustrated expression he’s wearing tells you otherwise.

He’s stepping close to you again, arms either side your form, hands resting on the countertop, keeping you trapped between him and the bench, “If you still don’t trust me after that, this is going to become incredibly difficult for the both of us.”

“I trust you…” As much as you can anyway.

“Had to get bound to someone like you,” he mutters angrily.

You’re a little offended, “Hey, I didn’t exactly want to get stuck with you either.”

Grunting, he pulls back, not paying your words any mind, “You need to be more careful from here on out.”

“I’m always careful,” does he not realise you’ve lived for this long, you’re careful.

He corrects, “More careful.”

“What else could I possibly do to be more careful,” ignoring them is all you really can do, it’s not like flicking them away would work for you.

“For one, stop attempting to summon demons,” his tone makes it feel like you’re being scolded… because you are.

Feeling the need to defend yourself, you murmur, “It was my friends idea…”

With no hesitation, he returns, “Your friend is an idiot.”

“Hey–”

“­–And so are you, for also doing it.”

You don’t like that he has a point, it’s worse that you did it actually, since you know these things are real.

His question feels like it comes out of nowhere, “What else does your friend like doing?”

You doubt he’s suddenly grown an interest in her as a person, “Why?”

Your eyes track him as he moves to the other side of the kitchen and leans again the countertop opposite you, “Because if they’re the kind of idiot to summon demons, they’re probably also doing other stupid things.”

Pursing your lips, you look away from him because he hit the nail on the head, “She likes to go to abandoned buildings, cemeteries… she likes all things… uhm, scary? I guess.”

Tilting his head, he looks you over again, he seems to do that a lot, “Does she not know about you?”

Covering yourself with your arms, you answer, “Easier not to tell her.”

“Idiot.”

“Okay! stop calling me an idiot now, please,” You get it, you’re an idiot, you don’t need this demon telling you that repeatedly.

“Stop going to risky places with her,” he doesn’t apologise, “Puts you at risk.”

“Okay,” it’s easier to just agree, you’re getting tired, it was already late when your friend left.

Abruptly, he announces, “Don’t bother asking a favour, I won’t be leaving for a bit.”

You almost sputter, “What?” You had just about resigned yourself to asking for one so he would leave and you could sleep in peace.

Rephrasing, he says, “There are some things I want to see, so I will be staying for a bit.”

“How am I meant to sleep in my apartment when there is also a demon in it?” You’re so, so tired, why is he so weird. Are all the demons this weird? Or is it just this one?

He is completely unsympathetic to your plight, “Not my problem.”

“You’re not very nice,” you’re not even really sure why you say it, like it would mean anything to him.

He doesn’t even dignify it with a response, just looking at you with an expression that looks almost as tired as you feel.

“Listen, demon man–”

“–You know my name now, use it.”

That catches you off guard, you hadn’t used it in fear of offending him but it seems like you managed to do that anyhow, “Choso…” using his name feels weirdly intimate, “I need to sleep, so you have to go away.”

Gaze even, he says it how he sees it, “I can’t and like I said, I’m not going to. There are some things I’d like to see.”

The most annoying part of what he’s just said is surprisingly the first bit, “What do you mean can’t?”

“I have to be within the general vicinity of where I was summoned or near the person I’m bound to,” he answers cooly, like that isn’t the most inconvenient thing you’ve heard all night.

“What? How am I meant to sleep peacefully? Have people over?” You have a date coming up, what if you wanted to bring them back here?  

He repeats an earlier statement, “Not. My. Problem.” No sympathy from him.

You raise your hands in exasperation, clenching into fists by your head before dropping them and letting the tension go. Trying to calm yourself, “I need to sleep, I’m going to sleep and hope this is some weirdly vivid dream.”

He goes to open his mouth to speak but you cut him off with a single hand raising, “No. We can talk more at an appropriate time, if you’re still here.” You inhale and exhale a deep breath, “Do not come into my room. Stay out here.”

Rolling his eyes at you, he dismisses, “Go to bed.”

Keeping your eyes on him, you squint, sceptical of him as you wander out the kitchen and towards your bedroom. He doesn’t watch you but you know he can tell you’re watching him. When your back hits your bedroom door, you slip inside and shut the door.

How are you meant to get even a little bit of sleep with him out there?

⟢

It’s dark in your room when you open your eyes, only a small amount of light creeping in from behind your closed blinds. You guess you somehow managed to fall asleep, it’s still early in the morning though, so you probably only got a few hours. You have never been more thankful for the weekend than you are right now.

Rolling over, you look at your bedroom door, wondering if that all really happened last night or if you’ve just woken up from a really weird and detailed dream. Flopping onto your back, you stare at the ceiling instead, not sure if you’re ready to face if it was real. You’d stay like this all day but footsteps from outside your room prompt you to get up.

Tentatively, you poke your head out your door, eyeing your living area carefully. A figure is sat on your couch, reading one of your books. It’s Choso, you sigh with the realisation that it was all real, feeling like you’re apart of some sick cosmic joke right about now.

He speaks without looking to you, knowing you’re there, “You read a lot of poorly written books…”

“Excuse me?” How does he manage to insult you in ways you weren’t expecting.

He glances at you quickly before looking back at the book, “I’ve been reading some of your books but your selection is disappointing.”

Your eyes shift over to your bookcase next to your television to see a pile of books sitting in front of it, like he can’t be bothered putting them back properly after he’s deemed them unworthy.

“You’ve made a mess,” your tone weak, exhausted.

His attention is finally off the book as he shifts to face you, arm resting on the back of the couch, “Those ones aren’t worth keeping.”

“I liked them…” Sure, they weren’t all works of art but some of them were cute fantasies filled with action and adventure and romance and… You feel like you might spontaneously combust out of embarrassment because… did this demon read the books containing porn?What a horrific albeit amusing thought.

He raises a brow at you, confused by your sudden change in behaviour. He ignores it though, not really one to care about your comfortability, “Are you ready to talk again?”

“I don’t think anyone would ever be ready for the kind of talk you wish to have,” you’re staring blankly into the distance. There are literally a billion different things on your mind right now and nearly all of them have to do with him.

His eyes track you as you wander over to the book pile he’d made. Crouching down, you begin putting them back into their spots on the shelf.

He hums from behind you, “It’s simple, I need to determine some things about your situation and until I’m satisfied I won’t be going anywhere.”

Groaning, you continue cleaning the books, “You understand how inconvenient that is to me, right?”

“You understand how inconvenient it is to me that my immortal life is tied to a pitiful human, right?” Before you can protest or really add anything to the conversation, he continues, “One, at that, who enjoys meddling with things that wish her harm?”

Ignoring basically all of what he’s just said, you glare at him, “If you’re so intent on staying here then the least you could do is be considerate and leave things as you find them.” Getting up, you approach him and pluck the book from his hands, “Or better yet, not snoop around in things that do not belong to you.”

He waves you off, “Things would go smoother if you would just cooperate.”

You don’t really have a reply so you don’t give him one, choosing instead to walk back to the bookshelf and place the book you took from him on it. This being your reality hasn’t really set in yet, how are you meant to live like this? Glancing back at the demon lounging on your couch, he stares back at you, apparently having been watching you the whole time.

“Ignoring me won’t make me go away,” he says it so matter-of-factly that it pisses you off.

Turning away again, you ignore him… like he’s wrong and it’ll start working. It’s not going to, you know that. It’s been made clear he’s not leaving but you keep hoping he will. Maybe you could blame this all on your lack of sleep. You’re so tired, the rest you got definitely not enough, though you don’t think even a perfect rest would be enough to deal with all this.

His voice cuts through your thoughts, “You said we could talk more at an appropriate hour.”

You groan at him, “You’re a demon, there’s a blood pact, you technically can leave but are now choosing not to and apparently plan on making it damn near impossible for me to live a normal life.”

“I’m not the one who decided it would be a fun evening activity to summon a demon.”

Oh, he’s struck a nerve, “Well it wasn’t mine either!”

“Speaking of, get that book off your friend,” he stretches his limbs, “I don’t know what’ll happen if that binding spell is used again while I’m already stuck to you.”

You snark back at him, “Maybe you’ll go bother them instead.”

Paying no mind to your tone, he answers, “That would be the best-case scenario.”

With the books all back on the shelf, you sigh, “It’s too early for this.”

Disregarding your bad mood, he changes the topic again, “When you go out, keep a mental note of the things you see.”

“That’s so much work,” you’ve put so much time into training your brain to ignore them, doing the opposite would be effort you don’t know if you can be bothered to exert.

It’s his turn to be in a bad mood now, “I don’t care, do it.”

“So bossy…” You mutter under your breath.

“Just do what I ask, you’re being so resistant when this is for your safety,” he’s growing weary of your attitude.

“Yeah but like… I’d probably be fine; I have been for this long.” You shrug at him, “This is about you being worried about dying but you will be fine because I am always fine.”

He stares back at you, apparently lost for words but the look in his eyes says enough. He hates this situation and he hates how blasé you’re being about it.

⟢

It’s been about a month since he first showed up and he still won’t leave even though you gave up and started doing what he asked. Paying attention to the little creatures while also not looking like you’re paying attention to them is difficult and tedious but you’ve done it. Somehow, there seems to be less of them ever since Choso, you don’t know if correlation is equal to causation in this situation but it has to be more than a coincidence.

When you had told Choso about this connection you made he only hummed at you in thought and then walked away to the spare room you graciously allowed him to stay in. He’s so dismissive of you but getting time to yourself without his overwhelming presence is a small relief you allow yourself to feel.

Having him in your home is weird to say the least, he’s not as annoying as a house guest as you initially thought he would be but it’s also strange that he’s just… always here. If he sleeps you’re never around to witness it and he still goes through all your things even though you protest every time you find him doing so. To his credit, you imagine he is incredibly bored so you’re not as mean as you could be.

Tonight is the date you were meant to go on a while ago, you kept postponing it. There’s been too much on your mind to think about dating, even if you wanted to you wouldn’t be able to bring him back to your apartment, not with the demon residing in your guest room.

It’s too late to back out though and you’ve cancelled so many times now, you’d feel bad if you did it again. So, you get ready even though you’re not as excited as you would’ve been a month ago. It really is a shame; he’s a nice person and you feel awful for rescheduling on him so much.

While looking in the mirror by your front door, Choso shows up behind you, watching you fuss over your appearance. His brows pinch at you in confusion, “What are you doing?”

“Getting ready,” you glance at him through the mirror.

He waits a moment like he’s expecting you to say more, “…For?”

Your brow raises at him, “I feel like I’ve told you already.”

Still, you didn’t answer his question. Something that has been growing to annoy him. He sighs at you, “Then remind me.”

Spinning to face him before answering, “I have a date tonight.”

“Hmm… and you’ll be going out… all night?”

The way he phrased it is bizarre to you, cocking your head as you ask, “Is that a problem?”

“It should be fine,” he looks to be in thought, an expression you’re getting used to seeing.

“Is there something you want or can I go now,” you meant it as more of a rhetorical question but he doesn’t seem to take it as one.

“I want to test something before you leave,” he steps closer to you.

You’d take a step back but the wall is right behind you, “And what do you want to test?”

He ignores your question, much to your dismay. He’s stepping closer to you and you feel worried at what he’s about to do, not able to do anything but stand here. As he wraps his arms around you, you brace yourself for something more to happen but nothing does. His hands pull you closer to him, your body flush to his. When you realise he’s not going to do anything to you, you wiggle in his hold.

He leans down to speak into your ear, “Don’t move.”

The words breathed against your skin send a shiver down your spine. “Were you just… in the mood for a cuddle or is there a grand reason behind this?” You’re hoping to offer levity, feeling uncomfortable at the moment.

It’s warm, he’s warm and sturdy, his breath hot against you. Your body temperature is rapidly spiking, your thoughts getting fuzzy the longer he holds you against him.

He pulls back from you, as stoic as ever, “Pay attention to your surroundings tonight.”

It’s not until later into that evening that you realise what he may have done by holding you like that, the shadows that you so often see nowhere near you. His little test lingering in your head the whole time you’re trying to have a nice date, not able to focus on the person in front of you.

Instead, your brain is caught on how it felt when a particular demon held you close and how his breath against your skin made your head spin. This whole ordeal is only going to become more taxing on you, you just know it.

⟢

Days have passed and your mind is still stuck on how Choso had held you, brow twitching every time you find yourself daydreaming about him. He’s the demon in your guest room, not some cute guy at work, you need to get a hold of yourself. You can’t be thinking about him like that… maybe you should just ask for a favour so that he leaves for a bit. That way you’d at least get some space from him, he’s always here and it’s getting harder and harder to ignore how attractive he is.

The sound of your mindless chopping fills your ears, trying to prepare dinner for this evening and getting woefully distracted. A slip of the knife and a pain in your finger reminds you just how distracted you seem to have gotten. Intaking a sharp breath at the cut you’re about to move for the sink only for Choso to be behind you, his unexpected presence startling you.

“How many times have I asked you to not do that,” you scold him, he’s scared you like this too many times to count.

He disregards your admonishment, “You’re bleeding.”

“I’m aware,” you blink at him, “I was going to–”

The words you were about to speak dying in your throat when he grabs your hand, his tongue licking up the trail of blood before lathing over your cut. Careful to watch what he’s doing the whole time, not wanting to hurt you further as he licks up the mess. You can only look back at him dazed, brain feeling like it’s short circuiting. He’s flustered you and you have no idea how to respond to such an action.

“W–why did you do that?”

His gaze flicks to you, mouth pulling back, “To help.”

Before you slap him silly you look at your small wound and see it’s been completely healed. Apparently his tongue possesses some healing properties, and you’d find that really interesting if you weren’t trying really hard to not think about how he looked while licking you.

“You taste good,” he says it easily, like it doesn’t have you melting into a puddle on the floor.

Your mouth gapes at him, lost for words before settling on, “You can’t just go around licking people, Choso.”

“I don’t,” his expression incredulous, finding your accusation baseless despite his actions just now.

Not knowing what else to say, you stand there looking back at him stupidly. The expression he’s making unreadable, clearly nowhere near as affected by his actions as you are. His hand reaches for your chin and tilts your head back to look at you, eyes examining you closely.

“What’s wrong with you,” he asks suddenly.

You don’t understand what he means by that, “What? Nothing?”

“I’ve noticed you’ve been distracted lately, what’s wrong? Has something happened?”

It’d be easy to mistake his questions for concern if you didn’t know any better, but you do, he’s a demon. Something you find yourself having to remember often, he doesn’t care for you, not in a matter that you’d want to be cared for. You don’t even know if he’s capable of it. It feels cruel to be asked questions and given reminders to look out for yourself when the person giving them doesn’t actually care about you but rather himself.

“Choso, please hand me that tea towel,” you pause and his head tilts at you in confusion. Clarifying, you add, “You have to, this is the favour I am asking of you.”

The only tell that you’ve asked properly being his grim expression, wholly unimpressed by this situation. His jaw clenches as his body turns stiffly to grab what you’ve asked for, as if he were trying to hold off on completing the request.

“Why now?” He hisses lowly.

There’s a tug in your heart, already regretting your actions but he can’t stay here with you. Letting your feelings for him grow would be stupid and despite what they say, absence does not make the heart grow fonder. This is logical, this is the smart choice, this is what’s best… so why is it hurting you so much.

Eyes intense and annoyance palpable, a singular request uttered, “Call me back.”

You shake your head at him, having him return so soon would defeat the purpose of what you’re attempting to do.

“You are the most frustrating human by far,” he begrudgingly hands you the tea towel, scowling as he disappears from your apartment.

The breath you let out is large, body folding with it, stuck between feeling relief and regret. Everything is still and your apartment feels emptier than ever. Blankly, you stare at the tea towel in your hand. Its bright and happy pattern feels mocking. This is fine.

Looking back at your bench, the half-chopped vegetables sit on your cutting board. This is fine. This feeling will pass. In a week, or two, this will feel like nothing more than a long and vivid dream. This. Is. Fine.

⟢

It’s beginning to feel like… the damage had already been done. The days go by but you still remember how he looked when you’d come home. His brow relaxing when you’d step through the door, like he was worried about you while you were gone. His patience while he listened to you complain about things he wasn’t even a little bit concerned with. It’s been lonely at home.

Your coworker calling your name reminds you that you’re at work. Shaking your head as if to rid yourself of the memories before turning to them properly, “Sorry. What’s up?”

“Wasn’t that guy in here during your last shift?” Their voice filled with concern.

Glancing over in the direction they’re looking; you see your date from a while back. “Ignore him, he’ll get bored eventually.”

“Okay…” They squint at you, “But actually I think you should tell management about him, just so they know.”

You wave them off, not really concerned. It is a little troubling though, the guy had taken it so well when you initially told him you weren’t interested. Only to do what seems like a complete one-eighty and blow up your phone with messages. Obviously you blocked him and now he’s lightly stalking you. Maybe you’d care more if he ever approached you or if you weren’t busy thinking about Choso but alas he is low on your list of concerns.

At your coworkers intense eye contact you concede, “Fine, I’ll tell them but I doubt they’ll care.”

They put their hand on your shoulder, offering support, “If he tries to come over, tell me and I’ll deal with it instead.”

Placing your hand over theirs, you look deep into their eyes, “I love you.”

Their face twists in disgust as they push you away, “Go do your job.”

You laugh as you shuffle away, despite your joking you’re appreciative of their support. 

⟢

Those little creatures hang around you again, ever since you sent Choso away they’ve been lingering more. It’s somewhat of a bother but you did fine before he showed up and you’re doing fine now. You go through the motions, ignoring them, working, going back to your empty apartment. Your date that you can’t remember the name of keeps hanging out at your job but he gets ignored like the shadowy critters.

Not that you’ve been keeping track but it’s been a little over a month since you last saw Choso. The last thing you remember seeing was his angry face, still, you want to see him again and maybe if you didn’t feel so guilty you’d have called him back by now. Too many times you’ve almost called his name aloud but your feelings haven’t faded and calling him now seems pointless.

Plus, you’re a little concerned about how mad at you he might be. The way you asked your favour was cheap and unexpected so you’re sure he’d have some choice words and a stern look to give you. Though, there is the chance he’d be mad at you for calling him back after all this time, he might be comfortable wherever he is and you calling him might only serve to feed his anger.

Ultimately you’re indecisive on the matter, you could call him back for just a little bit, if he’s angry you’ll send him away again and it’ll all be okay… probably. Mind moving a million miles a minute as you slump back into the couch, you called out of work today, feeling stressed after not sleeping well.

You’re not quite sure what exactly has you feeling this way but you’ve been feeling a lot of unease lately. It’s more than likely everything combined but you’re not ruling out something more sinister. Choso’s words about scarier things being out there nags at you whenever you get a quiet moment to acknowledge his warning.

Your arm drapes over your face, covering your eyes. Inner turmoil getting to you as you grumble, “Stupid demon and his stupid warning, can’t even sleep properly anymore.”

A knock on your door startles you, body shooting straight up. You’re not expecting anyone, all your friends are either at work or would tell you before dropping by. Cautiously, you approach the door, choosing to look into the peephole before even thinking of opening it.

An unpleasant shiver rocks through your body, blood running cold as you see that your unwanted guest is your date from all those weeks ago. You knew he was stalking you but he only ever appeared at work, you’ve never even seen him in your neighbourhood. The fact he shouldn’t know your address meaning he’s followed you home without your knowledge making you feel sick.

Taking a step back, you consider your options. Opening the door is out of the question, pretending to not be home and waiting him out seems to be a good idea but if he’s already been to your job and seen you’re not there then he might not be as willing to believe that. You’re nervous, there’s no way to know how much he knows about you or how long he’s been watching you for. If he’s been waiting for you to leave for work then he’d know you’re still in here.

In your anxiety you bite at your lower lip, worrying it between your teeth when more patient knocks sound at your door. You didn’t really want to have to turn to him but he’s probably the only person that would get to you quickly and put you more at ease.

Fleeing to your bedroom, you keep your hurried footsteps light, not wanting to draw his attention to the sound. You cringe internally at the small squeak your door lets out as you close it as slowly as possible. Giving yourself a moment, you take a deep breath and brace yourself for the probably very angry demon you’re about to summon right to you.  

Just as you’re about to say his name, you falter, wondering if there’s more to it or if it really is as simple as just saying his name. “…Choso.”

You’re on edge immediately, it’s familiar though, distinctively Choso in how your blood warms and your hairs stand on end. It really was as simple as saying his name.

He stands in front of you, frown deeper than you’ve ever seen it, his arms folded over his chest, “You took your sweet time.”

Instantly he has you on the defensive, “I had my reasons.”

His tongue clicks at you, wholly unimpressed, “Care to enlighten me on what they may be?”

Remembering your reason for sending him away, you awkwardly reply, “Not really.”

He sighs at you, clearly annoyed by your answer, “I assume you’ve reconciled with yourself then, since you’ve summoned me back.”

“Well… no–”

There’s a thudding on your door again, more aggressive than the first few times he’d knocked. Clearly growing impatient and probably able to hear your voices. You flinch at the sound, almost forgetting that there was a reason for you calling Choso back.

Choso catches onto your unease quickly, “Who is that?”

“Ah, well… you remember that date I went on? He’s sort of been… lightly stalking me.” You clear your throat, “I felt a little… scared… so I summoned you back.”

“How long has he been stalking you for?”

“Lightly, stalking…” You overcorrect to a decidedly very unamused Choso. “…I noticed not long after you left.” You can’t say you’re really appreciating the ‘told you so’ look he’s got plastered across his features right now. “Him stalking me has nothing to do with you so stop looking at me like that.”

“For a smart girl you’re awfully clueless sometimes,” his hand reaches past you for the door handle, “After I deal with this, you’re telling me why you made me leave.”

A conversation you’d really rather not have, it’s embarrassing to think about admitting to liking the demon you accidentally forced into a blood bind. Even more embarrassing that you had to force him to leave your house because he was driving you insane.

You avoid eye contact with him as he passes by, opting to stay put while he handles the unwanted guest. Having him back brings a kind of security you weren’t even fully aware of having lost, the fact you trust this literal demon with your wellbeing should be more concerning but it only adds to your feelings for him.

While waiting you can hear their muffled voices followed by nothing, an off-putting silence filling the apartment before the door is slammed closed. Cautiously, you stick your head out of your room, looking over to where Choso is standing. His broad back facing you, when he turns to meet your eyes you can’t help but feel guilty.

You leave your room properly and walk over to him, checking over his appearance to make sure he’s fine.

His next words are simple and chilling, “He was possessed.”

You feel faint, “What?”

“Not in any real sense, those things that follow you simply latched onto him, influencing his behaviour.” There’s a distaste in his tone when referring to the shadows before he continues,  “Probably hoping to use his proximity to you to their advantage, though they’re not all that intelligent which calls into question how they managed it.” He’s looking down at you, expression grim, “Did you forget my warnings? Why did it take you so long to call me back?”

“Well, I obviously couldn’t tell he was being possessed,” you’re feeling an awful lot like he’s victim blaming you right now and you’re not in love with that, “Sometimes men are just scary like that.”

“So, you’d rather be lightly stalked than call me?” He mocks you from earlier.

“Did I say that?” You sigh, tired, “Is he going to be okay?” You’re feeling a sense of responsibility for him, it’s your fault he got possessed and if you had noticed sooner he’d have been normal long before he followed you home.

“He’ll be fine, though he probably won’t remember much of his last month.” His brow raises at you, clearly waiting for some kind of real explanation for the mess you’ve caused.

“Don’t be so crabby,” you walk away from him and flop onto the couch, head resting on the back of it, “It all turned out fine in the end.” Not acknowledging how guilty you feel is far easier than being vulnerable with him right now.

He follows you to the couch, standing resolutely in front of you, “I know you don’t have this much of a disregard for your wellbeing–”

Smirking at him, you try to play everything off, “You’re starting to sound like you were worried about me.”

“Of course I was worried about you,” his words and the ease at which he speaks them catches you off guard, “You’re being inexplicably stupid and your faux ignorance at the gravity of your situation is becoming annoying.”

Okay… ouch. Any warm fuzzy feelings you had are kind of dampened by the harsh slap of reality he just gave you.

“I know things felt a little off but I had no way of knowing if I was just imagining it or not, don’t blame me for acting human.”

“Whether you like it or not, you are not the same as every other human, act like it. Those instincts are there for a reason.” He can see the way you’re getting antsy, uncomfortable with the way he’s scolding you. “Tell me why you had me leave.”

You scrabble at that, “Is that necessary?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” Is this really his priority right now?

“Because I don’t want to be caught off guard like that again and I’d rather fix what’s bothering you now.” He watches you closely, not missing how you only seem to grow more restless.

Turning your head to the side you offer, “If I promise not to do it again, will you let this go?”

“No.”

You stand up at that, trying to make the conversation feel more even, “And why not?”

He speaks very calmly, “I had to wait until you were ready to call on me, wondering the whole time if you were safe and only knowing you hadn’t met an untimely end because I was still alive.” He leans down into your space, brows furrowing at how you turn away from him. His hand grabs your chin and pulls your gaze back to his, “Don’t do that to me again.”

It’s hard to keep eye contact with him, his emotions raging behind his stoic demeanour. Your answer to his question is ambiguous, “I couldn’t have you here.”

He, of course, pushes back on that ambiguity, “Why?”

He’s infuriating you; his insistent pestering is annoying. Fine. If he wants to know so badly, you’ll tell him.

“I couldn’t think clearly with you here…” you’re confessing but it comes across as challenging, a result of your foul mood, “Because I like you and I didn’t want to let myself feel it.” As if he’d be put off by your admission, you cement, “That’s why I couldn’t have you here.”

The only response you get from him is an unreadable grin. An annoying and stupid smile as he continues to hold you still so you can’t even turn away from the maddening expression. It’s almost torture, it feels like some kind of sick and twisted form of punishment. Being in the palm of his hand, emotionally and literally.

“Human emotions aren’t all that complex but all the different reactions and rationales behind them are,” he hums at you, finding this humorous somehow.

“I’m glad you’re thoroughly entertained by my inner turmoil, now either let me make you leave or stop being unnecessarily cruel.”

He lets go of you finally, a small mercy, “I thought you liked me; you’re not really acting like it.”

Thankfully you have the chance to look away from him now, “Don’t push it, Choso. Did you think I’d fall into a puddle because you touched me?”

“No but eye contact seems to embarrass you, maybe if you gazed into my eyes long enough you might.” Pleased grin still settled on his features, it’s the most you’ve seen him emote aside from annoyance.

Your response is to glare at him, directly into his eyes. If looks could kill he’d be dead and buried six feet under. “Make a choice.”

His smile falters, “What?”

“Either stay here or leave.” Those are his only options, having him here will feel unfair to you but it might be more inconvenient to him, you want to at least offer him an out.

He’s genuinely confused, he just got back to you, “Why would I leave?”

You don’t really understand the confusion but spell it out all the same, “…I don’t imagine you love the idea of a human falling for you.”

“Is that what you’re doing? Falling for me?” Oh great, he’s amused again.

You can feel a headache coming on, fingers rubbing at your temples, “Don’t change the topic.”

He shrugs, “I don’t mind.”

You stop, “What?”

He repeats, “I don’t mind.”

“Don’t mind what?” Your hands drop to your sides.

His arms fold over his chest, “Your feelings for me.”

“Why not?”

“They don’t have much to do with me.”

His logic is flawed and he’s pissing you off, he always pisses you off, his feigned indifference is stupid. You keep glaring at him, eyes glinting dangerously. You step closer to him and he doesn’t move away, as sturdy as ever. Leaning up, you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling yourself to him.

You’re hugging him, he wavers for a moment before he’s hesitantly moving his hands to loop around you, hugging you back. Otherwise, he’s completely still, clearly taken off-guard by your sudden affections. You’re careful to make sure your lips just barely graze against his ear, softly admitting to him, “I missed you.”

His fingers dig into your shirt at your voice, you’re getting to him more than you expected to. Pulling back, you’re surprised by the look in his eyes. A lidded and endearing expression that almost has you forgetting the aim of your actions. Resolve weak because you’d really like to kiss him and with how he glances at your lips quickly you think he might let you but he’s a bastard and you’ve not forgotten that.

Patting his chest with your hands you smile, “Welcome home, Choso.”

Removing yourself from his hold you’re met with some resistance but ultimately you’re walking away from him and back into your room. Shutting your door, you’re leaving him alone in your living room. His head fuzzy and thoughts confused on what exactly just happened.

⟢

Having Choso back has been comforting, you’re living a lot more peacefully. Both your stalker and the shadows have left you alone. Going to work hasn’t been as nerve-wracking lately and in that sense it feels like a huge weight has been lifted off your shoulders. But while it’s been calm outside your apartment, inside it is a different story.

Ever since Choso’s return he’s been watching you a lot more closely than before, spending more time around you when you’re home compared to when he was first here. There’s even been a few times you’ve had to stop him from following you to work. More recently he’s taken to staring at you, your peripherals picking up on his unwavering gaze. Sometimes when you realise, it devolves into an argument.

He continues to be steadfast that he’s not staring, nothing’s wrong, and he’s the same as always but his behaviour is clearly stating otherwise. You’re the one who likes him, shouldn’t you be the one acting strangely around him? Overall, it’s not a huge deal it’s just annoying to feel so observed in your own home. If you were meaner, you’d ask him in a way so he’d have to answer honestly but it feels oddly invasive to have someone be honest with you against their will.

You’re just trying to enjoy your evening, watching T.V. and lazing but you can feel his eyes on you. It’s making it hard to get comfortable,so without looking at him you simply say, “Stop it.”

“I’m not doing anything,” he sounds sure, like he’s certain he’s not doing anything to warrant your words.

“Choso…” you pause and turn to look at him, getting a little distracted by how he looks with his hair down. “I can’t get comfortable when you keep staring at me, just watch the show.”

His head drops forward to look at the T.V., clearly unimpressed, “This is boring.”

Ignoring the urge to argue in favour of your favourite show, you retort, “Because staring at me is so interesting.”

Silence. He has nothing to reply with.

Groaning at him, “You’ve been staring at me so much lately, it’s becoming frustrating.”

Reply quick and wrong, “I’m not staring.”

You squint at him accusatorily, “You are a liar.” Growing exasperated, you grumble, “If you have something to ask just ask it.”

“Can I touch you?” He’d almost seem sheepish when asking if he wasn’t so blunt.

There’s an upsetting kind of excitement settling in you when he asks, mostly you’re taken aback though, “What? Why?”

“Because–” He begins to explain but you’re cutting him off before he can.

“–Choso, you understand that I like you right? I like the idea of–” you stop, the sudden quiet awkward before you start again. “The point is – I like you and it’s unfair of you to ask me things like that.”

“Is that a no?”

Thinking on it for a moment, you decide, “It’s not…”

His hand moves for you slowly, as if he’s cautious of the fact you might change your mind. Hand on your cheek gentle, a kind of softness you didn’t think him explicitly capable of. It lingers for a moment, thumb brushing high on your cheek before he drops his hand. Moving lower instead, wrapping around your torso. You’re not completely sure on what you were expecting when he asked if he could touch you but as he pulls you to him and embraces you, you’re certain you weren’t expecting this.

