#Male wife ash

[queenofcringe]

Nurse Barbara you will always be famous

[elryuse]

Tainted Desire

Yandere Jennie X Male Reader

Tags : Obsession, Dangerous Romance, Slight Smut, Dark, Gritty, Forbidden Romance

Words : 2,908 Words

Requested by My Mate @hijack711

You never expected your marriage to end like this.

Sitting in your dimly lit office at the university, you run a hand through your disheveled hair, staring at the half-empty bottle of whiskey on your desk. The silence of the night wraps around you, broken only by the distant hum of the city beyond the window.

Your phone buzzes—a message from your wife. Soon-to-be ex-wife.

"We need to talk about the divorce papers. Call me back."

You don’t.

Instead, your mind drifts back to a memory—a moment from years ago when your life was different. When you were just a substitute teacher, and she was just a rebellious high school girl.

Jennie Kim.

The name alone stirs something dangerous inside you.

You hadn’t seen her in years, not until recently, when fate cruelly entangled your lives again. But before she became the ruthless, calculating woman she is now—before she set her sights on you—she was just a teenage girl trying to escape the suffocating grip of her father’s ambition.

It was supposed to be an ordinary day.

The school hallways were empty, students tucked away in their classrooms as you made your way through the corridors, checking your schedule. You had been a substitute teacher for barely a month, filling in for an absent literature professor. The job was temporary, a stepping stone in your career before you moved on to greater things.

But then you smelled it—faint yet unmistakable. Cigarette smoke.

Your brows furrowed. Smoking was strictly forbidden on school grounds, and yet, someone had clearly broken the rules.

Following the scent, you turned a corner and found her.

A girl sat on the rooftop stairs, one leg bent, the other stretched out lazily. A cigarette dangled between her fingers, wisps of smoke curling into the air. Her uniform was slightly unkempt—tie loosened, skirt hiked up just enough to break the dress code. Her dark eyes flicked up to meet yours, and instead of guilt, there was only defiance.

Jennie Kim.

Even back then, there was something untamed about her.

“You know smoking is against the rules,” you said, stepping closer.

She took a slow drag, exhaling smoke before responding. “So is skipping class, but here you are.”

You sighed. “I’m the teacher. I don’t have a class right now.”

“Then you should be grateful. If I were in class, you wouldn’t have found me,” she murmured, tapping ash onto the floor. “Lucky you.”

You folded your arms, intrigued despite yourself. “Is there a reason you’re up here alone?”

For a moment, she was silent. Then, with a casual shrug, she muttered, “Needed to breathe.”

Her voice was steady, but there was something beneath it—a weight she tried to hide.

You glanced at the cigarette in her hand. “That won’t help.”

Jennie scoffed. “What would you know?”

“I know that whatever’s bothering you won’t go away just because you’re filling your lungs with smoke.”

She studied you for a long moment, then sighed and flicked the cigarette away. “My dad’s an asshole.”

You didn’t react, waiting for her to continue.

She hesitated, then muttered, “He wants me to be something I’m not. To follow his rules, live by his standards, become the perfect heir. He thinks Jane—” she spat her sister’s name like a curse “—is the good daughter, the obedient one. But me? I’m nothing but a disappointment to him.”

You leaned against the wall, watching her. “And what do you want?”

Her lips curled into a slow, almost bitter smile. “To take everything from him.”

You didn’t know it then, but that conversation would plant a seed in her mind—a thought that would grow into something far more dangerous than teenage rebellion.

And years later, when you crossed paths again, you would realize that Jennie Kim always gets what she wants.

Even if what she wants… is you.

Years later, Jennie is no longer a rebellious schoolgirl. She’s the new chairman of Odd Atelier, a powerful empire built on ambition and ruthlessness. When she sees you again, the hunger in her eyes hasn’t faded—it’s only grown stronger.

And this time, she won’t let you go.

Even if it means destroying everything in her path.

Even if it means tearing apart your already crumbling marriage.

Even if it means striking a deal with your son.

Because you belong to her.

And Jennie Kim always takes what’s hers.

You always knew that the past had a way of creeping back.

You just never expected it to return in the form of Jennie Kim—not as the rebellious high school girl who once defied her father’s control, but as the ruthless woman who had finally dethroned him.

And now, she’s standing right in front of you.

The gala is extravagant, a display of power and wealth, where the elites of the business world gather to celebrate Odd Atelier’s new chairman. It was your son who dragged you here—his university connections granting him an invitation. You weren’t supposed to stay long, just enough to make an appearance before slipping away.

But then, the moment you locked eyes with her across the ballroom, you knew escaping wouldn’t be that easy.

Jennie moves toward you with the same calculated grace you remembered. But she’s changed. No longer the rebellious teenager on a school rooftop, but a woman in full control.

Her black silk dress clings to her body in all the right places, her dark eyes sharp yet filled with something far more dangerous. Possession.

“Professor,” she purrs, her voice dripping with amusement.

Your throat tightens. “Jennie.”

A smirk tugs at her lips. “I wondered when we’d cross paths again.”

You swallow, keeping your expression neutral. “Congratulations. You finally got what you wanted.”

Her smile doesn’t falter. If anything, it deepens. “Not yet.”

The weight of her words settles between you. She’s not talking about power.

She’s talking about you.

You try to leave the gala early, but fate is cruel.

Your son—eager to make connections—introduces you to his employer at Odd Atelier.

You freeze the moment you see her.

Jennie stands before you, her gaze dark with amusement. She looks at your son, then back at you. There’s a cruel irony in this situation.

She knows.

She knows your marriage is dying. She knows your son admires her. She knows that you’re vulnerable.

And Jennie Kim has never been one to let an opportunity slip.

“I never expected to work with your son,” she murmurs, tilting her head slightly. “But life has a funny way of bringing people back together.”

Your son is oblivious, grinning. “Jennie has been a great mentor.”

Mentor.

You clench your jaw. That’s what you once were to her.

Jennie smiles, slow and knowing. “Your father and I go way back.”

Your son frowns slightly. “Really?”

Jennie meets your gaze. “Oh, yes.” She steps closer, lowering her voice so only you can hear. “He was the first man who ever made me feel alive.”

Your pulse spikes.

She’s doing this on purpose.

Testing you.

Toying with you.

And you’re ashamed to admit that it’s working.

Her Terms, Your Weakness

Later that night, when you finally manage to slip away from the gala, she’s waiting.

The hotel bar is nearly empty, dimly lit. You don’t know why you didn’t just leave, why you let yourself be drawn to this place like a moth to a flame.

But when Jennie slides into the seat across from you, you know exactly why.

“You ran away so quickly,” she muses, swirling the dark liquor in her glass. “Did I make you nervous?”

You exhale, rubbing your temple. “What do you want, Jennie?”

She hums, tilting her head. “I could ask you the same thing.”

You don’t answer.

You can’t.

Because the truth is—despite knowing how wrong this is, how forbidden this is—there’s still something undeniable between you.

Jennie leans forward, her voice dropping to a whisper. “You belong to me.”

Your hands tighten into fists. “I’m married.”

She smiles. “Not for long.”

Silence.

Then, she says something that changes everything.

“I struck a deal with your son.”

Your blood runs cold.

Jennie watches your reaction carefully, savoring every second of your unease. “He wants my sister, Jane.” Her voice is soft, almost teasing. “So I gave him a chance. In return, he’ll look the other way when I take something for myself.”

Your breath hitches. “Jennie—”

She reaches out, trailing a single finger across the back of your hand. The touch burns. “You should be grateful. I could’ve had you the moment I turned eighteen. But I waited.”

Her nails lightly drag against your skin, sending a shiver up your spine.

“Now I’m done waiting.”

You pull your hand back, your chest tightening. “You don’t get to decide that.”

Jennie chuckles darkly, standing from her seat. “Oh, but I do.”

She leans in close, her lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“I always get what I want.”

And then, just like that, she’s gone.

Leaving behind the weight of her words—of her promise—settling deep into your bones.

Because you know Jennie Kim.

And when she sets her sights on something…

She never lets go.

You should’ve walked away.

You should’ve turned your back on Jennie Kim and never looked at her again.

But now, you’re trapped.

The realization settles deep in your chest the moment you step into your home—your marriage of fifteen years hanging by a thread. The air is thick with tension, your wife’s absence a reminder of everything that’s already crumbling.

You’re trying to hold on, to fix what’s left. But the truth is, your hands are already slipping.

And Jennie knows it.

She’s watching, waiting. A predator savoring the moment before she strikes.

You don’t sleep that night. You don’t think you ever will again.

The next day at the university, you try to focus. Lectures, meetings—anything to keep your mind off her.

But then, a message lights up your phone screen.

Jennie: Miss me?

You exhale sharply, ignoring it.

A second message follows.

Jennie: You’re pretending, aren’t you? Acting like you don’t think about me. Like you don’t want me.

Your grip tightens on the phone. You shouldn’t reply.

But you do.

You: Stay away from me.

It’s a weak attempt. A meaningless warning.

And she knows it.

Because Jennie doesn’t listen.

Minutes later, your office door swings open without warning.

And there she is.

Wearing a black silk blouse that clings to her body, high heels clicking against the floor as she steps inside.

You stand immediately, tension coiling in your muscles. “Jennie, you can’t just—”

She shuts the door behind her, locking it.

A smirk plays on her lips. “You told me to stay away.” She cocks her head. “So why am I here?”

Your breath is uneven. “Because you don’t understand boundaries.”

Jennie laughs softly, stepping closer. “Or maybe…” Her voice drops into something dangerously low. “You just don’t mean it.”

She moves around your desk slowly, her fingers grazing the wooden surface as she invades your space.

You take a step back. She takes another forward.

It’s a game—a dangerous one—and she’s winning.

“Jennie—”

Her fingers trail up your chest, her touch featherlight. “You don’t belong here, Y/n.”

Your jaw tightens. “This is my life.”

She leans in, her lips barely inches from yours. “No,” she whispers. “This is your prison.”

Your pulse spikes.

Jennie tilts her head, her gaze searching yours. And for a brief moment, you’re terrified—not of her, but of yourself.

Because she’s right.

Because you want her.

Because if she touches you again, you won’t stop her.

And she knows it.

Control Is an Illusion

You force yourself to turn away, to create distance.

But Jennie doesn’t let you go easily.

“You’re miserable,” she murmurs, watching you with unwavering certainty. “You’re still trying to fix something that’s already dead.”

Your hands clench into fists. “That’s none of your business.”

She smirks. “Isn’t it?”

Silence.

Then, she delivers the final blow.

“If it wasn’t, you wouldn’t be here, running from me.”

You hate how well she sees through you.

How she knows you.

Jennie leans against the desk, crossing her arms. “Do you even love her anymore?”

Your stomach twists.

You don’t answer.

And that silence?

It’s all she needs.

Jennie smiles. Slow. Satisfied. Dangerous.

“You’re mine,” she whispers.

Then, just as effortlessly as she arrived—she leaves.

And you’re left standing there, heart pounding, knowing that you’ve already lost.

Because Jennie Kim isn’t going to stop.

And the worst part?

You don’t want her to.

You should’ve walked away.

But now, it’s too late.

Jennie Kim has dug her nails into your life, and no matter how much you try to resist, you’re already caught in her web.

She isn’t just dangerous.

She’s inevitable.

You come home that night, expecting the usual silence, the usual avoidance.

But your wife is waiting for you.

Seated on the couch, glass of wine in hand, she barely glances up when you step inside.

“How was work?” Her voice is hollow, indifferent.

You hesitate. “Fine.”

A bitter laugh escapes her lips. “You always say that.”

You’re exhausted. From her, from yourself—from Jennie.

“You’re late,” she continues, swirling the wine in her glass. “Again.”

Tension coils in your chest. “Meetings ran over.”

Another lie.

Your wife exhales, shaking her head. “Y/n… I don’t know how much longer we can do this.”

And there it is.

The inevitable conversation. The slow, agonizing death of your marriage laid bare between you.

You don’t respond. Because what is there to say?

Jennie was right.

This isn’t a life.

It’s a prison.

And you’re already looking for the key

The next day, you see her again.

Jennie waits for you at the entrance of the university, leaning casually against her car, wearing a silk blouse that clings to her frame and a knowing smirk on her lips.

You stop in your tracks. “What are you doing here?”

She shrugs. “Thought I’d drop by. Say hello.”

You glance around, paranoia creeping in. “You can’t just—”

“Relax,” she interrupts, stepping closer. “No one’s watching.”

That’s a lie. She’s always watching.

Jennie tilts her head, studying you. “You look tired.”

You don’t respond.

She takes another step forward, her voice dipping into something soft, intimate. “What is it, Y/n?”

You inhale sharply, hating how easily she reads you.

Hating how much she’s already inside your head.

Jennie leans in, just enough for you to feel the warmth of her breath. “She’s slipping away, isn’t she?”

Your jaw tightens. “Don’t.”

Her fingers trail up your arm, slow and deliberate. “You don’t love her anymore.”

You grab her wrist, stopping her touch. “Jennie.”

She smiles, her gaze burning into yours. “Say it.”

You shake your head. “I—”

Her lips brush against your ear. “Say it, Y/n.”

You close your eyes, fighting it, fighting her.

But it’s useless.

Because the truth is already there.

Because Jennie owns you now.

And she knows it.

It starts subtly at first.

The way she replaces your thoughts, your routines.

Your phone buzzes during lectures.

Jennie: I wonder what you taste like today.

At night, she sends voice notes—soft, slow whispers that unravel you from the inside out.

"I want to break you, Y/n. I want to ruin you until there’s nothing left of you but me."

You shouldn’t listen.

But you do.

And then come the nights when you can’t stop thinking about her.

When you wake up gasping, her name tangled in your breath.

When you see her face instead of your wife’s.

Jennie is patient.

She doesn’t force.

She waits.

Because she knows you’ll come to her.

And when you finally do—when you finally break—

She’ll be waiting with open arms.

It happens on a night you’ll never forget.

You leave your home, your wife calling after you, but you don’t look back.

Your hands are shaking when you arrive at Jennie’s penthouse.

The door opens before you can knock.

And there she is.

Barefoot, wearing nothing but an oversized silk robe, looking at you like she’s been expecting you all along.

You exhale sharply. “Jennie, I—”

She steps forward, pressing a finger to your lips. “Shh.”

Then she smiles.

“Come inside, Y/n.”

And just like that—you surrender.

Because there’s no running anymore.

Because you were always meant to be hers.

And now, you are.

Tainted Desire

The door clicks shut behind you.

And just like that, you’ve crossed the line.

Jennie watches you, dark amusement flickering in her eyes as she takes slow, deliberate steps forward.

You don’t move. You don’t stop her.

Because this was inevitable.

Because you were always meant to end up in her hands.

Her fingers trace up your jaw, tilting your face toward hers. “You finally stopped running,” she whispers, satisfaction dripping from every syllable.

Your breathing is uneven. “Jennie—”

She silences you with a kiss.

Soft. Slow. Lethal.

And you fall into it. Into her.

Because she owns you now.

Her lips part against yours, her tongue sweeping into your mouth as she devours you whole.

You should feel guilt.

But all you feel is her.

Jennie pulls away, a cruel smile curving her lips as she studies her masterpiece.

You—ruined, broken, hers.

Her voice dips, sultry and commanding. “Leave them.”

Your stomach clenches. “Jennie—”

She cups your face, her nails pressing against your skin. “Leave your wife. Leave your son.”

Her thumb brushes over your lower lip. Soft. Possessive. Unyielding.

“There’s nothing left for you there.”

Your heart pounds, your mind spiraling.

But Jennie’s voice is all you hear now.

Jennie is all you know.

Her grip tightens. “Say it.”

You close your eyes, the weight of your old life crumbling around you.

Jennie leans in, whispering against your lips. “Be mine.”

And when you finally exhale—finally give in—

You whisper the words that seal your fate.

“…I’m yours.”

Jennie smirks.

Because she’s won.

Because you belong to her now.

Forever.

[antennaed-kenzy]

Nightmare on Christmas [Itoshi Sae]

❄ Itoshi Sae x f! reader

❄ notes: not proofread, 18+, kissing, blood, peeling,

❄ Day eight of the Christmas Series.

❄ Extras: Work count 1.6k words The eight day of the twelve days of Christmas with someone who had my kid. Masterlist of series

waking up to the sound of a lovely voice to mask the fears in your sleep. Fears of not being able to save her again and again.

Blood dripping from her nose stains the white snow. She stood still, letting the blood glide from her nose falling where it was necessary. Sae watches not able to run to his wife and help her, cover the imperfection, and heal it right up.