The angle is a little awkward, you’re trying to hug him back as best as you can but it’s uncomfortable and it seems to bother him because he’s quickly tugging you onto his lap. Arms big and firm around you, holding you close. This is a kind of intimacy you’ve not experienced before; it’s making you nervous, you still don’t know what he wants from you, and this did nothing to make it any clearer.

“Calm down,” his words vibrate through his chest.

“I am calm.”

He knows better, “You’re not, I can tell.”

“Ignore it,” you’re embarrassed.

He huffs at you, partway amused, “Fine.”

Then he’s pulling you in closer, his face burying into you, nosing at your neck. The way he inhales your scent has goosebumps breaking out across your skin, almost shameless in his actions. It feels like he’s trying to make you even more nervous, taking your words to ignore you at face value. There’s a sick kind of joy he has to be getting from this, from how your heartbeat speeds up and how your breaths come faster. You almost feel like you’re shaking with nervous energy.

Voice trembling when you ask, “What are you doing?”

His response is to state the obvious, “Embracing you.”

You murmur back at him, “Are you done yet?”

“No.”

How annoying, at least he’s consistent in how easily he frustrates you. His few simple words always managing to get under your skin, its effect on you running deeper than you feel comfortable with.

Instead of trying to understand his motivations any further, you choose to relax into him, allowing yourself to be held. You have a feeling that he’s not sure enough of his own actions to explain them to you, so you’ll settle for being confused but held.

His breath tickles your ear, “You missed me?”

“Hmm?” You take a second to process, “Yeah…”

“Say it.”

His request takes you off guard, you’re pulling back slightly to make eye contact with him. He wants to hear you say it, his eyes imploring yours.

Your hand cradles his face, giving him what he wants, “I missed you.”

“I think…” his gaze flits between your eyes and your lips, “I missed you too.”

A small smile breaks out across your face, “Be careful, you might damage your demon rep if anyone hears you.”

He leans up to you, his lips just shy of yours, almost brushing them when he speaks, “I wouldn’t mind.”

You’re about to say something that would no doubt embarrass you when he’s taking the chance to connect your lips. Heart leaping in your chest at how fully he kisses you, insistent in how he leans up to you more, arms around you and tugging you down into him. There’s a neediness in his movements you didn’t expect him to have for you.

It’s making you dizzy, his kiss, his hands on your back, the desperation from him you weren’t ready for. Like he’s been pent up and the flood gates have opened, barely willing to part for a second to breathe.

It’s a lot, you’ve never been kissed like this, so completely, so desired. It’s hard to think, all thoughts you have muddling together. You need to breathe but every time you try to open your mouth to speak he’s planting another full kiss to your lips.

With your fingers in his hair, you tug on him, he groans as he’s pulled back. Finally, you’re able to draw in the air you needed, chest rising and falling quickly with relief. Choso stays looking at you, his eyes lidded as he watches you breathe. It’s hot in your apartment now, or that might just be you, your skin warm, feeling warmer with how he’s looking at you.

There’s nothing coming to mind, it feels like you should say something, but you’re completely lost for words. He’s rendered you speechless, still feeling a little dizzy as your eyes drop to his lips, glossy and slick from your shared kiss. A small smile spreads across his face, and it prompts you to look up, realising you were staring.

You feel fuzzy when you remember how he’d said he missed you, a dopey grin on your face, “You said you missed me.”

He doesn’t deny it, “I did.”

“You meant it?” You’re already asking your question before he’s even really finished giving his reply.

He pretends to think on it, for no other reason than to tease, “Hmm… Yes. I think so.”

You mutter at him, “Cruel…”

His hand cradles the side of your face, so gentle in how his thumb brushes over your cheek, “Did you?”

“Did I what?” A little lost at his question, too busy registering how it feels when he touches you.

“Mean it when you said you missed me,” The hand on your face trails further down, thumb tugging your lower lip.

Your lips quirk up in a smile, tone playful, “I mean everything I say.”

The look he gives you conveys severe doubt, it comes from experience of dealing with you.

His expression earns an eye roll from you, conceding without him even saying anything, “Okay so maybe not everything but I mean it when I say I missed you.”

Hand trailing even further down, now resting against the side of your neck. He’s probably able to feel your thumping pulse under his fingers, “And the other thing?”

If you tried to guess what he was asking you’d probably know but just to be sure, “What other thing?”

“You said something about liking me,” he’s trying to play it off, a nonchalance he usually possesses nowhere to be found in his words despite his efforts.

“I’m starting to think you just like hearing how much I like you,” crossing your arms, you add, “It’d be cute if it didn’t feel mean.”

“I’m not trying to be mean.”

“You haven’t even told me how you feel about me.”

Choso’s head quirks slightly, “Was the kiss not enough?”

“I don’t know, maybe you kiss everyone else like that too,” your finger jabs at his chest accusatorily.

“Did you just call me a whore?”

“No.” You look away and pout, “I implied it.”

“I’m not a whore.” He seems distracted when he says it.

You squint at him; some doubt there but not serious. You’re not sure you ever considered him a virgin, but you didn’t really consider the opposite either. His hands are still on you, one slipping under your shirt, warm against your bare skin, the distraction in his words a little clearer now when you notice the way he’s been looking at you.

“Can I kiss you again or are you too busy implying I’m a whore?”

“You can’t kiss me again because you didn’t answer my question.”

His brows pull up, “Funny, I don’t remember it being phrased as one.”

Leaning into him, your lips hover over his, so close you’re almost touching. Just as he’s about to close the gap you pull back, “How do you feel about me?”

He sighs when you move away, “Right now?”

If that’s how he wants to play it, fine. “I’m not gonna sit on just anybody’s lap and make out with them.” You make a move to get off of him, not willing to sit so suggestively in the lap of someone who doesn’t even like you.

He stops you from going anywhere, his large hands firm on your hips. “Am I just anybody? I thought you liked me.”

“Right now?” You quirk a brow at him.

“Don’t be petulant.”

“I’m not being petulant, I’m just not willing to debase myself for a demon who doesn’t even like me.”

“I never said I didn’t like you,” he offers like it’s enough, gaze already set on your lips again.

The very lips that are pouting moodily back at him, not entertained by such a small concession. Instead of dignifying him with a further back and forth, you seriously move to get off him. Hands planted on his chest as you throw a cautious glance back at where you’re stepping. When he realises he’s not satisfied you his hands grapple for you, somewhat frantic that you’re leaving the comfortable place he’d had you sat.

Words rushing from him, almost surprising himself with how needy he sounds, “Don’t– don’t leave–”

“–Why not?” It’s sharp, how you cut him off, quickly growing embarrassed at how forward you’ve been.

“Because I like having you close,” he replies obviously, brows pinching slightly. He takes your pause as opportunity to manoeuvre you back into place, arms around you, holding you tight to his chest.

Soft sigh leaving you, annoyed by how endearing you find him. “Choso…”

“I missed you…” His face has found its way to your neck. Breathing in your scent, shiver running down his spine with it, “…Because I like you.” Almost like he can’t stop himself, he licks at your neck, tasting you. A low sound coming from him, “I like you a lot.”

This took a sudden turn from playful to frustrating to dizzying, the air around you is heavy as he licks and nips at your skin. Pulling shaky breaths in when his hand slides under your shirt again, the feeling of his skin on yours hot.

“I–”

Whatever you were about to say is getting cut off, “–Are you gonna let me kiss you now?” His words are spoken between kisses as he trails his lips up to the side of your face.

Without saying anything, you turn your head slightly to the side. Lips meeting his easily, melding together in a soft kiss. He’s careful this time but no less insistent, quickly growing less restrained. Your hands grip his shoulders, fingers pulling at the material of his shirt.

A small noise leaves you when he’s licking into your mouth, the sound seemingly setting Choso off. One of his hands jumps for your face, the other holding your throat. His kisses growing needy. It’s all you can do to try and keep up with him, his lips fervent and messy.

Your fingers thread through his hair, nails lightly scratching his scalp and it’s like he melts into you. Soft moan leaving him you weren’t expecting, your chest stuttering as you stifle down the whine bubbling in you. He sounded so pretty when he moaned, you want to hear it again. Repeating the motion, you nip at his lower lip at the same time, trying to coax it out of him.

Unfortunately, he stuffs down the noise the second time, just barely – his body shudders with it. He uses his hand on your throat to hold you in place, his forehead resting on yours. Huffed breaths shared in the space between you, your eyes are unfocused and glassy, his much the same. You’re trying to calm yourself, worked up and very nearly squirming on top of him.

There’s something you should tell him, especially with how heated this exchange is getting but you can’t seem to get your head on straight long enough to voice yourself. Choso seems to be able to tell that you’re struggling though, his expression amused but no less kiss drunk than you.

Showing mercy, he gives you an opening, “What’s wrong?”

“I just…” This is embarrassing, “I don’t wanna be presumptuous or anything but you should– uhm… I just think you should know…” your skin feels unbelievably hot right now, feeling flushed as you murmur, “…I’m a virgin.”

He hums at you, completely unsurprised at your confession, “I know.” He ignores your sputtering at his simple statement, nose running along your cheek in a soft show of affection.

“What do you mean–” You fight to hide the shiver running down your spine at his gentle touch.

“–Are you telling me this because you want to have sex?” His words are low against your skin, something about him feeling predatory, “Do you want me to take your virginity?”

Choso can’t help but feel greedy, the idea of you letting him – a demon – be your first fills him with a possessiveness he couldn’t explain in a way that wouldn’t have him looking like a huge pervert.

Your voice is shaky as you avoid answering him, “You never answer my questions…”

He huffs a small laugh, having purposefully cut you off so he didn’t have to answer, “Do you really want to know how I know?”

Something about how he looks at you, eyes glinting in the soft light of the room has you questioning if you really want to. “Is the answer going to embarrass me?”

“You?” He makes a soft sound, his thumb smooths over your throat, “Probably, you fluster easily.”

“I don’t fluster easily…” his gaze is setting your skin on fire, “…I just like you is all.”

“So you’ve said,” he mumbles out, leaning in and licking up the length of your throat where his hand just was.

The reaction he gets from you is damn near visceral, a gasp pulling from you at the sudden action. Your brain is rebooting, struggling to form words when he begins nipping at your neck. Anything you were about to say comes in the form of jumbled words and weak moans. A sound he seems to delight in if the curling of his lips against your skin is anything to go by.

“You get distracted easily,” his breath is ticklish against you, “You never answered my question.”

Did he ask a question? You suddenly can’t remember, “What was the question again?”

He laughs at your lapse in memory, “Did you want me to fuck you?”

The choice in phrasing makes you bristle, hating how he’s right that you fluster easily. He’s taking joy in how you pause at his question, obviously having asked so bluntly just to watch you squirm. Choso is patient though, happy to continue leaving marks on your delicate skin while you try to get it together enough to reply. His canines grazing over the patches of skin he’s sucked marks into, the shivers that run through you at it making him smile.

“Y– hah– yeah…” your reply is clumsy and breathy. His lips are off your neck as soon as you answer, his arms hold onto your thighs as he stands. Not expecting to be picked up you let out a refrained squeal and wrap your limbs around him tight. “A warning would’ve been nice,” you chastise him, to which he pays no mind. 

All of Choso’s focus is on getting you to your bedroom, knowing better than trying to fuck you on your couch, not for your first time anyways. And now his head is full of all the times after, will you let him take you on all the surfaces in your home? Will you pick fucking him on your couch over the completely inane show you were watching earlier?

When he reaches your bed, he leans down, aiming to gently lay you on your mattress but you’re still clinging to him. He speaks into your skin, “Trying to put you down.”

“Right…” You smile bashfully and let go, dropping the last inch onto your bed.

He’s crawling over you and moving in to kiss you softly, lips gentle as he holds you. It’s sweet and fleeting, already he’s pulling away from you to pull his shirt off. Leaving himself bare to you, his skin enticing. Only realising the meaning behind this action when his hand is trailing down to your pants, fingers dancing along your waistline. He’d taken his shirt off to ease your nerves about him undressing you.

Little glimpses of how he regards you in his actions, treating you with a kindness you’ve never felt. A concern for how you feel and how he makes you feel, all completely wordless, not feeling the need to explain himself. The fingers at your pants tickle against your skin, his eyes meeting yours and finding that you’re looking at him with borderline hearts in your eyes.

His hand slips past your waist band, tugging your pants down over your hips. You lift your legs to aid in his removal of them, feeling absurdly shy lying in front of him in nothing but a shirt and your underwear.

Palms smooth up your inner thighs, lightly pushing your legs open for him to sit between. His eyes burn into you, making you feel nervous. You try to close your legs but his hands are heavy on you, keeping them open. When you look at him, you can see his skin flushing a very pretty light pink.

“You’re so wet,” he comments, hoping to fluster you more than him.

It works because you’re squirming again, legs struggling fruitlessly against his grip, “Shuddup.”

Mindless hum coming from him as acknowledgement and you doubt it’s because he’s actually heeding your words. More so he’s had another thought and moved on, motives clear when one of his hands moves from your plush thigh and to your panties. Thumb pressing into the wet spot on them, dipping into your cunt only to tease you.

Drawing his thumb up, he presses into your clit, giving pressure against it and not much else. Small whines and stuttered breaths leaving you at his teasing, feeling completely on edge and realising he’s probably not going to stop teasing any time soon. Clearly he gets pleasure from watching you fidget and struggle to keep your noises contained.

He tortuously plays with you over your panties for too long, fingers sweeping from your clit to your hole and back too many times. Your wetness leaking into your underwear the longer he plays with you, the thin material moulding to your pussy. Hips jumping every time his finger trails over your clit, pleasure so muted that you’re growing frustrated with him.

“Choso,” you grumble at him, reaching your limit.

He barely glances at you, still playing with your pussy, “Finally found your voice?”

Bastard… he’d been waiting for you to say something. His patience almost frightening, no hurry in his movements.

“Can you… do more?” This is embarrassing, it’s your first time and he’s teasing you so cruelly, “Please?”

He smiles politely at you, “Of course.”

Bastard…

Finally, after what feels like hours, he’s tugging your panties down your legs. Foreboding smile on his face as he holds them up, thumbing over the crotch of your drenched underwear. At your disgruntled whine he discards them to some corner of your room haphazardly. Feeling so vulnerable, you go to close your legs again, the contrast between his and your state of dress something you’re too conscious of all of a sudden.

“Keep your legs open,” he chastises, hand on your knees and pushing them apart obscenely.

When he shuffles to lean down you startle, “You– you don’t have to do that…”

“You don’t want me too?” His eyebrow quirks at you.

“You won’t get anything out of it…”

He’s a little annoyed that you stopped him for such a stupid reason, “Not what I asked, do you want me to eat your pussy?”

You can’t look at him, face absurdly hot, “…Yes.”

“Worried about stupid things,” he murmurs, moving onto his stomach again. Pulling you closer to his face once he’s in place, “I’m going to enjoy this immensely.”

Stuttered gasp leaving you, he’s not waited anymore, apparently having deprived himself long enough. Maybe it’s his fault for playing with you for so long but he’s grown desperate for this, if you hadn’t let him, his heart might’ve broken. He licks through your cunt, tongue opening up your slit. Small grumbles leaving him as he drinks you down, his arms wrap around your legs and tug you open more, face pushing into you.

You’re a little worried he’s going to suffocate himself, his eagerness staggering. Just as you’re about to say something to him, his tongue is insistently pushing inside your hole. Shocked whines leaving you as he fucks you with it, his nose rubbing into your clit. You’re a twitching mess, already so pathetically close. All his teasing has made everything so much more sensitive, head fuzzy as he laps at your cunt.

One of your hands reaches down and threads through his hair, tugging on him. He doesn’t even flinch, throaty moan leaving him the only evidence that you had actually pulled on him. He’s ravenous and obsessed with how you’re fluttering around his tongue, your small whines and huffed breaths making him dizzy.

Looking down at him you hope to mumble out anything but when you’re met with his glazed over and lidded stare, your heart stumbles in your chest, pussy jumping. He looks drunk on you, his throat bobbing as he slurps down your slick. He’s messy and the sounds filling the room are wet and depraved. With how he’s fucking into you and the look on his face, you can’t tell if this is more for your benefit or his.

Cries of his name leave you, stumbling over the syllables every time his nose presses into your clit just right. Then he’s withdrawing his tongue, sad pitiful noise leaving you at the loss of getting so close. A hand leaves your thigh, single digit probing at your entrance, pushing in so carefully. His eyes locked on how you’re stretching around his finger to accommodate him, he feels like he’s going to start drooling.

Your cunt so warm and tight around his finger, his chest pulling at the thought of opening you up with his cock. The clumsy manner in which you’re calling out to him making him feel sickly fond of you, pressing a light kiss onto your inner thigh.

Unexpectedly, he praises you, “You’re pretty,” murmured low, his eyes racking over your whole form.

The compliment has you shy, it’d be so sweet if your slick wasn’t dripping down his chin. “I– thank you…” you look away from him.

He chuckles at your response, refocusing on your cunt, slowly pumping his finger in and out. Relishing in how you squirm at it, beginning to seriously doubt your ability to take him. Taking his time in opening you up, digit rubbing against your inner walls just to watch your chest stutter and hips twitch.

Not adding a second finger until your whines are pitchy and you’re relaxing around him, stuffing your little cunt full with his two big fingers. The feel of your walls clamping down on them making his dick twitch in his pants. Scissoring his two digits to stretch you open, impatient and mouth watering, he’s leaning down to lick at your pussy again. Tongue slipping in with his fingers just to get a taste of you before slurping at your clit.

You feel full and dizzy, head lolling back as he fucks into you, struggling to close your legs around his body. Free hand still holding you, pushing up to open you even more. Choso’s name leaving you through mumbles, hard to talk around your moans. The way he’s stroking your walls has you seeing stars, his tongue on your clit making your back arch.

It’s so much, not able to decide if you’re trying to roll your hips down into him or if you want to pull away. Not that you’re getting much of a choice anyways, anytime you twitch away he’s growling at you and pulling you right back down to him. The sounds of his fingers fucking into your pussy filling the room, wet slapping that would be embarrassing if you weren’t getting so close.  

The hand in his hair tugging on him again, dark moan leaving him, not stopping for a moment. He can feel how you’re squeezing down on his fingers; he can hear the way you’re skipping breaths, thighs shaking from the build-up. He doesn’t stop, even as you whine and push at him, so sensitive that your impending orgasm feels like too much. He’s not depriving you of this, he’s not depriving himself of this.

With a loud gasp and shocked whine, you’re cumming around his fingers. Almost feels like Choso purrs at how you’re contracting around him, not stopping his movements to help you ride out your high. Eventually pulling his fingers out of you only to grab onto your other thigh and pull you completely open. Mouth on your cunt before you’ve even really registered that he’s made you cum.

He lewdly slurps at your pussy, apparently having been patient about making you cum when this is what he really wanted. You’re sensitive and flinching away from him, soft whimpers leaving you, not even able to try and move away from him with how he’s holding you. The hand you have in his hair pushing at his head weakly.

“Choso– it’s– hah– too much,” your eyes feel wet and your thoughts are foggy.

He groans in disappointment but pulls back all the same, though not before blowing lightly on your clit, smile evil at your twitchy reaction. Showing mercy, he moves his head to rest against your thigh. Teeth nibbling at your skin, tongue lathing over the small marks he’s made. Finally sitting up and resting on his knees, he delights in how ruined you look. Marks he’s left on you from all his kisses on your neck, your thighs, cunt glistening with your cum and his saliva, eyes glazed, lips swollen from his kisses and how you’d been biting at them.

Readjusting, he trails his hands up your sides, pushing your shirt upwards as he goes. His eyes meet yours, checking to make sure you’re okay with his actions. You’re lifting your arms to help him take it off properly, shirt sharing the same fate as you’re other clothes and being banished to the floor.

He can’t help himself, hands groping at your tits, squeezing and pulling at you. Lightly pinching at your nipples just to make you gasp. Leaning down he lays his tongue flat over your nipple, licking at it sloppily. Messy in how he drools onto your sensitive skin, hands still pawing at the fat of your tits.

Distracted by how he’s playing with your naked body, neglecting his throbbing cock. Switching his mouth to your other nipple, teeth dragging over it lightly. His dick leaking into his pants at the shiver he pulls from you.

“Cho–” his name gets caught in your throat at how he pinches at you, back arching up into him.

The small way you called out to him seemingly enough to pull him back to, finally removing his mouth from you in an obscene display. Thin string of spit connecting his mouth to your skin, breaking when his tongue passes over his lower lip. Moving upwards, his face nuzzles into the side of your cheek, leaving soft and wet kisses against you. Fighting the urge to leave even more marks on you, instead resting his mouth next to your ear.

“You doing okay?” His breath is warm but still it sends a pleasant chill down your spine.

You nod your head at him in response to his question, not feeling sure enough of your voice to try and speak.  

A hand holds the side of your face, his lips meeting yours in a wet kiss. Tongue licking into your mouth fervently, small groan sounding from him when your hands hold onto his shoulders, appreciating your touch. He’s warm, a comforting warmth that you’re coming to crave from him. Looping your arms around his shoulders, you pull him down onto you, his skin against yours.

His mouth parts from yours at the sudden shift but lets it happen, his arms scooping under and around you. Skin against yours tickling a part of your brain nicely, your legs wrap around him. Wanting him pressed up against you completely, only to whine when you’re met with the material of his pants.

Choso huffs a small laugh at your disgruntled noise, amused by your desire to have him pressed to you. He shifts to sit up but you’re clinging to him, refusing to let go. “If you want me to take off my pants I need to sit up.”

Annoyed, you let go and flop back onto the mattress. His eyes watch the way your tits move with the force of your landing and you cross your arms over them, “Take off your pants then.”

He doesn’t waste any more time, tugging his pants off hastily, like he’s suddenly been reminded of just how hard his aching cock is. It’s quick how he undresses himself, one second wearing pants and the next completely bare with his large cock in his hand. Lightly stroking himself, hissing between his teeth at the slight pressure.

Flushed a deep pink, so hard and leaking precum down the length of himself, it looks almost painful. Before you can reach out for him, a hand is pushing back on your thigh, “Need to be in you.”

You don’t even get a chance to be shy, not with the way he’s rubbing the tip of his dick between your folds. From your hole to your clit and back down again, pressing into you just slightly each time.

He speaks through his teeth, “You need to relax.”

“I am relaxed,” you return.

“You’re not,” he can barely push in, too worried about hurting you.

He presses his thumb to your lips, about to ask you to lick, surprised when your lips wrap around it and suck lightly. His skin flushing a deeper pink, feeling like he’s about to melt into a puddle in front of you. A breath shudders through him as he pulls his thumb from you, reaching down and rubbing circles into your clit. You need to relax for him.

His cock probes at your entrance, carefully pushing into your gooey hole. Still so cautious of your comfortability despite the ravenous need clawing at his insides. After a bit of coaxing, he’s able to push the tip of his cock inside. Your chest seizes and your cunt clamps down against the feeling, the stretch painful enough to have you shocked but not enough to have you in legitimate pain.

Choso just about passes out, your pussy so tight around him that it takes him off guard, even more so when your hole flutters around him. He reaches out for your hand and laces your fingers together, his breaths heavy and sputtered as he tries to collect himself enough to talk you through it.

“Gotta relax,” he huffs at you, dick jerking at the pretty look on your face, “I’m gonna take my time, gonna be so careful with you, so just calm down.”

“Oh– Okay,” you can do that, you can calm down.

Choosing to focus on something else, on how his hand holds yours, on his voice soothing you. Trying hard to even your breathing, partway succeeding, enough so that you’re relaxing again. Something Choso is infinitely grateful for because he felt like he could cum from the tight grip of your cunt and the cute look of your pinched brows alone. He’s so patient with you, waiting until you tell him it’s okay before even thinking of moving again.

Voice still shaky when you tell him, “Y–You can move, Choso.”

He grunts at you, an acknowledgement that he’s heard you. Hips slow as he sinks in more, breath catching at how you react to him. Thumb back on your clit to help you take him more, only getting about halfway before your free hand is pushing back on his chest. Immediately he stops, not wanting to push you past your limits. Your hand is gripping his tight, it makes his heart tug, his hand squeezing back at yours.

“You’re doing s–so– hah– good,” he coos at you.

Aiming to help but his voice is breaking and needy and the only thing it does is make your pussy flutter around his achingly hard dick. His eyes nearly rolling into the back of his head at the feel of your slick walls.

Glancing down, you worry, “I don’t th– think I’m gonna be able to take it all.”

You sound so concerned about not fully taking him and he can’t help but chuckle breathlessly at it, “That’s okay, this much is enough.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he pulls your hand to his mouth and kisses your knuckles, “You okay if I move?”

Nodding at him, “Yeah, you can move.”

Drawing his hips back, he hisses through his teeth, brows scrunched as he focuses on his movements. Careful as he starts a pace he thinks you’ll be able to handle, fucking you on half of his cock. Even this much has his head spinning, addicted to the feel of your plush cunt sucking him in. Relishing in the sound of your rapid heartbeat and stifled whimpers, your hand unravels from his to grip the sheets. He takes the chance to hold you open, more control over his pace this way.

Incoherent whines tumble from your lips, words not even close to comprehensible. Desperate need resting inside your chest suddenly, you want all of him, you want to feel stuffed to the brim. Trying to convey it is hard, especially when just half his dick has your brain scrambled and fuzzy.

“C–Cho– more,” stumbled and huffed but clear enough, “Please.”

He hesitates, “I don’t think–”

“–Please~” you whine out to him, plead stretching long with your gasped moans.

He can’t help but cave when he looks at you and sees your cute expression, unshed tears sitting pretty on your lashes. Giving you what you want and fucking into you, stuffing more of his cock inside your tight hole each time he thrusts in. He feels like this might be as close to heaven as he’s ever going to get, opening you up on his fat dick while you tremble under him.  

Choso’s beginning to feel like a mess with how you’re squeezing him, so tight his balls ache. Your staggered breath and absent gaze driving him crazy. Skin glowing with a sheen of perspiration while your eyes roll. His cock hitting so deep inside you your breath hitches when he’s finally balls deep, you could almost could swear he’s in your ribcage.  

Your toes curl and your head lolls back, drooling at how it feels to be this fucking full, your mind truly slipping through your fingers and he hasn’t even begun fucking you proper yet. Before he moves he grips your hips, fingers digging into the fat there, enjoying how soft you are. Drawing back cautiously to make sure he doesn’t do anything to hurt you and upon realising you’re basically already fucked dumb finds himself thrusting back inside you. The force of it rocking you, fingers gripping the sheets tight as you moan pathetically.

Setting a rabid pace, he finally lets himself fuck into you how he craves. Hands gripping your skin while he stuffs your sensitive pussy, your lips bulging around his thick length, struggling to take him. Beyond turned on with how good it feels, obscene and wet slapping resounding from the room, along with the pitiful sounds you manage to let slip.

Beginning to feel like he’s fucking you to borderline insanity, his or yours he can’t ascertain, all he knows is that he’s obsessed with the slick heat of your cunt. Effectively pussy drunk and if he thought he wasn’t leaving your side before he sure as hell isn’t now, not willing to give up something as sweet as you. It’s funny how you’ve basically pussy whipped him without even trying or knowing.

“Feel s–so– fuck– feel so good,” he gasps at you, needing you to know just how perfect you are.

His hands move from your hips to anywhere else he can grab, handsy as he gropes at you, wanting to touch you everywhere he possibly can. Eventually landing on wrapping around you and pulling you up, the position having you sinking down on his cock more. Sputtered moans leaving you at the sudden change, arms looping around his neck and scrabbling at his back, nails no doubt leaving marks.

Chest to chest, skin contact that has a shiver running down your spine pleasantly. You wish you could tell him how good he’s making you feel, how close you’re getting, how fuzzy your brain feels but the words won’t come. Instead settling for whimpering into his shoulder, drooling on him slightly.

His hands travel lower and grab at your thighs wrapped around him, pulling you further open and using his grip to use you like a sex toy. Fucking you so deliciously and easily that you feel like the room is spinning. Your mouth latches onto his neck, leaving behind dark marks, something for your mouth to do beside crying out his name uselessly. Not that he particularly minded, enjoying immensely how wrecked you sounded as you cried out for him.

He notices the way your breath catches and nails dig into him more, getting close to cumming. Something he wants desperately, his thrusts more forceful, excited at the thought of you gripping him sinfully tight.

“You been doing so good,” he breathes, “Just let go for me.”

The words spoken against your ear sends a tingle through your body, muscles pulling tight like you’re getting ready for impact. Your whimpers pitchy as you twitch in his grasp, your nails nearly making him bleed. You’re cumming around him so perfectly, falling apart in his hands, squirming and hips jumping. Cunt so fucking tight he swears he’s gone to heaven, his eyes rolling back in his head as he moans shamelessly. His teeth bite into your neck, lathing over the wound quickly healing any blood he might’ve drawn with the action.

Hips jerking up into you as he fucks you through it, your orgasm ultimately triggering his. Shuddering as he cums inside you, filling you to the brim with it. His blood boiling as he continues to fuck you through his high, all too happy to let it leak out of you.

His unstopping thrusts pushing more of your combined mess out around his dick with lewd squelching noises. Sheets all sticky, evidence of how messily he’d fucked you. When you mumble at him he stops thrusting into you, somewhat begrudgingly, all too willing to force you and him into overstimulation.

Instead of pulling out and placing you down, he stays seated inside you and lays on his back. Leaving you laying on top of him, his arms around you again, embracing you. You’d snuggle into him more but you’re still not sure you’re in your body, limbs all so heavy.

“I’m sorry if I was too rough,” he sounds sheepish when he speaks into the top of your head.

You hum at him in disagreement, “Was good.”

Pressing a kiss to your temple, he asks, “Want to get cleaned up?”

“You’re gonna have to give me a bit, I don’t think I can move yet…” your eyes feel tired, “…Or today.” It feels like he grows warmer at your comment and you smile lazily.

Maybe he should feel more concerned over how fond of you he’s grown but as you drift off on top of him, snoozing so peacefully, he really can’t find it in himself to care.

𝐀/𝐍: i put my whole visussy into this fic ngl and i had so much more i wanted to add/do to it but it quite literally sucked motivation away from my soul. if you guys have questions about the story though you're more than welcome to ask ! i literally had SO many notes for this fic and while i don't think it's the best thing i've written i am obscenely happy to have finished it and i hope you guys like it !!! thanks for reading <333

[⚠︎] ��� 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: do not reupload / repost / translate / plagiarise my works © all works are the intellectual property of lovelivision ★ ⁝ my works are not to be used for AI under any circumstances

[kumkaniudaku]

Stay A While (2)

Summary: Terry and Treece are feeling the sparks again.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC

Word Count: 3,659

Part: 2 of ??

Warnings: None. This one's a safe for work slow burn. Enjoy.

Previous

Grocery shopping was Patrice's private pastime. She was the queen of her universe when she walked through aisles every Saturday morning. Every flash bargain and value-sized item bent to her will for a chance at making it to her humble abode and fulfilling its one purpose in life. Employees greeted her like royalty. Customers started conversations like old friends, always giving her the scoop on any sale they'd overheard in their neighborhood Facebook groups. She was happy. She was zen. She was in her element.