“Help me, Sae.” She speaks in a monotone voice. 

Does she want help? Is she being real? Is she real?

Sae tried to move his feet, trying to move his legs that were being covered by the snow. He tried to reach out to his wife and help her. He tried to speak, but nothing came out of his throat. He opened his mouth and he could not. He tried to move any muscle in his body, but nothing moved. 

The only thing beating was his heart. The feeling of it being broken down the bites and ashes. 

“Sae, save me!” She cried out even louder. Her feet picked up through the thick snow. Her nose rushing blood. “Save me, Sae!” Her eyes glisten from water wanting to break down. “Sae!” 

Bloodstained every surrounding it touched. She called out his name louder, cries down her cheeks, her voice straining and cracking. The white snow had turned red, red from her. Not the kind of red that reminds you of love– no the kind of red that reminds you of hate, of death, of dying.

“Honey are you ok?!” 

Sae shots of from bed in a cold sweat. His eyes follow the sound of the voice. {Y/n} and their daughter Yumekui greeted him with a morning smile. 

“Honey, are you ok? You are sweating?” {Y/n} repeats giving her husband a worrying smile. 

The daughter Yumekui jumps on the bed in glee, “Guess what me and mommy did, Daddy?” 

Sae grabs his daughter placing her in his lap. “What did you and Mommy do?” He asked her with an intriguing tone. 

“We made cookies!” The daughter giggles. 

Sae engulfs her daughter in a playful hug. “Are they good?” 

{Y/n} moves her husband's hair out of his face, and he looks at her with a doubtful smile. “They are good.” She speaks softly to him, speaking not to his face, but pressing through his heart, “Are you good?” That is what she wanted to say. 

“Can you go get me a few cookies then, Yumekui?” Sae placed his daughter on the floor and she ran out of the room to the kitchen. 

The female lays beside Sae on the edge of the bed. He wrapped his strong arms around her waist pulling her close so she didn’t fall off. They admire each other, looking deep within each other. 

“Sae~” {Y/n} sang his name, the melody itching his brain. “Did you not sleep well?” She asks combing her fingers through his messy dark burgundy hair. 

He softly nodded his head, watching her mess with his hair. The feeling made him calm from the nightmare. Even forgetting about it. 

“Remember,” She looked into her husband's eyes, “We have somewhere to be today.”

“Huh?” He hummed.

“The Christmas party today. We have them this whole week till Christmas Eve.” {Y/n} sat up from the bed, Sae's hands falling off her form. 

The male sits up on the bed. Their daughter enters the room with a sugar cookie the design of a Christmas tree. “Here Daddy!” She gave him the cookie, a grin of satisfaction spread on her face. 

Sae takes a bite of the cookie, his face lights up when the flavor comes in contact with his taste buds. “This is really good.”

{Y/n} kisses her husband's cheek, “Of course it is, we made it.” She lifts her daughter on her shoulder. The two females walk out of the room. Sae watches them until the door shuts behind his wife. 

Sae gets up from bed going to his closet to pick out clothes for the event he is going to with his wife and kid. She looks through the finds a nice dress shirt and suit pants. He didn’t want to try hard, it was for his wife and he was just a plus one. 

A while later the small family set out for the Christmas house party. Yumekui was in a cute red and green puffy Christmas dress, and {Y/n} was in a long green dress that hugged her curves perfectly.  

Sae was in the driver's seat. He wore a white dress shirt with dark green pants that matched his wife’s dress. They drop off their daughter with his play friends before they make it to their party. Sae drops off his wife and the entrance as he finds somewhere to park in a lot of many different cars. 

{Y/n} was already talking with some friends when Sae entered the place. He found a bar and sat down at the end wanting no one to talk to him for the night unless it was his wife. His sky-blue eyes scan the room. 

People were all dressed in dresses or suits of some form. It was a formal Christmas party for famous people in all types of demographics. There were directors, actors, singers, sports players, and his wife’s category artists. There were about 100 people around, and all of them seemed to be putting on a facade. 

Sae’s eyes found his wife. She was talking to someone who didn’t seem an ounce interested in what she was saying. His heart went out to her, seeing she wanted to leave the conversation but was stuck where she was not wanting to seem like a bitch. 

After watching her with the person for a while they walked away. {Y/n} sighed letting out a huff of air she didn’t know she was holding in. 

The women around his wife were pretty and captivating, but she stuck out from the crowd. Her body language spoke values in a crowd, her actions were sincere. To Sae, she was an angel. 

“Sae!” A voice cried out for him. 

He whipped his head at the sound. Blood splashing the snow the same color. Her face, his wife’s face was being ripped off by herself. A lump in his throat as he tried to call out for her.

“Sae, save me!” {Y/n} cried, her hands covering her bloody face. “I don’t want to look like this!” She cried, tears falling on the bloody snow. 

The dark burgundy-haired male tried to move from his spot but he was bound to the ground. She cried out for him, her face bloody and eyes watery. 

Sae tried to move his legs in the snow, but chains were pulling him down. He saw his wife bleed and plead for his help. Yet he was helpless not being able to move, not able to reach out and grab his wife in a hug to comfort her. 

“I wanna crawl out of his body, Sae.” “I wanna change, Sae.” “I don’t wanna be like this anymore. Sae.”

“Sae?” A calming voice echoed through his head. 

“Sae?” There it was again.

He looked around, though it was only the two of them. 

“Sae? Wake up,” The voice got quieter. 

He opened his eyes. ‘It was a dream.’ Sae looked around the room. His wife was next to him, a panicked expression on her face. Whipping off the tears on her face he sat up beside her. 

“Sae, have you been having nightmares?” She questions him, grabbing his hand from her face. 

He didn’t say anything, he didn’t want to say anything, but the look in his eyes said all she needed to know. 

“Talk to me about it. What have they been about?” She propped herself on her knees, facing him head-on. “I’m your wife, you married me. I want to know what is going on with my husband. Even in his sleep”

“They have been about you.” He stated.

{Y/n} was taken aback but let him continue. “We stand in the snow, you are across from me, your face bleeds– well your nose bleeds, you peel off your face, you hold your body piercing your fingers in deep in your skin. You stain the snow with your blood. I stand away from you as you cry out. I can not move, I cannot help you. I stand useless as you cry out for me, wanting to be saved though you cause yourself pain.”

Without another word from his mouth, {Y/n} wraps her arms around her husband. Hugging and holding him tight, not letting go, not letting him move away. “I’m so sorry, Sae.”

He kisses the top of her head. “I know why you do what you do in my dreams. Every time we get in the car from an event of yours. You always mumble to yourself. Take how you want to change your body. Talking how you wish to look like the other woman there.” He pulled away from the hug, looking his wife dead in her [e/c] eyes. “You are perfect in my eyes. I married you for a reason and I wish for it to stay that way in every universe, every time we are reincarnated I wish to be in your arms, hold you, and show you the world.”

“Sae,” Her [e/c] eyes start to tear up as she looks at her husband, love in their eyes toward each other. 

“I want to spend Christmas with you, not going to their party where people shun you away. I see how they talk to you, uninterested. When you are the most interesting person I know.”

“I love you, {Y/n}. I don’t want you to change.” 

a/n: this was supposed to be longer, but I'm behind and im actually going to jump. ;)>

[cece693]

Living For You (Alice Cullen x Vamp! Male Reader)

This is short. Like way shorter than any of my other works, but I like how it came out anyway.

Summary: You weren't exactly the most normal of vampires—plagued by desires to kill yourself—the one thing that held you back was your mate, Alice Cullen.

tags: suicidal vampire male reader, Alice being her usual self, mentions of past coven death, mentions of a previous relationship

You don't like yourself—you were a monster and you knew it, no beating around the bush—but that didn't mean you didn't care for yourself. It was hard to explain because you knew both statements contradicted each other, but the simplest form you could put it in was that the sole reason for your existence came down to not wanting to see your beloved suffer. To see her joy disappear just because you couldn't resist the temptation to kill yourself.

Your centuries of existence came with many regrets, but none more so than the inability to save your family from the Volturi. Your coven had grown powerful, becoming a threat the kings couldn't overlook. You had to watch powerlessly as your children and wife were beheaded and then set on fire, all due to claimless statements of them creating immortal children.

You asked Aro for said evidence, ready to fight the old vampire, but with nothing but a mere flick of his wrist, you were held in place by Felix and made to watch as your family became ash.

Their loss tore you apart, and in your grief and defiance, you turned to hunting humans recklessly. You didn't care if the Volturi hunted you down; death would be a welcomed reward. It was like that, in your darkest days that your mate had found you. Alice Cullen.

She didn't care about the sins you've committed, persistent that you were good and deserving of another opportunity. "I've seen it." Was her reasoning for her attempts to sway your decision to leave with her towards the Cullen Coven. You were distrustful of her, to say the least.

She was too optimistic, borderline naive in your eyes, but that quickly changed when you knew the real Alice. The one who still carried the hurt stemming from her transformation and the burden of knowing the future.

You quickly discerned that her desperation to change your mind about the Cullens was rooted in your future. The relentless visions of your death created a void of despair for her, one she was determined to prevent.

Even though you weren’t ready to jump into another relationship—the pain of losing your wife was still raw—you couldn’t bear the thought of causing Alice any more pain. So, you compromised. You agreed to follow her for a few years, with the understanding that you could decide whether to stay or leave afterward.

It was the little things that began to shift your heart—the way Alice would sit with you in silence when the memories became too much, the way she would surprise you with small, thoughtful gestures that showed how deeply she understood you, the way she could make you laugh even on your darkest days.

As the years grew into decades, it became clear that you couldn’t abandon her. Alice had unexpectedly become your ray of sunshine, bringing warmth and light into your life when you’d thought only shadows remained. She had woven herself into the fabric of your existence, and the thought of losing her was now unthinkable.

Standing with your arms wrapped around her, watching as Edward introduced Bella to the family, you couldn’t help but smile. Your future had never looked as promising as now.

[imagineiwrotesomethingwell]

'Goddess'

wc: 7,987 words content warnings: slow burn but not too bad, smut, afab reader (reader is referred to as a wife, queen, and woman multiple times), male masturbation, oral (both receiving), fingering (f receiving), mating bond, p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, babes), something that might constitute as cum play???, overstim, mild dacryphilia, body worship, marking kink implied, cockwarming (?)

@allbymyself17 i am so so sorry this took so long, thank you for being patient with me 🙏

“The girl, in exchange for the tesseract,” Surtur booms, his voice deep and menacing as it rolls through the golden city. “She’d make a fine wife for one of your boys, aye, Odin? She’s got those birthing hips. A perfect breeder.”

You, held in Surtur’s massive paw, are too terrified to be offended.

Your day had started largely normal; breakfast with a friend, a stroll through the streets of your small town. But something had opened up beneath you, sucking you in, sucking you through dimensions, entire worlds. If you’d ended up damn near anywhere else, you’d be awed. But right now, you’re in the clutches of an 8,000 year old fire monster, high above Asgard, terror pulsing through your veins.

He seems to be using you as a bargaining chip, like these people know you, owe you something. But you’re too high up to hear much of anything until a raven-haired man floats up before you. 

He’s exquisite, though you’re unwilling to say it aloud. He looks just the same as when you’d seen him on the news a few years ago after trying to take over the world; well, maybe not just the same. His hair is longer now, and he looks less cocky, more… tired. His helmet’s different- the horns are smaller now. And when he meets your eyes, their icy blue is filled with a soft sympathy. You’d scoff if you weren’t so frightened; Loki, the god who’d killed hundreds in the attack on New York alone, was sympathetic to you. Wow.

But he’s quickly joined by a much older god and his brother, Thor. Thor you knew from the news, too, but this old man -worn, aged, long grey hair and an eyepatch, mouth set in a stern line that makes you wonder if he ever smiled- you didn’t recognize him. But you assumed he was the Odin that Surtur had been addressing, and his one eye surveyed you like you were a piece of meat rather than a human.

“Deal,” Odin boomed back, and your stomach sank. Loki’s eyes went wide in response and he turned to the older god incredulously. Thor just seemed upset about this tesseract thing. Neither spoke, though, and Odin continued. “Give us the girl and we’ll give you the tesseract.”

And suddenly you’re falling. You’re screaming. Hurtling towards the flames that lick at Surtur’s legs. Your heart is in your throat and you’re certain the demon is still holding your stomach.

But just as quickly as Surtur’d dropped you, Loki caught you. You clung to him like a lifeline, a soft sob wrenching from your throat as you wrapped your arms around his neck and held on for dear life. And you know you should be afraid - this is the man who tried to enslave all of humanity, after all. But despite yourself, he feels… safe.

There’s an awful sound, like metal tearing, and then a deep, guttural cry of agony as Thor and Odin wrench the crown off Surtur’s head and the fire demon crumbles to ash. You see none of this, though, too busy crying into the neck of the god who caught you to fully process what’s going on. You’ll have to ask later (which, of course, means it’ll get more and more dramatic with each telling).

Loki carried you to the ground, holding you tightly; one arm under your knees, the other behind your back to hold you steady. He smelled good, though. Like smoke and petrichor and cinnamon. Autumn. You took comfort in it, let yourself be held, even as the trickster lighted on the dirtied cobblestones of his home city. 

He made no move to put you down.

˚　. . ✦ 　˚ . ★⋆.　. ˚　*✦　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　

Odin, on the other hand, had barely made it to the street before he’d begun shouting orders. You heard some things in a language you didn’t understand, and suddenly, everything was moving so fast. 

Before you really could process, before you’d even stopped crying, your feet were on the ground. You were torn from Loki’s arms by a group of bustling, tutting ladies, all seeming very eager to get you out of the torn-down square. Loki looked as disconcerted as you felt, though you hoped you masked it better than him. He watched after you, his hand outstretched and his lips parted as if to call to you. But… How could he? He didn’t even know your name. You’d lost him in the crowd as the ladies led you away, their matching rose-colored gowns dragging through the debris as they huddled you towards the castle. 

No one answered you when you asked what was happening, when you begged to go home. When the ladies had cooed at you in that language you didn’t understand and stripped you of your ash-covered jumper and jeans. They ran you a bath and you’d cried in it as they washed you, vigorous yet gentle. 

But you kept thinking about Loki, even as you thought of the family and friends you didn’t know if you’d ever see again. You thought of his scent of soft autumn comfort while you thought about that stray cat you feed sometimes. You thought of his piercing blue gaze as you thought about the concert plans with your best friend that you wondered if you’d ever make. 

You were still thinking about him when the ladies wrangled you into a red gown that accentuated your curves. You thought about how his arms felt around you, how his fingers felt when they’d run over your jumper as you’d been pulled away. You were lost in thought, in a strange feeling that’d built up in your chest since you’d left Loki in the rubble of this golden city. You wondered why you’d felt so safe in his arms.

One of the ladies painted your lips and eyes, another wove flowers into your hair, and a third painted your nails a sparkling, galaxy-like black that shone a thousand colors when the light shifted. All thoughts of the trickster god had momentarily flown from your mind when you’d seen your reflection.

That’s where you are now, staring at yourself in that flowing, crimson gown while you try to make sense of the afternoon and evening after Surtur’s apparent defeat. The ladies have long since left, clearly done with their work on you.

You run your fingers over the chiffon sleeves and layers on the dress, your mind spinning. You look incredible, you really do. They’d done something to your eyes that made them pop in the most exquisite way, and your every insecurity was drowned out by the gorgeous, elaborate costume that accentuates your chest and hips deliciously. Every motion has the embroidered crystal beads on the corseted bodice catching in the firelight and the skirt swishes around your ankles with the most lovely, satisfying sound. You’re admiring it when you hear the door open.

You turn to find yourself locked into that piercing blue gaze, and that feeling in your chest multiplies tenfold. Your breath catches as your eyes trail over him, and you hate the way your heart speeds up, just a little bit.

He, too, is wearing crimson, but it’s a version of his armor. You assume it’s something similar to human soldiers wearing their dress uniforms for their weddings and special occasions. His horned helmet/visor/headband/thing is in his hand at his side and his hair is falling around his face in silky, ebony waves. He looks- well, he looks like a prince, which you suppose he is, isn’t he?

It’s infuriating.

“You look incredible,” he says softly, his eyes trailing over you appreciatively. His eyes are wide and he looks almost awed, but you discard the urge to preen. He’s a prince, after all. He’s probably trying to get in your pants.

“What am I doing here?” you reply, your voice curt and cold. May this very well get you beheaded? Yes, possibly. But… no buts. Cool yourself. Jesus Christ. So you tack on, “Sir,” at the end, because you’ve never been in front of royalty before! How are you meant to address him?