"Do you need this?" 

She was a woman dragging around a large man intent on breaking any modicum of concentration she had left.

Patrice stopped and looked over her shoulder at Terry, who held a bag of cotton candy grapes up in the air for her inspection. "No, TJ. Put it down." 

"Why? You like grapes." 

"Because we're getting grapes from the farmer's market. Now, put it back."

Her rebuke was sweet but stern. Having him as a way too familiar roommate was becoming easier as the days passed. But she'd be lying if she said she didn't miss the freedom to go for a walk, watch a movie on the couch, or even enjoy an intimate moment alone in her own house without a man looming somewhere in the very near background. 

He didn't allow her to travel alone, and she never had the energy to protest. 

"You don't have to talk to me like I'm a kid," he grumbled as he put the grapes back in their place.

"Then stop acting like one. I have a list. I know what I need." 

"I know what I need." He exaggerated his mimicry for maximum effect. 

"You see how that was childish?" 

"Whatever." 

Patrice ignored him in favor of browsing packages of beef for the best deal. If she didn't respond, maybe he would get the hint. And, for a few moments, he did. Terry took a break in conversation to scan the immediate area quietly. He noted each patron and their most important details before checking the exit and entry points at the front of the store. They weren't secure enough, but he could manage if the situation required evacuation.

A lack of action soon turned his attention back to Patrice, who still hadn't decided. He gave her a slow once over and smiled at how much focus she put into such a simple choice. Her brow remained furrowed in intense thought, transforming her into the ninth-grade Patrice he met during a chance encounter in the library. Truthfully, he didn't have much of an opinion either way. He just wanted to talk to her every second of the day, even if it meant being annoying. 

"Get that one." 

His sudden interruption startled Patrice out of her zone, adding a final straw to an already exhausted camel's back. Terry grinned in triumph as she closed her eyes for a calming breath. 

"Terry," she spoke, slow and measured to keep the peace. "Take the other half of this list and get out of my face. Don't come back until you find everything. I'll meet you at the register." 

She didn't give him much time to protest before she shoved a carefully torn half of paper into his chest and sent him on his way. He gave her a sarcastic salute, which she waved off without a second look. She needed a moment alone and didn't care if he came back with Fruity O's instead of Fruit Loops if that meant he would be out of her hair for more than 10 minutes. 

Terry found himself slowly meandering around the grocery store with a tiny basket in tow, exhausted by all the options on each aisle. If Patrice hadn't been so meticulous with her lists, he would've given up on the mission and gone back to home base with his tail tucked between his legs. 

After sourcing the perfect pint of Oreo ice cream as an apology for his behavior, Terry found himself drawn to the sound of laughter on the next aisle. Sure enough, Patrice was parked by the frozen vegetables and engaged with a man dressed in the store's colors with his eyes directed far too low to be looking at Patrice's face. 

Terry quickly reached her location, stopping behind Patrice to show her guest the full extent of his scowl. 

Patrice noticed how his once loose body language had gone stiff and sighed. She didn't need to investigate the problem. Only her human pitbull could make a man cower in fear like that. 

"Derrick, this is Terry. Terry, this is Derrick. He usually helps me get stuff to my car." 

"Ah, man. It's a good thing I'm here, right? We don't need you taking too many breaks from stocking. Mornin' rush can get crazy." 

"Terry," Patrice admonished with a harsh whisper and an elbow to his stomach. 

Terry remained steadfast, keeping his eyes on Derrick while taking one step closer. A taunting smile tugged on the right side of his mouth. He waited on any sign of fight from his unspoken adversary. 

Derrick stood in palpable discomfort, sizing up the outcomes if he decided to test his luck. Each mental scenario led him back to some instance of physical harm on his last shift of the week. He had plans for the weekend, none involving a trip to the emergency room.

Patrice stood between a rock and a hardheaded man, praying that the Lord would end her suffering.

"That's what I was about to say," Derrick answered before shifting his attention back to Patrice. "I think I oughta get going. See you around, Ms. Ellis?" 

"Same time next week." 

He nodded in half-hearted agreement and hurried out of dodge, with Terry keeping a watchful eye until he was safely around the corner. 

Patrice groaned with one hand, rubbing tight circles at her temple. "What in the hell was that about?" 

"He wouldn't even look you in the eye. If he can't look you in the eye when he's speaking, he can't protect you, and he doesn't respect you." 

"I'm not looking for his protection. I need this water loaded into my trunk every week when you aren't here!" 

"I'll never not be here. Problem solved."

His declaration was so sure, so matter of fact, that it left Patrice no room for retort. So she resorted to schoolyard antics. 

It was her turn to mock him with an exaggerated, deep voice. "Problem solved. Push the damn cart since you got so much energy." 

He obliged without protest and a proud, self-satisfied grin that Patrice couldn't see while she led the way to the register. An unexpected system error had halted all transactions, leaving them log jammed in a long line of restless customers. 

Together, they stood sharing light banter and running through weekend tasks, resembling any other couple making a store run to strangers observing them from the outside looking in. Former acquaintances, however, had no problem drawing attention to the pair from three spots back in line. 

"I know that ain't who I think it is." Both Patrice's and Terry's eyes darted up to find the source of the loud outburst, only to whisper 'fuck’ in tandem when they spotted Katrina Spivey waving her arms to grab their attention. "Hey, Terry Richmond!" 

Terry pretended to ignore being singled out by turning his back, earning a stifled laugh from Patrice. Katrina, not one to be deterred, used the moment to push past patrons in line until she reached her destination with a host of angry faces in her wake. 

"Well, if it ain't Mr. and Miss Homecoming in the flesh. You two finally stopped kidding around and got married?" 

"No," Terry answered without much explanation, his back still turned. Patrice reluctantly made up his slack. 

"What Terry meant to say was that we're not married. We're not together at all, actually. But he's here to visit me for a while." 

"What a blessing it is to have friends you can lean on when you need a helping hand."

"Amen."

An awkward tension settled into the conversation's lull, compounded by Terry's outright refusal to engage. Patrice was in deep water without a paddle and a co-captain who had already jumped ship.

Katrina wouldn't let the conversation end and take her newfound place in line. She continued to pry.

"Both of y'all look good! How long has it been since we last saw each other, huh? Gotta be since Terry's graduation send-off." 

Patrice feigned interest with a hollow smile. "Yeah, I think that was it. A looong time ago. All grown up now."

"And thank God for it! I remember how sad you looked all night because ol' Terry was moving away. Like a little crying puppy!" 

Katrina's laughter didn't quite reach Terry or Patrice, who bristled at mentioning one of the more contentious nights in their friendship. 

"Everybody's been a little young and dumb, right? Like when you and BJ got caught underneath the bleachers during state championships." 

Checkmate. A little reminder of her indiscretions had turned Katrina's condescending smile into a mean mug that could burn through anyone not equally as stubborn. 

Terry showed his approval with a light nudge against Patrice's arm. That was his girl. Sweet as pie but a tongue coated in venom when backed against the wall. He'd been on the receiving end on one too many occasions. It felt good to be on the winning side this time. 

Three seconds of a Western standoff had culminated in a gift sent via store intercom. 

"Apologies for the stoppage, folks. Our registers are back up and running. Thanks for your patience." 

Terry moved the cart to place items on the conveyor belt while Patrice waited for the conversation to resume.

Recovering from the sharp end of a verbal lashing, Katrina cleared her throat and grabbed hold of her cart in preparation to skip lines. 

"Well, I don't wanna hold y'all too much longer. If y'all don't think you're too good to mingle with us Francis High Hornets anymore, Corey's throwing a little Juneteenth gathering at his daddy's pool hall. This is my personal invite for the both of you."

"We were already invited. Maybe we'll make an appearance." 

"That'd be grand." 

"I bet it would."

Nice nasty smiles passed between the two foes until Katrina was off to harass some other unsuspecting patron. 

Patrice tried to let go of her frustration with an angry huff before turning to catch up with Terry, who was casually moving groceries from the bagging station to the shopping basket. He waited a moment before acknowledging the obvious. 

"You over it now, or do I need to iron a shirt for tonight?" 

"I'm over it," Patrice answered plainly. She calmly handed over payment for the day's groceries and smiled ever so sweetly to bid the cashier farewell. To an outsider, she'd returned to her zen state without much effort. Terry was no outsider and kept a cautious eye on her as they loaded bags into the trunk and got settled in the front seat of her SUV. 

"You sure you're good," he asked as he backed out of their parking space. 

"I'm sure, TJ," she answered with almost too much enthusiasm. Terry started a mental countdown for the other shoe to drop. "I'll iron the shirt. You need to shave." 

--------

The final verdict? A plain white T-shirt. 

An hour of searching, choosing, rejecting, and choosing again led them to a plain, crisp white tee. Patrice said it went better with her yellow wrap dress, which she chose because her girlfriends were all in dresses, and she wanted to match the occasion. It all sounded like made-up bullshit to Terry. Still, he accepted being treated like a Ken Doll because it meant that his Barbie would agree to a two-hour hard stop at the festivities. 

He'd already started his stopwatch when they pulled up on a busy street in front of an even busier hole in the wall.

The smell of fresh grease greeted them upon crossing the threshold from outside into Mister C's Bar and Lounge. Fried fish, French fries, and wings in any flavor you could ask for sat in the service window, waiting for their delivery to any one of the patrons packed from wall to cinderblock wall. Terry inhaled deeply and let his scowl drop for one second to fantasize about a bite of Corey Sr.'s signature catfish and fries basket. 

Next came the familiar mix of sweat and weed near the dancefloor as bodies intertwined to some GloRilla song neither of them recognized. Thick traffic in the center of the room paused Patrice on her path to the pool tables, locking her between Terry and a crowd that wouldn't budge. 

"Excuse me!" she shouted over a swell of crowd reaction to a new song. "I need to get by!" 

No response. Not even a look back as she used a hand to create space between her and a group of men debating nonsense. Before she could try again, Terry used one hand to push her forward and his voice to clear the way. 

"Yo, step out of the way. We need to get through." Direct and to the point. He left no room for misinterpretation, and his baritone's boom left no confusion about who was calling the shots. Patrice watched with her lips slightly parted in awe. 

The first reaction to his demand was the embers of confrontation. Each member of the group sized Terry up, noticing his heavy scowl and size in comparison to their own. Then, they realized that this wasn't a winning game. 

The flashiest of the group nodded, though disdain at the mere suggestion that he was in the way kept his mouth in a tight frown. "Yeah, you good, OG. My fault." 

Another light push propelled Patrice forward as Terry maintained with each man until they had passed. 

Once they were out of the mix and nearing their destination, he advised, "Stay close." Patrice nodded her compliance, shocking Terry into a slight smile in appreciation for her obedience. 

Sparks of electricity shot between them but had no time to turn into a total current before Corey called out to them. 

"Treece! Terry! We over here!" 

Surrounded by familiar faces from Francis Edward's Class of 2010, Corey welcomed them with open arms and his ever-present 100-watt smile. At a slight 5'6", 150 on his best day, he'd always been larger than his frame would suggest. Loud and flamboyant had always been the name of his game, earning him anything he set his sights on.

It didn't take long for the trio and Corey's wife, June, to fall into familiar habits and friendly jabs at one another as they took their seats in a makeshift VIP section by the pool tables. The Three-Headed Monster was their moniker in high school, and they moved like a military force. Terry was the enforcer, while Corey and Patrice served as judge and prosecutor. If you had an issue with one, you had an issue with all three. 

"Your security is lax. Who trained them?" Terry pointed out during a dead spot in conversation. 

Corey followed his eyeline to the two young men standing at the door and back. "My boy at the sheriff's office. What you see?" 

"They look soft. It wouldn't take much to overpower them and get in for some drama. You only have one exit. Somebody breeches this place, and you're on the hook for a tragedy. Plus, the one on the left is scared. He'll be the first to leave if things get hot. Watch him."

"Impressive," June remarked, smiling at Patrice, who subtly playfully waved her off.

"Hm." Corey took a long pull from his cigar, taking in the information before responding." You here for a minute, T? I got some connections over at Liberty if you looking to get back in the swing of things." 

"Contract?" 

"Whatever you need, man. You know I'm good for it."

Terry looked over at Patrice for some indication that she believed in Corey, and she returned with a subtle nod and encouraging smile. June looked between them and then at her husband before clearing her throat. 

"It looks like Kel and his boy are back on the pool table. You know he still owes you a game from when he cheated last week." 

"Hell yeah," Corey agreed as he turned in his seat to get a look at his enemy. "Aye, T, you trynna make $100 real quick?" 

"It's either that or you gotta come dance with me," Patrice challenged. "This rum and pineapple got me feeling a little loose." 

She wasn't lying. A taste of alcohol in her system was starting to make her want to explore parts of the Patrice she thought she left at North Carolina A&T. Every heart-rattling thump of Megan Thee Stallion's latest and greatest had her thinking about reminding everyone in the room that she could move with the best of them. 

Her little grind in her seat made Terry show teeth in a small grin before he stood to his full height and looked down at her. His eyes were hooded and dreamy from some combination of exhaustion and a contact high, reintroducing that spark from before.

"Don't go too far. I'll be back with your money in a little bit." 

Patrice's tongue felt too heavy to respond coherently past a punch-drunk nod. June watched her watch him make his way down the platform and into the crowd until both men were out of earshot. 

She whistled and shook her head. "That's a good-looking man, ain't he?" 

"Who? Corey? He alright. He's like a slightly more attractive Taye Diggs." 

"First off, ouch," June laughed. "Second, I was talking about Terry. He was cute in high school, but I'll be damned if that second puberty didn't take him to a whole 'nother level." 

"Don't tell him that. His head is big enough."

"You know you wrong for that." If the music weren't so loud, everyone in the building would've heard the pair guffawing over Patrice's petty insult. 

Once they contained themselves, June took a sip from her margarita and shifted in her seat to get closer to Patrice.

"He likes you still." Five plain words shook Patrice internally as she struggled to maintain a poker face. June continued. "I see the way he looks for your approval and damn near trips on himself to fulfill your every whim. You're all he talks about when he and Corey get on the phone." 

"They talk?" 

"From time to time. I think he needs a man's opinion sometimes, you know?" 

Patrice wrestled with the influx of information as June continued. 

"That man is mean as a snake. Always has been and always will be. But, you bring something out of him. Even if you can't always see it." 

"If that were the case, things would've been different for us back then." 

June shrugged. "Maybe. Or maybe you're right where you're supposed to be. I know I can't make you do what you don't wanna do, but if what I say means anything, focus on today. Thirty-two-year-old Terry is so much more prepared to love you than eighteen-year-old Terry was." 

Punctuating her advice, June tapped Patrice's leg twice before taking a step away to refill their tray of food. 

Focus on today.

The words replayed in her mind repeatedly; even after their two hours were up, Terry had returned $100 richer, and they were back on the road to their quiet slice of the world. 

They rode together in content quiet, letting the Quiet Storm host talk while Terry tapped his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the music. 

Randomly, he would glance in her direction, assuming she had lost the sleep battle to her old friend Bacardi. When he reached over to adjust the air vent on her side of the car, he was surprised when she mumbled a low "thank you." 

"My bad. I thought you were sleeping." 

"No. My head is swimming, though. Don't let me drink that much anymore." she laughed. 

He chuckled along with her but didn't agree to keep her from letting her hair down occasionally. In his eyes, seeing her relaxed and carefree was a gift to the world. 

The opening notes of Tevin Campbell's "I'm Ready" swirled around them, sounding like a secret message to Patrice as she focused on streetlights to keep the contents of her dinner inside her stomach. 

"Hey," she whispered before she could catch herself. Terry acknowledged her with a glance. "Do you think you're still scared?" 

"Of what?" 

"Of whatever kept you away for so long?"

He thought for a moment, wanting to make sure he was clear with his word. "No. I was never afraid of you. I was afraid of bringing you along for a ride I might not survive. That's not a threat anymore. So, no, I'm not scared anymore."

You know I'm ready

To love you

Forever 

Patrice reached across the center console until she reached Terry's hand to interlock her fingers with his. He gave her an appreciative squeeze without taking his eyes off the road. 

"I-I don't think I'm scared anymore either."

Her heart raced wildly behind her ribs, and Patrice was that if Terry pressed his wrist close enough to hers, he could feel her pulse accelerate. He didn't mind either way. Sweaty palms and trembling fingers would never be enough for him to let her go. Not again. 

As if she'd break if he moved too fast, Terry brought her hand to his lips slowly. One kiss. Another. Two more. And a final one for good measure. 

When he'd had his fill of her skin, he pressed the spot up against his cheek. He needed to feel and absorb her until they were one body. 

But, for tonight at least, this was enough.

TAGS: @planetblaque @wvsspoppin @thatone-girly @oniccah @avoidthings @slutsareteacherstoo @eilujion @amyhennessyhouse

[supernatural-bias]

𝐁𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐀 𝐌𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐀𝐭 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐚𝐳𝐛𝐢𝐧 𝐇𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐥 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

↳ warnings: mentions of cannibalism and porn

↳ song: hit the road jack—ray charles

↳ notes: i can't believe i'm posting this (derogatory)

masterlist | commissions | carrd

• You had decided to move into the hotel after a particularly flashy poster caught your eye

• You were just walking to your run down apartment from a shift at your work, messing with the frayed ends of your sleeves, when a burst of neon red and yellow entered your field vision

• It was a poorly drawn advertisement colored head to toe in bright hues and glitter, advertising a hotel that would offer you a shot of getting out of hell

• With a shrug and a tug of the poster, you slipped it off the brick wall and into your pocket

• It’s not like you had anything else going on, and a free room was a free room. Besides; if the redemption thing turned out to be real, that would just be an added bonus

• Upon arriving at the doorstep of the hotel a few days later with a duffel bag in hand and the other rapping against the front door, you were nearly knocked over by a thin demon with red cheeks excitedly asking if you were there to check in

• “Oh my gosh hi! How are you! Because you look amazing and oh my gosh I’m so happy you’ve decided to check in!” She all but shouted in your ear. Cringing slightly, you leaned away from her embrace to slip inside

• “I’m guessing you don’t get a lot of guests?” You asked slowly as she closed the door behind you, some nearby dust stirring up at the action. The inside looked to empty to be a hotel

• “Nope!”

• Your first sign that you were getting more than you had bargained for should have been the sound of scuttling feet as a small demon made her way across your feet to impale a bug on her claws. She was lightly scolded for ‘accidently frightening our new addition’ before running off with the insect

• "Sorry about that! Nifty is really passionate about her job." The demon next to you laughed nervously. You just shifted your weight and nodded awkwardly in response

• Looking a few feet over to the living area, there was a lanky fellow covered in fuzz and lounging on a sad looking couch. He was flicking through channels on a T.V. You caught them occasionally landing on one and laughing before moving on, never staying entertained for too long

• The demon caught your eye, and waved two of his four hands at you in a lazy greeting

• “Oh, that’s Angel Dust! Our other resident." The woman, you now knew as Charlie, fussed. “He’s been with us for a few months, and has shown incredible progress! Something I’m sure you will find yourself doing!” She bounced on the balls of her feet happily while steering you around by the shoulders

• “Uh huh.” You couldn’t help but nod slowly, only now noticing that the channels Angel had been focusing on were blasting various types of porn shows

• A hasty tour was promptly carried out through the rest of the building. You were shown different rooms, all in various states of decay, while simultaneously meeting the other hotel inhabitants

• A fierce lady with a spear— Vaggie, as she had been introduced as —didn’t seem too up for conversation, only giving Charlie a peck on the cheek and you a suspicious glare before climbing a pair of stairs to take care of something else

• Back downstairs, the local bartender didn’t even bother to look at you, instead mumbling something under his breath while playing cards with a snake like demon

• “Don’t take it to heart. Husk is a big sweetheart, really.” Charlie waved at you with a closed eye smile, missing the way that Husk flipped her off grumpily. “And that’s Sir Pentious over there! Besides Angel Dust, and now you I guess, he’s our only guest.”

• The snake simply offered a loud and hissing hello before demanding with theatrical outrage that Husk was cheating. At least you think it was theatrical outrage. He seemed high strung either way

• But by far, the most memorable staff member you met on the tour was a tall demon with a red suit and fluffy ears; the likes of which you and Charlie had barged in on as he ate a plate of what looked like flesh. Whether animal, or something else, you couldn’t tell

• “Finally, this is our facility manager, Alastor! He helps out with all kinds of things here, and will be a key element in your redeeming process.” Your cheery guide announced. She seemed to ignore the slight tension in the air as the other member in the room smiled tightly, but the feeling disappeared as the tall demon stood up in greeting

• “Why Charlie!” Alastor’s voice crackled with heavy static, reminding you of audio from a gramophone. Or perhaps one of those old fashioned radio’s. “If I knew we were having company, I would have made myself more presentable!” He chuckled without ever looking anywhere but you

• You had to tilt your head up to look at him completely. There wasn’t a wrinkle on his suit, and every one of his hairs sat perfectly on his head. Even his monocle appeared to be freshly polished

• “Presentable.” You said slowly and without emotion, aware of Alastor’s highetened gaze on you. “Right.”

• Charlie was quick to get you to your new room after that

• It was weird, trying to fall into a rhythm with a group of people that had already become so aquatinted with one another, but you managed

• The trust exercises were cheesy and took too long, chores were a daily task for everyone, and Alastor snuck around in the shadows too much for your liking, but at least you had a place to live

• Besides. Who was to say you couldn’t make a few friends along the way?

[sinnabarmoth]

Tribute for the Dragon (1/18)

Pairing: Dragon|Sylus x Fem|Reader

Summary: Reader is sent up the mountain as a sacrifice to the dragon in exchange for his help protecting her village. The dragon is not what she was expecting, neither was his offer.

Content Warnings: None

Length: 3k

Chapters: (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18)

Read on AO3

Never did you think the village would rejoice a dragon moving into the nearby mountain. But that was before the war had taken its toll and all the young able bodied men from your village. Now, with your town so close to the border, you realized how dangerous a position your home was in. Foreign bandits had already come through more than once to disturb the peace of your village and make off with whatever they could carry. It was a hardship you could not sustain.

So when someone said they had spotted a dragon flying around the nearby mountain it was not seen as an ill omen, but perhaps a miracle in disguise. If you could somehow make a contract with this dragon to protect the village, then you would not fear bandits any longer. The only problem then was, what do you offer a dragon? Most of the valuables in town had been pilfered by bandits already and giving up any more would mean you could no longer trade or order needed supplies.

If stories of dragons had taught you anything, one things dragons valued as much as gold was a beautiful maiden. It was all your village had to offer and it was soon agreed that the loss of one life to save the many was a worthy sacrifice.

Every maiden in the village that was of age was to put their name in a raffle. Whosoever’s name was drawn would be the sacrifice. Maybe it was destiny or a cruel joke that you heard your name called that fateful grey morning. In an instant you were no longer a part of the village, daughter to the local glassmaker, you were to be given as tribute to the dragon in hopes of protecting your village. A sacrifice.

There was nothing for you to pack to go up the mountain. Why would there be? You were just going up there to die anyway. You could only pray the dragon would make it quick and that they did indeed hold up their side of the bargain you needed to make.

You sat in your bedroom for the last time as you were done up by the other women in the village. Sacrifices had to be their most beautiful before they were devoured. Beautiful clothes. Jewelry. Your hair and make up done just so. It would have made you feel like a princess if it were not for the fact you knew what it was all for.

The only part of you that was not prettied by your entourage of misty-eyed peers were your shoes. Climbing the mountain in the dress was already going to be hard enough. You weren’t going to suffer in delicate silk slippers all the way too. The dragon wouldn’t be able to see your old boots under the dress anyway.

When it was all over everyone filed out of your room to give you some privacy, and a chance to say your final goodbyes to your father.

You had not seen him since the women had come over to help you bathe and dress. He stood in the doorway now, face gleaming with sweat and eyes shining with tears.

“Father,” you shot from your seat and hugged him tight.

“You’re going to ruin your dress hugging me. I’m filthy from work.”

“I don’t care.” you cried into his chest.

“My sweet pea,” he sighed, hugging you back fiercely. “You say the word and we’ll leave. We’ll hop on a pair of horses and run from the village. Let them sacrifice someone else to this dragon.”

You wiped your eyes, not caring if your make up was smudged or not. “If not me, it will be someone else’s daughter or sister or friend. And if it protects you, then I think it worthwhile.”

“You’re my daughter. You’re not supposed to sacrifice anything for your parents, that’s our job.” he brushed the tears from his eyes, “You do not have to do this. We can find another way.”

“If we do nothing then the village will not survive. Either one of us dies for a worthy cause or we all watch each other die when our village is raided again. You cannot put everyone ahead of me. I will not let you.” you squeezed his hands. “I don’t want to spend what will most likely be our final moments together arguing over what cannot be changed. Please.”

He sighed, his breathing shaky. “Without you, I have no one. But if there is anything I know about you it is that you are stubborn.” he fished something out of his pocket. “I thought you may not try to run so I made you this.”

In his hands he held out a small glass charm on a simple beaded chain. The charm was of a blood moonflower. He placed it in your hands. “Maybe you’ll fly away too, like the girl in the story.”

You held the memento of your favorite childhood fairy tale close to your heart. “Maybe.” you hugged your father again, “I love you.”

“I love you too, sweet pea.” he pressed a kiss to your forehead and walked you out of the house.

Everyone was waiting outside, lined in two rows to see you off as you walked past them and out of the village. It was a custom for weddings and funerals…you knew which one this was considered. You didn’t dare look back, just kept your gaze straight and your head high as you left the village and began your ascent up the mountain.

Thankfully there was a clear trail up to the top of the mountain. There had been a time when the mountain was being mined for ore but it turned out that not a lot was found inside so after a while it was abandoned. The tunnels that had been carved through it were still there and that was where you suspected the dragon had decided to nest.

You climbed for hours, thanking your foresight to wear your normal boots instead of slippers. Maybe you should have insisted on a horse for this journey. Weren’t pure white horses a part of these maiden sacrifice tales? You already looked less like a beautiful young maiden come to throw yourself at the mercy of a dragon and more like a bedraggled beggar in a pilfered dress.

Your dress covered in dust from the climb, your make up was smudged from crying and sweating, the jewelry felt like it was weighing you down by ten pounds, and you were starving. You could barely manage to eat anything that morning and it was coming back to haunt you now. What did it matter if you were hungry since you were going to be eaten yourself soon anyway?

Finally after what felt like a lifetime of climbing you came to the large open cave entrance of the mountain. Once you stepped inside there was no going back. You could still run. Flee to the next closest village, pawn off the jewelry and live a life of anonymity, cowardice, and guilt. No. You had to do this.

You stood there stuck, trying to find the courage to take that first step inside. “It’ll be over soon. It’ll be over soon. It’ll be over soon.” you whispered to yourself.

“What will be over soon?”

“Gods above!” you shrieked, jumping away from the sudden voice.

You turned around and saw a man, but he was not exactly a man. He certainly looked like a handsome human man with a shock of silver hair. But there was more of nightmare about him than any man you had seen before. His arms were encased in jagged black armor that grew into his chest to a glowing red gem in the center. Tall black horns sprouted from his head and a large scaly tail flicked behind him. It was his eyes that entranced you the most though, out of everything that you had seen in the instant you turned to look at him. His eyes were red as rubies and they glinted as if a fire flickered inside them.

You should have been scared. Whoever this man was he was not entirely human, possibly not human at all despite the initial physique. What came out instead was, “Who in the hells are you?” 

His brow furrowed and he crossed his arms over his chest. He spoke in a deep and smooth baritone that shocked you almost as much as his appearance. “You have a lot of gall to travel to someone else’s home and ask who they are so rudely. I want to know why you are here.”

“Your home?” it was your turn to look confused. Suddenly his appearance started to make more sense. “Are you a servant of the dragon that lives in this mountain?

There was a certain mirth that softened his gaze as curiosity settled in. “You seek the dragon? What for? Come to slay him? If so,” he started to circle you slowly, raking his eyes up and down as if he was appraising an expensive vase, “you do not look like much of a warrior.”

“I’m not here to do any slaying, quite the opposite in fact. I’ve come to beseech the dragon’s help.”

“Help? What for?”

“If you must know, my village down in the glen is being threatened by foreign bandits. All the people that would have been capable of defending the villager were taken to join the king’s army, leaving us defenseless. I was sent up here to ask the dragon to protect us…I mean, them.” your hands balled into fists.

“A rather large boon,” he stroked his chin with his sharpened black claws, “And who are you that they sent you and no one else to ask this favor?”

“Hardly a favor.” you scoffed. “I am both messenger and sacrifice. In return for protecting my village I am to give myself over to the dragon.”

“I see.” he stopped his pacing. He gave you one more assessing look then nodded. “Alright. I will accept this offering.”

“What?”

“I said I would accept, in exchange I will protect your little village.”

“Oh no, I need to ask the dragon--”

His tail suddenly lashed out and wrapped around your torso, pulling you close to him. Your heart was beating faster than a hummingbird’s wings. The man wore a bored expression which put you more ill at ease than if he was outright scowling.

“I know I do not look exactly look like my brethren but you do know that humans do not have tails, right?” the tail squeezed you tighter to emphasize his point.

“You are the dragon?” You knew you had never seen a dragon before but from every description that anyone has ever given about them, they certainly did not look like this. If this man was a dragon, did that mean that all dragons had a semi-humanoid form they could shift into? Was he a different breed of dragon no one had ever seen? Or was he lying?

“Obviously.” he released you and you staggered to find your footing again. “Now come along inside, let us discuss this arrangement further.”

You didn’t know if you could trust this person, this dragon. You had come to this mountain prepared to be eaten alive, snapped in the jaws of a huge and terrifying dragon. But if this was the dragon, you had to wonder how he could possibly help your village. You also began to debate if there was something else you should fear from him than mere death.

Without any other options you followed him into the cave, for better or worse. You followed him down a tunnel and came into a room with a firepit in the center and random crates, pans, sacks, and other odds and ends scattered throughout. Off to the side of this mayhem was a table and chairs that he sat down at. You took the other seat still unsure as to what your fate was exactly to be now.

“So you want me to protect your village.” he said. “That is easily done. And in return, you are mine. What is it you provide that makes you so valuable to a dragon?”

“I do not know.” you kept your hands clasped tightly in your lap. “I came up here expecting to die, but if you have more use of me alive than I would have to say I prefer that. Specifics pending, of course.”

“What do you know how to do?”

“I can cook, clean, read, write, have a fair knowledge of sewing, a decent singing voice I suppose, I worked with my father making glass for years, no brilliant or exceedingly special talents I can think of right now.”

“That is already more than enough.” he gestured to the room. “As you can see, this mountain is not exactly in the best shape. I’ve been too busy to clean. So that and cooking can be a part of your duties from now on.”

“Understood.”

“Good.” he nodded. “Now, while you are here you are not to leave. But you will not be treated as a prisoner either. You may go where you wish in mountain, except for few select rooms. But I will be sure to let you know which those are.”

“I understand.” this was going far better than you could have hope. You got to live and your village would be safe and all you had to do was clean? Maybe cook some meals? It was a far step up from death at least!