He chuckles softly, and that thing in your chest happens again. “Please, don’t call me sir,” he says, stepping closer but keeping his distance. Playing the perfect gentleman. “Just Loki. And… No one told you?”

Your brow pinches and you reach a hand up to your throat instinctively. You grip the small pendant of your necklace, using the semi-sharp edge of the stone to ground yourself. “No one told me anything.”

He looks put out at that, his own brow pinching for a moment as he thinks. But then his face smooths once more and his eyes find yours. “What’s your name?”

“Answer my question first,” you challenge, keeping your chin high despite the way your defiance frightens you slightly. He just nods, though.

“You’re to be wed.”

Your heart stops. You feel it stop. And then you’re all but shrieking his words back at him, and everything is going far too fast. Your heart goes from stopped to a million miles an hour in seconds, and your mind does the same. You’re panicking, on the verge of some kind of attack, and you’re unaware of everything around you. Your breathing is too fast and your hands are shaking and the walls are closing in, aren’t they? It’s so dark and everything feels wrong and fuck why does your skin feel like that? I can’t breathe I can’t breathe I can’t-

And then there’s a hand on your shoulder, and that warmth in your chest spreads everywhere. It’s like you’ve drunk too much wine, but in the best way. Warm and fuzzy and soft, everything feels like it could be good now. Your mind is quiet and your body is still, your thoughts serene and your breathing calm. When you open your eyes, they’re wonder-filled and wild, perfectly mirroring the icy gaze across from you.

“Breathe, Little Fox,” Loki whispers, his hand never straying from your shoulder. Never touching your skin, never pushing his limits. But his chest is heaving, too, and his eyes are wide and tinged with something almost… dark. Dark, but not frightening.

The moment ends all too soon as Loki steps back and away, his hand dropping down to his side. Your skin tingles where his warmth had been, and by the way he’s rubbing his fingers together, you think it feels the same for him.

“What’s your name?” he asks again, his voice softer this time. Almost… small. His eyes seem to light up when you whisper it, still confused and half in shock, and he repeats it. It sounds almost reverent, and it does something funny to your stomach to hear your name fall off his tongue.

Fuck.

“Why am I- ‘to be wed’?” you ask softly once your heart rate has returned to something normal. 

He opens his mouth for a second and closes it, furrowing his eyebrows. “Do you want the simple answer or the complex one?” he asks, and you’re close enough to smell him once more. He smells less like smoke now, but you find you miss it.

“Simple,” you murmur, pushing away thoughts of the god’s smell.

He lifts his hand, pressing it against the center of his own chest. “Do you feel that? In here? The warmth that’s been here since you arrived in Asgard.”

You look down at his hand, the kind of hand that would have normally had you texting your friends while squealing in your bed about the sinful things you intended to do to the man attached. 

Fuck, now you’re thinking about his hands? Jesus, you need help. Fuck.

You shake it off and nod, returning your gaze to his eyes, ignoring the way you can feel your cheeks heat. You just pray he can’t see it.

He smiles slightly, and you catch his gaze flick for half a second from your face to your chest. Just for a moment, but you catch it, and you only blush deeper. And of course his smile grows, and you realize he’s enjoying flustering you. This should be fun. Not.

“What is it?” you prompt, clearing your throat and shifting on your feet. You swear his eyes glow for a moment, but it’s gone before you can blink.

“Short and simple answer, darling, is that Asgardians mate for life,” he all but purrs. “And you are my mate, Little Fox.”

You scowl, but your heart races. Because fuck that voice… He knows what he’s doing. So you glare at him. “And if I don’t marry you?”

His smile falters for a moment, something sympathetic passing over his features. “That… Asgardian law is very clear on this. I’m afraid you have no choice, darling. Having said that, the law does not extend to anything past a wedding. It must be had within a week of the bond being found, but there is no time constraint on… consummation.”

You flush, feeling your neck and ears burn at the implication of your words. And of course your brain goes to all sorts of wicked places, places where you wonder what else that silver tongue of his can do, be it in your ear or between your- oh my god you’re so fucking screwed.

“I’m not Asgardian,” you argue, trying not to let your sinful thoughts show. You swear he knows, though. It’s bullshit.

“That doesn’t matter,” he says, firm but gentle. “You are my mate, and you are to be my wife. My father has already prepared everything, and my mother will be here in a moment to explain to you the vows and traditions.” 

With that, he steps back away from you, and that warmth in your chest dulls a little. You don’t like it, but you bite your tongue. When he reaches the door, he turns back to look at you for a moment.

“For what it’s worth,” he says softly, “you really do look exquisite. And- and I’m sorry.” He’s gone before you can respond.

˚　. . ✦ 　˚ . ★⋆.　. ˚　*✦　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　

Frigga is a good woman. She’s got kind eyes, and you love her immediately. You decide that she’ll be an easy person to care for, even in this new place you seem to be… stuck in. 

The wedding went off without a hitch. You’d managed to not vomit or flee as you’d spoken the words, as they’d tied that cloth over your hands. Holding Loki’s hands, though, felt like heaven. Which is weird. Because it’s fucking hand holding. But it made that thing in your chest -the bond, evidently- get all happy and fuzzy, and it nearly bubbled over.

Loki seemed to have had the same reaction, too, because he was fighting a smile all through the wedding and the reception, during which you did drink too much wine.

By the mercy of some god (definitely not Odin), you’d woken alone and fully clothed, which told you two things. One, that you’d not been able to untie the bodice of the gown, and two, that your husband had said “nope, she’s drunk, ain’t happening”, which you found comforting.

Because as the days after your wedding passed, as you came to learn the halls of the castle and the names of the servants and maids and guards, you remembered bits and pieces of your drunken haze. In which you did, in fact, attempt to bed your husband. It was a sloppy attempt, with a shitty human pickup line, but it had made him blush, and as humiliating as the memories were, you held on to the one of him flushing. 

You ate dinner with him every night, mostly in your bedchambers because he didn’t seem the type for formal dining. He liked to sit at the foot of your bed to eat while you sat on the bed and did the same. And you found yourselves talking each night. For hours.

Loki was easy to talk to, which you found surprising. You mentioned this to him once, but he’d just waved it off and changed the topic, trying and failing to hide the blush that you so loved. You learned that night that he’s fairly bad at taking compliments from everyone but his mother, and you quite enjoy watching him become flustered from something as simple as noting how the tunic he wore complimented his eyes.

You talked about everything and nothing at all. You learned about him, his family, his court. He taught you Asgardian laws and you shared your favorite stupid human laws. He brought games, too, finding human games to be far more fun than Asgardian ones. (“Ours all have swords and knives, I quite like this… fish game. Go fish!”) And the more you talked, the warmer the bond felt in your chest. It never became uncomfortable until he left for his own bed each night. 

You hated it then. You hated lying awake, staring at the ceiling, that strange buzzing filling your chest, your body, your cunt. Hated not knowing if it took as much for him to settle down as it did for you. Hated the way you knew where his bedchambers were but had never dared cross the threshold after his lights were out. Hated how you came each night on your own hand, with his name on your lips, wishing he were filling you, knowing for a fact that he’d reach every spot you couldn’t.

Days turned into weeks, and before you knew it, you’d been a wife for three months. And yet every night, he slept in his own room. 

You’re sick of it.

“Stay here tonight,” you say confidently -though you feel anything but- as he piles up the empty bowls from the desserts you’d stolen from the kitchens. Loki’s hands faltered and the bowls nearly toppled, but he caught them just in time. Your chest swells with pride at the idea that maybe, just maybe, you have the same effect on him that he has on you.

“I can’t do that,” he replies. His voice sounds different than it had a moment ago. Rougher.

“Why not?” you ask, keeping up the false confidence to hide the slight nerves. Hell, not slight. Fuck, does he not think you’re pretty anymore? Did he just like the gown? No, that must not be it, he compliments you every day. So what-

“Because I have enough trouble controlling myself as it is, Little Fox,” he says, and his voice is definitely rough now. His back is to you and you can see how tense his shoulders are.

You flush, though, because… Clearly he still thinks you’re pretty. So you switch tactics, because at this point, you don’t want to spend another night alone. The bond is always pulling so hard, making you ache for him.

“Loki,” you whisper, rising to your knees on the side of the bed. You reach out with a surprisingly steady hand and rest it on his shoulder, feeling his breath hitch, feeling the bond twitch inside you. “Please. I don’t want to sleep without you.”

Before the bowls have even hit the ground, his lips are on yours. You register the crash and shatter of the ceramic, but your hands are in his hair and you don’t care.

He tastes like cinnamon and apples, like the pie you’d both devoured. But there’s something else, too, something you can taste when his fingers tangle in your hair and tug your head back slightly, using the new angle to sweep his tongue into the deepest crevices of your mouth, something purely Loki. You whimper, and he swallows it with a groan, stepping closer and pressing his body flush against yours. The hand not in your hair grips your hip, kneading gently as he holds you in place against him.

His hair feels like silk between your fingers and you tug, too, and you’re rewarded with the most beautiful moan you’ve ever heard. You tug again, this time using your body to pull him over you. He complies with a growl, and you whimper again as he cradles your head ever so gently, laying you back so carefully against the pillows. His lips never leave yours as his body cages you in. His knees are on either side of your hips and the hand that’s not on your head traces gently up your side, always stopping just short of your breast. 

You kiss him hungrily, greedily. Your hands roam recklessly, all care for propriety gone because fuck the bond is so strong and all it wants is more and you whine in frustration as his thumb brushes your ribs again without going all the way. 

“Please,” you gasp against his lips, dragging the lower between your teeth before releasing it gently. “Touch me, Loki. I need it. I need you.”

He pulls away just enough to look at you, and you hardly recognize the man above you. His eyes are wild, pupils blown so wide you can hardly see the blue. “I can’t,” he growls softly, his chest heaving against yours. “There are things you don’t know yet.”

“Then tell me,” you beg, fingers clawing at the buttons of his shirt. He growls and his hand leaves your hair, making you whine again at the loss. Quickly, he grabs your hands in his one and pins them above your head, the hand on your ribs tightening.

“Don’t push me, Little Fox,” he murmurs, dropping his forehead to yours and closing his eyes. His hand never loosens around your wrists as he whispers, “humans react differently to godly spend. Ordinarily, it’d just be a powerful aphrodisiac. But you’re my mate, so that’s not how it’ll work.”

You’re trying to pay attention, really you are, but you can taste his breath on your lips and you can’t help yourself straining your neck to kiss him. He groans against your lips and you whimper at the taste of him before he nips your lips and pulls away, leaving you panting and desperate for more.

“You need to listen to me,” he says gruffly, his breath mingling with yours as he pants above you. You pout and open your mouth to protest, but he kisses you again, making your head spin. You melt when his tongue hits yours, and then he’s gone again. You’re too dazed to complain about it.

“Listen to me, darling,” he says firmly, his voice brokering no argument. His wild eyes lock onto yours and it makes your heart race. “If I fuck you, you become a goddess.”

That snaps you out of it. “What?”

He chuckles lowly, and the sound goes straight to your clit. “The ‘humans react differently to godly spend’ thing? Were you listening?”

You flush slightly. “I was trying,” you mumble, looking down at his lips again. “But I don’t know if you’re aware, but you’re very pretty, and therefore very distracting.”

Now it’s his turn to blush, and you’re too far gone not to moan at the sight. He chuckles again and rolls those icy eyes.

“Shush, you,” he mutters, kissing you deeply once more. He tries to pull away, but you whimper and chase his lips and he caves, his thumb stroking your inner wrist in time with his tongue against yours. Eventually, he does pull away again, and you’re left gasping for air.

“I won’t fuck you until you’ve had time to think about it,” he says softly, trailing feather-light kisses over your jaw. They send shivers down your spine and you clench your thighs together, biting your lip.

“I don’t-” you start to protest.

“No,” Loki says firmly, pulling away. His fingers tighten around your wrists and his other hand leaves your ribs to grip your chin. “Look at me, Little Fox.”

What you see takes your breath away. He’s positively exquisite; his hair a mess from your fingers, his eyes wild and pupils wide blown, his lips swollen from kissing you and his lips parted with the force of his heaving breaths. His heart melts at the reverence in your gaze and he sighs softly.

“Not until you’ve had time to think,” he repeats quietly, brushing your nose with his. With that, he kisses you once more before releasing your wrists and rolling off you and laying beside you, staring up at your ceiling. “But I won’t make you sleep alone.” 

˚　. . ✦ 　˚ . ★⋆.　. ˚　*✦　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　

Apparently, Loki’s version of ‘time to think’ means ‘until I’ve explained every pro and con of immortality a thousand times and given you a week to mull over each one individually’.

Okay, so maybe it’s only been a month, but you’ve literally slept naked beside the man only to have him kiss your forehead and spoon you to sleep. It’s as sweet as it is infuriating. The only thing you’ve not tried is fucking groping him, which you don’t want to do because he’s been so respectful to you, so you’re fucking screwed. You’ve even tried touching yourself while he ‘slept’ beside you. You heard his breath hitch, you knew he was awake, but he did nothing. 

So now you have one option left, aside from borderline assaulting your husband; ignore him.

There’s a ball tonight, one which Frigga assured you is not at all important for you to attend and has no dress code, which is vital for Plan B. 

You just hope Plan A works anyway.

You’re oh-so-innocently perched on the chair in front of your vanity, painting your lips a deep red that offsets the… garment you’re wearing. Loki doesn’t immediately notice you, though he greets you as he always does. 

A gentle, “hello, love,” as he enters the room and slips into the bathroom, pretty head in the clouds. But you don’t respond, and he notices that immediately. So he pokes his head out of the bathroom, and he fucking groans when he sees you.

What you’re wearing is so skimpy it can hardly be considered a gown. It’s a deep, gorgeous, emerald silk, one that drapes over your breasts but leaves nothing of your back, sides, or stomach to the imagination. The skirt, which is hardly a skirt, is just a wide strip of fabric that covers your crotch and meets the ‘skirt’ in the back, so everything indecent is covered, but every spare inch of skin is bared. You’re not even wearing jewelry yet, but he’s salivating at the sight of you.

Loki slips out of the bathroom with dark eyes and silent feet, and you can see in your periphery as you check your hair in the mirror that he’s undoing his tie. He comes to a stop just behind your chair and leans down, his lips hovering just outside your ear. “Did you wear that for me, Little Fox?” he purrs, and you can’t keep the shiver from running down your spine.

You don’t respond, focusing on your own reflection as you paint the lipstick on. You purse your lips, rubbing them together to spread the color over them. Ordinarily, you’d be blushing and embarrassed, self-conscious of the skin you’re displaying, but you’re too horny after four fucking months of him ignoring and neglecting you (translated: not fucking you) to care. You set down the lipstick with a hum, seeing him move in your periphery. 

You can feel his breath against your skin, his hair brushing your shoulder as he leans in close and presses a chaste, lingering kiss to the crook of your neck. “I asked you a question,” he murmurs, his eyes trailing over your form as you begin to slide gold bracelets onto your arms. He’s definitely looking down the front of your dress.

But you still stay silent, ‘focusing’ entirely on your jewelry and not even sparing your husband a glance. You feel his lips curve into a frown against your skin and you relish it, the reaction, no matter how small it may be. 

He inches closer, kneeling behind your chair and resting a hand on your thigh from behind you. “Little fox,” he says lowly, his voice all but a growl as he caresses the soft skin of your uppermost leg. “Why are you wearing this?” His tone sounds almost menacing now, an unspoken warning that sends a shiver down your exposed spine. 

You meet his eyes over your shoulder, your own wide and innocent as you feel his thumb start to brush circles over your flesh. “I wanted to feel pretty,” you coo innocently, tilting your head to the side as your fingers dance across the vanity in search of the necklace you wanted to wear. You bat your eyelashes as you ask, “Do you think I look pretty?” 

There’s something that flashes in his eyes, the icy blue darkening as his pupils blow wide. He presses his nose into the crook of your neck as his fingers slip under the silk of your gown, coming to rest on your hip -right where your panties are supposed to be. But you’re not wearing any, and he is suddenly very aware of it. He growls against your neck, “I think you look like a fucking goddess.”

And then his fingers plunge inside you, quicker than you know what to do with, and you’re already so wet that both long, slender digits slip in with no resistance. You cry out, your eyes rolling and your jaw going slack as your thighs part unconsciously. You’re faintly aware of him smirking against your lips, but your entire universe narrows to the feeling of his middle and ring finger curling into that spot with every thrust. You don’t know how he found it so fast, but you are not complaining in the least.