“For now, I will show you where you will be staying.” he stood up again.

“Staying?” you hurried after him.

“Would you prefer I add you to my hoard?” he asked, his tone light with humor. “You are free to but I doubt you will find the treasure comfortable to sleep on.”

You were led down a series of tunnels, they were illuminated with bioluminescent fungi that grew along the walls. It truly felt as if you had walked into another world. You eventually came to another large room, this one was illuminated with candles though. The glowing mushrooms also grew in here but they stuck more to the ceiling, like little blueish green stars looking down on you.

The room was bare except for a large ornate chest pushed against one wall and a massive bed in the center. How and when did a bed this big end up in this cave?

“I did not know what to expect from a dragon’s fortress but it was not this.” you spun in a circle, taking in the room.

“Did you think I slept on a giant pile of gold coins?” the dragon asked, leaning against the wall.

You shrugged. “Then again, you aren’t what I was expecting to find up here either.”

“Hmph,” he gave you a smug smile. “Goose feather mattresses and silk sheets are much easier on the back. You’ve had a long journey, I will give you time to settle in.”

With that he turned around and left. You stood in the center of the room at a loss for what to do next. You pulled the charm your father had given you out of your pocket and held it close. There was a chance that you could leave the mountain yet. As long as you were nice and didn’t cause trouble the dragon would protect your village, and maybe someday in the future you could convince him to let you return home.

Some time later the dragon called you to come eat. You followed him back to the room you supposed was supposed to be some kind of kitchen and sat down. A plate piled high with meat skewers sat in front of you and nothing else.

“Is this it?” you peered over the pile at him.

The dragon was already biting off a chunk of meat from one of them, juices dribbling down his chin. “I am a dragon, my diet rarely consists of anything else.”

“Right.” you took one of the skewers and bit into it. The meat was tough but it was cooked through at least. “Since I’m going to be living here now, what should I call you?”

“Well,” he leaned back in his chair, “if you are my servant now, that should mean you should call me master.”

Your face burned with the indignity of it but you couldn’t exactly say no in your position. “I see.”

He smiled again, his teeth were just a touch too sharp to be considered human. “Try it.” he said.

You swallowed the dry lump of meat and looked him dead in his eyes. “Thank you for the meal…master.”

His smile grew and you knew he was enjoying this a little too much. He dropped his gaze with a small chuckle. “Yes, well, I am sure you will provide better meals in the future.”

The rest of the meal passed mostly in silence and then you returned to the room you were given. You stripped out of the many adornments and layers of finery until you were in the chemise and nothing else. At least this would be comfortable to sleep in. If you had thought that you weren’t going to die coming up the mountain you would have brought a change of clothes.

You slid into the bed, the fine mattress and sheets did little to ease your tossing and turning as you wondered what your future was to be now.

[vxtanne31]

As the Night Crawls

Takes place during the seven years of Silco’s control of the Undercity.

Wrote this because I wanted to see more of Sevika with someone who matched her energy.

First time writing so be nice please : One shot Sevika/Reader

Sevika/you (OC nickname is Cannon)

(Muscle mommy/ Dom fem energy reader)

Warnings: 18+, Oral (r!receiving,Sev receiving), fingering, tribbing, (switches) F/F men and minors DNI

*two years prior*

Zaun, what a shit show, but a shit show which was your home. With most of your family dead or hooked on the latest drug, you weren’t about to sink in that hole with them. A bag slung over your shoulder, you entered the noisy halls of a club you knew Silco owned.

You had an appointment with him. He saw you take down a man twice your size outside the Last Drop and gave you his card.

“Tomorrow, 9pm sharp.”’

You took it without delay, knowing that to work for him might be a dangerous game, but it would pay well.

And now you were here, this place used to be a more cozy bar until Silco started running these streets. Shimmer, the purple powerful drug found everywhere, was his biggest source of income.

You walked into the loud club and headed up the stairs Silco directed you to do yesterday. He was looking for some extra muscle and you weren’t gonna leave without that job.

You walked up, knocking at the door.

“Come in,” you heard a voice say.

You opened it and looked around Silco’s office, neatly done but not ornate.

He swiveled in his chair to face you, “right on time. Good.”

You stepped in, shutting the door behind you. You said nothing, knowing your smart mouth could get you into trouble. Best to let Silco do the talking. Men like him preferred it anyway.

“I saw your work yesterday. You seem to know your way around a fight. Could use someone like you. Have any other skills I would find…useful?” Silco gave you a once over before looking back at the papers on his desk.

You set your bag on the floor. “I am a pretty good negotiator. Used to bargain some good deals for my father who was a mechanic. I am pretty handy as well.”

Silco thrummed his long fingers against his wooden desk. “How old are you girl?”

You wanted to quip back at him for calling you ‘girl’, but decided against it. “Twenty-Nine Sir.”

“You work well with others?” Silco picked up a piece of paper on his desk and looked over it.

“Depends who the ‘others’ are I suppose. I usually get along with almost anyone. Not here to make any waves. Just do my job.” You folded your hands behind your back, hoping you didn’t say too much.

“Family? They living?” Silco still didn’t bother to look at you.

“Either dead or disappeared. Just me to rely on, no one else.”

“Where do you live?” Silco’s eyes continued to scan the paper.

“My dad’s old shop. But it’s kind of rundown. One of the men who you were with yesterday told me to pack a bag.”

Silco finally met your eyes. “I own a few apartment buildings. I like those who work with me to live close, in case there are any late night… disturbances that need handling.”

There was another knock on the door. “Enter,” Silco flicked the paper back on the desk.

In walked a woman who you hadn’t seen before. Tall as hell, imposing, with piercing silver eyes and a tightly packed muscled frame that you knew could cause some real damage.

“You wanted to speak with me?” Sevika’s gaze drifted over to you, brow raised in a quizzical nature. She had seen you around before, tough little thing you were. Maybe not so little but at least three to four inches shorter than Sevika.

“Sevika, meet your new partner.” Silco motioned his hand to you.

You could tell by the long drawn out silence that Sevika did not like this news.

“Why do I need a partner? I’m doing fine on my own.” Sevika’s eyes narrowed, taking a swig of whatever bottle was in her hand.

“Because I have money out on the streets and I need more muscle to collect. Show her the ropes, it’s not up for discussion Sevika.”

Sevika’s lip curled as she strode up to you, finally getting a good look. You’re dressed mostly in black, your tight leather pants that showed off your thick thighs, you didn’t have much of an hour glass but had some strong abdominals and well muscled arms.

“Name, doll face?” Sevika licked the top row of her teeth as she bent to look down at you. She smelled of cigar smoke. By the way she stood over you, you could tell she was trying to intimidate.

“Y/N…but my actual nickname is Cannon” you matched her energy, your eyes studying her from head to toe. She wore a red cloak over her left side, a cropped vest that showed off her impressive lower abdomen, and metaltoe boots.

Sevika smirked, slightly impressed that you didn’t waver under her scrutiny. “Doll face suits you better.”

You matched her smirk and took a step closer, getting into Sevika’s personal space. “And what nickname should I give you? Sweet cheeks, pretty eyes, big mama? Take your pick.”

This made Sevika’s lips part in surprise. No one ever had the gall to speak to her so casually.

Before she could respond, Silco cleared his throat. “I expect you two to get along. Sevika, she will be living in the west building a floor below you. Show her to her place.”

Silco threw Sevika a set of keys which she caught easily in the air. “Come with me, don’t fall behind.” Sevika turned on her heals and walked out Silco’s office.

Sevika led you a few narrow streets down and up the stairs to a small apartment on the third floor. You stood behind her as she fumbled with the keys in the door and pushed it open. 345, your apartment number. “This is yours, already furnished.”

You stepped in as Sevika held the door open for you, studying the place. Not too bad, furniture definitely old but manageable. Everything you could need and hopefully with a decent salary you could make some improvements.

While you meandered around your new place, Sevika stewed in her thoughts. How dare Silco suggest she need help. She was doing just fine on her own. Wasn’t she? Hadn’t she given Silco everything? Sleepless nights on missions, broken bones, friends lost, what more could she do?

Sevika was too lost in her darkness to notice you had turned your attention back to her. “Ya know, it’s not my intention to step on any toes. I just need a job, gotta be able to feed myself and all.”

Sevika blinked to jog herself of her own thoughts and your set of keys on the kitchen counter. “Silco better be right about you. Can’t have someone slowing me down out there.” Sevika then moved her exposed hand to the doorknob and looked at the clock on the wall. “It’s late, I’ll be at your door at 8am. Be fucking ready.”

Without letting you get a word in, she slams the door behind her, the walls shaking at the force. “Well you’re gonna be an absolute fucking dream to work with,” You grumble and walked over to the bedroom.

You grumbled at the size of the full bed. First thing you were going to do with a paycheck was buy a queen sized bed and mattress. You hated small beds and liked stretching out. Couldn’t imagine someone as big as Sevika even having this bed.

That woman was going to be a handful to work with.

You threw yourself on the mattress and stared up at the ceiling. You smiled to yourself, thinking about how Sevika would be a hard one to crack. You enjoyed the difficult ones. You wanted to peel back her layers. Living in Zaun made you hard, and molded you into a jaded, tough person. You knew that better than anyone.

“This will be fun”

*two years later*

You leaned back a chair, your relaxed demeanor now common in the Last Drop as you watched Sevika play cards with her regulars. An arm was bent over the back of the chair as the other held the glass of brown liquor you nursed.

“Rotten luck boys,” Sevika smirked and threw down her cards. The smoke curled from her mouth as she took a drag of her cigarillo and exhaled.

Damn that bitch was good at gambling. You smirked at the men’s groans as Sevika gathered the chips on the table.

After years of chipping away at Sevika’s resolve, she seemed to have least grown to respect you. You’ve proved to be a smart, cunning and strong partner, ensuring you have her back when it comes to the hard jobs Silco puts you two in.

You still haven’t figured out what to do with your attraction to her. Call it narcissism but you admire the qualities you two had in common. You valued someone who handled her own, and whose presence brought fear and respect.

Sure, you and her discussed your flavors of the month, conquests of women. Most of them were feminine and pliant, easily submitting to you. There was always something missing for you. You knew deep down Sevika was that missing piece. The worst thought though was to ruin the friendship you had formed.

(Sevika’s POV)

Damn you were hot. The way you confidently leaned back in your chair, your impressively toned arms on display. Your hair was half up like hers, a little longer past your shoulders, short pieces of your curtain bangs falling in your face. You only had taken two sips of the drink she bought you.

You weren’t much of a drinker but you did sometimes steal a puff or two of her cigarillo. Sevika’s stomach would flip when you took it from her mouth to inhale the slightly sweet tasting Tobacco. No one in their right mind would ever dare to do such a thing, but you, you constantly pushed your boundaries with her, tested her.

Sevika felt a magnetic pull, she could spot you in a crowd, knew where you were at all times. It had taken years for you to chip away at her walls, to peel back her layers and earn her trust. She wasn’t one to divulge her secrets, or share her thoughts, but you forced her to talk. You knew every slight shift in her demeanor. She sometimes hated that you knew her so well, but it was oddly comforting.

You were a loyal friend to her, keeping a watchful eye around the room while Sevika played cards. You could have been flirting with the woman who was eyeing you from her place at the bar, but there you were, sitting next to her.

“You ever think about playing?” Sevika shuffled the cards before her, mechanical hand quite dexterous as she sent some of them flying to each player.

Your emerald eyes shifted from your glass to meet her’s, the devilish smirk plastered on your pretty lips. “Nah I like watching you win though, you’re usually so generous with me when it comes to drinks.”

“Don’t think you’ve paid for a drink in almost two years.” Sevika scoffed as she took her cigarette case out of her pocket to put another one in her metal mouthpiece.

Before she could find her lighter, you picked it up and flicked it open, leaning forward with your forearm resting on the table. “I’m just here to give you a light.”

Sevika leaned forward and inhaled, the end of the cigarillo catching light. “I can do it myself smart ass. Besides I see a pretty patron over there eyeing you.” Sevika motioned her head over to the bar.

You lazily rolled your head to where Sevika’s attention was. Sevika didn’t necessarily like you turning your attention to other women, but knew it was only ever just sex with them. You had mentioned time and time again how the job prevented you from making real connections. It would be too dangerous for your partner to have you as a girlfriend. You didn’t want the weakness.

If only you knew that you were Sevika’s weakness.

(Your POV)

You looked over to the pretty little thing in the tight purple dress. “Oh Veronica? She’s always a good time.”

She was up for anything, downright in love with the way your tongue moved across the soft flesh of her core. Most of the women you went after had enjoyed your skill, the way you could make their limbs turn to jello. You were a giving lover and they always came back for more.

Sevika’s pale grey eyes studied you. You never knew what she was thinking when she looked at you like that. Was it judgement? Jealousy? Was she jealous of you for having Veronica or was she jealous of Veronica for having you? You were not sure. You dared not hope for the latter. You wouldn’t speak of your attraction until she spoke first, lest you ruin your friendship.

“How long are you gonna string her along Cannon?” Sevika took a drag of her cigarillo and handed it to you.

You shrugged and took the cigarillo from Sevika, inhaling, letting the smoke exhale from your nose. “She knows I’m not looking for anything serious. She just wants a bit of fun, like me.”

“Yeah well, never works out well for you. They always get attached. Then I have to hear them whaling and throwing shit around when you tell them to leave.” Sevika watched the smoke billow from your mouth. Your apartment was directly under her’s and the walls were thin.

You chuckled, “yeah guess they can’t resist falling for me when I put my tongue to good use,” you hand the cigarillo back, resting both elbows on the table.

Sevika rolled her eyes and shook her head, “I’m sure you tell them what they want to hear.”

You pursed your lips, and nodded. “I guess I’m not entirely…innocent.”

Sevika was silent for a moment, studying your pretty face. She threw her cards on the table and yawned. “Alright I’m bored, everyone fuck off.”

You knew by ‘everyone,’ she didn’t mean you. Her men grumbled and collected whatever money Sevika didn’t take from them.

When everyone had vacated you and Sevika sat in silence. You knew she wanted to talk about something she didn’t want her men to hear. You waited for Sevika to speak first.

(Sevika pov)

Sevika’s heart thundered in her chest, making her feel like she was about to vomit. She wanted to tell you how she felt. She promised herself she’d do it tonight, before she had to watch you take another woman to your bed.

But how could she? You were the only one who ever stood toe to toe with her, who challenged her and wasn’t afraid. Sevika was also not accustomed to these feelings. You had broken down the emotional walls she spent her whole life building.

It was a good five minutes of just sitting there in silence. You preoccupied yourself with looking around the bar for a while until the silence got weird.

“You gonna say what you need to say or is this awkward silence just foreplay?” You quipped.

Your voice startled Sevika, the sarcastic tone irritating her already frazzled nerves. It was more than enough of a reason for her to swallow her feelings back down.

“You’re an annoying pain in the ass, you know that? I’m going home.” Sevika stood up hastily, the chair almost falling to the floor from the force.

You scoffed at her abrasiveness and folded your arms, leaning back. “What did I do?!”

Sevika opened her cigarette case and threw a cigarillo on your lap. “Since I know you’d ask me. Maybe one day you can buy some of your own. See you tomorrow.” With that Sevika stormed off, shoving those who didn’t get out of her way.

Sevika stewed as she made her way home. Why couldn’t you just shut up for once and let her talk? Why couldn’t you just read her mind? Why did she have to spell it out for you?

Sevika knew she wasn’t being fair but she wouldn’t apologize for what she said. You pissed her off with your cavalier attitude when she was trying to be serious.

(Your pov)

“What the fuck was that…” you seethed in your chair. Why did Sevika have to be such a fucking bitch?

One second she was your closest friend and the next she was cruel and spiteful. But what was she going to say to you?

You took the cigarillo from your lap and lit it, realizing Sevika had forgotten her lighter. You took a second to calm down and think about what had just occurred. As you were deep in thought, Veronica sauntered over and leaned over the table, her ample breasts on display in her dress.

“Haven’t heard from you in a while Cannon.” She cooed, sliding a fruity drink towards you.

You clench your jaw in annoyance at the interruption, then realization hit you. Sevika was trying to tell you something, probably serious or personal and you interrupted her. You made a stupid joke when she was trying to be real with you.

“Fuck,” you said out loud and got up, taking an inhale of the cigarillo before snuffing it out. “Gotta go,” you didn’t bother to look up at Veronica as you made your way out the door.

You knew that trying to talk to Sevika right now would be a poor choice. It was best to let her calm down.

You walked over to a little market and purchased a big box of cigarillos, enough to last at least a month and more fuel for the lighter.

You filled Sevika’s lighter and then asked the man at the counter for a pen and paper.

A few minutes later you walked up to Sevika’s door and placed the things on front of it. You pounded on the door three times and left back to your place.

The note read “sorry for being a dick-Cannon”

The next day Sevika didn’t acknowledge the things you left at her door, she doesn’t mention what happened, she only continues acting cold.

…………………….

Two weeks had gone by and Sevika acted like you were just her coworker. She didn’t even bother gambling after work as soon as she was done for the day. It was hurtful, you missed your friend, you didn’t know what you did wrong.

You both stood in Silco’s office, waiting for him to give the task for the day.

“I’m sending you both to the far side of Zaun to negotiate this deal for me. Get there tonight and check into the hotel. You’ll meet with the men tomorrow. I need this to go well. We need these supplies to be at a reasonable cost. Cannon, do what I pay you for, Sevika I need you to back her up.”

Sevika glanced over to you briefly and nodded, showing herself out. You followed her, walking quickly to catch up.

“Sev can you talk to me? I don’t get why you’re actin’ like this.”

Sevika’s jaw shifted in annoyance. “Don’t know what you’re talkin about. Go grab a bag and meet me at the front of the bar.

You narrowed your eyes, and without a second thought of the repercussions, grabbed Sevika’s shoulder. Sevika stopped walking immediately, almost frozen. Her sudden stillness would have had anyone preparing for a blow to their extremities. You knew Sevika wouldn’t hit you.

You decided to drop your cocky attitude for a second and let her know how much her coldness was effecting you.

“Sev, you’ve been my friend for years now. Just tell me how to fix it.” Your voice was filled with the sincere pleading and sorrow you wanted to convey.

Sevika didn’t turn around but looked at where your hand touched her. “It’s not you, I just gotta figure some shit out. Just drop it.”

You let Sevika walk out of your grasp and watch her disappear into the crowded streets of Zaun.

(Sevika’s pov)

Sevika cursed herself as she walked away from you, refusing to look back at your crushed expression.

She was trying to distance herself from you to avoid her feelings. If she ignored you enough, perhaps she could trick herself into thinking she no longer wanted you.

It was getting harder and harder for her to do so. She missed you, missed your laugh, missed your friendship. She was alone again, alone with her sadness, alone with her anger and frustration. But what was the alternative? To watch you eventually connect with another woman and fall in love? For you to give someone else the affection she so desperately craved? Maybe at some point she could return as your friend. She had to rid herself of the feelings first.

(Hours later. Your POV)

You and Sevika checked into the hotel room Silco’s assistant booked for you. Not a separate room but a room with two full beds which you managed with a little smooth talking to upgraded to two queens. No way in hell were you sleeping on a tiny little bed.

You knew Sevika wanted to argue about sharing a room. You didn’t give her time to argue, nor were you going to let her avoid your presence like that. It was childish and frankly, you didn’t deserve the silent treatment shit she was putting you through. All the years you have been working with Sevika, you knew that you were the more emotionally mature one. Maybe you were more reckless, sure, but you knew how to express how you were feeling without resorting to ignoring people.

When you got to the room, you were surprised that it wasn’t a complete shithole. It was near a port outside the seediest part of the under city, almost towards topside.

You threw your bag on the bed closest to the door, letting Sevika take the window bed. You felt gross from the travel, sticky from the sweat of the summer heat. You took off your half cloak, similar to Sevika’s, and hung it up on the closet.

Sevika threw herself on her own bed, the mattress squeaking in protest at the sudden weight. She let one leg hang off the bed as she lit a cigarillo.

“Wanna go and grab a drink?” You suggested, trying to break the awkward silence.

“I’m good here,” Sevika quipped, not even looking at you.

‘Fine be a child.’ You thought to yourself. You started removing the buckles of your vest, revealing a cropped tank underneath. “I’m gonna take a shower.”

You threw the tank over your head and walked onto the bathroom, your naked back to Sevika. You shut the door and turned the water on, the nice shower steaming up the room.

(Sevika POV)

Sevika felt as though she might crack a molar with how hard she clench her jaw. Fuck, how did ignoring you only make her want you more? This was not her. She was Silco’s right hand, the most feared woman in Zaun. Cocky, arrogant, sure of herself, not some simpering woman who fell apart from the mere sight of your naked back.

Sevika took a long drag of her cigarillo, the smoke on an empty stomach churning her insides. She snuffed it out on the ashtray and sat up on the edge of the bed, gripping the mattress with her flesh hand till her knuckles turned white.

She was losing her cool, she wanted the upper hand. She imagined herself undressing, opening the bathroom door and pinning you against the shower wall. She could have you falling apart with her skilled fingers in just a few minutes. Sevika could wipe that cocky look off your face with one swipe of her tongue.

“No,fuck..” she shook her head of those salacious thoughts, her heart thundering as though she had decided to act on her impulse. Sevika stood up, walking to the mini fridge and swung it open, glass clinking. There were tiny bottle of liquor lined up on the inner door.

Fuck it, Silco was rich and he owed her for all the years she’d saved his ass from danger.

Sevika took two of the tiny bottles of the same liquor, snapped the seal and poured it into one of the complementary glasses. She stared at the glass before swigging the amber liquid down in one go.@

Gods she was acting like such an idiot. All for some woman who finally made her feel something, finally took the time to break down the many walls she had put up.

But what if you didn’t feel the same? Or what if you both started this and it ended horribly? You would have to work together after that. What if she didn’t know how to actually be with someone? What if you didn’t know either?

Her anxiety won out again as she dove back into the fridge to retrieve more tiny liquor bottles.

“Not gonna save any for me?”

Sevika froze, she was too preoccupied with self loathing to notice you had opened the door, steam billowing from the bathroom, heating up the room.

She turned to look at you. white towel you had folded at your waist, the other smaller towel you were using to dry your hair. Her grey eyes wandered up to see your bare chest. Though not big, your breasts stood upright, a metal bar piercing each nipple.

You noticed her gaze and looked down at your own chest. “Oh yeah, got them done a couple months ago. Saw them on another girl and thought they looked hot.”

Sevika blinked, her face stoic once more. She needed to get the fuck out of the room before she did something stupid.

“Help yourself to what’s left in the fridge. I’m heading out, don’t wait up.” Sevika moved past you, deliberately moving her body away to not touch you as she got to the door.

(Your POV)

You turned to watch her practically run for the exit, the door slamming behind her making you flinch and the room shake.

You blinked, your mouth agape and in utter shock at Sevika’s attitude. It’s not like she hasn’t seen your chest before. You weren’t shy when it came to partial nudity, often changing in front of her in the locker room of the small gym or using a steam room.

You started putting the pieces together. There was something up with Sevika, and had something to do with you. The only change in her behavior was her demeanor towards you.

But what could you have possibly done to warrant such coldness? You tried and tried to apologize but she never wanted to discuss it.

You looked up to Sevika in so many ways, to the point where you may have forgotten she was just a woman too. Maybe she was going through something. Something she was embarrassed to speak about.

Instead of laying there with your mind racing, you got up and got dressed, heading down to the small hotel bar. You knew Sevika wouldn’t have gone far.

You saw Sevika, sitting in a corner shuffling her cards to play a solitary game, her dexterous metal hand throwing the cards before her.

“Do you ever take a hint?” Sevika grumbled, not looking from her cards and taking a swig of her drink.

You pulled out a seat in front of her and sat down. “Enough of this crap Sev. What is up your ass?”

Sevika let out what was between a scoff and a laugh, picking up a cigarillo and lighting it. “You’ve got some fuckin nerve.” She inhaled and let out a long breath of smoke from her nose “can never fucking drop it, can you?”

“Not when someone who I called a friend, just starts ignoring me out of the blue. Like what could I have possibly done to make you so upset?”

Sevika went back to playing with her cards. “Told you, it isn’t about you.”

“Bullshit,” you folded your arms and leaned back in the chair.

Sevika’s grey eyes finally locked on yours. “You think the only problems I have involve you? Don’t be full of yourself.” She knocked some ash from her cigarillo and pushed the box to offer you one. You take one, not because you particularly want one right now, but because it’s the kindest gesture she’s given you in two weeks.

“No I don’t think your world revolves around me. But I know for a fuckin fact that this,” you motion to her and her pouty demeanor, “very much has to do with me. So out with it. What are you hiding?”

Sevika’s eyebrow rose, “what exactly are you looking for? For me to tell you I’m in a shitty mood and need some time away from your big mouth?”

It was your turn to scoff. “I know you’re always kind of bitch Sevika, but this is pretty bitchy, even for you.”

Sevika stared at her glass, gripping it so tight she thought she might break it. You could see her eyes searching the table, as if she was trying to come up with a response.

You decided it was time to take a dive. Something that could end well or with you getting punched.

You looked under the table from your relaxed position and saw Sevika sitting in her usual stance, legs open.

“You seem… tightly wound.” You lifted your leg and put the pad of your boot on the edge chair between her legs.

(Sevika POV)

Sevika felt her face burn, as though someone spiked the heat in the room. You were hitting on her. This was it, she could either dive in or continue on her path leading to nowhere.

Fuck it

Sevika leaned back and looked down at your foot, the sheer boldness making her pussy clench.

“Are you offering to…unwind me?” Sevika took her flesh hand and placed it on top of your metal toe boot.

You shrug nonchalantly, “if it will stop you from biting my head off.” You ran your tongue over your bottom lip and flicked your darkened eyes back down to her grip on your foot. “To be honest, I’ve always had a thing for you. You’re hot, even when you’re being an asshole.”

Sevika felt emboldened by your words. She responded by scooting closer to your boot, the sole pressing into apex of her thighs. “You like to talk.”

“You can always sit on my face and shut me up?” You suggested, pressing your sole harder against her.

Sevika sucked in a sharp breath at the pressure. She could feel herself growing wet.

“Upstairs, now,” Sevika said through gritted teeth.

(Your POV)

The stair climb to the hotel room was agonizing. You walked behind her, feeling yourself get more end more excited. You had been waiting two years for this. Ever since your eyes locked on hers.

When you got to the room, Sevika turned the key and opened the door for you. As soon as you were both inside, she shoved you against the wall.

Sevika hovered over your lips, the anticipation killing you.

You finally had enough and gripped her by the back of the head, hand on her half ponytail, pulling her in for a deep kiss.

You both groaned in satisfaction, bodies melting, the kiss was something you had both been dreaming about for so long. Sevika slipped her knee between your legs, pressing against the heat of your core.

Both of your hands flew to one another’s clothes, almost ripping fabric to shed each other of the barriers to bare skin.

You pushed Sevika’s vest off her body, the clothes falling to the floor with a heavy thud. Sevika was less patient. She took her metal finger and sliced the front of your cropped tank. Your eyes narrowed.

“You owe me another one,” you hissed as a cold metal hand moved under your breast. “If you rip a nipple ring off with your bionic-ah” Sevika moved her flesh hand to kneed the other breast.

“I’ll be careful.” Sevika murmured, her lips pressing against the sensitive parts of your neck.

Your hands wandered over to Sevika’s belt, unbuttoning the fly. Before you could finish, Sevika took both your hands and pinned them over your head. She then continued to kiss and bite at your neck, leaving marks.

“Don’t have to act all dominant.” You moved with her as Sevika rutted her hips against your knee, craving the friction against her pulsing clit.

Sevika relented and loosened the hold of your arms, letting them go so you can travel back down to her pants. You slowly unzipped her fly, opening up the front to reach your hand down into the waistband of her black underwear.

Your fingers found Sevika’s pussy, eliciting a groan from both of you. She was soaked. Your index and middle finger slipped inside her with no resistance. You pumped your fingers in and out. Sevika braced both hands on the wall on either side of your head. “Fuck,” was all Sevika could grit out, her head bowing down from the pleasure.

You backed her away from the wall, removing your hand from her. Sevika wanted to whine at the loss of contact. She didn’t have much time to process before you placed a hand on her chest and pushed her onto your bed. Sevika landed backwards on the soft mattress. She propped herself on her elbows to gaze up at you.

You stood before Sevika, not breaking eye contact as you toed your boots off and leaned down to take care of her boots as well.

Sevika helped you pull her foot out of each shoe, hating how slow you were moving.

You finally crawled on top of Sevika, like a predator over prey. You molded your body to her’s, a knee between her legs and leaned down to kiss her uneven lips. You didn’t want to just fuck Sevika, you wanted to show her intimacy, something you knew she wasn’t comfortable taking from anyone else.

Your instincts seemed to be spot on as she responded in kind, her flesh hand threading fingers through your soft hair. Her metal hand moved to your hip, encouraging you to grind against her. Sevika mimicked your move and bend her knee to supply you with the same friction.

The position was intimate, not rushed, finally enjoying the moment you both didn’t know would have ever been a reality.

You pulled her under tank up over her ample chest, squeezing her larger breasts and testing their weight. They were much bigger than yours. Your lips traveled down past her neck to take one nipple into your mouth.

Sevika rolled her hips, your mouth making her core ache. This felt good to her but it wasn’t enough.She gripped you by the back of your hair and pulled making you release her nipple with a ‘pop.’

Sevika wanted, no, needed, to taste you. She easily flipped you on the bed and sat up to peel your tight black pants and underwear off in one motion. You sat up to grab Sevika but she placed a large hand on the center of your chest and pushed back down.

“Stop fucking moving and let me do what I want,” Sevika rolled her eyes and got off the bed, kneeling by the edge.

“So bossy as usual,” you scoffed, sitting up and resting your weight against your elbows.

Sevika shook her head in annoyance and grabbed you by your calves, pulling your hips to the edge of the bed. She stared at your sex, neatly trimmed and wet for her. You were beautiful, sexy, strong-

“You just gonna stare at it orrrrr?”

…and absolute a pain in her ass. Sevika gave you the stare that always meant ‘shut up’ and leaned down to throw your legs over her shoulders. Her large right hand splayed your lower abdomen kept your hips down as she swiped a tongue over your folds. Her eyes almost rolled to the back of her skull at your taste.

You licked your lips and gripped the sheets at the first swipe over your swollen clit. You inhaled a sharp breath as she dipped her tongue into your center. “Fucking hell,” you murmured.

Sevika feasted upon you as if she was starved, her mouth trailing up to suck expertly at your clit. Sevika was experienced, she knew just how to use her mouth to make you arch and writhe. She moved her flesh hand holding you down and used it to insert to large fingers into you, pumping in time with her tongue.

You sat up and looked down at her on her knees, she had to adjust her large body, her knees farther back so she could get her head positioning right. Luckily her mechanical hand was able to take all her weight leaning on the bed. This position left you to admire her chiseled back, moving and flexing as she pumped her fingers.

“Fuck that’s it’s Sev,” you gripped her by the half ponytail on the back of her head, keeping her mouth locked on you.

Sevika, encouraged by your words, moved faster, the noises coming from her mouth on you were absolutely pornographic. Her fingers sped in and out of you, fucking you with the sucking of your clit.

Your body then tensed up, muscles tightening around her fingers, as you came with a groan of her name. There was no sweeter sound to her ears.

She continued moving her tongue, making you squirm and pull away from her face. “Holy shit woman give me a second,” you panted as you backed your hips off the edge of the bed.

Sevika sat up, wiping her face with her forearm to glower at you. “Who said I was done?”

“My clit for one thing, give me a second to breathe.” You flopped down on the bed.

Sevika ignored your snark and ran her hands over the softness of your thighs, her eyes hungrily drinking in your naked form.

She wanted to devour you all night.

You sat back up and pulled Sevika in for a kiss, your tongue running over her bottom lip. Sevika eagerly responded, both mechanical and flesh hand cradling your face.

When you parted, a string of saliva connected you both. “Stand up Sev,” you whispered.

Sevika wanted to refuse you. She wanted to spend all night with her mouth on your sex. She reluctantly stood from her kneeling position, coming to full height before you.

You stood along with Sevika and gently pushed her against the far wall. She looked down at you, her face almost unreadable. She was fighting for any amount of control over her emotions.

You kept your eyes locked on her’s as you knelt before her, gripping her already opened pants and pulling them down. Sevika lifted one foot at a time to help you.

You broke eye contact to trail down to Sevika’s exposed sex. You were met with a dark patch of curly hair, her slit glistening with arousal. “You’re fucking perfect,” you admired as you reached back up and gripped her hips, moving your knees closer to find a good angle.

Sevika moved her flesh hand over to your mouth, running her thumb over your bottom lip. “Let’s see why those other bitches fight over you.”

Was that jealousy? You would have to unpack that later, right now you had a job to do. You had rarely been able to take a woman in this position since most women you were with were shorter.

When Sevika removed her thumb you wasted no time latching your mouth to her. Sevika bowed forward from the onslaught of your tongue. “Shit,” she gritted and stood to full height again, gripping the back of your head.

Sevika tasted amazing. The scent of her arousal flooded your senses as you moved your tongue from her entrance to suck her swelled clit.

“Ah, ah!” Sevika couldn’t form words. She looked down at you, your beautiful eyes staring up to watch her face contort in pleasure. She didn’t want to admit it out loud but fuck you were good at this.

You took two of your fingers and inserted them into her, curling them up. Sevika’s grip tightened on your hair, the pull on your scalp painful. You continued to suck at her clit, realizing it’s what Sevika responded to the most.

Sevika threw her head back, colliding against the drywall with a ‘thunk.’ Her knees threatened to buckle as her climax built. “Don’t stop,” she commanded, trying best to keep her voice from shaking.

You pressed your tongue to her clit and aggressively shook your head. Sevika’s mouth was agape, moving her head back down so she could look at you. “I’m gonna-oh fuck!”

You felt Sevika’s climax as her walls tightened around your fingers, she pinned

your head to her, her hips thrusting to your mouth as you sucked .

Sevika’s whole body shuddered, vision going blurry from the wave of pleasure. She let her hand fall from your hair as she panted against the wall.

You released your mouth from her sex, sitting back on your haunches to look up at her. Your mouth and chin glistened as you studied Sevika’s face. “Now you see why they fight over me?”

The corner of Sevika’s lip twitched in a sneer, she gripped you by the back of the neck and tugged on your hair, making you stand to avoid further pain. “They will have to fight over someone else from now on,” she hissed.

Before you could respond, Sevika crashed her mouth to yours, tasting herself as her tongue ran over your bottom lip.

Sevika backed you up back to the bed, both of you falling onto it. She hovered over you, eyes wandering over your pert breasts. “I love these by the way. Suit you.” She dipped down and flattened her tongue over your pierced nipple.

You sucked in a sharp breath. “Good, because getting them done hurt like shit.”

This made Sevika smirk and flash her eyes up to yours. “Too bad I didn’t bring my strap.”

You narrowed your eyes and shook your head. “Not really my thing.”

Sevika quirked her head and teased your nipple between her thumb and forefinger. “Ever try it? You might like it.”

You propped up on your elbows. “Can I fuck you with it then?”

Sevika pursed her lips in thought, not the response she was hoping for. “I’ll think about it.”

You shrugged, “only fair Sev. You ever try it? You might like it.” You threw her words back at her.

Sevika sighed and rolled her eyes. “You’re lucky you’re hot. Such a pain in my ass.” She then sat up, settling herself into a position where she was in between your legs, holding on one of your thighs as she met her pussy with yours. Sevika started to set a pace, rotating her hips back and forth.

You relaxed on the bed and moved your hips in time with hers. “You think I’m hot Sev? How long have you thought so?”

Pieces of hair fell in front of Sevika’s face as she enjoyed the feeling of her clit meeting yours. “Ever since I saw you in Silco’s office two years ago. I thought you were fuckin’ beautiful.” Sevika’s jaw clenched as a swivel of your hips gave her clit the angle she needed.

“Oh really? Seemed like you wanted to throw me out the window first time you met me. Thought you hated me-ah!” You threw your head back as a wave of pleasure hit you.

“I kinda did, you have a mouth on you. You don’t know when to back off. Stubborn bitch.” Sevika moved her hips faster.

“Seems liked my mouth just fine few minutes ago.” you reached up and gripped Sevika’s left breast. She slapped your hand away and leaned forward to cover your mouth with her palm.

“No more talking,” Sevika growled and rutted her hips faster, her movements getting sloppy as she got closer to the edge.

You glared at her, you were done being told to shut up. You pushed her hand away from your face and gripped the back of her head, using your strength to flip Sevika onto her back, switching places.

You wanted to laugh at the shocked look plastering Sevika’s face. “You,” reaching out to harshly grab her breast, “don’t get to tell me to shut up.” You moved your hips at the same speed Sevika began at.

(Sevika POV)

Sevika stared up at you, enjoying the view. Watching you take control was incredibly hot, your hair now undone, cascading over your lovely face. Your eyes held a mischievous glint as you gripped her thick thigh for support.

“Fucking hell girl,” Sevika rasped as she held your hand to her breast, mechanical hand at your hip.

Sevika was trying to hold her orgasm for you but was losing the battle. It felt too good, too safe, uninhibited.

(Your POV)

The feeling of her metal hand on your skin was sexy. One wrong move and it could pierce you. “You close Sev? You gonna cum? You like being handled don’t you?”

Sevika whined, her eyes glued to where your pussies met, watching as they rubbed and ground against each other.

You loved the noises coming from the big tough woman below you. She was giving you the control so held so dear. You were close but you refused to finish before her.

“I wanna see you cum Sev. Cum for me baby,” you moved your hips faster, trying to push Sevika to the finish line.

Your dirty words worked, her eyes rolled to the back of her head as she cried out your name, both hands gripping your hips now to keep you in the desired place.

Your beginnings of an orgasm died when she made you stop, but you let Sevika take her pleasure out on you. You watched her come undone underneath you.

It took a minute or two for Sevika to come to. The orgasm was just as intense as the first. Her legs went slack as she caught her breath.

You looked down at Sevika, peaceful, serene and eyes closed. The room smelled of sex, clothes everywhere, the bed tilted from the box spring. You were too busy looking around you did not notice she had opened her eyes.

Sevika pulled you, as if you weighed nothing, to hover over her face. She wasted no time and latched her full lips over your clit, both human and mechanical hand holding your hips to prevent you from moving.

You had no intention of moving, bringing a hand down to grip Sevika’s hair. “So fucking good at this.” You moaned and gasped, hips rocking against her tongue.

Sevika moved her hands from your hips to your ass and flipped you to your back, her mouth still locked on you. She inserted to of her fingers into you, thrusting up to meet with her tongue.

You orgasm hit you like a train, your cries loud enough to be heard in the hallways. Sevika held you down, her mouth riding you through. When your body started to twitch away from her, she moved her mouth from your puss and rested her cheek on your inner thigh.

Both of you stayed silent for a second, your minds clearing from the passion you just shared.

Sevika sat up, placing a last kiss upon your sex before she moved to lay down next to you on the crumpled sheets.

You both said nothing, waiting for the other to speak.

You finally opened your mouth to say something but Sevika beat you to it. “I don’t want you seeing Veronica anymore.”

“Who?”

[illyrian-dreamer]

Our girl – Part 3

Summary: Deeming you unfit for a mission, the Inner Circle have betrayed your trust and shattered your life’s mission to avenge you sister. And the two males you love most were at the centre of it all.

Word count: 6.5k

Warnings: Grief/depression

The Spring Court lake had weathered the same depletion as the rest of the state. Empty wooden cabins sat abandoned and unused, the sand had turned grey and the flourishing fruit trees that once aligned it hacked down to stumps. Hybern had drained Spring Court of so much of its natural resource and beauty. 

“It’s a disturbing sight, isn’t it?” your uncle muttered, placing two steaming mugs of tea at the table beside you, joining you on the porch. His bark-like skin had weathered and aged since the last time you had seen him, untold sorrows hiding in his deep within the ripples. What atrocities had he witnessed during the war? And what bargains had he had to make to keep his own cabin standing amongst a sea of homes destroyed?

“I’m so sorry Finbark. I should have returned to help you sooner,” you said, your heart clenching as the males eyes warmed with a pain smile. 

“I did not write for a reason. I would never want to drag you into this mess,” he said, waving his hand to the desolate land around him. “Not when you were so aligned with an enemy court.”

You raised the mug to your lips, casting your eyes to the lake before blowing on the hot liquid. He was right, you had no business entering Spring Court at a time like that, never mind that you were completely preoccupied with serving your duties alongside Cassian and Azriel. Gods, your heart ached more than it should just at the thought of them.

You cleared your throat quietly, trying not to dwell. “It sparkles the same,” you spoke distantly, distracting yourself. “The lake, I mean. It still sparkles in the way I remember.”

Finbark chuckled, his eyes warming again. “You and Meryl spent so much time in that lake, I remember your parents debating on how they would have to bribe the two of you out of it.”

You forced a smile back, clenching your mug a little tighter. 

“It was the same for my cousin’s nephews, they adored playing in the water, they would beg their Aunt to come stay for weeks on end.”

“Whatever happened to them?” you asked, unsure if you could handle the truth. 

“Of Alis and the boys?” He paused then, clearing his throat. “They fled to Summer, with some luck and no deniable assistance from your High Lady.”

You had to physically swallow at Feyre’s mention, but the relief was greater to know Finbark’s family was safe. “Well, she’s no longer my High Lady,” you corrected. 

“I’m sorry, I don't mean to upset you.”

“Not at all Fin,” you smiled softly before drawing a deep breath. “I know she is a generous and caring ruler, and I’m grateful your family is safe. I only wish I could have done more.”

“I was protected too Y/N. How do you think it is my home is still standing, or that I am here at all? I’m clever, but not that clever,” he winked. “I have no doubt my relation to Alis and your parents kept me well and safe during the war. No wagons found the trail to my home, no one knocked on my door demanding answers or resources, or to pick up a weapon and fight. It was if I didn't exist at all.”

It clicked then – of course. Alis had been Feyre’s maid at the Spring Manor. Feyre had spoken of her so fondly. And you had been so worried for Finbark’s safety, confiding in your High Lady who had merely comforted you at the time, reassuring you that he would be safe. She and Rhys never mentioned their connection, or the magic they spent to keep Finbark hidden. Your heart ached at the reminder of their generosity. 

“Y/N?” your uncle waved a rippled hand in front of your face, and you blinked before straightening, drawn back from your thoughts. 

Fin sighed with a knowing look. “You don't need to feel guilty about the magic that kept me safe, sweetheart. They wronged you in a very serious way.” 

Your eyebrows clenched as you blinked back the sting of tears. “But they are good people Fin, the lot of them.”

Finbark’s hand rested atop of your forearm, his face soft with understanding. “It changes very little, young spark. The damage is all the same.” Your uncle once again waved his hand out to the barren land around you.

You stood now, setting your tea down – you needed to get out of your head. “I will make one more trip to town tonight, there are some homes still without firewood.”

“At this time? You’ve been working since dawn Y/N, why not rest? It’s not as cold tonight.”

But you were already reaching for your axe. The more you moved, the less you would have to think. “It’ll be alright uncle, I’ll return before midnight.”

He didn't say anything further as you sheathed the weapon to your back, heading up the trail to town where the sun had already began to set. 

————

It had been five months since you had found home in Spring Court. 

At first, you found work serving your uncle’s town. Much of the remaining fae had rural upbringing, with little skill to sustain themselves after their farms, once lush with crops and animals, were destroyed. 

Word spread quick of help from an outside court, and when you were sure the locals could stand on their own two feet, you began to travel, finding town after town with more fae in need. So began your course, trailing further away from your uncle’s cabin at the border and nearing the centre of the court.

Magic found you easier here too. Whether it was the exhaustion from a hard days worth of work, or that you rarely had a moment to think about yourself, you didn't know.

Soon enough, you learned to summon your sparks, lighting fires in homes in an instant or heating food and teas for the ill. It wasn’t much, but you had never yielded so much control, and didn't remember a day when you hadn't feared your abilities since Meryl’s death. Finbark was particularly delighted when you showed him your new trick, clapping with a cheer, reminding you of why he dubbed you young spark.

So much of Spring Court reminded you of your sister, and while it had never been your home, memories of pleasant holidays surrounded by loved ones seemed to wait at every garden, field or bubbling brook you encountered. You welcomed those memories, letting grief wash over you when it came, using it to fuel your determination to keep on working. Grief was a weapon of kinds, and you were only now learning to yield it. You would build a better world for those who were left behind, just like you. 

And over the course of those months, the land around you slowly came to life. Not from your work alone, but as the fae of Spring Court worked together to heal and rebuild, the land began to give back. The grass was greener and more lush now, flowers blossomed instead of dying at the bud, and trees bristled as gentle breezes passed through their luscious leaves. The land wasn’t yet singing, but it began to hum – it was healing, and so were you. And you were sure somewhere out in these lands, so was its High Lord. 

————

“Damn it Rhys! Let us go!” Cassian slammed his fists on the table, silver cutlery and porcelain plates rattling at the force. 

Rhys’s gaze was cold as he glared back at the General. “No,” was all he answered. 

Feyre fidgeted with her hands in her lap, her dinner now cold where her knife and fork set at her plate minutes ago when tension began to brew. She knew there would be another fight tonight – neither Cassian or Azriel had taken the order to begin training the new recruits at the House of Wind well. It reminded them too much of Y/N, and they had spent five months furious with both her and Rhys for placing them on court arrest, stopping them from scouting Prythian to find you.

“Feyre, please,” Cassian begged, his brow clenched in anguish. 

She swallowed, her heart pulling at his pain. “You know we can't Cass, Rhys gave her his word.” The black ink-like marking on her forearm itched at the mention, the symbol of a cross inside a triangle – a treasure and its whereabouts locked in secret. The mark had appeared the same moment Rhys had promised to not trail your location, an identical mark etched to his forearm too.

As part of that promise, the High Lord and Lady had ordered Cassian and Azriel against anything they could do to find you – there was to be no tracking your scent, no using intel from other courts, and no leaving the Night Court to investigate.

Cassian roared in frustration, throwing his head in his hands, gripping at the roots of his hair. “We only want to know she’s safe. If you care for us at all–"

“Enough Cassian!” Rhys bellowed, night filling every void of the room. Everyone froze. 

Rhys pinched his nose, the clouds of his magic lower to a thick fog that covered the floor. “You do not question our care for anyone in this family.”

Azriel spoke then, stiff and stoic from his seat. “It is worth the breach of the bargain you made. We will burden the consequence.”

“It’s not just for the consequence, Azriel,” Feyre answered, meeting the Shadowsinger’s hardened stare. “This was Y/N’s choice. How do you think she will feel knowing we have breached her trust again?”

“I will deal with that after I know she is safe.”

Rhys ran a hand over his face before rubbing at his temples. “As I have said countless times, you will not be granted permission to track her.” Rhys’s power tightened then, yanking on a leash he had kept around the General and Shadowsinger’s necks for months.

“How can you do this to us?” Azriel seethed, knuckles white from where the gripped the table. 

“I don't know Azriel. Perhaps the same way I kept Y/N grounded when you ordered her unfit to kill Alvar.”

Azriel stood then, his seat thrown back. “How dare you,” he spat, shadows racing towards the High Lord.

Rhys stood too, night magic clashing with shadows, a fight for dominance. “Calm yourself,” Rhys growled, staring the Shadowsinger down.

Mor sighed, swirling the wine in her glass from where she sat, fingers strumming the table impatiently. “Can we not go a single dinner without it turning to a fight?” she said flatly, before drawing a long sip.

Azriel’s teeth drew back to a snarl as he whipped his head to her. “Since when did you become so heartless?”

Mor stood, levelling her brown eyes at the Shadowsinger. “Don’t be a fool, I care for Y/N just as much as you. But I trust in my High Lord and Lady to dow that is right. When was the last time you exercised that same loyalty you swore to this court?” Mor paused before speaking again. “You’ve become undone, the both of you. And you will unravel this family if you continue down this path.” 

Feyre threw Mor a grateful look.

Shadows continued to bulk at Azriel’s frame. “She is our love, Mor. Are we not worthy of her whereabouts?”

“No,” Mor said, her voice flat and cold. “You are not. That is your consequence for holding her too tight.”

Azriel’s nostrils flared, his eyes widening as he recoiled ever so slightly. Cassian could not raise his head from where it still hung in his hands, but for a moment he stopped breathing.

Mor softened then, seeing how deep her words had cut. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice still stern. “But it’s true. And I’m tired of having our family torn apart because of a decision that was her right to make. We have to rebuild what is here, what we have left. Otherwise our family will be ruined, and with it our court.”

Cassian took deep, shaky breaths, trying to hold the anguished cry that begged to be released. He had endured months of restlessness heartbreak, and there was no sign of it easing. It was torture.

Azriel looked back at his brother, knowing that pain, feeling it writhe within himself. Wordlessly, he walked to Cassian, clasping a firm hand on his shoulder and winnowing them from the room.

————

It was early one morning after you had set off from your uncle’s cabin, days worth of resources and tools hung from the back of your horse.

The horse was noble, a once well-kept steed that had been abandoned since the war. He had found you in a field, bucking and neighing as you approached. But with a gentle hand to his nose and some soothing commands, he had yielded, reminded of his connection to fae. 

Every great steed deserved a name, and it found you instantly – Podie. It was Nyx’s way of saying “pony”, his chubby finger pointed at the array of horses in the stables when you had taken him with your family, the lot of you chuckling at his adorable attempt. Your heart ached as you thought of the child, of how much he must have grown since you had left the Night Court. So you named your horse in his honour, and relished the comfort it was to feel feel that little bit closer to him.

Finbark had waved you off as the sun was rising, and it was only a few hours later when had you entered the trail you had become so familiar with, headed for the next town on your map. The quiet was tranquil in Spring Court, but in that moment even the birds stopped singing, and an eerie sensation swept you over you, the hairs on your neck standing. Podie’s nostrils flared as harsh breaths blew from his snout, his ears twitching nervously.

Something, or someone, was watching you.

You immediately dismounted, not wanting to zap or upset Podie as began power tickling at your skin. 

“Who’s there?” you spoke, your heart fastening at the rustle from behind the trees. 

For a moment, you thought they had found you, and your heart thundered as you prepared to confront Cassian and Azriel. Would they try to apologise again? Were they here to convince you to return to the Night Court? Perhaps they would go as far to drag you back, kicking and screaming?

Bile rose in your throat as you searched for the peaks of wings or siphons glowing amongst the greenery that rustled. Instead, antlers poked through before revealing narrowed green eyes. Heavy paws padded against the ground as a half-elk, half-lion emerged, prowling towards you.

You startled, fumbling back a few steps, too shocked to find your words. The beast approach, sniffing as sentient eyes scanned you with a knowing look. And as you stared back, you realised quickly who the creature before you was.

Before you could demand it, Tamlin morphed to his fae form, blond hair cropped to his strong shoulders, sharp green eyes fixed on you as he stared you down with a tight jaw. 

There was no question of his beauty – Tamlin was incredibly handsome, even with his face fixed with such a stern and threatening stare. He was not cloaked in green as Feyre had often described him, instead he wore brown working pants and a black shirt that were rolled at the sleeves revealing strong, veiny forearms. He was dressed no better than the working class of his court.

“High Lord,” you greeted as you bowed your head, lowering slightly at one knee. This was his court at the end of the day, no matter what he had done to ruin it. 

He watched you intently, unspeaking and his face softened ever so slightly, his jaw unclenching only a little. 

“Can I help you with something?”

“I’ve come to meet the Night Court emissary who has been assisting in the refuge of my land.” His voice was deep, commanding even after everything he had lost.

“I assure you, I am no longer affiliated with the Night Court. There is no treason to be found here.”

“I know.” He said with a straight face. “I’ve been tracking your work for months.”

You gulped at that. You had hoped to blend in, an anonymous helper with no past and no future.

“Did you think you could enter my court unnoticed?” he questioned, and sharp brown quirking. 

You found your eyes narrowing. “From what I was told, your borders had fallen, and your lands used as a place for sanction after the war. I did not think announcing my arrival was necessary, and you were certainly in no position to refuse my aid.”

Tamlin was unmoved at your tone. Instead he ran that pointed green stare down your body and back up again, flicking them to Podie who stood to the side, grazing on some grass, before settling them back on you. “Why?” he asked. 

“Pardon?”

“Why have you come to aid my court?”

“I care to help those in need.”

“There are plenty across Prythian in need.” Tamlin was scowling now.

There was a beat of silence between you, only the sound of the heavy breaths that left Podie’s nostrils to fill it. 

“What did they do to you?” Tamlin asked. There was no softness in his question.

Now it was your turn to scowl. “I sought your court, High Lord, because I have an uncle who resides by the lake in the south. I knew there was work to be done here, and I had a home at his cabin.”

If your answer satiated Tamlin, he did not let it show, his green eyes continuing to pierce through you. It was a conscious effort not to let your power overcome you in the grasp of his stare. 

“Come to my Manor.”

You choked. “Pardon me?”

The High Lord shuffled then, his first natural movement, and you could have sworn a slight blush tinged his cheeks. “My apologies, I’ve spent so much time in my beast form, it’s easy to forget my manners. Please, join me for a meal at my Manor. It’s the least I can do, to thank you for your contributions.”

Your stare on Tamlin harshened. “I did not do it for you.”

Tamlin merely shrugged. “I’m aware. Regardless, I am grateful.”

You had only heard of Tamlin’s Manor through Feyre’s stories, how he had warded the home, trapping her within, hurting her with that uncontrollable rage of his. You had little interest in seeing the place where this occured, a small tether of loyalty to Feyre ignited at the thought.

You may as well have said it out loud, as Tamlin tracked the movements in your eyes before bowing his head. 

“The choice is yours, of course.”

You swallowed, observing the male before you. A High Lord would never bow their head for such a thing. 

That smallest of behaviours begged so many questions. Was he sorry? Was he ashamed? Was it possible Tamlin had learnt from his mistakes, and had grown to be a better High Lord? 

He reminded you so much of the males you once loved – a good heart with mislead direction. If he had shed of his possessive and controlling nature – you craved to see it, you needed to know it possible, even if it was in someone else. 

So you realised there was a part of you that wanted to go to the Manor and join Tamlin for an evening, to answer that question alone. You could attend for one meal, just to plug the hole in your heart for a night.

“Alright. I’ll visit your manor,” you said impartially.

Tamlin nodded once. “Is there a time that suits you best?”

You looked back at Podie, waving an arm to the gear and resources strapped to his saddle. “I will spend three days in Rellford to assist with building a new market. With another afternoon of travel I can make it to your Manor in four days time.”

Talmlin nodded again, smiling softly now, the pull of his mouth catching your breath as his handsomeness was further revealed. “I look forward to it, Y/N L/N.” After a low bow, Tamlin was once again a beast, treading away and leaving you to continue your journey.  

————

You stood awkwardly at the door to the Tamlin’s Manor, your hand hung in the air, unable to make the first knock. 

The gate had willed itself open, and you were surprised to see the exterior well kept, almost immaculate. Rhys had described it differently from his last visit, ivy overgrown and no maids or servicemen to be seen. But a stable boy had helped you dismount on arrival, guiding Podie by his reins with a polite bow. 

You smoothed out the skirts of your dress, self conscious of the scent of the horse you undoubtedly carried. You wore a humble frock, feminine and loose, one that allowed for a few hours of riding. The countless bold and revealing gowns you had once loved were left behind at the Night Court, they had no place in the new life you were building. With a final shake of your head, you willed yourself to knock on the large arched doors. 

But before your fist made contact, the doors swung open, revealing a maid. 

“Hello,” she said sweetly.

“H-hi.”

“Come inside.”

And so you did, taking in the impressive home. Natural light poured in from all around, floor length windows cast open as sheers danced gently as the breeze passed through. Tasteful vases of Spring’s finest flowers decorated the space, with countless rooms joining the space and a grand staircase that led to reveal even more of the manor. 

The maid lead you to a sitting room, the space just as light an airy, with no door, just an open archway. This was not what you had imagined at all.

“The High Lord is expecting you, but he apologises as he has a meeting that has run over. He won't be too long, but would like to convey his apologies,” she said with pep. “You can wait here, M’Lady. Would you care for something to drink?”

You silently took a seat at the lounge she had waved at, looking behind at the floor to ceiling bookshelves that aligned the room. It was a tasteful room, and you thought you could spend all day he curled up with a good book. 

“No, no thank you,” you eventually said, slow to respond in your awe of the house. 

With a bouncy courtesy, the maid left you to be. 

Standing immediately, you moved to inspect the books, fingering their spines and muttering their titles aloud. 

“Flora and Fauna of the Spring Season. How to Care for Roses and Thorns Alike.”

Your ears pricked as two sets of footsteps making their way down the staircase, and deep voices spoke in discussion. 

“I would be grateful for the resources Tamlin. And it’s clear you are mending your court. I would be happy to align with you once again.” 

You knew that voice – Tarquin.

“I’m glad, and yes, we are making progress. Though it would be insincere of me to accept any credit. I thank the people of my court, and I have had aid from others too.”

The males passed the open archway to the reading room, Tarquin stopping in his tracks. 

“Y/N?”

You froze, book still in hand. “Greetings, Tarquin,” you said thickly, barely able to swallow. 

Tarquin cast his magnificent blue eyes to Tamlin for just a moment, and you were sure if you had blinked you would have missed it. You glanced at Tamlin too, who showed no sign of discomfort. 

Tarquin was quick to recover from his shock, making his way over to greet you, embracing you with open arms and a quick kiss to each of your cheeks.

“I’m sorry to have heard of your departure from the Nigh Court,” he said, blue eyes fixed on you with a warm, sorry smile. 

You smiled back softly, rubbing his arms where they held your shoulders. “That is kind, Tarquin. I am sorry too.” You fought the urge to embrace him again – it was so nice to see a friend. 

Tamlin waited by the archway, his hands behind his back as he watched your interaction with passive curiosity. 

“And how did you find yourself in Spring?” Tarquin asked. 

You shrugged. “I have an uncle here, and I wanted to work to help repair that lost in the war.”

Tarquin nodded. “Yes, Tamlin was telling that he was quite impressed with you. And I must say, it’s encouraging to see how much progress has been made.”

You flicked your eyes to Tamlin who remained unmoved. He had credited you to another High Lord? You blushed lightly, shifting uncomfortably on your feet.

“And what of Varian and Cresseida? Are they well?” you skilfully diverted the conversation.

Tarquin grinned. “Varian is well, and Cresseida is engaged.”

“Engaged!” you burst, a smile so wide on your face as you thought of her. She was always a romantic. 

“Yes, she’s quite excited, as is the rest of the family. You will keep your eye out for an invitation to the wedding, yes?”

You blushed again – you were unsure how the news would be received by the other High Lords of your leaving, it was nice to know you were still considered you a friend at Summer. “Of course, Tarquin. I would be honoured to celebrate with you all.”

Tarquin smiled at that, before turning back to Tamlin. “What a jewel you have here in your court Tamlin. You won't take her for granted I hope.” You could sense the warning laced in his tone. 

Tamlin lowered his eyes slightly, a small gesture, but in the language of High Lords it spoke volumes. Understanding, submission, guilt even. “I wouldn’t dare of it,” he spoke, hands still clasped behind his back.

Tarquin seemed reassured at that. “I must journey back. A delight to see you Y/N, do take care, and come visit whenever you find suitable.”

You agreed to that, watching Tarquin shake Tamlins hand before leaving the Manor. 

“I apologise for making you wait,” Tamlin said with a soft smile. He seemed stiff still, and you wondered if he nervous to host you.

You eyed the High Lord up and down. “Not at all. I’m just… a little surprised to have our meetings overlap.”

Tamlin nodded with understanding. “I have nothing to hide Y/N. It is a lesson I should have learned long ago.”

You nodded at that, looping your arm through Tamlin’s outstretched one as he lead you through to on a tour of the Manor. 

————

The meal with Tamlin was far more enjoyable that you had thought it would be, food and company alike. He did not lead you to a dining room, instead, a small table was set in the balcony overlooking the estate, the warm spring breeze gentle as the sun set over the groomed gardens, rows of trees and flowering bushes tinged with orange from the sunset.

The conversation was awkward at first, Tamlin was nervous, and it didn't help that you headed every comment with caution. But after a few sips of wine, and a few jokes exchanged, it seemed you and the High Lord had much in common. 

You felt yourself relaxing, joking and laughing with ease. It was nice to chat and enjoy the company of another, something you hadn’t done since Azriel killed Alvar. You hadn't realised that in throwing yourself in work, you had deprived yourself from any true fun. Perhaps Tamlin had seen that, perhaps that’s why he invited you here.

He hadn't asked or pried of your past, only talking of your work with immense gratitude. And when you told him of your childhood memories in his court, Tamlin beamed with pride, his face fixed with a smile and his posture a little more straight. That of course, lead to the conversation of Meryl. 

“And what of your sister?” Tamlin asked. “Where does she reside now?”

“Ah,” you said, before drawing a long sip of wine, taking a moment before you could will yourself to respond. “Unfortunately Meryl was murdered by one of Hybern’s own spies.”

Pain sliced across Tamlin’s face, his green eyes panicked before he bowed his head in shame. “Gods, Y/N. I am so sorry.” Blond strands fell in front of his face, his strong hands clasped together so tightly his knuckles turned white. 

“Tamlin, it’s alright. It was many years ago, well before the war.” 

He looked at you then, his face softening. He knew what you were saying – it was before he allied himself with Hybern. He was not to blame.

“I was a fool to have ever opened my borders to him,” Tamlin said thickly, casting his eyes down. 

“I could not agree more,” you replied, before offering him a tight smile. You were certain he regretted many of his choices, but it was reassuring to hear.

“Was your sister’s death how you found yourself as a Night Court emissary?”

You nodded. “That’s right. I was motivated to protect others, and largely driven to avenge Meryl.” Speaking of your past after all that had happened, it seemed to foreign to you now. You no longer knew the girl you were when you had found a home in Velaris.