“You’re so pretty,” he coos as his fingers pump in and out of you, watching your reflection in the mirror as you lose your mind completely. “So undone, just from a few little touches?” He clicks his tongue disapprovingly as his thumb finds your clit and his tongue finds that spot under your jaw, both appendages moving in tight, rough circles that push you to the brink of sanity.

You’re probably moaning and whimpering and gasping, because your head is spinning and you can’t get enough air into your lungs and you’re not sure when your hips started bucking unceremoniously off the plush chair you’re sitting in, but none of that matters if you can’t stop yourself from cumming too fast. 

Loki chuckles, his eyes dark as he watches you writhe. 

And then he bites you.

You cum with a cry, one hand digging blood-red nails into his wrist and the other clawing at the edge of the chair as you try in vain to ground yourself. He’s groaning, too, gasping softly as his fingers seem to stutter inside your pulsing, fluttering pussy, but you’re floating too high to process why that might be. 

He strokes that spongy spot inside you as you come down, gasping and panting and whining gently. Loki’s panting just as hard, his breath hot against your skin as he does.

Some part of your brain registers the wide-blow of his pupils in the vanity’s reflection, the way his fingers slow inside you until they nearly stop, only twitching slightly, almost involuntarily. 

And then you wonder where his other hand is. 

The second you meet his eyes, you know. And he knows you know, too, because he whimpers unabashedly and a shudder runs through him. You turn, swallowing hard as you peek back at him over the back of the chair. You try, oh, by the gods you try to maintain some level of dignity, but the second your eyes meet his without the reflection, your gaze drops.

Oh, he’s beautiful.

His trousers are shoved down his thighs and hand is wrapped tight around his cock, pumping furiously as he stares at you from his knees. A better woman might get a power trip, but you just whimper, biting your lip as you watch him. Memorize him.

The way his wrist twists on the upstroke, the way his palm grazes his tip, red and leaking and swollen and fuck you want to kiss it. The way he drags his nails down that vein on his underside, hissing slightly as he does. You wonder if it hurts, or if it feels more like a scratch on the scalp, but your mouth is too dry to ask. 

You’re dully aware of your own hand moving between your thighs, pulling his fingers from inside you, causing you both to whine softly. You watch him switch hands then, using your slick instead of his own as he strokes himself faster. Your eyes flick to his face just in time to watch his eyes roll back, his bottom lip dragged between his teeth to stifle a sound you so wish you could hear. Loki’s head falls back and his eyes drift closed as he fucks his fist with your juices, his chest heaving and his stomach flexing with every thrust.

And you can’t help slipping off your chair and dropping to your knees, watching intently as pre-cum beads on that slit at the tip of him, such a perfect mushroom that you can’t not-

You grip his wrist, halting his movements. He whines, opening his eyes and staring down at you with a bewildered expression. Fuck, his eyes, so wide and burning and unhinged and insane, ablaze with lust and need and want. You whimper, and you can feel your heart beating in your clit as you tilt your head down, your eyes never leaving his, and kiss the head of him.

He explodes instantly, a hoarse cry leaving his throat. You open your mouth without hesitation, wrapping your lips around his perfect, pretty tip and laving your tongue over his spurting member. His warning from a month ago rings in your mind, but you’ve thought it over, and at this point, you do not care at all. 

Why would you turn down this, turn down him, for the rest of forever?

Loki’s gasping and whimpering, his hips stuttering as he tries desperately not to fuck your mouth as you suckle the tip of him. You wrap your hand around his base, watching him through your eyelashes as you stroke him gently, wanting to milk out every drop of his cum. He’s sweet, which you weren’t expecting. Like candy, where human males are salty and bitter. He tastes like heaven, and you’re completely unsurprised that this would be an aphrodisiac to the average human.

“Fox,” he chokes out, gripping your hair tightly. “I- fuck- you-” He’s spluttering, his cock twitching against your tongue as the last drops spurt out into your mouth. You pull away, your chest heaving as you press one last kiss to his cock before releasing him. His hands drop to the floor, leaving him on his hands and knees in front of you, where your position mirrors his. He drops his head to your shoulder, loosing ragged, shuddering breaths against your skin as he tries to remember how to function.

You can still taste him on your tongue, and you can’t help wondering when you’ll get to do that again. “Loki,” you whisper, lifting one hand to run gently through his hair, soothingly. 

He growls softly, his body going still against you. Your eyes widen, and for a moment, you think he’s angry with you. But then he’s standing, his arms looping around you to hoist you into the air. He dumps you unceremoniously on the bed, shoving his pants down the rest of the way before shoving your gown up and burying his head between your thighs. 

You cry out, arching into him as you whimper his name, gripping his wavy hair tightly as his tongue flicks against your clit rhythmically. It’s hard and fast and desperate, far from what you thought your first time with him would be like. He seemed the type to lay out candles and rose petals, not bury his face in your cunt the first chance he got. 

His fingers join in, pumping in and out of your pulsing pussy as he focuses his oral attentions on your clit, sucking hard and dragging his teeth over you just to listen to you gasp. His free hand kneads your inner thigh as he growls unintelligibly into your cunt. He’s probably giving a whole speech about how delicious you are, about how he could stay here for centuries and never tire, but you’re too busy mewling and whimpering his name to be able to discern any of it. You cum too fast again, your pussy drippy and needy from the aphrodisiac that is his seed, but he doesn’t stop.

You beg him to keep going, gasping and whimpering as you try to squirm away but push harder onto his tongue. Oh, it’s a warring sensation; the pain and the pleasure, the way it feels like heaven but it aches as he bullies your g-spot so perfectly with every crook of his fingers. His tongue is unrelenting, every flick of it sending stars into your eyes and shivers running down your spine. You’re incoherently babbling, mostly his name, but you’re sure there’s other stuff spilling from your lips, too. You’re kneading his hair and scalp, using your nails probably too much, but he just growls into your cunt and nips at your folds, causing a strangled cry to lurch from your throat as you cum hard once more. He groans as your pussy flutters so beautifully around his fingers, seemingly trying to drag them deeper inside you. 

Finally, with one last drooling kiss to your clit, he pulls away, letting his eyes rove over you as he sucks his fingers clean. You lie, spread out and spent, chest heaving as your thighs tremble and your body twitches with soft aftershocks. You open your eyes, letting your fingers slip out of his hair so your arms go limp against the bed.

“You… You’re really good at that,” you murmur, still feeling like you’re floating.

Loki chuckles, his hand moving from your thigh to slide up your side, finding the hidden ribbon of your gown and tugging it. “I’ve had a long time to practice,” he muses as he unties the green silk, his eyes tracing over your form. 

“You’re exquisite,” he whispers reverently, pushing the skimpy gown to the side so he can kiss more of you. He traces his lips over your skin, not even trying to be sensual, simply wanting to worship you. 

He kneads your flesh softly, making your heart skip as his touch ghosts over you. It feels so safe here, so comfortable, and you feel so utterly adored. “I love you,” you whisper, your breath catching before you let out a soft, content sigh. It doesn’t immediately process for you that you’ve never said that to him, but he just hums against your collarbone, kissing his way up your neck until his lips rest on your earlobe.

“And I love you,” he whispers reverently, settling between your thighs. He kneels there, pulling back to look down at your still-twitching body. He smirks, a slight, arrogant thing, smugly proud of how undone you are for him. He finally finishes pulling his shirt off, unbuttoning slowly as you watch with parted lips and baited breath. “Do you want me to fuck you, my little fox?” he asks softly as he pulls the dress shirt off his back. You swallow hard, staring unabashedly at his chest as your cheeks heat. You nod, biting your lip gently before he leans forward and tugs your lip free with his thumb.

“I need a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’, my queen,” he whispers as he hovers over you. His cock is hot and heavy against your stomach, hard again, and all for you. He bumps your nose with his, his eyes locked on yours as he smiles gently, the thumb on your lip moving to caress your jaw. His voice is so gentle, so sweet that you almost don’t process the sheer depravity of his words. “Do you want my cock, baby? Do you want me to make you sob on my dick, to fuck you until you can’t remember anything but my dick in you?”

You whimper, your cunt clenching at the thought.

“Yes.”

He crashes his lips to yours, his restraint seeming to snap completely as he reaches down and grips his cock tightly. He pumps it once, twice, sweeping his tongue over yours in time with his fist, and tilts his hips until the head of him taps your clit. You whimper against his mouth and he swallows it eagerly, slapping his cock against the throbbing nub and chasing the sound once more.

And oh, when he finally slips inside… The broad head of him stretches you out so slowly and deliciously, and your hands fly up from their spot in the bedsheets and claw down his back, trying to drag him closer, pull him deeper. You angle your hips with a whimper, bucking up to try to take him faster. But he chuckles against your lips and sucks on your tongue, keeping his slow, torturous pace until his head drags against that spongy spot inside you. You gasp and whine, arching your back. And he pulls out, pulling his cock through your sopping cunt oh-so-slowly as he breaks the kiss. He smirks down at you, his hands moving to grip your hips, hard enough to bruise.

He slams back inside all at once, eliciting a scream of ecstasy from deep inside your chest. Tears prick your eyes and you bow your back, encouraging a repeat performance. He whines softly and complies with your silent command, pulling out slowly until only his tip is inside you before he plunges back in, his cockhead meeting your cervix in a bruising, gooey kiss that leaves you both whimpering and gasping for more. 

“Loki,” you whine, your eyes squeezing shut. He coos down at you, praising how pretty and sweet you look as he does it again, still too slow and still not hard enough but fuck fuck fuck, it feels so good.

“Take my cock so perfect,” he murmurs with a bright grin as he speeds up ever so slightly. “Such a pretty pussy, made f��me, yeah? Your pussy was made f’my cock? So fuckin perfect, baby, I love you so fuckin much.”

“Loki,” you whimper again, gasping desperately. “Loki, please-”

“Please what, baby?” he coos, pressing his hand against your belly as he thrusts in deep once more. You cry out, a fat tear falling down your cheek as you choke out his name. He just grins, doing it again and again, loving how completely undone you are, just from his cock. Him. “Fuck, you’re beautiful like this. Takin my cock like a sex god. You want more, baby? You want more of me? Want me to pound this pussy?”

You nod frantically, gasping and choking on air as your blood-red nails dig into his skin, leaving marks and indents, proof of your touch on him. “Please,” you gasp out again, bowing your back again.

This time, he complies. This time, when he drags his cock through your pleasure-soaked walls, he rams back inside without hesitation. This time, he drops his forehead you yours and fucking rails you, drawing ecstatic sobs from the depths of your soul.

His hands are so tight on your hips that you know they’ll bruise, and fuck, you can’t wait to see them in the morning. He bullies his cock deeper with every thrust, rolling his hips like a goddamn porn star to hit your clit with each plunge into your depths. Loki’s whimpering as much as he’s growling, his eyes wild as he fucks you hard and fast and deep. He crashes his mouth to yours, tasting your tears and sweat and spit and just you, groaning deep into your mouth. 

He stills over you for a second, long enough to make you whine in protest, but also long enough to grab your hands off his back and pin them to the bed beside your head, intertwining your fingers with his. 

“Mine,” he whispers reverently as he moves once more, his body fitting so perfectly against yours, like it was made for you. “Tell me,” he begs, trailing kisses over your jaw as his hips slow to a deep, satisfying pace that stirs that coil in your belly and makes the most delicious squelching sound. “Tell me who I belong to.”

You whimper, tears of absolute pleasure rolling down your skin only for Loki to lick and kiss them away before they can disappear into your hair. “Me,” you choke out, arching up into him with a soft whine. “Mine. Y-you’re mine.”

He whimpers, too, echoing you as he kisses your skin, his hips speeding up as his own high coils in his core. “Yours,” he vows, releasing one of your hands to reach down and press his thumb against your clit. “My wife.”

You cum with a scream, clenching on his cock so hard you’re sure it has to hurt, but he only whines, fucking you harder. He cums seconds later, gasping out your name and spilling deep inside you. You flutter harder around him, groaning at the feeling of being so utterly filled by him as your body convulses and twitches beneath him as he thrusts jerkily, trying to keep fucking you despite his own orgasm. He’s whimpering like a wounded animal, and it’s nearly enough to make you cum again. 

You lean up and capture his lips, whining as you taste him again, going limp as he stills above you, focusing entirely on your lips now. His hand stills against you and the other squeezes yours, a soft, utterly sated sigh dropping between your lips. Loki settles his weight over you, letting his hand slide up your body and caress your jaw as he goes soft inside you. You sigh contentedly, lifting your own free hand to toy with his hair as you kiss. 

After a moment, you pull away and smile up at him, tired and sated. “My husband,” you whisper, your hand sliding from his hair to his jaw. Loki nuzzles into the touch, kissing your inner wrist.

His eyes are soft as he gazes down at you, his hand on your jaw sliding up to trace over your face gently, reverently. And you could swear you’ve never heard anything as sweet as his voice as he murmurs so gently, so adoringly, “My goddess.”

˚　. . ✦ 　˚ . ★⋆.　. ˚　*✦　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　

Later that night, you were still naked and tangled together, your head on his chest as he played with your hair, damp from the shower. You’re tracing shapes over his skin, humming contentedly to yourself. 

You press a gentle kiss to his pec, skewing your mouth to one side. “I don’t feel any different,” you admit, resting your chin on his chest and looking up at him. “I mean, I feel different, but different in a ‘I just had the best sex of my life’ kind of way, not a ‘I’m a goddess now’ kind of way.”

Loki chuckles and boops your nose. “You’ll feel different in the morning,” he assures you, his voice low and soft. “You were a goddess from the second my cock touched your tongue.” You flush despite yourself, turning your face to kiss his sternum. 

“Hmm,” is all you say, embarrassed now of all times. He just laughs, grinning. 

“Don’t worry, baby,” he whispers, his voice coy and teasing as he settles back into his pillows as he returns to toying with your hair. “We’ll have plenty of time to make you a goddess if it didn’t work this time.”

[brbarou]

so i'm writing my undergrad thesis on rote. specifically on the women of rote, specifically analyzing (and, let's be real, mostly criticizing) the ways in which hobb chooses to write them. i have a general idea of the structure and the things i'm going to write about BUT if anyone want to pitch in with anything i might've missed that you consider striking about the way the women of rote are written (be it positive or negative!) feel free to

so far i've got an outline of touching upon:

1. an overview of the ways in which different countries treat women - e.g. the six duchies being more inclusive than the cursed shores, the contrast between the violent patriarchy of chalced and the stern matriarchy of the outislands

2. sex and sexuality - this one is complicated. i have a lot to say, about molly representing the ideal woman wife and mother, about how the female characters who tend to sleep around are painted as either misguided victims of former sexual abuse (althea, starling) or just flat out written in a way that is so Vindictive (also starling, and jerd) as if hobb's catholicism doesn't know how else to handle those characters apart from turning them into rude, annoying, unreasonable people who the reader is urged to dislike

3. motherhood, the good the bad and the ugly of it. women long for children. they suffer through miscarriages (kettricken, malta), they are blamed for not being able to bear children (alise, patience) - but at the end of the day, children are always in the picture one way or another. apart from, off the top of my head - alise, jek and serilla, almost every other woman ends up a mother (i'm counting patience as a mom!) which isn't a problem on its own, but. when characters who speak openly about not wanting a typical family and who aren't pleased about having children become mothers anyway (althea). when women who have been infertile most of their life become mothers anyway (starling). when even the sidest of side characters Have to become mothers (laurel, jerd) then really, it makes you pause for a bit

4. rape. i don't have a bone to pick with how hobb approaches sexual assault, per se, because the way she feels about it is very clear, but still. god. althea, malta, serilla, thymara, alise, shine, etta, starling, chassim. and the difference between hobb's male and female victims of rape seems to be that the male counterparts always suffer off-page, while you most often have to look the women's abuse straight in the eyes as the reader. i have yet to sit down and really Think about why that is but i'm sure there's a conclusion to be reached

5. gender in general - i have an inkling that hobb views gender as a performance (which, i mean, yeah) or as a role one can step in and out of (think ash/spark) but assfate era beloved is particulary fascinating when it comes to this. i can't quite pick apart whether it's hobb or fitz's urge to constantly compartmentalize beloved's existence but every scene where amber takes her makeup off and changes into a pair of pants and the pronouns immediately switch back to he/him is so hilarious. is woman when makeup and skirt and dress? and man when pants? something to be said about this for sure

i think that's most of what i have on my mind so far?? i've spent so much of my free time thinking about this i'm glad i get to turn it into something useful

[momolady]

Chicory the Tiefling: Part Two

Female Reader x Male Monster Hurt Comfort - Amnesia - Healing - Love Returns Part One

There was an explosion at the tower. It started a fire, and from there everything is this horrible blur. You managed to get the animals out as best you could, and you think everyone is accounted for now. But-

Chicory stayed behind to save some of his inventions, his journals, and you fear it may have been too much on him. Nictis graciously took you in, giving you an entire wing of his home. Yasmin arranged for constant care for Chicory. But he still has not fully come to.