“It would seem that is still very true,” Tamlin complimented. 

“In some ways, yes,” you agreed, unsure if he caught the blush on your cheeks. “But also untrue in others.”

Tamlin waited patiently, but didn't push. The choice was yours to continue. 

So you told him of your time at the Night Court, of the decade you had spent training with Cassian and Azriel. You spoke of the extent of your training, and how after a few years friendship had turned to love, and the family had welcomed you with open arms. 

Dancing around the details of the Night Court, you were careful not to expose Velaris or other sensitive information – you were not here to damn the court, you were only telling your story.

And as you spoke, Tamlin listened intently without casting judgement, just patiently absorbing your story, nodding where he understood and asking questions where he didn’t. He never pried, nor did he ask for more detail of the Night Court, or of Feyre and Rhys. 

Finally, you explained what lead to you leaving your old life behind, how you were betrayed by your loves and wider family, and how your one true shot to avenge your sister was stolen from you.

As you finished, you drew a big breath, and an even bigger sip of wine. You slouched further into your seat, relaxing as you felt free from the weight of bottling your truth for so long.

Tamlin watched you for a moment, before drawing a long breath. “Would you like to know what I think?”

You raised your brows, toying with your glass of wine. “Do tell.”

“I feel you were treated with an utter lack of empathy, and it was cruel to not at least tell you of the mission. I’m sorry that you were hurt in such a way. They are fools to have mistreated you so greatly, and I know this because… not only am I fully capable of such behaviour, but it is so similar to how I had treated Feyre.”

Your eyes went wide at his confession, your brows clenching at the way it made your heart ache.

“I know what it is to love another so fiercely, you stop seeing them as someone, and start seeing them as something. It was a lesson I learned only when I lost everything – my love, my council, my entire damn court. I was vengeful, jealous, and I would have torn the world in half to claim what I thought belonged to me. But I had no one to blame but myself, and I’ve learnt nothing is mine to ever own or control, no matter how much that scares me. In all truths Y/N, I am sickened that so many were hurt and lost for me to learn that lesson, and I’m so sorry that you were hurt for Azriel and Cassian to learn theirs.”

You blinked at Tamlin, swallowing your shock. “That is… a very honest confession.”

Tamlin gave you a tight smile before shrugging. “Honesty is all I have.”

You returned his smile, extended a hand to rest on his forearm. “If you ask me, honesty and trust are the only true currency of this life.”

Tamlin raised his brows then, whether he was shocked by your words or by your touch you couldn't tell. His green eyes met yours, sincerity swarming as he held you in a soft gaze. “Fae like you have known that all along though. And it is males like me who hurt those infinitely wiser, like you.”

You chuckled then. “I’m not perfect Tamlin, far from it. I think all we can do is try to be better, and work to ensure we don't hurt those that we love through our imperfections.”

Tamlin’s eyes warmed. “I think you’re right,” he said softly, his voice almost a whisper. 

And maybe it was the wine, or the way your heart swelled at the honestly and sincerity of his confession, but all of the fibres of your being begged you to lean a little closer, to bask in his warmth and comfort, and even press your lips to his. 

With a flick of his eyes to your lips, you knew Tamlin felt the same draw to you. He placed a large hand over your own that rested on his forearm. “Y/N, you must know I didn't invite you here to… disrupt, or interfere with–"

“I know,” you interrupted him, smiling softly.

Tamlin paused, eyes darting between yours. “Your company has been a delightful surprise. But I would hate for you to regret–"

“My life in the Night Court is behind me Tamlin. I have built a life of my own, and this is the path I choose.”

Tamlin moved then, a large hand coming to cup your face, his thumb stroking your cheek and he gave you a pained look, as if physically trying to restrain himself. “I don't mean to lecture the more wise,” he said softly. “But if you feel that I can change or grow or learn from my mistakes, don’t you believe Azriel and Cassian can too?”

Your eyes fluttered close, your brow pulling at the weight of his question. “I suppose.” 

“And if they have changed, or at least try to, do you think that you might want to forgive them?”

You opened your eyes, holding Tamlin’s gaze with a serious expression. “Forgiveness is one thing. But I will never return to the life I had with them Tamlin, not like that. Too much has happened.” 

“Hmm,” Tamlin hummed thoughtfully. He waited a moment, green eyes drinking in your face, scanning your features delicately as you blushed, closing your eyes again to bare the intensity.

When Tamlin spoke again, his tone was a lot more assured. “I can see you have are still in the thick of processing what has happened, Y/N. And for that reason alone, it would be improper to kiss you right now, despite how much I want to.”

You were frowning as you opened your eyes, finding a sorry smile planted on Tamlin’s face. 

“You’re a cruel High Lord,” you joked flatly, returning the pained smile and holding the hand he kept to your face. 

“I’ll work on that,” he chuckled, pulling both your hands in his before kissing them. 

“Come,” he said, standing from his chair and offering you his hand. “I’m yet to show you the gardens.”

————

“Coming!” Amrin barked at the third rapping on her door, the knocks growing more impatient. Slinking into a silver silk robe, she opened the door to reveal Cassian and Azriel, their cheeks more hollow and bags even darker than the last time she had seen them a few weeks ago. 

“Gods, you both look awful,” she said plainly before walking further into her apartment, not checking to see if they followed. 

“Where the hell have you been?” Azriel grumbled. 

“Working from home, if you will.”

“Why?” Cassian asked defensively. 

“You know the answer, brutes. All of that fighting and tension, it gives me a headache.”

Azriel scowled, crossing his arms across his chest, shadows stretching across Amren’s apartment with familiarity. 

“You’re sensitive at the best of times,” Cassian bit back.

“Why are you here?” Amren spoke plainly, sounding bored by their presence. 

Cassian approached Amren while Azriel lingered back. “Help us,” Cassian said. 

Amren scoffed. “You know I can’t, boy.”

Cassian’s brows clenched before he moved to his knees, squatting in front of Amren as she lounged in a chair. “Please, Amren, do you have anything? Information from an outside court, or a lead on her whereabouts?”

Amren levelled her silver eyes with his brown ones. “Why do you torture yourself with such questions? Y/N is quite capable of taking care of herself, you know.”

“C’mon Cass, let’s just go,” Azriel said tightly from behind. From the tension in the room, it was hard to remember they were serving the same throne.

“You want my advice? The both of you need to be patient. If it takes her an eternity to forgive you, then so be it. There is nothing you can do to force that.”

“We can't just switch it off Amren, it doesn't work like that.”

“The Illyrian possessiveness, or the hopelessly in love part?” Amren mocked. “Y/N is mending herself, and I applaud that. I suggest you take a page from her book and start to do the same.”

Azriel had already stalked for the door when Amren started to mock, but she called him a few paces shy. “Whatever you took, I suggest you leave it behind,” she said, her tone almost playful. 

Azriel froze, before letting go of a gold piece of card, the paper fluttering to the floor as he and Cassian stalked out, slamming the door behind them. 

“What was that?” Cassian asked with a whisper. 

Azriel hushed him, nodding as he walked forward, waiting until they had made it a few streets from Amren’s home. 

“A wedding invitation. For Creseida.”

Cassian’s eyes light up. “Do you think–?”

“Perhaps, but I don't think we’d be welcomed company if Y/N does attend. Rhys and Feyre will surely keep us here.”

“So we keep our walls up. We won’t disclose to know of the wedding, and that way the bargain will never be broken.”

Azriel nodded. “The only risk is Amren, should she mention that I saw the invitation.”

Cassian sighed, running his hand through his long hair. “I sure as hell hope she can keep her mouth shut.”

--------

Part 4>>>>

AN: Omgosh, you guys have been so so patient with this part, thank you from the bottom of my heart. I sincerely hope you liked it, it was so much fun to introduce Tamlin and explore the way he might be healing after the war. Not to mention writing a few wins for our reader?? She deserves it.

Also how the Inner Curcle is just falling to shit without her 💅🏼 I so look forward to exploring the TEA at this wedding.... I always want to know what you guys think, so feel free to drop a comment, and if you'd like to join my general tag list, or just for Our Girl, drop a comment too :) Thank you always for your support <3

[joelscurls]

a heart for melting

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

words: 2.7k

warnings: post-outbreak, implied age gap, themes surrounding child loss and grief, some angst but mostly festive fluff, grumpy x sunshine dynamics (Joel is a grinch & reader loves the holidays), reader is described as having long-ish hair

summary: Jackson's first annual Holiday Market brings about more than just cheer.

a/n: Merry Christmas @thetriumphantpanda; I'm your pedrostories secret santa! I hope you enjoy this lil festive take on grumpy!joel x sunshine!reader — I had lots of fun writing it 🤍🎄 🥧 🪵 🦌

Joel doesn’t want to be here — surrounded by garland and ribbons and so much unadulterated joy, it’s nauseating. No, he was forced to be here. 

Please, Ellie had begged, it’ll be good for you to do something other than patrol or drinking with Tommy. Plus, they’re too good to keep to yourself.

They, being wood carvings — the tiny sculptures of deer and bears and birds, tufts of hair and bunches of feathers drawn out of driftwood with the tip of his blade. It was only ever meant to be a hobby, a way to busy his hands after they’d been wrapped around the cold metal of his rifle all day. Something lighter, creative rather than destructive, an act of giving rather than taking. 

But sharing them with other people? He hadn’t been interested. Maybe he’d make one for Ellie or Tommy. Wrap it up in a piece of cloth and offer it as a gift for their birthday.

Not that he thought they were any good, really.

With the announcement of Jackson’s first annual Holiday Market, though, came Ellie’s pleading. “I’ll help you,” she’d bargained. “You don’t even have to give me anything!”

“Who said I would anyway?” he’d grumbled, digging his spoon into the bottom of his bowl of stew and sifting out a chunk of meat.

Joel despises the Holiday Season. He’d welcomed its disappearance with the end of the world. Because he had no reason to celebrate, with Sarah gone. Her absence stung like salt in an open wound on any normal day. But on Christmas, memories of her hanging her favorite ornaments on the tree and sneaking one of the cookies baked for Santa burned behind his eyelids. Left him heaving through hot tears.

The holidays had no place in his world, but they certainly had a place in Jackson. The first time he and Ellie had strode through those gates, they’d been met with that damned Christmas Tree, towering over the settlement like a beacon. And he hated it, hated the way it brought about that pounding in his chest and that spinning in his head. 

How could anyone find any good in such a poignant reminder of loss? 

Tommy says it’s about new beginnings, finding ways to be happy again. And what’s happier ‘n Christmas? God damn Santa Clause, hot chocolate, children singin’ carols?

Still, Joel isn’t convinced — not yet.

Standing across the mess hall, at your table piled high with baked goods, you are far too cheerful. You’re humming some song with a jovial beat, absentmindedly swaying as you rearrange rows of gingerbread and muffins and scones — all of which are draped in white icing, like flocking on Christmas trees. You pause to wish a happy holiday to everyone who passes through. 

Joel knows he’s seen you before, flitting in and out of the community’s kitchen, always with that signature smile scrawled across your face.

And god, you’re so bubbly, taking to everyone you meet like a bee to honey, letting them in without a care in the world. Popping from table to table, making sure they have enough to eat. That they’re doing well.

It shouldn’t surprise him that you’re so…spirited, too. You seem to find the good in everyone and everything, after all.

It infuriates him, nonetheless.

Joel groans to himself. Stuffs his hands in the pockets of his jeans as an elderly couple rounds on him. 

He grumbles a hello to them when they approach. They offer him half-smiles in return, beginning to pick up some of the carvings laid out on the table — turning them, inspecting them.

“This one’s nice,” the man says to his wife. She hums in agreement. 

“You got any tigers?” the man asks.

“Tigers?”

“Yeah — I used to love ‘em as a kid.”

“Got what’s on the table,” Joel grumbles. 

“You make ‘em custom? I can offer some homemade jam in return — elderberry.”

Joel sighs in annoyance. 

“Don’t make ‘em custom. Got what I got.”

The man seems defeated, nodding and walking off without another word. The woman follows closely behind.

Just as they leave, Ellie appears. She sidles up to Joel and shrugs her jacket off. Pulls a chair up next to him.

“There’s so much cool shit here!” she exclaims, too loud. A judgemental set of eyes flit her direction. She glares right back at them.

“Do you mind?” Joel huffs, jaw ticking.

“Jesus, who pissed in your Cheerios?” 

“How do you even know what Cheerios are?”

“Don’t,” she admits. “I read it in a book.” 

“Of course you did.”

Ellie leans back in her chair, pulling an apple out of her backpack and biting into it. She shuffles some of the carvings around on the table. “Gotta fill in these gaps, man,” she says, juice dribbling down her chin.

Joel ignores her. He sneaks a glance at you; finds that you’re already looking. Your expression is unreadable, gaze unmoving as he studies you.

Despite your upbeat disposition bothering him, he can’t deny that you’re gorgeous: bright, beckoning eyes, siren-like smile — it’s like you’re peering into his soul. 

He didn’t think he still had one of those.

“Dude.” Ellie nudges him. He peels his eyes from you reluctantly. “I asked how many takers you’ve had.”

“Uh.” He pretends to think. 

“You have no fucking idea, do you? Too busy staring at that girl.”

“Wasn’t starin’,” he clips defensively.

“No? Well she’s coming over here, man.”

Sure enough, you’re striding right toward him, abandoning your post. Joel barely has time to prepare for impact.

He unconsciously straightens up and pulls his hands out of his pockets. He brushes them on his jeans just as you stop in front of his table.

“Hi there,” you say.

“Hi!” Ellie chimes.

You pick up a carving of a two-headed deer. His favorite.

“This is beautiful,” you coo. “The craftsmanship is lovely.” You’re running a finger along the grooves in the wood, holding the piece delicately in the palm of your hand — as if it’s made of glass, not wood. “You have a real gift…”

“Joel.”

“Joel,” you repeat. He ignores how sweet his name sounds coming out of your mouth. You tell him your name, and it fits you, he thinks. It’s pretty.

“How long have you been making them?”

“Just since I got to Jackson. ‘ts somethin’ to pass the time.”

You nod. Continue scanning over the intricacies of the deer. “I was never much of a baker before I got here, either,” you joke, gesturing back toward your table.

“Good one,” Ellie laughs. “You’re funny — isn’t she funny, Joel?”

In his head, he’s glowering at her. Outwardly, he feigns amusement.

“Real funny.”

“I’d love to see how you make these sometime,” you say, then, placing the deer back on the table gingerly. “Do you have a workshop?”

“In our shed,” Ellie pipes in before he can say anything. “You should come by tomorrow! Joel’s off patrol.”

He shoots her daggers. She pretends not to notice.

“I’d love that! I have to work in the kitchen, though. I could come by after?”

Joel starts to shake his head no. Ellie’s hand wraps around his arm like a vice grip. He stills.

“Sure,” he grits.

“I can bring some pastries, if you’d like.”

“Don’t like sweets.” 

“Oh,” you say, a little thwarted, but you’re undeterred. You shift on your feet. Chew your bottom lip. “Well, how about something not sweet, then?”

Your brows lift, narrowed eyes on him as you await a response. Joel still isn’t thrilled about the prospect of a visitor. Really, he doesn’t like anyone on his property that isn’t Ellie, or Tommy and Maria if he’s invited them. But you don’t seem so bad, offering to bring him food. 

He can probably deal with your sunny disposition in exchange for a full belly. Lord knows he went too long without that luxury, and he’d be a fool to deny himself of it ever again.

So, he agrees, the garbled sure less than enthusiastic leaving his mouth. Still, you don’t seem too offended. In fact, you smirk at him, wordlessly sauntering back to your table, sneaking glances at him every so often for the remainder of the afternoon.

Sure enough, the next evening, while Joel is whittling in the shed, you show up.

You’re wielding a basket of savory hand pies, as promised, and Joel has to stop himself from drooling. They smell incredible. And they’re still warm, somehow, steam wafting off of them even after your walk here.

“Come in,” he gruffs, his nose following the scent like a dog’s as he trails behind you inside.

His set up is minimal: a rocking chair next to a bench, a couple stools he made for when Tommy comes by to play poker. But his works are scattered throughout, every surface in the small room cluttered with little carvings.

He settles atop one of the stools as you begin to wander around the room, plucking sculptures off shelves and awing at them with such genuine admiration, it causes something to pull in his chest.

Every so often, you make a remark about the details in a piece, how the fur on the deer looks real, how you can practically smell the replica evergreen in your grasp.

And something shifts — carried by your kind words through the stuffy shed.

Taken by the slight lilt in your voice when you speak to him, the almost-shy smile that pulls at the corners of your lips — Joel is attracted to you.

He’s following the line of your neck down to your collarbone, ogling at the exposed skin there when you pick another carving up off the shelf. And he feels guilty — he shouldn’t be looking at you like this. You’re just being nice, being neighborly, and he’s gawking at you like you’d have any interest in him.

No; you’re young, beautiful, could do a lot better than an old grump like him. 

He averts his gaze quickly when you suddenly set down the tiny, carved bird that had been in your palm, round the workbench and perch yourself atop the stool next to his. You retrieve a handpie out of the basket and pass it over to him. 

“It has braised rabbit and carmelized onions in it,” you explain, taking a bite and letting the steam roll out. 

He follows suit and — it tastes just as good as it smells, if not better. He’s salivating again, letting the dough melt in his mouth before swallowing. 

The two of you eat in comfortable silence, getting through the entire basket in mere minutes.

When you’re finished, you ask him where he’s from. 

The question shouldn’t feel like such a shock to the system. But after a year of being in Jackson, successfully avoiding conversation about his life before the outbreak, it sets off a panging between his eyes, a dull ache in his viscera. 

“Texas,” he tells you plainly. “From Austin, originally.”

You nod. And you must be able to tell that he’s not used to talking about himself — by the tick of his jaw or the lack of eye contact — he’s not sure. Because you don’t pry. Instead, you say, “you can ask me something.”

He nods. Thinks on it for a moment.

“When did you arrive here? To Jackson?” 

Unlike him, you do not grimace at the intrusion. Instead, you tell him: about your parents, their untimely deaths, the harrowing road that led you here. You do not cry, but Joel can see the pain in your shiny eyes. 

It’s inevitable; there isn’t a single person here who hasn’t been dealt a bad hand. But you wear your past like a badge of honor, like you’re still grateful, after it all, to be alive.

Joel envies your tenacity.

So when you ask him about Ellie, if she is his daughter, he lets the walls around him down — just an inch. He doesn’t get upset when he stumbles over his words while telling you about Sarah. He finds comfort in confiding in you, in the way you so attentively listen, quietly nodding along as he recalls his version of the end of the world.

“Thank you,” you say when he’s done, burying his hands back in his pockets.

“For what?”

“For sharing that with me. I know it can be difficult to relive it.”

“I relive it everyday,” he admits. “Everything reminds me of her in one way or another.”

“I understand,” you nod. He believes you do.

So sweet, gaze like honey, you are an enigma to him. He hasn’t met many people who are kind just for the sake of it — not in a long while. Maybe that’s why he’d been so bothered by it at the market. It had felt almost unnatural to him, bound to be laced with an ulterior motive. 

He’s still learning how to trust people again. It doesn’t come easily after twenty-odd years of rationing it like the pills he’d stowed. Still, there is something innate about baring his soul to you. Letting you in through the cracks in his battered being. You are safe, he’s sure of it; benevolence radiating from you like warmth.

It drips off your tongue when you ask him to show you how he does his craft — slips down your fluttering lashes. No longer can he deny you of anything — he’s accepted this swiftly — and so he obliges.

A half-whittled fox materializes from his coat pocket, along with his blade. He passes both to you and pulls his stool closer to yours.

He guides you, taking your hand in his, encouraging the press of the blade into the wood. Shows you how to round out a corner with a subtle twist of the knife. You’re a fast learner, Joel notes, attentive, taking every instruction like gospel.

The slow drag of steel, your fingers wrapped tightly around the handle; you’re so focused that you jump slightly when he places a reassuring hand on your knee.

“Doin’ great, darlin’,” he says, and your lips pull around pearlescent teeth. Joel feels as enraptured by you as you do the carving — the loose tendrils of hair that drape over your shoulder, the clinging of cotton to your soft curves. Though he hardened into stone a long time ago, he feels smelted in your presence. So he cannot help it when his fingers begin to drift up your leg, settling at your side as he turns his body toward yours.

The blade stalls, tip still stuck into the wood, puncturing the fox’s non-existent spine, and your face lifts. 

“Is this okay?” he whispers. You nod, gaze flickering between his eyes and his lips.

You’re so close like this; Joel can smell the floral perfume dappled along your neck, can feel your warm breath fanning his face. He has half a mind to stop himself from sealing the sliver of distance left between you. But then you’re sighing, placing the blade and the wooden fox on the tabletop. And it’s your turn to guide him — winding your delicate fingers around his wrist and settling his hand at the small of your back.

The air in the tiny workshop grows heavy with unspoken desire, a longing to disrupt; to create. Your body forms to his languidly, arms interlocking behind his neck, fingers weaving in his hair to pull him closer to you. And then your lips press to his — hesitant at first, then not. You drink from each other until you are drunk, breathless and giddy when you separate. 

“That was nice,” you whisper, and Joel chuckles. 

“Just nice?”

“Great,” you amend. “It was great. Better than I imagined, even.”

“You imagined this?”

“Yes,” you smirk. “On a loop since I first saw you at the market.”

He pulls you back in. Gives you another chaste kiss. “For good measure.”

“Joel,” you say then, “will you and Ellie come by mine on Christmas? I could even cook — it’s just-”

“Yes,” he’s accepting before you can finish. “I’d love that. As long as you make more of those,” he gestures toward the empty basket on the workbench. 

“That can be arranged,” you grin.

As soon as you leave that evening — sent off with a goodbye muttered between slotted mouths — Joel starts on your Christmas present. 

end notes: thank you for reading! Please consider reblogging or leaving a comment if you enjoyed <3

[void-detective]

Earned Place 💰

[[GIF NOT MINE! ALL DIVIDERS MADE BY CAFEKITSUNES]]

Author note: This is a request made by @eboni-napalm that continues as part to my Gunther series, check the other two parts here. My requests are currently open as of now 🖊️ Final part for the Gunther series as of right now! Sorry about lack of proof editing btw 🖤

Word count: 2,646

Warning: praise kink, 18+, sex, gentle sex, two way(?), and face fucking

Summary: After Gunther's king of the ring win the reader seeks a way to prove their spot within the Imperium. After winning the tournament the reader gets greeted by more than they had bargained for.

May 25, 2024 - Women's Queen of the Ring finals

After your previous encounters with Imperium you had sought out a way to prove you deserved a spot within the tag team. And what better way to do it then win the Queen of the Ring tournament just like how Gunther had won against Orton. It only seemed fair that you proved you could hold your own like Kaiser, believing you needed to earn your spot in their team.

So you worked your ass off towards the finals of the Queen of the Ring and ended up in one last match against Lyra who was an upcoming star like yourself but you had more to prove compared to her.

This was for Imperium.

You staggered backstage panting and skin glistening backstage as you smiled, feeling the adrenaline finally ebb away as you wiped down your face. You felt relieved with your win and secretly hoped it was possible that Gunther had seen how hard you worked to get the win on Lyra. You were still sore but felt happy with the results of your win as you brushed damp strands of your hair back with a satisfied look.

So you made it through backstage quietly walking down the corridor a bit lost in thought as you went with a small sigh letting the tension finally ease out your body. It felt nice to actually win a big match for once in your career and even more to prove you could hold your own as a singles competitor outside of NXT and the indies.

You were still buzzing from the match as you moved past other superstars till you made it towards the locker room. You exhaled a nervous breath and pushed open the door to the locker room. You peered around as you stepped further in being greeted by the ever smug and annoyed expression of Kaiser standing of course in the way of where Gunther was.

“Can I help you?” Ludwig narrowed his eyes as he folded his arms behind his back with a small frown, assessing you with a scrutinizing gaze. His brows drawn down in that glare and a bit of a sneer pulling at his lips as he stared you down.

You let out an exasperated huff and looked around the locker room for the General before you glanced back towards Ludwig. “Are you ever going to like me?” You questioned with a quirked brow giving him a half amused yet tired stare.

“Probably not.” Ludwig shrugged and chuckled in amusement at your frustration as he waved a hand. “I just believe he deserves better.” He muttered with a scoff and stepped out your way with his eyes narrowed and a bitter scowl present on his features.

You ignored his comment with a roll of your eyes as you moved further into the locker room with a sigh. You stopped coming across Gunther lounged on one of the couches with that nice navy suit that he wore when he wasn't scheduled to fight. You smiled shyly as you stepped towards him and he sat up straight to meet you with a friendly look.

“You did good y/n, always impressive.” Gunther chuckled warmly and smiled as he observed you carefully with a intrigued look. “You did well on your promise to earn your spot as a member and lucky for you, we have an opening.” The offering felt like the biggest luck and like your wish had been granted but you secretly felt bad for Giovanni who had been kicked out of Imperium not too long ago by Ludwig. It made sense because of the fact that he wasn't used much unlike Kaiser but it still stung regardless.

“Thank you, your praise means a lot to me.” You smiled warmly looking fond as you brushed your hair out your face. “Although I don't know if Ludwig will ever like me.” You added jokingly as you peered over towards Kaiser who was still standing nearby, listening in as always.

Gunther cracked a genuine laugh and patted his chest with a smile as he turned his gaze towards his tag team partner. “Ah well, he'll warm up eventually..if not I'll chop him for you.” He hummed back in a playful way but still in a serious tone that had the other man tense a bit noticeably.

Ludwig held his hands up in a placating gesture and chuckled as he looked off to the side as he cleared his throat. You couldn't help but laugh to yourself at the gesture and the way he looked at the response but you couldn't blame him either. Being on the receiving end of one of Gunther's chops sounded less than ideal.

“Anyway y/n, I had an idea to reward your hard work but I need to know if you're comfortable with..Ludwig too. If he gets out of hand I will straighten him out for you.” Gunther patted his lap leaning forward with his hands on his knees trying to ensure you saw he was serious as he gazed up at you intently.

“You mean like..as in sex?” You questioned as you scratched your cheek turning to gaze at the younger man with curiosity, feeling your cheeks warm up in embarrassment. Your heart beginning to race in your chest are the implications like it was the most dirty thing to do.

“No he means in the ring.” Kaiser muttered with an amused snort as he raised a brow in amusement over the situation. His lips turned up into a wide smirk as he eyed you in an almost condescending way. God you wanted to smack him.

The thought made your head reel but it wasn't an unsavory idea now that you thought about it. You weren't into Kaiser like you were Gunther but if it meant getting even more good favor within the group, you were in for it. Plus maybe he'd stop being such a dick about all of it.

“I'm good with it.” You whispered back fiddling with your ring gear as you smiled over at Gunther with a nod of reassurance. It made you feel a lot better knowing how considerate he could be even now in these situations.

Gunther nodded his head in approval and leaned back on the couch looking up at you with an appraising gaze almost like a proud mentor. “Well go ahead I'll let you choose whatever you want.” He chuckled, the Austrian accent still ever prominent and you couldn't help but internally melt.

You let out a small breath feeling your nerves rack but with his permission you told a lot more at ease as you walked toward him. You watched him relax and give you another nod before you slipped onto his lap, gently straddling him as you looked up at him with your thighs on each side of his legs as you looked up at him. You felt his hands slide up your thighs and stay there which you didn't mind anyway.

As you adjusted getting used to sitting on his lap you could just feel the warmth and difference in your sizes. He was a big guy in general with everything and you could never not marvel at it all. You knew a lot of the women in the locker room didn't find him attractive but to you he was and not just in looks but the style and passion for the business.

You hesitated and felt him gently squeeze your thighs in response, almost trying to silently soothe you and tell you it was okay. You took another deep breath through your nose and moved a hand over his arm and onto his shoulder. Your other free hand moving up to gently caress his face like he was fragile even though it would take a lot to even dent him at all. You saw the glimmer of amusement in those green eyes as he raised a brow in question at your gentle handling of him.

“..Sorry, uh just admiring.” You cleared your throat and felt your blush burn toward the tips on your ears in response and felt your heart flutter at the soft chuckle that left him.

“Really? You're an odd one y/n, I don't have many women say they're trying to admire me.” The Austrian mused with a shake of his head but didn't deter your touches, only looking amused by them.

Contemplating your next moves you leaned your head forward peering at him uncertainty before mentally saying ‘fuck it' and closed the distance between you both. You kissed him gently and sighed, relaxing as he reciprocated the kiss and you moved the hand to his shoulder.

Eventually you parted and avoided his gaze as you rubbed your neck looking down as you shifted in his lap. You had an idea for what you wanted so you shifted and rocked your hips forward against the erection you could feel hardening against your thigh. “This okay?” You whispered a bit breathless as squeezed his shoulders, getting a hum in response.

You lifted yourself up and helped undo the belt carefully with his help pulling the pants down enough so they wouldn't get stained. You shifted and felt your breathing hitch as he helped pull down your ring gear to help get better access. As you shifted he guided you to lean back a bit and ran his hand over your side gently.

“I'm going to have to prep you, I don't have any condoms on me either. Plus I need to ensure you stay quiet so..” He gently laid you down on the couch, shifting to lean over you as he ran his fingers over your folds gently. He chuckled feeling you shiver and whimper under him before he nodded to Ludwig who had been patiently waiting at the sidelines for que.

Kaiser smirked in amusement and dark enjoyment as he stepped forward as he pulled down his wrestling trunks. He coaxed you to look over by turning your head towards his now freed cock and stepped towards you. “I hope you remember last time.” He mused with a smirk as he guided you to take him slowly.

In time with Kaiser's thrusts you could feel Gunther's thick fingers scissoring the inside of your entrance as you whimpered around Ludwig. The feeling on both ends was overwhelming even as you trembled beneath both men who were assaulting your senses on each end.

“Breath princess, you're doing very good.” Gunther pulled his fingers free from you and he gently stroked your thigh as he watched Ludwig thrust into your mouth. One of his hands soothing your trembling thigh while his partner worked towards his release. “That's a good girl.” He whispered to you and rubbed the soft skin of your inner thigh.

You trembled, breathing through your nose as you hollowed your cheeks and gently reached to hold Ludwig's hip as the man steadied his ever shuttering thrusts. You felt his movement getting erratic as he grunted above you before grabbing a handful of your hair and pushing deep with a low groan. You internally grimaced as the salty taste went down your throat and grunted around him as you tapped his hip.

Ludwig pulled back from you and ruffled your hair with a chuckle as he stepped back. “She's all yours, Gunther.” He wiped himself clean and tucked himself back in his trunks as he turned walking across the locker room.

You coughed lightly and made a face as you huffed watching the other man leave with a small huff of breath. Your breathing slowly coming back to normal as you turned your gaze back towards the larger man above you.

The General smiled at you and brushed your hair out your face as he looked down at you from above. “Are you sure this is what you want, y/n?” He whispered and ran his thumb over your cheek in a gesture that was almost too sweet. Everything about him was so tough and dominant but it seemed he was showing you a softer side of himself.

As you nodded in confirmation and gently spread your legs, you could see him relax and his eyes flick up to your face as he moved over on top of you. One hand braced over the arm of the couch and the other soothing your side and coming down to rub your hip as if steading your nerves.