“The smoke was one thing,” Nictis murmured as he served you tea. “But everything else inside that tower of his? I’m sure his concoctions and gears catching fire only worsened things. But not to worry! We’ve gotten a great doctor and nurses to help aid our dear Chicory.”

You sat there dumbfounded, still covered in smoke and ash. You had been so wound up in caring for the animals and Chicory, you’d barely had a chance to take care of yourself. Posey hadn’t left your side the whole while. She sat there, quite comfortable but vigilant.

Yasmin came into the room, wearing clothes that didn’t seem to suit the wife of a lord. Rather, she looked like you.

“I got the pygmy alligators into the lake, they seem quite happy.” She hold up a bitten finger wrapped in a bandage. “They’re quite lovely.”

“Oh, my dear.” Nictis took her hand, holding his gently despite his boney facade.

I looked up, taking a cup of tea Yasmin offered. “Are you alright?” She asked. “I can run you a bath if you wish.”

Shakily, you brought the tea to your lips and drank.

“It’s been a few days, you should rest,” Yasmin insisted.

I shook my head. “Not until I know he is going to be okay.”

Yasmin took a gruff look, but Nictis’ hand upon her shoulder reeled her back. “What else can you do for him now?” The lord asked. “He is resting, breathing in cleansing herbs so the smoke will leave his body. You need to take care of yourself now, or else, down the road, you might not be able to care for anyone. When is the last time you had a full meal?”

I gulped, feeling the sting of hot liquid against my tongue. “What if something happens while I am away?”

“He has nurses by his side,” Yasmin said with a reassuring smile. “And the doctor is close by so we can call at any second.”

Posey meowed, giving you her wide eyed look which seemed to echo their sentiment. Take care of yourself.

You let out a heavy sigh. “I can’t remember when I last had a meal,” I admitted, giving into their care and worry.

Yasmin jumped at the chance. “I’ll get a bath prepared for you, and some clean clothes as well. You and I seem about the same size. And I’ll make you something to eat!”

Nictis seemed to want to say something as she darted off, but he kept his skull shut. “She is strong willed,” he murmured. “Comes from her meager background, it made her stronger than me, I think.” He glanced at me, concern somehow written on his face. “Chicory will be fine. I promise. He is my friend, a great one in fact, and I will do all I can to help him.”

“Thank you,” you murmured.

Nictis nodded. “Yes, well, it is the least I can do. He’s done so much for me and Yasmin.” He cleared his throat and looked down at the tea seat.

Yasmin came and fetched you later. She poured you a hot bath, sticking around to wash and care for your hair.

“I could have done this,” you murmured.

“Relax, you deserve a bit of pampering.” Yasmin said, scrubbing your scalp. “Would you have had the strength to do this?”

You don’t think so. You probably would have sat in that hot water and drifted away.

“There we go.” She rinsed out your  hair. She wrung it out and started running some sort of cream through it.

“What are you doing?” You asked.

“Trust me, your hair is going to look amazing! While you’re here, you’re going to receive the royal treatment.” Her hands felt good running through your hair and scalp. “I am not some fancy lady you know? I was raised in Obresh.”

You leaned your head back to look up at her. “Nictis said something like that.”

She smirked. “Did he also tell you he bought me?”

Read the rest over on Patreon!

There's also a remaster of part one! Only available to patrons.

[rekino2114]

Yello! Would you do a female sukuna x male reader, where the reader is her reincarnated lover.

Fem. Sukuna with a reincarnated reader

A/n:everyone calls him by his last name anyway so I don't see the need to change his first one (plus I have no idea what I'd change ryomen to) also I'll make yuji a girl in this too cause it would be....uncomfortable to think otherwise. Credit to mochiii on pinterest for the art

Not many people know that during the heian era,sukuna, the queen of curses and the strongest sorcerer in history actually had a husband,someone who was impressively close to her level of strength and that she considered the person worthy of standing beside her as the peak of jujutsu and of her love.

You two lived happily for years, and after meeting kenjaku you decided to split your souls into cursed objects to live forever and be reincarnated together in another era.

While you reincarnated without problems, taking over your vessel easily, apparently, your wife had found the perfect vessel to contain her (thanks kenny) and couldn't completely take over the girl's body only being able to switch briefly.

You were amused that a random non sorcerer girl could give the sukuna that much trouble but you immediately teamed up with your servant uraume to try and help "revive" your lover.

You are quite sad that you only get to see her very rarely. You look forward to the day you can be fully reunited with your love, preferably while surrounded by the bodies of your enemies.

"Uraume, y/n!"

"It's been a while. That was a wonderful fight dear, I see you're still as strong as ever"

"Please, we both know I can do way better. This brat is holding me back If I was at my full strength not even that cursed spirit's ashes would be left"

"I certainly don't doubt that, speaking of your situation our loyal servant here has prepared the ritual to bind you to your vessel, are you ready?"

"Unfortunately, there is something really important I have to do at the moment, my beloved, but don't worry once I take care of everything and slaughter every one of these weaklings we will be together just like old times"

You two share a kiss before sukuna goes to fight mahoraga.

[thelov3lybookworm]

I Didn't Ask For This (part 11)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

Summary: Marriage had always been something sacred to little Y/n, something dream like, where her husband would come and whisk her away to a fairyland. At least, that's what she had always thought

.All her dreams would be shattered.

But maybe she can salvage them?

•○●⛦●○•

Tw: forced marriage, none more that I can think of, so let me know if I need to add anything.

•○🌑○•

Azriel's pov.

He squeezed his eyes shut against the glare of the morning sun streaming in through the window.

He always had his windows and blinds shut so no light would disturb his rare slumber. Why weren't the blinds closed?

He turned his head away, trying to turn away, but he froze when he realised there was something heavy on his chest. He blinked his eyes open cautiously. He knew it wouldn't be anything dangerous, because if it was, his shadows would have woken him up a long time ago.

When he realised what– who– it was, his heart skipped a beat.

There, on his chest lay his wife's head, her features incredibly softened. Her hand was gently draped over his abdomen.

He stared at the female. He always knew she was beautiful, but now he could actually see every small detail on her face. He hadn't noticed them till now because he had never been so close to her before, and if he stared for too long, he was afraid he'd offend her in some way or creep her out. And he didn't want that.

He lifted his hand to push back that strand of hair on her face that seemed to have a problem staying in place. He didn't pull his hand back though. He caressed her hair, staring at her closed eyes and her lips. Her nose and cheeks. Azriel was fascinated to say the least.

Y/n's brow furrowed, and Azriel pulled his hand back, holding still as she shifted. She pulled away from him, only to rest her head on his bicep, giving him space to turn onto his side. So he did, still studying her features.

He tried to not touch her, but his hand and mind were not on speaking terms, it seemed. His fingers ghosted over the arch of her cheeks, the bridge of her nose, the dip on her chin.

Now he knew why he had slept so peacefully and deeply for the first time in such a long time.

As he did all that again, his mind wandered.

•○🌑○•

He had reached the camp that he and Y/n had been born in within moments of leaving the House of Wind at dusk, having winnowed there. He had stopped to get some of the supplies he would need before flying the rest of the way.

When he reached the camp, he stashed the supplies he'd bought in his shadows and began the long work of sneaking narrow eyed females and their children out of the camp. He had planned to return before dinner, but convincing the females had been harder than he thought and took longer than anticipated.

But once he was done, he had wrapped his shadows around himself and started the work of drenching the whole place in the flammable material the male from the shop had given him. He flew quietly and swiftly with the huge can in his hands, making sure he wasn't making any sounds.

When he did that too, he started the fire and watched the camp burn down.

He knew the pain. How it burned. How it felt as if death would be a more peaceful option. How skin practically melts of the bones.

So when the screams started, he smiled.

He smiled as the wails and ear splitting shrieks filled the night air.

And then he went in search of the males he hated above all.

He walked through the heat of the fire, cautious of the flames and searched for his childhood home, if it could even be called that.

There they were, trying to get away from the flames that encircled them so that they could spread their wings to fly away.

He stared at the three men, his father and stepbrothers, trying frantically to search for a way out. He stared as one of his brother's hands caught fire and he screeched, the other's wings burning, his father's clothes turning to ash with the flames. Azriel smiled all the while.

And maybe that made him a sadistic bastard, but he was the Spymaster of Night Court. Being sadistic came with the position.

And then, his father looked up and froze, recognition lighting his eyes after a moment.

"Azriel." He whispered, but Azriel heard it clearly, as clearly as if he had spoken in his ear.

"Hello. Father." He added as a second thought. His brothers looked up, stopping mid scream.

"Shit." One of them continued screaming.

"How does it feel?" Azriel asked. He was enjoying this too much.

"You are our brother. Please save us. We were so worried about you when you left." The older one pleaded.

Azriel raised his brows. "Why would I save you and let all my efforts go to waste?"

They blanched even more. "You–you started the fire?"

"Who else would do that?"

"Azriel, son. Please, give us one more chance. I promise we will show you how much we care about you–"

"You can show the Mother that. When–if she blesses you with her presence in the afterlife. I highly doubt that, though." With that, Azriel turned on his heel, going to hunt down Y/n's father.

"Please, stop! Come back! We'll do anything you ask!"

Azriel paused. "Anything?"

"Yes! Anything!"

"Hmm. Tell me where Y/n's father lives."

"Y/n? Who is that?"

"The girl you promised me to."

"Oh that man lives in that house." His father pointed towards a house nearby.

"Alright. Thank you for the assistance." Azriel continued on towards the house his father had indicated.

"Wait! Where are you going?! Help us!"

"Again, why would I do that?"

"You said..."

"I never promised anything, father. You assumed."

He chuckled to himself as he heard profanities and curses being spewed at him.

He kicked open the door to the burning house he had been pointed to, and found Y/n's father lying down, his mouth opening and closing like a fish, his face and clothes damp with sweat. "Father in law. How are you doing."

Azriel didn't necessarily want the answer to that. He couldn't care less about it.

"S–son. Save me..."

Azriel smiled. "What do you think I am here for?"

•○🌑○•

He surprised himself with the satisfaction he got by doing that. He never thought that inflicting the same pain he had endured that made him hate his hands on others would be something he could be proud of.

Nonetheless, he was satisfied. Which was very concerning, but as long as it made his wife happy, he would burn down the whole of Prythian.

He ran his fingers through her hair, then realised she was staring at him. He froze.

"How long have you been staring at me?" He asked.

She huffed. "Don't you think I should be the one asking that?"

"Well, I asked first. You must answer."

"Hmm. Since you turned this way. May I ask what you were fantasising about that you didn't notice I was awake?"

He smirked, moving to sit up. "Trust me darling, you'd rather I show it to you." He whispered in her ear before standing. She gaped at him, looking furious. He knew it was all fake.

As soon as he turned away from her, a pillow smacked the back of his head and he chuckled. He picked the clothes he'd worn before his night clothes and waved at her as he walk out the door.

But he paused before closing the door behind him. He poked his head in, opening his mouth. But then he just stared.

There on the bed, she was sitting. Smiling widely at her hands and shaking her head. She looked to the balcony and bit her lip, lost in thought before moving to stand up. He smiled too, before finally interrupting the daydream she was having.

"Hey professional pillow thrower?" She whipped towards him with a gasp. "Lunch today?"

She blinked, thinking for a moment before nodding. "Sure."

"See you soon then. I mean, take your time smiling at the walls. I won't mind." He ducked away and closed the door before the pillow she threw at him again could land its mark.

Grinning, he turned to walk to his room. Then he stopped in his tracks when he found Cassian leaning against a wall nearby, his arms wrapped over his chest, wiggling his brows.

Azriel continued walking, trying to ignore the knowing look on his brother's face. "Shut up." He muttered when he passed by Cass.

"But I said nothing!" Unfortunately, Cassian followed Azriel to his room. "Though I can't help but wonder, are you skills gone or something? I heard nothing last night. No moans and groans and your name being screamed–"

Azriel shoved the bundle of clothes he had in his hands in Cassian's face before slamming the door in his face. He could hear Cassian's boisterous laugh through the door, and honestly, he wouldn't be surprised if the whole of Velaris heard it.

"Take her to a good place brother! For lunch I mean!" Cassian said through the door before his steps retreated.

Azriel huffed, but couldn't stop the smile that made its way onto his face. He leaned his head against the door, grinning before smacking his forehead and making his way to the bathing room.

•○🌑○•

Part 12

Taglist: @bubybubsters @maxxieluvs @bubbbllee @buckyandgeraltsupremacy @waytoomanyteenagefeels @tell-me-a-poem @the-lake-is-calling @spaxxxi @japanese-wonderland-blog @valeridarkness @moonlwghts @deadratio @esposadomd @harrystylesfan2686 @missusbarnes-rogers @whatthefuckshappeningrn @hyacinthoideshispanica @historygeekqueen @lizziesfirstwife @nastynesta @aroseinvelaris @nightless @cleverzonkwombatsludge @kodokunarisu-blog @selillusion @eos-princess @moonfawnx @a-court-of-milkandhoney @emilyo-218 @wannabewolf @ailyr92 @chronically-online-cheese @myheartfollower @hells-sluttiest-new-arrival @marina468 @menaosama @starryhiraeth @hereticdance @mali22 @valencia-rou @azrielsstarlight @marvelouslovely-barnes @luvmoo @starlight-hope @a-frog-with-a-laptop @fall-myriad @alt-ghost @elleofdragons @ruleroftides @5moremin @stargirl1714 @bunnymallowo @ivy-34 @aria-chikage @kalulakunundrum

[c-e-d-dreamer]

When We Howl, the Moon Will Cower: Chapter 6

A/N: Happy Day 2 of @nessianweek! Sometimes, yearning is looking at another male who clearly loves his wife and going huh, why do I suddenly feel jealous? 😂 But please enjoy this update! And enjoy Nesta and Cassian being idiots. Because there's nothing quite like clearly having feelings for your husband/wife, but refusing to acknowledge it

Read on AO3 // Chapter Masterlist // Previous Part // Next Part

Cassian

Cassian never thought he’d see the day where he visits the estate of the Vanserra coven not once but twice, and especially not within the span of the same day. And after today, he can confidently say he never wants to be between these four walls again. The library looks exactly the same as it did the previous evening, but the tension in the room is even thicker than it was when the Archeron sisters were scrying for the Cauldron. It sits like a weight on everyone’s shoulders. Writhes in the shadows and curls around Cassian’s chest, threatening to crush the air right out of his lungs.

Lucien paces back and forth across the room, practically leaving a simmering trail of ash beneath his feet the way he stalks across the rug. It’s almost strange seeing the male so out of sorts. Every time that Cassian has ever seen the witch, he’s looked impeccable, not a single piece of clothing or hair out of place.

The same can’t be said for the moment.

Lucien’s red hair is a mess where it hangs around his face, tangled and knotted from the way he’s been repeatedly running his fingers through the long strands. His skin is unusually ragged and pale, dark circles clinging beneath his bloodshot eyes. He’s long discarded his jacket into a crumpled heap in one of the large armchairs, his shirt creased and wrinkled where it hangs only half tucked into his pants.

“We’re wasting time,” Lucien growls out for the second time tonight, turning his attention toward his brother.

“I told you, we have to be smart about this,” Eris reminds him, his voice low with warning.

“Every moment we sit around here talking in circles, the Mother only knows what Hybern is doing to Elain.”

Sitting as close to her as he is, Cassian doesn’t miss Nesta’s almost imperceptible flinch at Lucien’s words. She’s been quiet and the picture perfect of calm ever since Baz informed them of the news about Elain, but Cassian has gotten to know his wife too well since their marriage. He knows that the press of her lips conceals the sharp words sitting on her tongue that she’s holding back. Knows that her narrowed blue eyes hide the fire burning just behind them.

He knows that deep down, she’s afraid.

Knows that her straightened spine and held back shoulders are the armor she wears to cover her concern. Knows that the way her fingers flex, her arm jumping back to brush against his own, means her own mind is conjuring images the same if not worse than whatever Lucien might be imagining.