You breathed shaky and shifted, placing a hand on his shoulder and the other on his side, guiding him closer. You bit your bottom lip as you wrapped your legs around his waist and used your free hand to free his cock from the confines of his boxers. You felt his grip tighten on your hip as he lifted your body up towards him a bit and he positioned himself between your legs.

“Ready? I need you to breathe and tell me if you need me to stop okay? Alright..” The Austrian murmured gently soothing a hand over your stomach as he guided the tip into your entrance. “Easy love, easy..I got you.” He whispered, feeling you tense and whimper under him as he slowly pushed more of himself into you. “There, you're doing so good for me hm?” He chuckled and leaned down to kiss your jaw before he moved the hand off your hip to cover your mouth. “Tap me if you want me to stop okay? I can't risk being heard.”

You felt your heart racing in your chest both from anticipation and excitement as you slowly nodded in agreement to his words. You let yourself relax beneath him and jolted at the first experimental thrust he gave which made you feel just how much he filled you up. You trembled and exhaled through your nose as he set a steady yet gentle pace so you could adjust to the foreign sensation. The burning and discomfort slowly gave way to pleasure like sensation lightening your senses on fire.

Upon feeling you begin to relax and hear your soft muffled sounds against his hands he had begun to move a bit faster and with more force. The movements made you shake and jolt beneath him and you braced yourself by holding his shoulders as his hand clamped over your mouth more. He grunted softly with the effort and watched your reactions carefully for any signs of discomfort as you tilted your head back and arched your back into his movements.

It didn't take long for you to feel the familiar pooling in your stomach and increasing heat that was building towards your release. You trembled upon the intense feeling as you gasped softly against his hand and tightened your grip on his shoulder to try and anchor yourself as your mind began to blank.

“That's a good girl.” Gunther growled in your ear and thrusted deep making you lightly scratch his shoulder and tense up. “Let go for me.” He whispered and kissed your neck, keeping a hand over your mouth as he used the free one to rub the sensitive bud which sent you right over the edge. He grunted and scrunched his nose as you clamped around him as you moaned against his hand.

As your release slowly died down you could feel him pull out and rub your thigh. You watched as he sat back slightly and pumped himself a few times before he came with a low growl and panted softly. God you loved being underneath him. Even now boneless and spent you could feel your attraction and love for the man only increasing.

“You did so good for me, my queen.” He whispered and cupped your cheek giving you a soft kiss before he pulled back to watch you with a soft look. “You earned your spot.”

[sequinsmile-x]

Please could you write a one shot of Emily being stood up by a guy and Hotch is there to console her and accidentally tells her he loves her

(This may or may not be motivated by sad me who’s just been stood up and I’m really sad haha)

Love your stuff ❤️❤️

Hi bestie <3

I am so so sorry that this took so long to do. I hope you're okay and that you know the guy who stood you up doesn't deserve you!!

I hope you enjoy this! <3

(I know I promised some Emily whump but the fic wasn't behaving so I wrote this instead haha)

-x-

Everything's Here and Nothing's Lost

As she sits at her desk and looks nothing short of sad, her smile not reaching her eyes anytime anyone speaks to her, it worries him. Makes familiar doubt and concern creep up his neck, his skin burning with it as he tries to work out what is wrong.

AKA - the one where Emily has a bad day, Aaron checks on her and everything changes between them.

-x-

Words: 3.5k

Warnings: they are really, really, stupid in this.

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

There was something wrong with Emily. 

Ever since she’d come home from Paris, she’d been different. It was as if she was just about holding herself together, her ability to hide anything from Aaron gone the moment they’d made their deal that she’d tell him when she was having a bad day. Part of him had been surprised when she kept up her end of the bargain, when she’d done as he’d asked, the action itself a sign of how much she was struggling.

Since then, they’d got closer again, their friendship stitched back together until it was where it had been before she’d died to almost everyone but him. Before she’d pulled back from him and Jack in what he now knew was an attempt to keep them safe from Ian Doyle. They’d been getting close to something more than friends at the time, her constant support after his attack and then Haley’s death the bedrock he’d rebuilt his life on. She’d always been there - always bringing him and Jack meals and keeping them company with no expectation of anything in return. Jack had been drawn to her, always glued to her side and seeking her out in a way Aaron was strangely jealous of, envy he wasn’t proud of churning in his gut over the fact his son was able to show his love for Emily in a way he wasn’t able to himself. 

Shortly before she got what he now knew was a phone call that changed the trajectory of her life, they’d been working towards something more. Talking around the idea of going on a date as if they were teenagers in love for the first time, not adults who’d both seen more than their fair share of pain and heartbreak. When she suddenly pulled back - cancelling their tentatively planned date with what had felt like a hurried excuse even without the context of what was going on - he assumed she’d decided she didn’t want to date a single father, that she realised it was more than she was willing to take on. 

As he’d stood over her grave just a few weeks later, he’d felt guilty for that assumption, that he’d thought so little of her when he should have seen the signs something was wrong. He knew he was in love with her then, and that he had been for a long time. All the what-ifs and should have beens so suffocating he’d be torn from sleep most nights, breathless as if the weight of everything he’d lost and never had was sitting on his chest and the side of the bed she’d never even slept in achingly empty. He visited her in the hospital before she was moved. He held her hand and talked to her even though she wasn’t entirely conscious, and he kissed her cheek, three little words he wished he’d said sooner stamped against her skin. He’d told himself at her funeral, dirt from the soil he’d thrown on top of her casket caught in the cuff of his pants, that he’d make sure when he got her back, he’d be whatever she needed him to be - even if it was just her friend. 

Dave had told him more than once that he needed to move on, his smile knowing and kind as he told him everyone knew about him and Emily and how they had felt for each other, but that he needed to consider that it might be something that had simply passed them both by. He’d even encouraged Aaron to go on a date with the woman he’d met in the park when training for his triathlon, but it hadn’t gone anywhere beyond that. Every time she laughed or asked him a question Emily already knew the answer to, he felt as if he was doing something wrong, as if he was cheating on a woman he’d never even kissed. 

Emily had been his best friend for a long time, and it was strange for him to think that he once hadn’t trusted her, now she was the person he trusted the most. She’d shown him time and time again that she was the opposite of everything he’d assumed her to be when they first met, and he’d occasionally still feel a flash of guilt if he thought about it too long. She’d make fun of him for it now, smiling as she reminded him how he didn’t like her at first, a sparkle in her eyes that he thought had died with her when it was just the two of them. 

Today, as she sits at her desk and looks nothing short of sad, her smile not reaching her eyes anytime anyone speaks to her, it worries him. Makes familiar doubt and concern creep up his neck, his skin burning with it as he tries to work out what is wrong. He watches from his office as she gets up from her desk, her mug in her hand as she walks towards the kitchen. She walks away without offering to make anyone else a cup of coffee, her head down as she slips away unnoticed, and it forces him upwards, his hand reaching for his still mostly full cup of coffee as he heads out of his office, dumping the coffee into a potted plant on his way past. 

She smiles at him when he makes it to the kitchen, her eyebrow raised curiously as she looks at his mug, “You’re going through those quickly today.” 

“Oh,” he says, furrowing his brow as he tries to think of something to say that doesn’t make it seem like he’s checking up on her, “I didn’t sleep great last night, I need something to keep me awake doing his paperwork.” 

The teasing edge to her smile slips away and she looks concerned. It’s so achingly her to worry about him when she was clearly upset herself that he thinks in another world, in a world where she was his and they weren’t in the office that he’d lean forward and kiss her for it.

“Is everything okay?” 

He nods and reaches for the coffee pot, watching intently as she drops a tea bag into her mug, “Just one of those nights, you know.”

She hums and nods, “I do.” 

He waits her out for a few seconds, waiting to see if she’ll say anything else, but she avoids eye contact as she pours boiling water into her mug as if she’d worried she’ll spill everything the moment their eyes meet. 

“Em,” he says, using a nickname that was usually reserved for outside the office, a switch from using her surname that makes her look up at him, “Are you okay?” 

She nods before he’s even finished speaking, “I’m fine.” 

He sighs, “You know you can talk to me-”

“I said I’m fine,” she replies, snapping in a way she regrets immediately as she sighs, shaking her head at herself and swallowing thickly, “Sorry,” she says, looking around to make sure she hadn’t drawn any attention to them, “I didn’t mean to…” she presses her lips together, forcing a smile he’s seen her give her mother more than once, “I’m fine.” 

As she walks away, he’s somehow even more worried than he already was. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and sends Jessica a text, a plan formulating in his head as he walks back to his office. 

Can Jack stay with you tonight? There’s something I need to do. 

___

She huffs out a breath as she sits down on the couch, a glass of wine in one hand and a menu for her favourite Chinese restaurant in the other. Sergio jumps onto the couch and meows at her, nudging one of her hands until she drops the menu between them and scratches his head. 

“What shall we watch tonight, Serg? A movie? Or some reality trash?” She says, smiling when he meows again, “Reality trash it is.” She picks up the menu again and sighs when the doorbell rings, “Who the hell is that?” She grumbles as she stands up, throwing the blanket she’d put over her lap off as she goes. She’s only partly surprised when she looks through the peephole and sees Aaron, and she rolls her eyes as she pulls the door open, “I said I was fine.” 

“Hello to you too, Em,” he says, holding up a bag of food from the restaurant she’d been about to order from, “I bought your favourite,” he smiles as he holds up a bag with his other hand, “And candy,” his smile gets slightly wider as she struggles to hide her own smile, “Can I come in?” 

She sighs and stands back to let him walk past her, “Since you brought food, I guess I have no choice.” 

“I know how to work my way in here,” He chuckles and walks to her kitchen, placing the bags of food down on the counter before he starts unpacking it, “I got your usual order.” 

She has to suppress a smile at that, her lips pressed tightly together as it warms something in her chest, something she’d shoved down to the very bottom of it months ago. A vague hope she’d shoved in a box almost set free as the lid slips away at his gentle kindness. 

“Thanks,” she replies, walking over as she watches him get out plates and chopsticks - as aware of the layout of her kitchen as he was her own, “I just poured some wine, do you want some?” 

“I’ll have a glass,” he says, smiling at her in a way that never failed to make her stomach flip, his eyes sparkling with something that felt like hers even though it never had been. She nods and swallows thickly, desperately trying to push the feelings she’d ignored for months back down to where they belonged. Where she cultivated them, kept them safe and tried to stop them from blooming any further, worried that she was only ever one moment away from blurting them out and letting them shatter her heart on the way past. 

She was in love with him. It happened slowly. It crept up on her, kept its pace with her until it was right behind her, its warm hand wrapped around her neck. For a little while, she thought that maybe they could become something, that the shy smiles and the lingering hugs would shift into them being together like she’d wanted for longer than she cared to admit. They came close, and had even arranged a date, but everything changed when Ian escaped from prison. She knew if he found out how close she was to Aaron and Jack, he’d use that knowledge to hurt her, that he’d hurt them, and it was the last thing she wanted. She’d pulled back, made an excuse she couldn’t remember to cancel their date and she stopped spending her spare time with them. 

It hurt. It made her feel like she’d ripped her own heart out, the imprints of her misshapen nails puncturing it in a way she’d never recover from when Aaron tried to cover how hurt he was. 

He visited her in the hospital before she was moved for her safety. He’d sat next to her, his hand warm around hers when everything else felt so cold, as he whispered that he’d make sure he brought her home. She remembered very little about it other than his promise and the press of his skin against hers. The pain she was in and the meds that were supposed to fight it overrode everything else. 

Sometimes, she thought that he might have kissed her cheek. Fuzzy memories of his lips against her pallid skin that she could never quite place properly, unsure if it was real or a dream. 

He’d been her rock since she came home, providing the support she hadn’t known she needed or how to ask for. Part of her, a part that felt strangely optimistic, a hangover of who she’d been when she was young and nothing bad had happened to her yet, had hoped that they’d go back to where they were. There were moments when she thought that maybe they were getting there. He’d smile at her or do something like come to her apartment with food when she was sad and she’d think maybe he does still feel that way.

Then she’d remind herself that Penelope had told her he’d gone on a date with someone he’d met in the park, and it would hurt all over again. 

“Shall we go sit down?” He asks, handing her the food he’d plated up for her, and she smiles and nods, passing him the glass of wine she had no memory of pouring. 

He sits on the end of the couch that she’d long since considered his, and he smiles at Sergio as he sits down, scratching behind the cat’s ears once he’s got a free hand. “Hi, Sergio.” 

She smiles as Sergio lays down next to him, his back pressed against Aaron’s thigh, and she chuckles, “And you say he hates you.” 

“He pooped in my shoe, Em,” he says dryly, his smile letting her know he wasn’t annoyed and she laughs. 

“That’s his way of showing love.” 

“Whatever you say.” He laughs, bold and bright and goofy in a way she loves and he takes a bite of his dinner. They eat in companionable silence. It’s the kind of silence she’d missed sharing with someone, comforting and gentle in the air around them as they were happy to just be with each other, neither one of them feeling the need to make small talk as the minutes ticked on. Eventually, once they have finished eating, he puts his plate on the coffee table and takes her’s from her too, “You know you can tell me what’s going on, right?” 

She sighs, “Aaron-”

“You can tell me anything,” he says, his expression serious, something that looked too close to regret and guilt shining in his eyes that makes her feel nauseous. She knew it was her fault that he was worried, that he was likely thinking of worst-case scenarios and big secrets, “Even if it is that you were a spy for another government agency,” he smiles when she chokes on a laugh and shakes her head, “I’d be impressed you find the time for it though.” 

“It’s nothing like that,” she assures him, shifting so her knees are against her chest and her arms are around her legs, “I…” she sighs, her cheeks burning with embarrassment as she continues, “Penelope convinced me to let her set me up on a blind date.” 

She’d refused at first, firm and forceful as she said no, but eventually, her friend wore her down after one too many cocktails and a reminder that Aaron was dating someone else.

“Oh,” he says, a flash of what looks like hurt in his eyes that makes her curious and angry all at once, because she never would have done anything if he hadn’t done it first, “That's…how was it?” 

She scoffs, “Pretty awful considering the guy never showed up.” 

He furrows his brows, “What? He never showed up for a date with you?” 

His indignation makes her smile sadly, her lips pressed together as she shrugs, “Either that or he showed up, saw me and decided to leave,” she chuckles dryly, “I think for the sake of my self-worth I need to tell myself he just never showed up at all.” 

He squeezes his hands into fists at his side, anger flashing through him at the thought of someone hurting her like that, “Does Garcia know him? I could make sure he-”

“Aaron,” she says, reaching out to touch his arm, “It’s okay. I don’t want to date someone who is clearly a jerk anyway.” 

He nods, and swallows thickly, his gaze falling down to her hand on his arm, something about her touch making him feel brave, “I…I didn’t realise you were ready to date.”

She draws her hand back, only realising she is still touching him when he looks at her hand, and she clears her throat, “I wanted to try. And it didn’t exactly work out.” 

He looks up at her, “I guess I just thought when you were ready, if you were ready, you’d let me know.” 

She frowns at him, “Why?” 

He laughs humourlessly, “So we could go on a date?” 

She can’t help but laugh at the simple way he says it and she stands up, forced upwards by righteous anger as she starts to pace back and forth, “So you can fit me into your busy schedule?” 

Aaron frowns at her, “What do you mean?” 

“I know you went on a date with that woman you met in the park,” she says, her fury over the situation finally set free, “I thought we might be able to make things work, that everything with Ian hadn’t changed things for you, but it clearly has. And that’s okay,” she says, the crack in her voice giving away her lie, “I just wish you’d told me.” 

He stands too, everything slotting into place as he shakes his head, “Em, no-”

“I think you should go,” she says, swallowing thickly, her eyes burning with tears she refuses to shed in front of him, “I need some time-”

“Em, I need you to listen to me-”

“No, I’ve heard enough, I am done-”

She’s cut off as he surges forward and kisses her, his hands on her cheeks as he holds her in place. She melts into it immediately, her lips slotting against his as she sags against him, as if he was both drawing the life out of her and replacing it with something more powerful than she’d ever known. It was everything she knew it would be and more, and suddenly she knows he kissed her cheek in the hospital, the press of his lips against hers unlocking the memory in its entirety, the declaration of love he’d stamped her skin echoing around in her head. She pulls back, her breath stuttering around her lungs as she rests her forehead against his, unable to pull away even if she wants to, her body frozen in place. 

“I went on one date,” he says, his hands drifting from her cheeks down to her waist as he pulls back to look at her, “And that’s only because Dave told me I had to try to move on.” 

She sucks in a breath, hope sparking low in her gut again, “Really?” 

“Really,” he assures her, “I spent the whole time thinking of you and paid for dinner before I told her I couldn’t see her again. It wouldn’t be fair on any of us, including her, for me to date her when I’m in love with you.” 

She’s sure if she wasn’t being held up by him, she’d have fallen over, and she sighs in relief, tears she could no longer hold back falling onto her cheeks. She leans forward and presses her forehead against his.

“I’m in love with you too,” she says, laughing in a way that sounds almost hysterical, “I only agreed to go on the date Pen set up to try and move on.” She adds, and he kisses her again, and she wraps her arms around his neck, not wanting him to go anywhere. She knows it’s the start of something new, of the love she’d always been searching for without knowing it, and she hugs him when the kiss comes to an end, her head against his chest as he holds her close. “We’re idiots.” 

He laughs, and it passes from his chest to hers, the rumble of it a gift she can feel ripple out into the room around them, “At least we’re each other’s idiots.” 

She smiles as she looks up at him, her teeth sinking into her lower lip, “At least there’s that,” she says, her smile slipping into a frown and she sighs. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks, tucking her hair behind her ear, his touch soft and reverent. She leans into it as she replies, huffing out a breath as she shakes her head.  

“If Dave and Pen somehow made this happen by setting us up on dates they knew wouldn’t work out, I’m going to kill them.” 

He briefly tightens his hold on her, and he chuckles and shakes his head, unsure that Penelope would go as far as setting up Emily on a date that wasn’t to happen, but also aware he wouldn’t put it past either her or Dave. 

“Really?” He asks, smiling at her, “Because I think I might buy them a drink.” 

[eruden-writes]

Where the Dark Stands Still by A.B. Poranek

This is the book that had me sobbing in bed a few nights ago. I found this book in the bin store, caught by the absolutely gorgeous cover art.

I didn't realize it was a young adult novel until I started reading, but I should've known. Young adult novels seem to have the most appealing cover art to me.

Where the Dark Stands Still is heavily inspired by Polish folklore while also having the feel of Howl's Moving Castle and Beauty and the Beast. It's really quite splendid.

The story follows Liska Radost - apparently a 17-year-old, but it was vague throughout the book - who is a girl with magic who happens to live in a Polish village entangled in Christian ideology. Meaning magic is seen as a sin. Liska does her best to hide her powers, but her magic does trigger and cause problems, at times.

In an effort to get rid of her magic, Liska takes to the nearby spirit woods, the Driada, during Kupala night. There, she hopes to find a legendary flower that will grant her a wish. Instead, she finds the Lesky, a powerful "demon" that offers her a bargain.

She is to stay and manage his manor for one year. At the end of that time, he will relieve her of her magic.

Throughout her stay, it's hard to trust the Lesky. He's enigmatic and sometimes refuses to answer Liska's questions, mostly pertaining to his past. It made Liska and Lesky's relationship a tense one, where the reader gets the vibe that he is using her for something sinister.

Over her stay at the manor, Liska also encounters different spirits and demons. Some of which become beloved friends or aid her in finding answers to her questions. Others of which try to kill her.

The romance with the Lesky definitely builds, which I appreciate. It's almost always fraught with a "what if" sensation, since Liska knows the Lesky could be using her. I don't appreciate that it builds over the course of four months, however. I wish it had been a longer timeline.

Interestingly, the book is written in present tense, which doesn't detract from the enjoyment. It was a unique facet I wanted to mention. The descriptions are very lovely and are not overly drawn out.

What others might care about:

Arrogant and distant male lead. There's reasons why he acts this way, but it's definitely a trope in YA. But he's bi, since we learn about one of his prior lovers, so marginally more palatable.

Big ole age gap. Yep, the Lesky is 700+ years old, although he doesn't look (nor act, in my opinion) much older than Liska. I'm willing to overlook this, since the Lesky is bound to/cursed by an ancient god.

Explicit violence and gore. The whole book is beautifully written and I honestly appreciated the detailed descriptions of violence and wounds. It really fit the vibe of the story.

Animal death. The Lesky's former lover had a dog that died terribly. His spirit is still wandering, depicting the dog in its mangled state.

Vague sex scenes befitting a young adult novel. I won't begrudge a young adult novel for having vague intimacy. However, coupled with the big ole age gap, other readers may not like this.

Overall, this is a solid 5 out of 5 for me. Some parts aren't to my taste, but not enough to detract from the story. Everything works phenomenally well together.

[SPOILER BELOW, DO NOT READ FURTHER IF YOU DON'T WANT SPOILED]

In an effort to disengage himself with the old god who wants to take over his body and cause havoc, the Lesky ends up killing himself. Just before he dies, he ends up transferring his powers and guardianship of the Driada to Liska without her consent. This scene was so very heartbreaking and the following scenes, when Liska wakes up and processes what happened, is also heartbreaking.

I was a sobbing mess. I'm a little misty-eyed just typing this up.

While this was extremely well done, I'm also conflicted. The long-lived male lead finally finding love having to sacrifice themselves for the greater good, while leaving their lover reeling in emotional agony, losing something so special that they fought so hard for? I feel like this is an oddly specific trope that's prevalent in stories like this.

Thankfully, because the Driada is a spirit wood, there's a dangling ending that may be sweeter for Liska and the Leszy.

[greetingfromthedead]

14. To Help Others

Series: Apple Blossoms Pairing: Knives x GN!Reader Word count: 3.2k

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"How are you?"

The question hung heavy in the air. Knives didn't answer you for a long while. You even started to think he somehow didn't hear you in the first place. But before you could ask again, he looked up from the flickering flame of the candle. His eyes seemed troubled, uncertain, and almost in pain. A rare glimpse beyond the veil he keeps up.

"I am fine," he finally answered.

"I thought you said you would tell me the truth," you responded, feeling almost hurt for being shut out once again.

"It's not a lie," he assured you. "I am alive. I have strength in my body. My memories that were scattered and broken are mostly pieced together. My wounds are almost healed, and I am not in constant physical pain. There are things about almost everything that I still need to figure out for myself. Loose pieces of me that I need to fit somewhere or leave behind. I have no path to guide me. The fire that has driven me forward has gone out. Things could be worse. Things could be better. So for now, I am fine."

"What things? What are you still trying to figure out? What keeps you up all night?" You leaned forward, drawn in by his rare vulnerability.

"I gifted you just one question. And you made your choice," Knives said, turning his gaze away to overlook the town again.

"Right." You felt a bit dejected. "But I am glad that you are at least doing fine. And if I can help you… ask."

"Yes. I've seen what asking gets me." Knives's voice was almost a whisper, and he stood up. "Goodnight."

He left without looking back to you. He returned to his room and closed the balcony door. The lights didn't come on in his space, and you waited for a bit longer at the table he set. If only he were always honest with you.

The morning air already feels stuffy. The wind has turned, and now it messes through your hair as you lean your elbows on the edge of the guard of the balcony. Last night plays in your head over an over like a movie. The smell of incense still lingers in the air, reminding you again how well you slept despite not remembering your dreams. You take a deep breath and look down into the streets. Some people seem to only now stagger home; others lay passed out on the sidewalks. Every space is littered with confetti and empty beer bottles. The city is alive with the remnants of last night's celebrations. Everything seems slower than usual as everybody is recovering from the holiday.

You wonder if you have any hope of finding traders here. You are close enough to Octovern that you would think they would come here to bargain. Especially with all the extra people gathered for the celebrations. Unless they themselves partied too hard too, there is hope of finding people peddling goods here. Every settlement closer to the surviving city is a bigger risk. Surely the remnants of the military police have gathered there to help Earth's forces to get their operations running and to help the people who are struggling to survive in this post-apocalyptic world. They will all be on the lookout for Knives. Maybe you should leave him here and go to Octovern by yourself? Lucille is a nut-job, but you can trust her. No, life has a way of dragging you off course when you least expect it. You wouldn't want to leave Knives in the unknown and all by himself. You have connections here, you are trusted, and you can talk your way out of almost anything. And then there is his answer from yesterday. It made him sound so lonely, like he has nothing and nobody in this world except himself. He's coming with you.

You hear a balcony door open, and you turn your head to see Knives stepping out. He looks rested. At least more so than usual. His eyes linger on the horizon for a moment before he finally turns to you. Like usual, he doesn't say anything.

"Good morning," you speak softly. "How were your dreams?"

"Good, I guess," he replies absentmindedly.

"How is your wound doing? I realized too late that I didn't wrap it properly last night."

"I wrapped it myself," he looks at the messy streets as he speaks.

"Oh no. Did you use the old bandages?"

"No. I took some clean ones from your supplies earlier," he speaks calmly. He sounds so distant.

"Very good. I hope I can check the wound tonight; I want to make sure it isn't getting an infection. Perhaps I will be able to get my hands on some medicine too while we're here," you trail off by the end, more talking to yourself than him.

"You hope we're close enough to Octovern for the traders to come here?" he sees right through your sentiment.

"Yes. It would save us quite some time if we could get our supplies here," you say, leaving out the part where your bigger worry is getting him caught. "Whatever the case, we should take advantage of this place. Do laundry, get food and water for the road, and then we can be on our way. Whatever direction it ends up being."

"The people here don't look like they are up for business today," Knives comments, still looking down at the people in the streets.

"I have a feeling that the right people will be," you smile, full of confidence that at least some things will find a way to sort themselves out. "Let us get started, bright and early!"

To be fair, it is not early; the mornings drag on thanks to the long hours of darkness, and the people are slow to recover from the festivities. You get ready for the day and instruct Knives to do the same. He appears from his room wrapped in the cloak and his bag full of dirty laundry hanging over his shoulder. You take your own bag and the basket from yesterday to make your way downstairs. The lobby is empty, and you don't want to push your luck with Lucille, so you leave yesterday's supplies behind the counter and slip out.

Together with Knives, you embark on your errand run, taking him with you to a small laundry business where an old, hunched-over woman manages the shop. She greets you warmly, chatting away as she takes your dirty clothes and some doubledollars. The old woman is friendly with you and tells you to come back in a few hours. This gives you time to walk across to the other side of the little town to a place with a large metal sign hanging over the door: "The Kitchen".

Inside you see a skinny man behind a counter. It is Carl, but without his beard and with a hairnet. He already looks better than he did yesterday. He smiles a bit awkwardly, and almost immediately Bertha appears. The middle-aged woman wears a headscarf and an apron. She comes to the cash machine and has a big customer service grimace on her face. You know she is a good person, but she can act strange sometimes. You don't chat for long as Bertha is preparing for last night's drunkards to stagger here soon. You simply order some sandwiches and coffee for yourself and Knives, picking a corner booth that hides his suspicious figure from most onlookers. While eating, Knives keeps staring at Carl, who diligently dices onions with tears in his eyes.

With a full belly, it gets easier to plow onward and to search for every contact you have ever had in the supply chain. Most of them are empty-handed. Either their own supplier has dried up, or they have given up on the business altogether. You get a few referrals and even get lucky enough to be able to buy bandages and some medicine, but it is not nearly enough. The talk on the street is that Earth's forces have set up their outpost and are producing supplies, but they distribute things themselves and systematically, most items going to their own relief teams, leaving little for anybody else, let alone traders. The situation keeps pushing you closer to Octovern. There are only a few more settlements between here and there, but none of them big enough to give you hope that you will find traders. It is with a heavy heart that you give up on the hope of getting medical supplies here, so you shift your focus to getting other travel supplies.

You're on your way to what basically is a pet shop to get feed for your birds when a distant voice cries out for you.

"Doc!" the desperate plea echoes through the street and makes you turn around.

A young girl runs towards you as fast as she can. You recognize her as one of the kids that was with Danny yesterday. She is dressed boyishly, her hair is tied up, and her arms and legs are dusty. She waves at you and yells for you to help her.

Without even thinking, you take long strides towards her, Knives close behind. She stops and waves you to follow her. You hurry forward, keenly watching where she goes as she disappears into an alley not far from where you were. She waits for you there.

"Come quickly! It's my sister! She's sick!" the girl pleads, grabbing your hand as soon as you come into reach. She drags you into a door in the alley. The hallway is small, slanting upward and echoing as you rush forward. She enters a door next to some stairs that lead up. The little apartment is cramped and dimly lit. Boxes and stuff line the walls and clutter every corner, but the little girl keeps a tight hold of your fingers and leads you along the path that leads to a far room.

On a bed that seems too small for her, a slightly older girl lies under covers, pale-faced and unresponsive. You can tell she's not well. Sweat covers her brow, and her breathing is shallow. Your immediate thought is Silvercrest, the way the people in the tent suffered and waited for relief. It makes your heart skip a beat or maybe two. Pulling the curtains from the window lets in just a touch more light as you take a closer look. Your hand pressed to her forehead confirms her high fever.

"I got my hands on some medicine that should help bring her temperature down," you talk to nobody in particular. Your head races with a million thoughts about what you should do and in what order. You pull away to search your pockets, but a familiar bottle is already reached out for you to take. As you look up, you see Knives's serious face looking back at you, his hand holding the medicine you were looking for.

You take it with a thanks and hurry back along the path you came through to hopefully reach the kitchen. Luckily, you remember the way back and quickly arrive at the kitchen and rush over to the sink to wash your hands and get some water, but the tap is dry.

"There is water in the buckets if you need it. One is dirty, the other clean," another female voice speaks.

You look over to see a slightly sickly-looking woman, clearly a victim of famine, standing by the door. Her resemblance to the other girls is striking, and it is clear that she must be their mother.

"Buckets?" you ask with surprise, too aware of the technological advancements of this town.

"Yes, the purification system of this town block crapped out on us a little while back. There has been nobody who could fix it, especially since we don't have the money to spare. My husband used to take care of it, but he went to Octovern to fight and still hasn't returned. It is fresh water, though, in the buckets. I brought them in myself this morning." She sounds apologetic, like it is your inconvenience she worries about.

Quickly you adjust to what you have at your disposal and wash your hands with the woman's help. Next you crush the medicine into a powder and mix it with water. This will help with the dehydration too. You go back to the sick girl and carefully lift her head to trickle the medicine mixture into her mouth. It is reminiscent of the way you took care of Knives, who watches you from the hallway. He remained there after following you to the kitchen. The little bedroom is cramped enough with the family there; he gives you just a touch more space. You focus on the girl, giving her medicine and water before thoroughly examining her. You're happy that you don't find any rotting wounds, but it still leaves you in the dark.

A baby's cry catches your attention, and the mother rushes off, leaving you there with the two girls. She is gone only for a little bit before returning with a bundled-up infant. Three children and she is all by herself. This can't be easy.