It’s practically instinct, the way Cassian reaches a hand out toward her. His fingertips just barely brush along the back of Nesta’s hand before he thinks better of himself. Before he catches himself. He pulls his hand away again, fingers curling tight until his nails cut into the palm, the pain a reminder of himself, and resettles his hands back in his lap again.

“You’re assuming the worst,” Rhys pipes up from where he and Feyre sit. “They’re probably just keeping her to use as a bargaining chip.”

“Probably?” Lucien snaps, whirling on the vampire. “You expect me to be alright with probably?”

Eris sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And what would you have us do? Storm through Hybern’s gates?”

“Yes. They have my wife.”

He says the words with no hesitation, with a sheer surety and determination that has Cassian tilting his head curiously. He’d noticed the way Lucien and Elain seemed unusually close, strangely comfortable in each other’s gravity the other night. The way the two seemed less like two people who had married for an alliance and more like two people who actually chose one another.

But this, watching Lucien now, watching his reaction, is somehow different than the other night, something more than just amicability. It’s almost like…

Cassian refuses to finish the thought, refuses to give the notion any sort of weight. But it’s still there, niggling in the back of his mind. It still has an ache threatening to build and sink its roots into Cassian’s chest. Threatening to twist and shift into begrudging anger.

“We don’t even know for sure that’s where Elain was taken,” Nesta finally speaks up, her voice surprisingly cool and calm. “Our best bet is having Feyre and I scry again for her before we make any rash decisions.”

Lucien scoffs, but Eris nods his agreement at her words, pulling back out a map and spreading it across the table. Nesta stands up, taking a moment to fix the skirts of her dress before she strides forward. She holds her hand out, waiting until Eris hands over the bowl of bones and stones, to turn expectantly toward her younger sister. Feyre hesitates for only a moment before she stands as well, stepping over to Nesta and the table.

“What if it sees us too?” Feyre asks quietly, Cassian’s wolf hearing still picking up the question.

“We’re not looking for it,” Nesta tells her, taking Feyre’s hand in her free one. “We’re looking for our sister.”

Feyre swallows hard, but she nods her head, squaring her shoulders and focusing on the map before them both. Both sisters close their eyes, murmuring whatever scrying incantation they need, the words still so unfamiliar to Cassian. Just like the previous night, the temperature in the room seems to drop, the air stilling and prickling with static electricity. Cassian scoots forward in his seat, keeping his eyes pinned on Nesta.

He swears he can see a slight tremble to her hand where she has her closed fist extended over the map, can see where the blood’s been cut off, her skin pale from the tight grip she has over the bones and stones in her palm. Her whole body stiffens, and Cassian almost rises from his seat before he catches himself again, closing his own hands into fists to keep himself together.

There’s nothing comforting about the silence that settles over the room. It’s more like a yawning void with the promise of teeth and claws. It reminds Cassian of when he was young, of those dark nights in the woods where he swore something watched him back from between the tall, shadowed bark of the trees. Something wrong and twisted.

A minute passes.

And then another.

Something changes in the air, a crackling spark that steals the breath even from Cassian’s lungs. Nesta’s breath starts to come fast and hard, her lip curling back as she pants between her gritted teeth, and Cassian can’t take it anymore, pushing to his feet and striding toward the table. There’s a small noise, one that Cassian can only describe as pure terror, but it doesn’t come from Nesta.

It comes from Feyre.

The youngest Archeron gasps, pressing her free hand to her heaving chest as she all but curls over the table. “I… I can’t…” She turns her attention toward Nesta, blue eyes wide with fear. “Open your fist. Now.”

“No,” Lucien growls, stalking closer to the table again. “We can’t stop. Find Elain.”

“You have no idea what we saw,” Feyre snaps.

The two continue to bicker and snarl at one another, but Cassian tunes it all out. He settles one hand along Nesta’s lower back, able to feel the tension in her body beneath his touch, the small trembles and shakes that rattle her limbs. With his other hand, he reaches up toward her face, gently sliding the backs of his fingers down her cheek.

“Nesta.”

Nesta’s eyes snap open, zeroing in on him, and Cassian once again gets a glimpse of the magic that rages like a wildfire beneath her skin, of the silver flames that flicker around her irises. He doesn’t remove his touch though, doesn’t step away.

“Open your fist, Nes.”

Nesta’s fingers splay, bones and stones clattering against the table as they’re released from her hold, slightly pink from where her grip was tight enough to break skin. Cassian slides his hand around to Nesta’s waist, catching her and holding her steady when she sways. He tilts his head down enough that he can press his lips to the crown of her head, tuck his nose to the golden brown strands of her hair.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got you,” he speaks quietly, only loud enough for Nesta to hear.

“Look.”

Eris’s words are enough to have Nesta pulling away from Cassian, and he refuses to acknowledge the coldness that burrows beneath his skin at the loss. Refuses to name or give in to what feels suspiciously like disappointment creeping up and between his ribs. Instead, he swallows hard and rolls his shoulders, joining everyone else in the room leaning over the table to see.

To see the bones and stones standing on end upon the map, to see them forming a perfect, unnatural circle.

“Good. Now we know where she is, for sure,” Lucien says, pushing off the table’s edge and offering his brother a pointed, sardonic, look before striding toward the library doors.

“Lucien–”

“Try and stop me. I dare you.” Lucien whirls around, and Cassian catches a glimpse of the burning flames infamous to the Vanserras flickering in his russet eyes. “If I have to march into Hybern by myself, then so be it, but I am getting back my wife.”

Cassian half wonders if Eris would, if he’d stop his own brother in order to save Lucien from himself. He half wonders how Lucien might claw his way out of whatever restraints Eris put him in, how he might cleave through any chains or spells to get to Elain. Cassian has to give the male credit for his dedication.

For his devotion to his wife.

That dark, twisting feeling climbs back up Cassian’s chest, twining like brambled vines around his ribs. Around his heart. It feels an awful lot like bitterness, but he’s quick to shove it back down. It doesn’t stop that dark part of him that revels in seeing the mess of emotions wreaking havoc on the youngest Vanserra, to see some semblance of his own emotions and experience finally reflected back at him, especially after how happy Lucien and Elain had looked together the previous night.

It doesn’t stop the voice that whispers in the back of Cassian’s mind, wondering what it would take to draw such a visceral reaction from himself.

“I can offer a squadron of wolves. Just one, though. I won’t risk any more than that.”

Despite the words being for Lucien, it’s Nesta that Cassian doesn’t take his eyes off of. He knows how important her sisters are to her, how much she cares about them. He can still remember their wedding day, when Nesta told him plain and simple that she only agreed because of them. That she chose him over the other factions in the name of protecting them.

The declaration has a new emotion sparking amongst the icy blues of Nesta’s eyes, one that Cassian doesn’t quite recognize. It’s a look he hasn’t yet cataloged, hasn’t yet named, that takes over her expression. Cassian’s heart squeezes in response, and he has to swallow hard against the way his breath threatens to catch in his throat.

“Thank you,” Nesta tells him, her voice quiet and sincere. Just for him.

Cassian nods his head once, determined to keep his own emotions tampered, his own face neutral. “Guess we’re going to Hybern.”

~ * * * ~

Nesta

Nesta twists enough that she can secure the final buckle, pulling at the strap until it tightens. She slides her hands down along her waist and hips, stepping over to the small mirror in the bedroom. It’s almost uncanny, the reflection staring back at her. She had been unsure when Emerie had handed her a pair of leathers to wear, and it’s as strange seeing them on as the fabric feels against her skin.

Still, the Mother only knows what could be waiting for them at Hybern, and Nesta will take any extra protection and armor she can get.

It had been one of the easiest decisions she had ever made, agreeing to help Lucien and rescue Elain. One she’d made as soon as those bones and stones had landed across the map, before she could even voice it. She’d do anything for her sisters, even if it meant storming into what was most likely a trap. Even if it was the last thing she ever did. And she didn’t care what anyone said, including her dear wolf of a husband.

Although, she hadn’t needed to worry about that last one in the end.

She still can’t quite wrap her mind around Cassian not fighting her about going to Hybern, how the only “order” he gave was for Emerie to locate some leathers for her to wear. She still can’t wrap her mind around him offering up his own wolves to help with the rescue. Elain means nothing to him, he has no reason to volunteer his help, and yet…

And that look on his face… Nesta still can’t get it out of her head. The way the hazel of his eyes seemed to burn in a way she’d never seen before. The way that gaze had been pinned to her as he spoke the words. It had been indescribable. It had something warm threatening to unfurl in her chest.

It was dangerous.

Sighing softly and shaking her head of those thoughts, Nesta steps out of the bedroom. She finds Cassian standing in the front room of the cabin, the alpha already wearing his own leathers. It’s certainly a sight, the way the fabric clings to his frame and emphasizes the large muscles of his chest, his arms, his thighs, the way the red hued scales along the shoulders seem to flicker in the low light of the room. With the stubble along his jaw, his hair scraped back away from his face, and the twin blades strapped along his back, he certainly paints the image of a warrior prince.

His eyes sweep over Nesta before he offers a single nod of approval. “This is for you.”

Nesta looks down at the blade Cassian slides across the table over to her, blinking in surprise. Slowly, she reaches her hand out, picking it up. She examines the leather criss crossed tightly along the hilt, pulling the blade free from the scabbard to reveal the Illyrian steel.

“I had Elis make it,” Cassian continues. “Had him make sure it was the perfect weight and balance for you. I know you have your magic, but considering what Hybern may have, better safe than sorry.”

Nesta curls her fingers tighter around the sword, taking a moment to swallow hard and secure it to her belt. “Thanks.”

The silence that settles around them feels charged somehow, prickling along Nesta’s skin. She dares to meet Cassian’s gaze again, but he has that same burning, piercing look painted across his face, and she has to look away. When there’s a short rap to the cabin door, she’s never been more grateful.

It’s time.

It takes a large amount of magic to travel to Hybern, to keep everyone cloaked, and Nesta’s hands are clammy and shaking by the time they’re landing beneath the stretching bark and branches, the dark canopy of trees. There’s the threat of a migraine building in her head, a pressure just behind her eyes, but Nesta breathes through it all, taking in gulps of the cool night air around her.

She can feel Cassian’s presence beside her, feel the warmth that radiates off him from where he’s standing close. She can feel his attention solely on her, the barest brush of his fingertips along her arm.

“You made it.”

Nesta snaps her attention toward the sound of the voice, watching as Lucien stalks out from between the trees, members of the Vanserra coven that she doesn’t recognize following behind him. They’re all dressed in leathers of their own, reds and greens and golds befitting of the coven’s autumnal ties. Lucien has his curtain of red hair tied off away from his face, and beneath the moonlight, the scar across his face stands out especially stark and the flames in his eyes burn especially bright, flickering with anxious determination.

Nesta almost feels bad for whatever Hybernian soldier tries to come between him and Elain.

Almost.

“We’re just waiting for Feyre then,” Nesta offers, glancing around the wood in search of her youngest sister.

“She’s not coming.”

Nesta frowns at Lucien. “What do you mean?”

“I mean she’s not coming. From what I overheard with Eris, it sounds like Rhysand wasn’t as forgiving about his wife in Hybern,” Lucien explains; although, his eyes flick to Nesta’s right as he says the words. “Sounds like there may have been some locked doors involved.”

Nesta has to swallow down a wince. She remembers the quiet, but harsh words spoken between Feyre and Rhysand at the Vanserra manor, remembers the way her sister loudly proclaimed her husband to be a prick. There had been glares and snarls, and Feyre had stormed off in the end, but Nesta thought her sister’s stubborn recklessness would win out in the end.

“If that’s the next rescue mission, you can count me out,” Baz speaks up from Nesta’s left, his whole body shuddering. “I am not going in that place.”

Nesta snorts softly. “Really? Hybern is fine, but you won’t go to the vampire den?”

“I’ll do most things for the Pack, but I have to draw the line somewhere.”

It’s an odd thing to say. Nesta half expected him to make a joke about how Cassian could never order him into the den the way he was ordered here tonight. After all, there’s nothing here for the Pack tonight. Elain has nothing to do with them.

“How about you do something useful and sweep the perimeter.”

Baz makes a big show of rolling his eyes at Cassian’s words, but he gestures with his head, and the other wolves follow him as they vanish amongst the shadows of the wood around them. Lucien leads the smaller group that remains away, daring to press right up to where the treeline ends and crouching down amongst the brush there.

Looking out across the field of tall grass, Nesta gets her first look at the fortress the king of Hybern calls home. Dark stone stretches high and wide, a wall hiding away the towers and keep just beyond. It’s like something out of a fairytale. Or a nightmare. The almost black hue of the stone, the ivy and bramble that creeps along it, the spikes, it all reminds Nesta of a dark thunderstorm.

“There’s a servants’ entrance through that gatehouse there,” Lucien says, his voice quiet. “According to the intel Rhysand’s spymaster offered, many of the servants don’t live within the walls, they come and go each day.”

“A good entrance for us to use then as well,” Cassian comments with a nod of his head.

“My thoughts exactly. If we’re lucky, we can get in and get out without starting a war.”

“Bit late for that, don’t you think?”

“Even so, we clearly don’t have the numbers for a big fight. I doubt you want to lose any wolves tonight.”

Cassian doesn’t say anything, but Nesta doesn’t miss the way a muscle in his jaw ticks, Lucien’s words clearly having hit their mark. He crosses his arms and focuses his attention back on the fortress, eyes flickering as he takes in every detail, as he devises his own plan with all the prowess Nesta expects from an alpha general.

“Well, then,” Cassian finally says. “Let’s not waste any more time.”

They make it inside the fortress with surprisingly little fanfare. There’s only a trio of guards at the gatehouse, Cassian trapping one in a headlock until he loses consciousness while Lucien and one of his other witches take out the other two. They encounter even fewer as they cross to the servants’ entrance, stepping inside an empty and dark kitchen, stoves and flames long gone cold and the staff long retiring for the night.

“We’ll cover more ground if we split up,” Cassian suggests.

At Lucien’s agreement, he sends the other Vanserra witches to the western wing, offering to take the main house himself. It leaves Nesta and Cassian to search the eastern wing in hopes of locating Elain.

As they creep up one of the servants’ stairwells, Nesta reaches within for her magic. Just as she always does, she imagines stroking her fingers through soft fur, but this time, she gets a growl in response, leaving the hairs on the back of her neck standing on edge, a shiver skittering across her skin. It’s a warning.

It means something’s wrong.

Swallowing hard around that feeling, Nesta tightens her grip around her magic, pulling it forward forcibly until silver flames curl between her fingers, wreathing her wrists and providing light through the winding dark corridors. The distinct sound of blades unsheathing has Nesta’s entire body tensing on instinct, but when she whips around she finds it’s merely Cassian, both his blades raised and ready.

“You feel it too, then.”

Cassian’s lips press into a thin line. “Coming here may have been a mistake.”

“Don’t let Lucien hear you say… that…”

Nesta’s voice trails off as they reach the end of the corridor, her steps stuttering to a stop. The caress up her arm, along the back of her neck is undeniable, and it’s wrong. It curls around her ear until the ringing taking up home there morphs into a whisper, a temptation. A siren song. A sudden pressure starts to build in her chest, wrapping like cold, spindly fingers between her ribs and around her lungs until the air is squeezed out of them. And that grip on her tugs, calling her down and down and down.

Nesta’s entire world tilts as her body is yanked back, the hand pressed to her mouth muffling her yelp of surprise. She tries to struggle against the tight hold before she realizes she recognizes the warmth, the body, pressed along her spine. With a huff, she shoves Cassian’s hand away from her face, turning to glare at him. But Cassian has a single finger pressed to his own lips, signaling quiet.

Carefully, Nesta leans forward enough that she can peer out of the alcove Cassian has pulled them into. She frowns at the dark corridor, as empty as it was before. What has his wolf hearing picked up that she can’t see?

Cassian yanks Nesta back again, out of view just as a pair of Hybernian soldiers come stalking around the corner and down the corridor. Nesta holds her breath as they come to a stop right where she and Cassian are hiding. Her heart skips and starts to pound in her chest. Why haven’t they continued on with their patrol?

“What have we here?” One of the soldiers turns with a sneer, somehow looking directly at Nesta through the shadows. “A little mouse just for me?”

“More like a wolf,” Cassian growls, stepping out of the alcove.

Nesta barely has time to blink before Cassian is leaping forward, both his swords swinging. He takes down the soldier who spoke with ease, a feral grin on his face despite the blood now staining his leathers. Nesta focuses her own attention on the remaining soldier, reaching once again for her magic. She sends silver flames cascading toward the male, but not before he gets off a spell of his own, alarm bells blaring around them.

“Well, there goes our element of surprise,” Cassian comments.

He sheathes one of his swords and grabs hold of Nesta’s hand, pulling her down the large, main staircase. They burst through the large, wooden doors that lead in and out of the eastern wing, coming face to face with even more soldiers rushing toward them. Cassian drops her hand to free his second blade again, resetting his stance so his back is to her. Nesta takes it as the cue that it is. She takes a moment, closing her eyes and breathing deeply. She can feel the swell of her magic, feel the familiar burn through her veins, across her skin, in her eyes.

A smirk pulls up her lips as her eyes snap open again, zeroing in on the soldiers standing before her. Zeroing in on her prey. It’s the only warning she gives them before she unleashes the beast writhing and skulking within, towering flames arcing away from her and swallowing every soldier in their path.

She turns on the spot, toward the next round of soldiers who dare to step up against her. She’s surprised to find a soldier closer than she expects, dark eyes narrowed and lips curled back in a leer. He raises his hand, so Nesta summons what remains in that well of her magic, wills it to thread between her fingers again. But before she can strike, the soldier unfurls his fingers, revealing some sort of blue powder that he blows directly into Nesta’s face.

Nesta coughs, turning her head away, but whatever the substance was, it’s too late. Her vision starts to blur around the edges, and she tries to blink around it, tries to shake it. All the sounds around her seem to fade, the shouts and cries of soldiers falling, replaced by an almost buzzing that presses into her ears. Her limbs feel strangely heavy, and when Nesta reaches inside herself she finds… nothing. There’s just emptiness.

A roar breaks through the haze to Nesta’s right, warm liquid splattering across her cheek, her neck. Greens and golds flood her vision, and it takes her a moment too long to realize it’s Cassian in front of her, his eyes dark with fury, with worry.

“Nesta, run,” Cassian tells her, clearly repeating himself. “Make for the woods, but run.”

Nesta doesn’t need to be told again. She somehow gets her legs under herself again, breathing through her pounding heart, through the hollowness clawing in her chest, as she pushes toward the tree line.

As she gets closer, she spots two wolves charging right for her, one dark gray with a silver underside and the other an almost shaggy brown in color. The gray one rushes ahead, leaping right at Nesta, and she drops to her knees on instinct, a terrified gasp clogging up her throat. She waits for the pain, for teeth to sink into her flesh, but all there is is a pained cry from behind her. She whips around, only to find the wolf tearing a Hybernian soldier to shreds with its teeth.

“Nesta.” Nesta turns around, meeting Baz’s face, the Pack’s third now back in human form. “Are you alright?”

Nesta nods, taking Baz’s proffered hand and allowing him to pull her back to her feet. Whatever magic she was hit with, she still feels out of sorts, still feels unsteady, and she stumbles back a few steps, right into a firm, hard body. Hands on her shoulders catch her, but then they’re sliding down to lift her fully off her feet, cradling her against a chest and enveloping her in the familiar scent of pine and low burning embers. She wants to protest, but she’s tired, so tired, and she slumps fully against Cassian.

“Lucien has Elain. Now, let’s get the fuck out of here.”

—

Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed): @moodymelanist @nesquik-arccheron @sv0430 @talkfantasytome @bookstantrash @eirini-thaleia @ubigaia @fromthelibraryofemilyj @luivagr-blog @lifeisntafantasy @superspiritfestival @hiimheresworld @marigold-morelli @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @dongjunma @glowing-stick-generation @melonsfantasyworld @lady-nestas @goddess-aelin @melphss @theladystardust @a-trifling-matter @blueunoias @kookskoocie @wolfnesta @blurredlamplight @hereforthenessian @skaixo @jmoonjones @burningsnowleopard @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk @ofduskanddreams @rarephloxes @thelovelymadone @that-little-red-head @readergalaxy @thesnugglingduck @kale-theteaqueen @tarquindaddy @superflurry @bri-loves-sunflowers @lady-winter-sunrise @witch-and-her-witcher @fieldofdaisiies @freakingata

[prythiansprincess]

the prince of hell.

my love is a mindless flight risk, never on time but god he's timeless he's a villain, he's a saint, he's a hero—he's a fucking renegade author's note: i've scoured high and low for demon!azriel fics and couldn't find any, so i thought why not write it myself? there will definitely be multiple parts of this. as always, thank @writingsbychlo for listening and participating in my rants about dark daddy az.

song inspiration: masterpiece by sam short.

The church bells tolled in the packed cathedral as you walked through the crowded pews. Each ring that reverberated against the stone walls mimicked the beat of your heart. 

One. Your father clutched your arm, his ironclad grip preventing you from bolting. The false smile he wore held no warmth. Only greed for what he stood to earn by pawning off his only daughter like a prized mare. 

Two. Your mother looked up from her seat at the front of the altar, and the words she had spoken to you before the ceremony echoed through your mind like a death sentence. You’ll learn to love him, she said. As I learned how to love your father. 

Three. Your betrothed leered at you, hunger dancing behind his cold, dead eyes. I will break you, his wicked smile seemed to say. Then I will mold you into a perfect, obedient wife. 

With each step, you came closer and closer to sealing your fate. The shaky breath you released fluttered through your lace veil like a ripple in the ocean. As the hem of your wedding dress kissed the marble mosaic floor, you screwed your eyes shut and prayed. 

Please, you pleaded. Please, save me.

Thunder rumbled through the church. Screams erupted from all sides. The ground beneath you shook as the earth cracked open to release mist and fog from the bowels of hell. 

In the midst of chaos, a winged figure emerged from the shadows. Your heart skipped a beat as you caught sight of the beautiful male. Cloaked in darkness, a pair of familiar glowing golden eyes locked onto yours from across the room. 

The Prince of Hell smiled. “Hello, my heart.”

He had a face like heaven and a voice like sin. A small voice in the back of your head warned you to be afraid, but your heart warred against logic. While everyone else in the room screamed in terror at the sight of the devil, you only saw salvation.

“Azriel,” you breathed. His name sounded like a prayer on your lips. 

You had never seen him before, at least not while you were awake. But you knew that face. You dreamt of him every night. 

Azriel was your favorite fantasy. The beautiful male that took you away from your monotonous life. A figment of your imagination that symbolized all the things that awaited in the world beyond, should you ever be afforded the chance to escape becoming someone’s simpering, obedient little wife. 

He wasn’t supposed to be real, but yet here he was in the flesh. 

“You’re here,” you said, hardly believing the words yourself. “You came.” 

The Prince of Hell pierced you with his gaze. “I will always come for you.”

From behind him, your groom-to-be flicked dust and ash from his doublet before glancing at Azriel with contempt. “Who the hell are you?”

The male was either exceptionally brave or extremely stupid. 

The Prince of Hell regarded Alaric as one would a cockroach—with thinly veiled disgust and the desire to crush the pesky little insect beneath his boot. 

“I am death.” Azriel purred, his voice laced with the promise of violence. “I am shadow and darkness, the monster that haunts your nightmares. I am the Prince of Hell and I have come to collect my bride.”

He held out a scarred hand towards you, barely sparing a glance at Alaric. The male bristled with pride and stepped between you and Azriel. 

Something dark and dangerous flashed in the Prince of Hell’s eyes as he came face to face with Alaric. The side by side contrast emphasized how otherworldly Azriel was. Though he took on a mortal form, there was nothing human about him. 

His ethereal features were slashed with fury, dark hair rippling in waves to frame his flawless face. Flecks of amber burned like embers within his eyes and the contrast against his golden-brown skin further illuminated his strange and cruel beauty. 

“You must be mistaken,” Alaric declared, puffing his chest. “She is my betrothed. We are to be wed this very day.”

Azriel glanced around the room, taking in the stained glass windows and rosewood pews of the crowded cathedral. The people that hadn’t managed to escape trembled in fear under his watchful eyes. The corners of Azriel’s full lips sloped into a frown as he dragged his gaze towards you, examining your white dress and wild expression.

“Your betrothed does not wish to marry you, mortal. ” Azriel declared, his voice barely above a whisper yet full of lethal cold. 

“She is promised to me,” Alaric replied. “I have paid the bride price.”

The humorless laugh that slipped past Azriel’s lips was devoid of emotion. His gaze cut to your father, who cowered behind the marble altar. With one glance, shadows wreathed through his limbs and yanked him towards the Prince of Hell. 

“Tell this male that he is mistaken,” Azriel commanded. 

Your father paled, fear and trepidation evident on his face. “P-p-please, my Prince,” his voice was high and desperate. “I assumed you had forgotten. Years had passed since our bargain, and you hadn’t returned so I—“

“Thought to deceive the Prince of Hell?” Azriel seethed and his shadows whipped violently, tightening their grip on your sniveling father. “Did you not think that this day of reckoning would come?” Shadows brought him to his knees before the dark prince. “A bargain is a bargain, mortal. I want what was promised,” his eyes were feverish as they landed on you. “I want her.”

Your mother blanched in horror as she looked up at her husband. “What have you done?”

“I was only doing what I thought was best!” your father cried. “When famine ravaged the countryside, I grew desperate. I prayed to the old gods, but none of them answered. The Prince—he offered fertile lands and a bountiful harvest in exchange for a bride.” 

“Then what?” you said bitterly. “The reward Azriel offered was not enough for your selfish, greedy heart, was it father? You weren’t satisfied, so you thought to sell me off once again?”

“I did it for our family. We have land! We have gold! We have riches beyond imagination! I have secured a match above your station so you may live comfortably for the rest of your life. I did this for you.”

Tears welled in your eyes. The realization that your father had traded you like some bargaining chip, not once but twice made your stomach roil. You’ve always known that he was a greedy bastard, but you didn’t think he’d go this far. 

“No, father,” you said with mirthless laughter. “You did this for yourself.”

Your father struggled against his restraints as he turned towards his wife. “Tell her,” he coaxed, his words full of despair. “Tell her that I only wanted what was best for her.”

“You promised our daughter to the devil!” your mother screamed, her voice echoing against the stone walls. 

You wanted to tell her that Azriel wasn’t a monster. That he’d held you in your dreams, comforted you when you cried, listened to every wish and whim that you whispered into the night, but she wouldn’t have understood. None of them would. 

“It’s okay, mother,” you said, attempting to appease her agony. “Azriel won’t hurt me.”

As his expression softened, you knew that you’d spoken true. Azriel nodded in agreement. “I would never hurt you,” he declared. His attention cut back to your father. “Him, on the other hand, I have no qualms about inflicting pain upon.”

Your father squirmed in place, shooting a pleading look in your direction. The shadows tightened around his neck like a noose. “Please,” he begged with wide eyes. “Please, have mercy.”

He sounded frantic and desperate, exactly how you had been days ago when you pleaded with him not to wed you to Alaric. Your father hadn’t listened to you then. With your roles reversed, it was tempting to let his pleas fall upon deaf ears, but you decided to be the bigger person.

Azriel waited for your cue. You shook your head and watched as his shadows receded. 

“Thank you,” your father said. “Thank you, daughter.”

“I didn’t do it for you,” you snapped. “I did it for me. From this day forth, I want nothing to do with you. I wish to be free. I am no longer your daughter.”

Hurt and anger flashed through your father’s eyes, but you didn’t care. This was your chance. You could finally rid yourself of this dreary existence. Feeling lighter than you had in years, you turned your attention back to the Prince of Hell. He smiled as you took a step forward.

“Not so fast,” Alaric hissed. “What about what I am owed? I paid for you. I own you.” You shot him a cutting glare as his fingers curled around your wrist. 

Anger bubbled up within you as you bared your teeth at the horrid male. “I am not a piece of cattle to be traded for gold.” Alaric glared as you shoved him away. 

His hateful beady eyes focused on you as he closed the gap between you. “And yet your father sold you like a fattened calf.” His grip on your arm tightened. “You should be flattered. I purchased you for a considerable amount of gold and I expect a return on my investment.” A blade shimmered in Alaric’s hand as he held it up to your throat. “Either from your father or your beloved demon.”

The Prince of Hell was rage and wrath personified. “You want payment, mortal?” Azriel asked, his eyes cold and hard and full of malice. “Very well, then. I will trade you my heart for yours.”

Alaric barely had time to react before Azriel was upon him. Shadows sheltered you from harm while the Prince of Hell slammed the foolish male to the ground. The floor shuddered from the impact as Azriel’s dark wings flared behind his powerful back. You watched in stunned silence as he plunged his scarred fingers into Alaric’s chest, tearing through flesh and bone with brutal efficiency. 

The scream that tore through Alaric’s throat was horrific. Cries of terror echoed through the cathedral once more and those who were able to flee did so with haste. But Azriel was deathly silent as he wrapped a fist around Alaric’s heart. Blood trickled through his wrists and pooled at his feet like crimson tears as he yanked the still beating heart out of the male’s chest. 

The carnage and gore incited a chorus of desperate pleas. Some retched, some clawed at their eyes.

But you simply locked gazes with the Prince of Hell.

As the male beneath him took his last pathetic breath, Azriel tossed his heart on the marble altar. It was sacrilege at its finest. A dark offering. A blasphemous statement to the gods above of the lengths he would go to for you.

“A promise,” he declared, addressing the petrified crowd. Azriel glanced down at the dead male crumpled beneath his feet. “This is what will become of anyone who presumes to come between me and my bride.”

You watched with bated breath as he walked towards you. With bloodstained hands, Azriel caressed your cheek with surprising gentleness. His touch was warm and soft, just as it had always been in your dreams. You closed your eyes, relishing the feel of him. 

“Are you hurt?” Azriel asked softly. His thumb stroked against your cheek, painting a streak of scarlet against your skin. Azriel frowned at the sight of blood and made a move to draw his hand back, but you only laced your fingers through his. 

You looked up to find him studying you. Searching for fear. Waiting for you to scream in terror and run in the opposite direction. Instead, you wrapped your arms around him and sobbed. Azriel was stunned for a second, but he recovered quickly and scooped you up into his arms. He seemed to understand that in this moment, all you needed was to be held.

“I’m fine,” you said through your tears. “I’m fine now that you’re here.”

The Prince of Hell placed a tender kiss on your temple as his wings wrapped around you like a blanket. “Come, my heart,” he murmured in a soothing voice. “Let me take you home.”

taglist: @viradeity @moony-thoughts @i-opened-the-chamber-of-secrets @demirunner @swansworth @heart-defendor @momlo @mali22 @roselensage @searchingford@nessianxgwynriel@azriels-angels@brekkershadowsinger@morelovemorepeacemoretattoo-blog @mattte-black @marina468 @lillithathecathecat @highladyofillyria @navyblue-eternity @margssstuff

[claws-and-all]

Unpopular opinions

Today’s been one of those days where all my least favorite theories regarding Tamlin have been popping up, so I thought I’d share some of my unpopular opinions in case anyone else feels the same.

1. Tamlin should not get his own book

From all the male povs we've seen thus far, it's evident that sjm struggles to write male characters with complex feelings. They tend to lack depth, have the libido of a teenager, and the romance aspect is nonexistent. This coupled with the way she handled Nesta's "healing" journey (a character she supposedly loves) - suffice to say, she will not do justice to Tamlin's journey nor his inner monolog.

On top of that, we don't need a Chaol 2.0 book. The only people I've seen enjoy Chaol's book are the haters who became slightly lenient towards him. I feel like that book was not meant for the fans who actually loved Chaol from the get-go (like me). It was yet another "healing" journey that did not heal him 😒 (it's been 7 years since it's release and I'm still mad at it 🙈).

Also, just like Tam, Chaol is another character that is hated by 90% of the fandom. His book had the worst timing. In-between a high stakes book where you NEEDED to know what happened next and instead, you're forced to read a book that took you completely out of the action. It garnered more negativity towards a character that was already so heavily hated upon. It was such an unfair thing that occurred, and his fans were the ones that had to deal with the backlash of our favorite character being torn apart by the fandom. I truly hope history does not repeat itself with Tamlin. The fandom is waiting for the elriel/elucien confirmation, and I can just see the hate pouring in if it's a book about Tamlin instead. He deserves infinitely better!

2. Tamlin and Lucien should never be friends again

I'm sorry, I know a lot of you love Lucien, I'm rather 50/50 on him. If elucien happens, it will mean Lucien is now a part of the NC family, bil to Rhys, friendly with the ic, uncle to Nyx, already friends with Nesta and Feyre. That's not the kind of energy Tamlin needs in his life nor the constant reminder of everything that he lost (Rhys is doing a fabulous job of that already).