"I'm afraid I don't know what causes her fever," you admit. "It could be a cold that got out of hand, some kind of infection. I can't say for sure. I found no injuries or signs of poison. Her fever should come down a bit soon. It is important to give her water; she swallows well, so it shouldn't be too hard. How long has she been sick?"

"Not long. She said she didn't feel well yesterday, and this morning we found her like this," the mother answers, "But she is always such a brave girl. She thinks she has to take care of herself now that her dad is gone, so maybe she has been unwell for days and she just didn't admit it. I should have paid more attention."

"Don't blame yourself. You're doing the best you can," you try to console her. "I hope it is just a bad cold and nothing more serious. Give her medicine throughout the day so her fever doesn't get out of hand. I think she will wake up when she feels better. Maybe she will eat something then. Keep an eye on her."

You hand the younger sister a few of the fever reducer tablets and instructions on when and how to give them. The girl listens diligently and nods her head in understanding.

"If it is a sickness… could it be contagious?" the mother asks with concern.

"Maybe. But if that is the case, I guess you would already have it. It might take a few days for it to show. It is hard to tell," you admit, frustrated with your shortcomings.

"Could you examine the baby? I trust my little Inga to tell me when she is feeling unwell, but he is too little to say what the matter is," the mother pleads, voice still dripping with concern.

"Of course, but I wouldn't do it here. Is there another room with a window?"

You're led to a different bedroom. It has a wider bed in the middle and a box for a crib on the side. A smaller bed sits against the wall but is covered by stuff. Evidently the younger sister sleeps in the big bed with her mother. You notice a small desk and chair near the window, with a coloring book and crayons scattered on top. It looks like the brightest spot in the room, so you mindfully make some space and take the baby from the woman's arms. You carefully unwrap the infant, who fusses slightly but settles as he takes great interest in the faces you make at him. While you examine the child, a bang sounds out from somewhere in the hallway. The woman excuses herself for a moment to go and look, leaving you alone with the baby. You finish the examination before she returns, so you swaddle the kid and pick him up to go see what happened.

In the hallway, outside the apartment, a panel has been pried open from the wall, exposing wiring and tubes. Knives stands before the exposed parts, his arms extended into the mess of wires. He looks focused and determined as he digs for something in the wall. The woman stands behind him, shining a light on his work. A smile tugs at your lips. You've never seen him like this. The baby coos in your arms and reaches up for your nose as you step closer. Knives turns his head to look at you. He seems to freeze for a moment, his gaze slipping between your smile and the loving embrace that holds the baby.

"What are you doing?" you ask him gently while rocking the baby.

"He said he might be able to fix our water problem!" the woman exclaims, hope shining in her eyes. "And how is my baby?"

"I didn't know you could do something like that," you say to Knives before answering the woman, "He looks absolutely fine, but just in case, don't bring him into the girl's room for a little while. It will help to minimize the infection risk just a little bit."

"Thank you, Doc!" she sighs with relief, her hand reaching out to touch her son.

"Here. This should fix the system," Knives suddenly says in a flat voice as he turns his gaze back to the wall, takes his arms out and shuts the panel, but doesn't look back at you.

"You're like two angels from Heaven!" the mother whispers as tears fill her eyes. "How can I ever thank you for your help?"

You shake your head gently, still smiling.

"Just take care of your family the best you can. I hope everything will sort itself out now. Stay strong. I will come back tomorrow and check on the children again. Until then, wash your hands, drink water, and give medicine as needed," you instruct her while handing over her son.

"Thank you. Thank you!" she keeps repeating.

You check again on the sick girl; her fever seems a little less fiery now. It is still with a heavy heart that you leave their home, wishing you could do more, hoping that the medicine you left them will be enough to pull the girl through. This day has not quite been what you hoped. But it was still full of surprises.

"Are you a mechanic?" you ask Knives as you look over to him.

"No. Just a knack for tech," he says with the same flat tone as before.

"Well, I am glad. You helped those people more than you know," you smile up at him as you walk back to pick up your laundry. "And not only them. That system supports a whole block of buildings."

Knives doesn't answer; he doesn't even look at you. The rest of your errand run is spent in silence. Every time you glance at him, he looks away as if you had said something wrong. But your gut tells you there is something else going on. Perhaps he is trying to fit one of those broken pieces of himself into the puzzle he has become.

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[we-are-all-stories-in-the-end]

The Day Death Met Her Equal

(Agatha/Rio fic)

When Rio entered the small wooden cabin, she instantly knew that this job would be an easy one. Looking around the sparse room she squinted in the semi-darkness taking in the tiny hearth with the ambers barely glowing, the drying herbs hanging from the ceiling, the little basket with needle work in the corner, and the old woman sleeping peacefully in the bed in the corner. A simple life, but well lived. She liked encounters like this, the ones who went so willingly. She had chosen a young woman's appearance, a nice face, a kind face. It made the journey so much easier. She had learned a long time ago that her true self caused more fear than necessary, and she adjusted.

Not that she didn't bring it out from time to time, usually for the men, the ones who she would have loved to take sooner if she was allowed to. The ones who were horrible until the very end, who didn't deserve the life they had been given. Or just the ones who thought themselves so clever that they could somehow talk their way out of death. They annoyed her, so they got the full experience, a face that demanded respect.

Taking slow steps towards the bed in the corner, Rio suddenly stopped. Next to the old woman, a girl had drawn up a chair and fallen asleep, her face resting on the edge of the bed, her body hunched over, her features barely visible under her wild hair. Hesitating for a moment, Rio thought about returning later. But the time had come and the girl was fast asleep.

Stepping around the sleeping girl, Rio lightly touched the old woman's hand.

"It's time to go." Rio whispered.

The old woman opened her eyes and smiled.

"I've been waiting for you."

Taking her hand she led the woman to the other side of the cabin where she had opened up the portal for her to go through. Just like she had hoped, an easy, calm one. No bargaining, no holding on. Just peaceful acceptance. If only they all were like that.

Looking back at the sleeping girl, she lingered in the room. Tilting her head to the side, she couldn't quite tell why, but something about her was keeping her, drawing her in. Maybe her time was up soon, too. Rio couldn’t always predict the exact moment, and humans died at all ages, especially these days. Looking at her sleeping body, she watched her soft face, counting her breaths. No, this girl was nowhere near her end. If anything, she radiated too much life, too much energy. Something bigger than her seemingly fragile frame. I won't be seeing you for a long, long time, Rio thought to herself with a smile.

With one last look at the girl, she turned to leave when a sudden scraping sound made her jump.

"Who are you?"

Turning back slowly, Rio faced the now very much awake girl standing in front of her but didn't answer.

"You're a witch." the girl said.

Rio nodded.

"I haven't seen you around here before."

"I'm not from around here."

The girl crossed her arms in front of her chest and stared at Rio. Her whole body seemed to be ready to fight, like a reflex. Like a caged animal making herself bigger. Her piercing eyes studied Rio and then landed on the pathway still open behind her.

"Oh." the girl said softly.

Rio nodded again slowly.

"You came for..." The girl trailed off.

Suddenly her attention was back on the old woman. Leaning down she touched her now cold hand, and Rio watched a thousand thoughts wash over her face as she sat back down in the chair. A few silent tears ran down the girls face as she stared blankly ahead.

"You're not what I imagined you'd look like." she said finally.

"I have many faces," Rio replied matter of fact.

"I like this one," the girl said looking at her and Rio couldn't help but smile.

"Where did you take her?" The girl asked after a moment of silence.

"That, I can't tell you." Rio replied, shaking her head.

"She wasn't one of us, she had no power. But I liked her. We're not supposed to leave the coven, definitely not supposed to mingle with non-magick people. But she was always nice to me." The girl shrugged and wiped her face. "Not a lot of people are nice to me. She was nice."

"I'm sorry," Rio said although she had no idea how the girl felt.

Life and death to her were a cycle, the natural order of things. To Rio both were the same, two sides of one coin, she didn't know what grief felt like.

"I'm Agatha by the way," the girl said standing up and taking a step forwards.

"You are not scared." Rio said tilting her head again.

"Why would I be? You came for Mrs Miller, not me. And you... don't seem scary."

Rio laughed. This girl was unlike anyone she had met, and she had met a lot of people. Rio was deeply fascinated. She had been the moment she had laid eyes on her, but the longer she spent in her presence, the stronger her hold on Rio seemed to be. Staring into her inquisitive eyes, time seemed to stop, and the earth seemed to slow down around them.

"I must go." Rio said, remembering herself.

Turning towards the portal, she hesitated a moment.

"Will I see you again?" Agatha asked behind her.

Looking over her shoulder, Rio smiled at the girl.

"Of course you will. Everyone does."

"Oh, no, I meant... before then."

But Rio didn't reply. Still smiling, she turned and stepped through the portal, disappearing in the mist.

[creative-caramel-coffee]

Cuddles and Colds

Prompt: “I don’t have time to sleep off a little cold.” (From Sombre Sapphics blog prompts)

Pairings: Wanda x R

Word count: 1.2K

Summary: your sick and wanda is there for you like always but your being difficult

TW: fever, flu (i think thats it let me know if i missed any)

Entering the room Wanda frowned at the sight. You were curled up in bed with the lights off and curtains drawn despite it being past midday. Your laptop was resting on your knees on the lowest possible brightness and yet you were still massaging your temples. Your cheeks and nose were a tad bit pink and you were sniffling softly.

“Baby?” Wanda called hesitant to make your obvious headache worse.

“Yes?” You said sounding mildly congested. Wanda winced at the sound knowing you didn’t feel good. “Are you feeling ok my love?” She asked coming to sit beside you on the bed. Frowning when she saw the mission report you were working on.

“Baby enough. It’s obvious you don’t feel good. You should rest not work. I can write that for you if you like.” She reached out to shut your laptop but you pulled it close to your chest making her frown.

“No. I cant.”

“Why not my love?” She asked always patient when it came to you and being sick.

“I don’t have time to sleep off a little cold.” You sniffed and couldn’t help the whine that left you when the air grated against your raw throat.

“Baby please. I know you feel like you need to work but let me help. You’ll let me help you right baby?” She cooed running her hands through your hair and frowning slightly at the damp warmth you were radiating.

“But- but I don’t have time.” She could see you were caving to the idea and she had to be gentle.

“You do my love.” She said gently, taking the laptop in the air with her magic so she could continue to stroke your hair. The red wisps closed it and placed it on the bedside. “Now sleep my sweet I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Ok ma’be a s’rt sl’ep” you slurred through the congestion and exhaustion which muddled your words.

You fell asleep quicker than normal nestled into Wanda thigh as she ran one hand through your hair and used the other to start finishing off your report.

You slept for about a half hour before Wanda could feel more and more heat radiating into her leg from your sleeping form. Knowing she had to wake you up to take your temperature she began running her hands up and down your arm.

“Sweetheart? Baby I need you to wake up for me my love.” She cooed softly and you eyes began to flicker. Her concern only grew as she saw your glassy eyes which looked at her seemingly unseeing despite your open eyes.

“Damn wan’s what dib u do while i was ‘seeping i fell awf’l” you croaked sounding much worse than earlier.

“Honey,” she frowned, “you feel way too warm. I think you have a fever.” She cooed.

“M’k bu’ can you geb rib of the mag’c now” you said still awfully congested.

Wanda frowned and read your mind as she realised you thought she was using her magic to make you rest. “honey” she said storing your damp hair and studying your face carefully to monitor how you felt. “My love I think your delirious and we really need to take your temp.”

“No no.” You began to squirm not really understanding “Need to work.” Gently Wanda pushed you back down into the pillows as you caved and sunk back into your little nest. “Baby I finished your report for you its ok” She was concerned at how easily you relented knowing you still didn’t understand.

You pulled the laptop off the side table and started keying in your passcode slowly struggling to read the keys.

“No no no my love” Wanda said scolding softly, “you need to rest or you wont get better. Now can i take your temp my sweet? Its just to make sure we don’t need to see Bruce and your brain is doing ok.” She said placing the laptop back on the bedside table.

“Depends” you sniffed and Wanda smiled softly at your bargaining. “will i be rewarded afterwards?” You asked

“You can have snuggles” Wanda shrugged glad you were being more agreeable.

You thought about it for a second before opening your mouth indicating wanda to put in the thermometer. Wanda chuckled softly at your antics

“let me go get it first my love.” She said using a finger to shut your jaw. “stay here now while I do my sweet.” She turned to you and and lent down the place a kiss on your warm forehead frowning at the warmth still burning under your skin.

“Ok” you said drowsily as you snuggled into her side again. “Don’t go.” You said as she began to pull away to find the thermometer. She would use her magic but she didn’t know where it was other than then general vicinity which wasn’t enough for her magic to work.

“I’ll only be a minute my love.” Wanda says peeling you sweat dampened form off her thigh. You whined like a child and Wanda shushed you softly.

“None of that now my love just a minute.” Once she had sat you back into the pile of pillows she darted off to the bathroom to grab the device.

Returning a moment later she guided you into a sitting position again. You lent heavily against her and without opening your eyes opened you mouth again. Carefully Wanda guided the thermometer into your mouth using a gentle finger to slowly close your open mouth. You swayed slightly and Wanda wrapped her arms around you shoulder to keep you upright until she could take out the thermometer.

“Oh baby you really don’t feel good do you my sweet?” She asked and you hummed a response. “Its ok I’ll look after you.”

The thermometer beeped and you jolted slightly as it surprised you in your fevered haze.

“Shh shh baby its just the device. Your ok.” She said brushing the pad of her thumb over your glistening waterline as tears gathered. With nimble fingers she removed the thermometer and looked at the number. She hummed her discontent.

“Is it bad?” You asked still slurred and tired.

“Its not good baby.” She placed it on the bedside and floated a container of fever reducers over to her hand she she ran her nails over your scalp. “You have a fever pf 102.7 and we need to get it down.” She guided the water to your lips and helped you take the tablets.

You moaned slightly when she placed a cold damp rag on your forehead and another on the back of your neck.

“Ok love you can sleep now.”

“S’eep?” You mumbled leaning into her side again. She guided your head back to her thigh and adjusted the cloths again before coaxing you back to sleep before she picked up her book from earlier.

You fell into a fitful fever sleep but Wanda occasionally check your temperature with the back of her palm content at the lowering heat she decided to let you rest.

Even in your unconscious state you were grateful for your girlfriend. She always knew what you needed and how got give it to you.

Its was a few hours later when Wanda woke you again for another dose of meds, she was glad to see more understanding in your eyes as the fever lowered further. After taking your temp and seeing it had gone down she was confident all you would need was some more love and care until you would be ok again.

MASTERLIST

[daydream-cement]

i just need lots of miranda smut

Breakfast (NSFW)

Miranda Hilmarson x Reader

Some good old cunnilingus from sweet Miranda <3

Author’s Note: Short little fic but I needed Mir giving god-like head :)

“What do you think you’re doing?” You smirked, gazing down at the determined blonde. You knew damn well what Miranda was up to, but you liked to tease anyway. 

Miranda has been feeling pent up all morning. Waking up with your body pressed up against hers was enough to drive a woman to madness, but watching you make breakfast in a tiny, sheer nightgown had her losing her mind. It started with kisses over your shoulders and hands pushing up the nightgown to touch the skin under your navel. Now she pulled you away from her breakfast and pushed you up on the countertop, choosing her own desires over your hunger, “I’m having breakfast.” 

“If you must…” You were happy to indulge Miranda’s urges, laying back on the counter to show you were ready to receive the many orgasms Miranda was destined to give you. 

It started slow. She bit, licked, and sucked her way across your inner thighs. The constable needed her mouth on your skin like she needed the air she breathed. You tried maintaining level breathing, but Miranda knew just where you liked every little touch. Your back rose up off the countertop, your shoulders painfully pressed to the granite countertop. You just needed Miranda to touch you.

“Stop the teasing,” You hissed.

Miranda did as she was told, never one to disobey her love. Her tongue pressed against the fabric of your panties, dragging up the length of your aching sex before finally pulling your panties to the side. 

The manner in which Miranda feverishly ate you shocked you each time. Her tongue lapped through your folds, not quite stimulating your clit yet. That you would have to wait for. Miranda needed to savor the way you tasted, much like it was her last meal on earth. The constable’s mind tended to go blank in these moments, only spurred on by your moaning and writhing. 

Your eyelids began to flutter when your first orgasm washed over you, but Miranda’s pacing wasn’t any slower. The blonde’s jaw ached but her pain was secondary to the task at hand. Miranda needed you to feel her love and passion. She needed you to keep cumming until you were begging for Miranda to stop.

Miranda’s hands rested on your abdomen, keeping your hips from bucking too wildly. Your moans grew louder and louder, Miranda was entranced by your voice as always. She picked up the pace of her tongue swirling around your clit causing your chest to convulse from another orgasm crashing down upon you.

Miranda wasn’t about to stop there. No. Not when your cum hit her tongue. That was the reward she was looking for. How better than to thank you for the treat than with more orgasms?

——-

You were sweating. This was more of a workout than you bargained for. Four orgasms. Was it four? You had lost count. You could feel every cell of her body buzzing and needed a break. 

Miranda was unrelenting. Her jaw was on fire, but she was mindlessly fingering you, her tongue lapping up anything you had to offer. Every few seconds she would expertly swipe her tongue over your clit, sending a jolt through your body. Your breath shuddered with each gasp and your cunt flexed at the overstimulating sensations. 

You attempted to roll your hips away first, but Miranda’s grasp on you was ironclad. Next, you pushed a hand into the blonde’s hair, attempting to push her away once more, but Miranda took that as an indication to move her lips back to your clit. When Miranda began sucking at your clit, that's when your eyes began to water from the overstimulation. You pinched the back of Miranda’s hand, writhed your hips and groaned, “Please…. Enough, baby…”

Miranda pulled away wide eyed, finally drawn from her trance. You were trying to steady your breath, but the over abundance of pleasure made coming down a challenge. The blonde apologetically kissed the backs of your hands followed by kisses to your navel and thighs. Her words were quiet and sincere, “I’m sorry… Did I hurt you?”

“On the contrary… I just… need a moment… You did very good… Too good… I… Jesus… Where did you… learn that?”

“You… and I think about doing that do you during most of my free time..” Miranda admitted softly, gently rubbing her hands up and down your thighs, ready to be there for you when you wanted to move off the kitchen counter. 

——

The rest of the morning you were singing Miranda’s praises. Not just for the sex but for Miranda being Miranda. You knew the blonde melted at each praise and compliment, so the only true way to pay her back for such a delightful morning was to play into her praise kink. 

You laid together lazily on the couch, ignoring the tv in exchange for each other’s company. A blush never left Miranda’s face as you showered her with quiet ‘I love you’s’ and sweet terms of endearment. Each one causing the blush to deepen and spread to the constable’s ears.

Taglist: @charymobile, @bri-sonat, @weemswife, @smutuniversesblog, @opheliauniverse, @renravens, @whenyouhaveanobsession, @shyladyfan, @rubberduckiesbathing, @mcufanisme, @peanutbutterprincess, @Alexthefavgay, @ladylarissaweems, @lvinhs, @myzzjolanda, @principal-weems09, @imlike-so-gaydude, @emilynissangtr, @xuukoo, @brienneswife, @kay-liah-scope, @oculusalien, @kimiinou, @sweetderacine, @giogwensversion, @milciak, @gela123, @maximoffslovergirl, @thevillagegay, @katiemcgrathsbitch1, @naomi-m3ndez, @mysaviorfalsegod, @salems-spaghettios, @imgayforwoman69, @bychrissi, @fyrecatz, @bitchr-mkay

[jennaispunk]

Ballroom Blitz

Summary: Din Djarin gets more than he bargained for when he attends a party celebrating the New Year on Plasir-15.

Pairing: Din Djarin x f!reader

Rating: G (it’s fluff)

Word Count: 2.2k

Warning/Tags: fluff, Din is soft for his girl, teensy bit of jealous!Din, established relationship, shenanigans, Grogu being Grogu, brief mention of vomit, holiday party gone wrong, brief mention of a fight and minor injuries, takes place after season 3, the Razor Crest is back because I said so.

A/N: After many false starts, here is my contribution to @beefrobeefcal Festive Failure 2024 challenge. I did my best to channel the inner chaos and I hope I did you proud, Beef!!

I had the epiphany for the plot of this story when I heard the Ballroom Blitz by Sweet on the radio driving to my work Christmas party (hence, the title of this story. The song is one of my favorites, an absolute bop, and I will blast it in the car every time it comes on. Sorry not sorry). I yelled some vibes into the notes app on my phone as I drove and the rest is history. I dove way too deep into the Star Wars/ Mando universe for this (a lot ended up on the cutting room floor), my apologies for any piece of Star Wars lore that doesn’t jive (please don’t come for me). I used a bit of Mando’a and have translated where needed (I think we all know the meaning of cyar’ika and mesh’la by now).

Moodboard by me. Dividers and banner by @saradika-graphics

The large doors of the grand meeting room slowly open, and the droids usher you inside. You cling to Din’s arm as the two of you, with Grogu is his pram, make your way toward the Duchess and Captain Bombardier. This was the first time you had been allowed to go on a mission with Din and your first time meeting royalty.

Feeling terribly underdressed for such a special occasion; you clench your free hand into a fist to calm your nerves. The knuckles of the hand holding Din’s elbow begin to pale as your grip tightens.

Din looks down at your death grip and tilts his head toward your ear.

“Relax, cyar’ika.” He whispers through his modulator. “They’re just people.”

A half-hearted smile plays on your lips. This is so far beyond anything you ever dreamed of growing up on Loth and you want to make a good first impression.

“Duchess…Captain…”

Din greets the royal couple with a curt nod, and you curtsy.

“The Duchess and I can’t tell you how grateful we are for you coming to our aid once again.”

Captain Bombardier’s voice booms and you bite your cheek to keep from giggling at the theatrics of it all. They really are an odd couple. Your attention is drawn to the opulence of the room, the ornate decorations and tapestries; it all feels a little surreal.

“Thanks to you, our celebration of the New Year tonight can go on as planned. We’d love for you to join us for party.”

The last word snapped your attention back to the conversation you’d been too occupied with other things to pay attention to.

“A party?”

Your eyes go wide at the sound of your own voice. You didn’t mean to say that out loud. Clamping your mouth closed, you press your lips into a tight line.

The Duchess smiles warmly, putting you at ease.

“Yes, a party. We celebrate the coming of the New Year on Plazir-15 with a celebration to rival any in the galaxy. Music, food, dancing…we have it all.”

Your eyes light up at her description. The party sounds wonderful, so different from any other party you’ve attended. Thinking on it, you don’t know that you’ve ever been to a proper party before.

“Thank you for the generous offer, your majesty,” Din voice is clipped and direct. “But we really need to-”

“Nonsense!”

The captain cuts Din off mid sentence, not accepting ‘no’ for an answer.

“Surely you can spare a night to celebrate. You’ve earned it…and we insist.”

Even through his armor and helmet, you can tell Din is annoyed. You’ve been together long enough to read his tells. You desperately want to experience this party, and you turn to him with pleading eyes.

“Can we…please?” you ask softly.

Din’s sigh is audible, and you smile. He can’t deny you, no matter how badly he wants to. He’s powerless against your puppy dog eyes and that childish pout.

“Alright.” he grumbles.

Grogu squeals but you keep silent. You’re not going to make a fool of yourself in front of your hosts. You turn to Din and give him a devilish smirk; you’ll make it up to him later, back on the Crest.

The duchess giggles and claps her hands.

“Excellent! You’re going to have a wonderful time.”

The excitement you felt immediately dies when you realize that you have nothing to wear. You can’t go to the party wearing leggings and a tunic.

The duchess notices your crestfallen expression and takes your hand in hers.

“Come with me, my dear. We will find you something gorgeous to wear.”

She links her arm in yours and drags you away.

“Tis the kriffin season.” Din mutters as you walk away.

The breath is stolen from Din’s chest as you descend the staircase. You look absolutely radiant in your silver sequined dress. The dress fit you perfectly, showing off your figure and shapely legs. He always thought you were beautiful, but this was another level. Seeing you all dressed up made his heart pound.

Din was never one for parties. He preferred to keep a low profile. Spending a quiet night at home with you is what he’d prefer, but he’d do anything to see you happy.

Your small hand slips into his larger one as you reach the last step. Although his face is concealed by his helmet, you know he’s smiling.

“Mesh’la.” he whispers.

All it takes is that one word to make your cheeks burn. Hearing the language of his people always felt special, like a secret only the two of you shared. He’d been giving you Mando’a lessons in preparation for your upcoming riduurok, and you jump at that chance to use it.

“Vor entye, ner kar'ta.” (Thank you, my heart)

Your hand rests against the cool beskar of his helmet, gazing into his visor imagining the color of the eyes that you know are laser focused on you right now.

“It’ll be good for us.” you tell him with a small smile. “You need to relax…we both do.”

The two of you had been traveling for weeks now, the longest you had been away from your little home in Nevarro since you moved in. You wanted a few hours to enjoy something other than playing games with Grogu on the Razor Crest. Not that you were complaining, you wouldn’t trade your time with Din and Grogu for anything; but it was nice to get to experience something different.

The welcome droids push the doors to the ballroom open and your immediately assaulted with the most bizarre spectacle you’ve even seen.

Enormous arches glistening with holographic displays and shimmering banners from dozens of different star systems capture your attention. The room is filled with species from all parts of the galaxy: Ithorian, Rodian, Togruta, and more you don’t even recognize.

Music is coming from the corner of the room, played by a band similar to the ones you’d seen in the cantinas on Tattooine. A group of creatures you couldn’t identify in flashy clothing were gathered around a floating table, cheering and shouting. A Devronian was performing some kind of trick with fire, using a combination of blasters and flamethrowers to create a dazzling display. You hardly knew what to look at next.

Din found a table near the perimeter of the party, where his back would be to the wall. He was always on alert, always watching for potential threats. As much as you wanted him to, he couldn’t let his guard down; he had to keep you and Grogu safe. He would relax once all of you were safely on the Razor Crest and headed home.

Never before had you seen anything like this; and you were a bit overwhelmed in the best way. Grogu babbled happily in Din’s arms as he took in the lights and sounds. Seeing him so excited made you happy, at least the two of you were having a good time. Grogu reaches out his arms toward a table filled with every type of food imaginable.

“I’m going to get Grogu something to eat. Do you want anything?”

His voice snaps you back to reality. You look over at him and shake your head.

“I’m fine, thanks.”

Grogu immediately reaches for the first thing that catches his eye as they approach the table. He closes his eyes, and force lifts a fruitcake. The loaf float precariously through the air.

“Grogu. No.”

Grogu’s ears dropped and the fruitcake landed with a thud. His attention was quickly diverted to the various delicacies spread out before him.

As they make their way through the crowd, a large, boisterous figure in a leather vest staggered into them. The man reeked of cheap alcohol and arrogance.

"Watch where you’re—"

Din’s words fall on deaf ears, the stranger was already stumbling away, unaware.

Din shook off the stranger and arrived at the table to find you engaged in conversation with a twi’lek who wasn’t subtle with his flirtations. A tickle of jealousy flowed through him; you were his and he didn’t like the way he was looking at you.

“Din, this is Reess Tarkul. Reess, this is my betrothed, Din Djarin.”

Din nodded curtly and before he could tell him to get lost, Reess stood.

“I was just keeping your lovely companion here company. I hate to see beautiful woman left unattended.”

You knew Din’s muscles were tense, even if it wasn’t visible to anyone else.

“Your concern is admirable, but I assure you, my eyes were always on her.” Din growled.

The fingers of his right hand twitch and you immediately stand. Reaching out, you cover his forearm with your hand.

The band comes to a discordant halt as shouting filled the air. Two creatures you’ve never seen before begin pushing and shoving, one of them sent flying, colliding with one of the dancers, dousing him in a blast of liquid, instantly extinguishing his flames but causing him to slip on the slick floor. He collides with another performer, and then, in a chain reaction, a series of decorative lights fell, sparking and sending a cascade of short-circuiting wires across the floor.

Panic rippled through the crowd and there was a mad rush toward the door. You were separated from Din during the chaos. You fought, but you’re swept up into the crowd. Pain shot through you as an errant elbow connects with your cheek, knocking you to the floor. The room spins as you try to get your bearings.

Strong arms wrap around your middle and haul you to your feet. It’s not until you feel beskar against your skin that you realize Din is the one holding you. Using himself as a shield, he pushes his way through the throng with you tucked safely behind him.

A loud siren sounds causing everyone to freeze. The small fire had been extinguished and other than a few minor injuries, no one appears to be seriously injured. Helper droids disperse through the crowd and begin to clean up the mess and guide the partygoers toward the doors.

“Everyone!”

Captain Bombardier’s voice carries over the crowd as you and Din search for Grogu.

“Fear not! This is but a momentary hiccup in the festivities. Please join us in the garden for the fireworks!”

Din pushes past the crowd, gripping your hand tightly. He’s not letting go of you until the three of you are out of here. Happy squeals fill the air and both of you turn to see Grogu happily inhaling the last hunk of the fruitcake he’d been eyeing all night. Brown, red and green splotches adorn his hands and face, and crumbs litter the table around him.

“There you are, kid”

“Patu!”

Grogu raises his arms, and Din scoops him up, holding him out to inspect the damage.

Grogu giggles happily and then vomits down Din’s chest. The brown sludge slides down his beskar and your shoulders shake with suppressed giggles as you take Grogu from him. He cleans the mess the best he can, then turns to you.

“It’s time to go.” he grumbles.

You nod in agreement. There’s been more than enough excitement for one day. You wince as you try to smile at him, there’s going to be a hell of a bruise on your cheek in the morning.

Fireworks light up the sky as the Razor Crest takes off. Grogu is nestled safely in his pram, sleeping soundly. It’s a shame he fell asleep; he would have loved the dazzling show.

You reach for Din’s hand as you hold an ice pack to your cheek with the other. What a wild night. No words could adequately describe the spectacle you just witnessed. You’re good on parties for a while.

Din turns toward you and squeezes your hand. All three of you are safe and on your way home, and he can finally relax. He sighed as he looked at you. It was his job to protect you, and although you weren’t seriously hurt, he felt like he’d failed you somehow.

“Does it hurt much?”

His voice is soft, even through the modulator. He’s feeling guilty about you getting hurt. You can feel it in the way he’s holding your hand, hear it in the cadence of his breaths.

You return his squeeze with one of your own. You want to tell him not to worry, but that’s like telling the sun not to shine. He’ll always worry, always try to protect you; and you love him for it.

“Not too much. You’ve punched me harder than that trying to teach me self defense.”

His gravely laugh floats through the cabin. Your ability to bounce back and roll with anything that comes your way amazes him. You were his perfect match.

The silence settles between you, and your eyes close. The soft hum of the Crest lulls you into a twilight; your limbs begin to feel heavy, and it won’t be long before sleep calls you. Soon you’ll be back to your little home with the two people you love the most.

The events of the last few hours play in your mind, and you laugh softly at the absurdity of it all.

“That was some party.” you murmur.

Din groans. It was some party, alright. He’d be happy to never attend a party again.

“No more parties for a while, okay?”

Din presses a few buttons and sets the ship into hyperspace.

“No more parties…”

You mumble your agreement as you begin to drift off to sleep. Taking a break from parties sounded like a good plan.