I liked Lucien and Tamlin's relationship in book 1, but I was not a fan of how he kind of abandoned Tamlin for Feyre. It's like he became more her friend than Tams as the series progressed. I think Tamlin deserves a better friend - someone who will have his back and not his partners back. And someone not so heavily intertwined with a court that has caused so much pain to him. I can almost see Lucien slowly trying to convince Tam that the nc guys are actually "the good guys". Who knows, maybe he'll also pull a Feyre and compare Springs food to ash since nothing can come close to precious NC food, you know.

That being said, I have no idea where such friends will come from because every character we've met thus far automatically dislikes Tamlin and are fans of nc guys (still waiting for the explanation as to why Jurian, Vassa, Eris, and even Nuan are Tam haters?? Make it make sense, Sarah!).

Alternatively, I do love angst. I would love a storyline of Tamlin moving on with his life without Lucien. As in his future wife/mate/partner doesn't even know who Lucien is. Whilst Elucien is also thriving in the human lands/NC/DC/AC. Yet the entire time, they both feel like there's a missing piece in their life. They would see each other at HL meetings or balls. Yet they're too stubborn to speak to each other. Until decades later when one of them finally breaks the ice. The yearning and the hurt, love that shit lol

3. Tamlin x Briar?

Let’s keep that in the dark where it belongs. - nuff said!

4. Elain should not even look in the direction of Spring

Just because she likes gardening doesn't mean she should be spring queen 😑 I'm sure she can follow in the footsteps of her sister and brother in law and trespass into Spring if she needs to see flowers in abundance. It is afterall, nc tradition to lecture Tamlin in his own court and kick him in the shins. I really don't want to see her becoming friends with Tamlin, helping him rebuild Spring, making it her second home, etc etc etc. Like the point above, she and Lucien have enough homes to go back to. They don't need an extra one in Spring. And Tamlin doesn't need any more nc "friends".

[ohwaitimthewriter]

The human just somehow keeps saving apes

Caesar, do not even worry about your wife and children, the human, once again, pelted someone with rocks to prevent ape deaths

Like instead of hearing "the king kong is down" over the radio, he just hears "I need help, there's some crazy woman throwing rocks at me and the ape took my fucking gun"

When in doubt; rocks

This is so funny, omg 😂

You bet Ash would have crafted a slingshot for you! You eventually talked to him about a tool, back in your childhood you used to bother your neighbors with rocks and it clicked in his mind! It was your gift, kind of like a ceremonial stuff to welcome you as officially part of the colony and part of Rocket's family.

And you used it against the Colonel 😭 You gained a new nickname from the enemy: Slingshot Pest, once aimed, never missed! After Caesar, you're the next one The Colonel wants to take down, you made him mad because all his plans are ruined by your rocks! You're like that little bug who flies around in the middle of the night and keeps biting at anyone who threaten your new found family without being seen!

AND DON'T GET ME STARTED BUT I SWEAR CAESAR AND ROCKET WOULD TRY TO FIND YOU A GOOD SUITABLE MATE FOR YOU because you earned this right in the colony!

And if you REALLY want to get me started on this: Blue Eyes would be first choice for them both, with some other young male apes coming shortly after but Ash would get.... jealous AND protective towards you because you are his little precious flower, right? RIGHT??

AND you'll be so confused to why Rocket and Caesar would try to introduce you to some others apes and soooo confused to why Rocket starts to persuade you Blue Eyes or this other one are really suitable for you, so you seek Ash' comfort because for the love of Caesar what is happening? Ash do something I only feel comfortable with YOU, please someone sedate me I HAVE FEELS

[midnightsslut]

Since you’re so good at connecting songs (I’m still in awe about how you made me realize that atw and illicit affairs are about the same subject), what is your most big brain/audacious/out there theory/connection about Taylor’s songs?

first of all, thank you! i have to say, I’m not the first one to get the idea that there are parallels between those two songs, but I’d never really sat down with them line by line. this ask really got me wondering because i feel like there are a lot of parallels I can think of but idk how out there they are. here is one that i don’t see people talking about a lot:

coney island feels like the other perspective of the story in you’re losing me, especially when you consider that taylor asked matt berninger about writing songs that deal with their own relationship issues with his wife. of course, coney island and you’re losing me were written at different points in their relationship, but the sentiment appears to be the same.

this got long, so I’m putting a cut here.

first of all, here is how taylor described coney island in her evermore interview with zane lowe (around the 37-minute mark)

The perspective I was coming from was like a male perspective of regret or guilt after a lifetime of apattern of behavior, and i've been kind of touching on sort of things like that on the song tolerate it where there's this person one side of the relationship who's felt like they've just… Their partner's been there, but they haven't *been* there. They've been there, but they're just sitting next to each other, eating breakfast, but they haven't they haven't been there […] I really loved writing, ‘we were like the mall before the internet / it was the one place to be.’ I was trying to reflect on the coney island visual of a place where thrills were once sought, you know, a place where once it was all electricity and magic, and now the lights are out, and you're looking at it, thinking ‘what did I do?’

‘break my soul in two, looking for you, but you’re right here’ —> ‘you say “I don’t understand,” I say “I know you don’t”’

‘and if this is the long haul, how’d we get here so soon?’ —> ‘how long could we be a sad song before we’re too far gone to bring back to life?’

‘did I close my fist around something delicate? did I shatter you?’ —> ‘my face was gray, but you wouldn’t admit that we were sick.’

‘over and over, lost again with no surprises / disappointments, close your eyes / and it gets colder and colder when the sun goes down’ —> ‘i’m getting tired even for a phoenix / always rising from the ashes, mending all her gashes’

‘what’s a lifetime of achievement if I pushed you to the edge, but you were too polite to leave me?’ —> ‘fighting in only your army, frontlines, don’t you ignore me / I’m the best thing at this party’

‘do you miss the rogue who coaxed you into paradise and left you there?’ —> ‘and the air is thick with loss and indecision’

‘will you forgive my soul when you’re too wise to trust me and too old to care?’ —> ‘now I just sit in the dark and wonder if it’s time’

‘the mischief, the gift-wrapped suburban dreams’ —> ‘remember looking at this room? we loved it cause of the light’

‘sorry for not winning you an arcade ring’ —> ‘choose something, babe, I got nothing to believe unless you’re choosing me’

‘did I leave you hanging every single day?’ —> ‘every morning, I glared at you with storms in my eyes’

‘did I paint your bluest skies the darkest gray a universe away?’ —> ‘my face was gray, but you wouldn’t admit that we were sick’

‘and when I got into the accident, the sight that flashed before me was your face’ —> ‘now you’re running down the hallway / and you know what they all say / you don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone’

‘but when I walked up to the podium, i think that i forgot to say your name’ —> ‘don’t you ignore me, I’m the best thing at this party’

you’re losing me is key to the entirety of ttpd, really, so this gives us the ability to draw parallels to sooo many songs on the album. coney island is a goldmine actually. no wonder she’s mashed it up with so many songs on tour.

my next post will be connecting right where you left me and chloe et al whenever I get around to it (to be clear, I don’t think they’re about the same person).

[kaimeioneclipse]

A Dark Wedding of Misery

Pairing: Wednesday x Male Reader

Summary: They said you two would never make it this far but you did. Y/N and Wednesday Addams are getting married. From Nevermore Academy to the Alter

WordCount: 1.3k words

WARNINGS: Kissing

The moon hung low in the midnight sky, casting an ethereal glow over the sprawling grounds of the Addams mansion. It was a night of foreboding, yet one tinged with an unusual excitement. Wednesday Addams, the somber and enigmatic daughter of the Addams family, was on the precipice of a life-altering event—an unholy matrimony that would defy the boundaries of the living and the dead.

The mansion, with its ivy-clad walls and twisted spires, exuded an otherworldly charm as Morticia, the epitome of Gothic elegance, supervised the final touches of her daughter's wedding gown. The dress, a masterpiece of darkness and grace, clung to Wednesday like a second skin, its midnight-black fabric cascading around her like a shroud.

"I will need some more black ash for the rest of your dress, Possibly your grandmothers would suffice. I shall return" Morticia says as he scurries out the room.

Wednesday scoots herself over to the dusty mirror in the Library that the family turned into a fitting room for the occasion. She looked at the black dress and felt it unsettling that her time was coming.

Wednesday looked at THING who was working on some dead flower arrangements and for the bridesmaids to hand out to them later.

"Thing" she called to him

Thing stopped his task and moved his hand body in her direction

"Find Enid, I wish to speak to her" Wednesday requested

Thing saluted and scurried off.

Wednesday waited for a few moments and then went towards the door and checked if the coast was clear. She picked up her black dress and began to run down the eerie hallways of the Addams Mansion towards the other wing.

_____________________________________

In a distant wing of the Addams mansion, where shadows played upon the walls like phantoms in the night, Y/N prepared for the unholy union. The air hung heavy with a sense of anticipation, and the dimly lit room seemed to echo with the echoes of centuries past.

Y/N, adorned in a suit as black as the void itself, stood before the ornate mirror. His hands trembled ever so slightly as he adjusted his tie, and his eyes, a mix of excitement and nervousness, reflected in the polished glass.

Ajax Petropolus, a towering figure with a beanie on his head stood behind Y/N checking themselves to make sure they looked good. He observed Y/N with a subtle nod, understanding the gravity of the moment. Eugene Ottinger, with his mop of unruly hair and penchant for the bizarre, fidgeted with the boutonnière, offering a lopsided grin. Beside them, Xavier Thorpe, with his piercing gaze and enigmatic aura, stood as the voice of reason.

Ajax: (In his deep, resonant voice) You'll do just fine, Y/N. It's not every day you get to marry into the Addams clan.

Eugene: (With a mischievous smirk) Remember, weddings are just like funerals, only with better food!

Xavier: (In his calm, soothing tone) Relax, Y/N. Tonight is a celebration of the unusual, and you, my friend, are stepping into a realm where the extraordinary is the norm.

As the trio provided reassurance and prepared Y/N for his impending union with Wednesday, the mansion's eerie silence served as a stark contrast to the bustling emotions within.

Once the boys left, Y/N stood alone in the room, the weight of the moment settling upon him like a heavy shroud. He looked at his reflection, contemplating the path that had led him to this peculiar crossroads.

As he ran his fingers through his hair, a knock echoed through the room. Y/N turned, expecting one of the boys to return with some last-minute advice. However, when he opened the door, there stood Wednesday—a vision of darkness and mystery and soon Y/N Wife.

Wednesday: (Expressionless) Y/N, the time is nigh.

Y/N: (Nervously) Yea it is, Wednesday. The boys were just helping me gather my composure.

Wednesday: (Observing him) Composure is overrated.

Without another word, Wednesday took Y/N's hand, leading him through the labyrinthine corridors of the mansion. The moonlit hallway cast an eerie glow as they approached the entrance to the backyard—a gateway to the dark forest that concealed secrets untold.

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

The forest, with its twisted branches and shadowy depths, beckoned them into its enigmatic embrace. The rustling leaves and the distant hooting of an owl added to the mystical ambiance as Wednesday and Y/N ventured into the heart of the darkness.

Wednesday: (Stopping at the forest's edge) We stand on the precipice of eternity, Y/N. Tonight, we embark on a journey that transcends the mortal coil.

Y/N: (Nervously) Yes, Wednesday. I…

Wednesday: (Interrupting) Nervousness becomes you, Y/N. It is an emotion as genuine as the shadows that cloak our existence.

Y/N's gaze met Wednesday's, and in that moment, the moonlight revealed a vulnerability beneath her stoic exterior—a vulnerability mirrored in Y/N's own eyes.

Y/N: (Softly) I never thought I'd find someone as extraordinary as you.

Wednesday: (Expressionless) Extraordinary is subjective. Tonight, we become a tapestry of darkness and peculiarity, woven together in the moonlit dance of fate.....But I'm content that I've met you

Y/N, captivated by the haunting beauty of the dress, stood in awe of the enigmatic figure before him. The moonlight played upon the black fabric, casting an ethereal glow that accentuated the mysterious allure of Wednesday's presence.

Y/N: (Breathless) Wednesday, you're… breathtaking.

Wednesday: (Expressionless) Brevity suits the moment.

As those words hung in the air, Wednesday reached for Y/N's face with a gentle grace that belied her typically stoic demeanor. Her cool fingers traced a delicate path along his jawline, an intimate touch that transcended the shadows around them. In the dim moonlight, her left hand emerged, adorned with a striking black obsidian ring—a gem as dark as the night sky.

The ring, an exquisite piece of craftsmanship, held an otherworldly allure. A seamless integration of black obsidian and silver, it seemed to absorb the moonlight, casting a subtle, mesmerizing glow. Etched into the obsidian was an intricate pattern reminiscent of ancient symbols—a visual ode to the peculiar legacy they were about to deepen.

As Wednesday caressed Y/N's face, their eyes locked, and in that shared gaze, they found solace and understanding. Their intertwined fingers, now adorned with the weight of the black obsidian ring, rose together, and they turned their attention to the moon, hanging high in the velvet expanse of the night sky.

The moon, a silent witness to their journey, bathed them in its silvery glow. In that moment of quiet reflection, they let their minds drift back to their time at Nevermore Academy—the place where their paths first crossed.

Y/N: (Softly) Remember the nights we spent beneath the moon at Nevermore? The laughter, the secrets shared?

Wednesday: (Nodding) Nevermore was a chapter, and tonight, under the same moon, we begin a new one.

Y/N: (Smiling) I never thought this would be my ending.

Wednesday: (With a hint of mystery) Endings are illusions, Y/N. This is but the beginning.

Their hands tightened in a silent agreement, and in the tranquil moonlit glade, they kissed—a union of darkness and passion that spoke of a love destined to defy the ordinary. As they embraced, the moon bore witness to the promise of their unholy matrimony.

With the moon as their guide, they turned away from the clearing, fingers still entwined, and made their way back to the Addams family mansion. The shadows welcomed them like old friends, and as they crossed the threshold, the doors creaked shut behind them, sealing the pact of an eternal love that echoed through the haunted halls of the Addams legacy.

And so, beneath the watchful gaze of the moon and within the enigmatic embrace of the Addams mansion, Wednesday and Y/N embarked on a journey that defied the boundaries of time and tradition—an odyssey into the unknown, where each step marked a new beginning in the tapestry of their peculiar love. They walked hand in hand, ready to be officially married and embrace the darkness that awaited them—a love story destined to be inscribed in the annals of the Addams family's peculiar history.

(Author Notes)

Hey Everyone it's been a while. I know I've been away and I haven't finished ALOT of stories. I kinda fell off with writing, especially with content creation and work. Life be LIFEING! But we are back and I got inspired to write again due to the picture above. It was nice to write more Wednesday fanfics hopefully the fandom isn't dead but if you enjoyed it let me know and we can work on more stories.

Check out my MASTER LIST!

[caithemmingsheart]

So basically.

Alex Rider had a bit of psychology affecting him in the books aside from the main fact that he was a child spy and soldier.

Young teenage boys are known to look up to an older male figure, whether it’s a brother, friend, cousin, uncle, father, whatever.

Anyways, Alex lost Ian. Right off the bat, right as he was entering that point of life where he really needed an older male figure in his life. So what does he do?

He eventually grows sad that he never knew his own parents. Entirely understandable. But he knew he looked like his father, he was told that often by people that knew John. He tried to find out who he was through his father since he lost the trust he had in Ian a little.

And he was lied to. And selfish, evil people tried to convince this poor boy that his own father was no better than anyone else he had met in this world. Alex didn’t find out until later that John tried to leave it all so he could move and take his wife and new son with him to have a new life. Where his kid would know absolutely nothing of the hidden world.

Alex then seeked out the man who should know a lot about his father, even though Ash was more or less bestowed upon him by a brand new government. But Ash wasn’t very willing to talk about John.

Alex really, really tried to have a relationship with Ash, but he didn’t know his own physical appearance was causing Ash pain. That Ash was being destroyed mentally at the very sight of the boy who looked just like the friend he killed, except he was almost more innocent.

Alex kept trying with Ash, but the moment that he began following the young man with the jet-black hair and thoughtful blue eyes, he was done with Ash. He still talked to him some, but he no longer held the value to Alex that he once had. That value now belonged to Ben.

And Ben was everything Ash wasn’t. He promised to try and keep Alex safe. He promised to watch over him, to come the moment Alex called for help. He told him where he had been and how he ended up at MI6. He gave Alex his real name.

It was very fitting that Ben was the one to put Ash’s life to an end. Ben kept Alex safe, even if the situation was difficult, he was the older brother Alex needed so desperately for so long on that mission. And he got rid of the man who had caused Alex so much pain.

Ben “Fox” Daniels (specifically mostly in Snakehead) will always be one of my absolute favorite characters <3