#and hides in the shadows hehe

[stingslikeabee]

@withthedoubleg

Gallant, V. E. Schwab

[dhampiravidi]

make me your villain, Miss Holt...

All Jayn knew was that one moment, she was being fired for pretending to be a man (they didn’t exactly let women work at shipyards), and the next, she had a new job. Well, she knew that her father had used his connections to help her. (She’d hate to see the look on her mother’s face when she came home unemployed and failed.) A noble like him, Ravkan instead of Fjerdan, wanted help cataloging his things before he moved. She’d managed the supplies and salaries at the docks, so he considered her qualified. It was better than the other "help" her father had given her, which was an arranged match with a Matthias Helvar. There was no way Jayn was giving up her life to live in a freezing cold country amongst misogynists. She'd find reasons to put the wedding date off until she had enough footing to properly decline.

So she took a ferry from Kerch, a sandskiff through the mysterious Shadow Fold, and a train into Ravka’s mountains. The people in the eastern part of the world were easily the most superstitious. Those on the train had prayed to their Sankts before the journey had begun, and the Suli people who had agreed to take her to Count Morozova's door had unsuccessfully offered her a number of protective charms before they left.

Jayn told herself that there was nothing to worry about. She'd learned how to fight at the shipyards, with her fists or with whatever was on hand (no pun intended). But even in Novyi Zem, they told cautionary tales about the zowa Ilya, a man who dabbled in forbidden mystical arts to create something out of nothing. He had died a tragic death, and one of his descendants had used the same magic to create the Shadow Fold. It was said that enemies of Ravka were targeted by monsters who lurked within. In reality, Fjerda had only dared approach Ravka from the Fold once during the war decades ago, and it had only resulted in deadly failure.

She approached the doors of the Count's ornate, yet intimidating castle, and knocked on them with a shivering hand. Her luggage sat next to her, almost like an obedient puppy waiting to accompany her inside.

@starlsssankt

[merakiui]

I hope I’m not the only one who thinks this but most of the npc’s in twst can get it. They all lowkey kinda fine

OCTAVINELLE STUDENT A........ I am looking at him so much. truthfully and shamelessly, all of the twst mobs could rail me. <3 you are so right, anon. They are very fine!!!! >0<

OMG OR ROLLO'S VICE PRESIDENT AND STUDENT AIDE.......... I need to be on my knees for them right at this moment. orz thinking so many unholy thoughts about them. You could be dating one of the student council mobs and gross, filthy, perverted President Rollo is acting so weird with you in secret. AAAAAAA OTL he follows you and your mob boyfriend into town and watches you buy lingerie and his breeding kink goes 📈📈📈 oh, to wear cute, frilly lingerie and be bred by Rollo in the student council meeting room. orz orz too many filthy thoughts about the Noble Bell trio are in my mind...

[missvivisx]

I've had multiple people tell me what an "interesting theory" it is that the "thomas zane" in AWE is actually scratch & I gotta say? you all owe me 40$

[d1stalker]

The Feeling's Mutual | Part One

[Logan Howlett x Mutant!Reader]

Summary: If somebody told you a week ago that you were a mutant, being stalked, and would be teaming up with an annoying, grumbly bastard, you probably would have laughed in their face. Too bad that was last week, because here you are, in that very situation, wondering how in the world things escalated so quickly.

PART TWO PART THREE FINAL PART

Warnings: fem!reader, canon-level violence, reluctant alliance, bickering, not exactly enemies-to-lovers but they don't rly get along, it's gonna be a slow burn y'all WC: 5.7k - MASTERLIST - A/N: If you saw me post this earlier, no you didn't 🤫 i added more hehe

You’ve never been so confused in your entire life.

It all started last week—when you were walking to the grocery store. Just an ordinary day, nothing special about it. You had a list in your hand, some cash in your pocket, and thoughts of what to cook for dinner running through your mind. The route you took had you winding down the usual streets of your neighbourhood, and that’s when you noticed him.

Something about him was different, but you couldn’t quite place your finger on what it was that made you think that. Perhaps it was the way his eyes followed you, stalking you, like a predator its prey.

At first, you thought it might be a coincidence. Maybe he was just another person going about his day, heading in the same direction as you. People share paths all the time; there was no reason to suspect anything sinister, right? But as you continued walking, a nagging feeling in the pit of your stomach told you something was off. You decided to test it, making a sudden turn down a side street, one you usually never take.

The street was quieter, less foot traffic, and the late afternoon shadows were starting to stretch across the pavement. You glanced over your shoulder, and there he was, still a few steps behind, his gaze remaining locked onto you with a focus that sent a shiver down your spine. Quickening your pace, you felt an almost paralyzing fear.

This wasn’t just a shared route. 

The more you turned, the more you weaved through unfamiliar streets, the more persistent he became. He never faltered, never hesitated, always keeping just close enough to let you know he was there.

Finally, you reached the store, breathing in short, panicked gasps, your eyes flitting around. You ducked inside, hiding the fluorescent lights and bustling aisles. You tried to calm yourself, telling yourself it was nothing, that you were being paranoid. After all, what were the odds? Maybe he’d walk past, maybe he wasn’t even following you. You spent longer than usual picking up items you didn’t need, giving him time to disappear. 

But when you walked back outside, bags in hand, you saw him again. He wasn’t right at the door, but still, close enough—across the street, half-hidden in the shadow of another building, watching. His eyes locked with yours once more, and you froze, the plastic handles of the grocery bags digging into your palms as your grip tightened in fear. He didn’t move, didn’t smile or sneer, just stood there, silent.

You rushed home, not even bothering to see if he was tracking you down, too scared to find out the answer. Your mind was racing with a million thoughts. Who was he? What did he want? You didn’t sleep much that night, jumping at every creak and groan the apartment made, the image of that man’s cold stare burned into your mind.

The next day, you told yourself it was nothing, a one-time thing, just some creep who had too much time on his hands. A pervert, possibly. 

But happened again. A different man this time, but with the same unnerving intensity. He followed you the same way, mute and relentless, through the streets, to the store, and back home.

Then the day after that, and that, and that. They didn’t approach you directly, just followed, watched, waited. It was like a game, one that you didn’t know the rules to, and the stakes felt like they were getting higher and higher and more time passed. Whenever you stepped outside, you felt their eyes on you, felt their presence lurking just out of sight. It was terrifying.

The fear gnawed at you, growing with each passing day, until it became impossible to ignore. You started taking different routes, avoiding your usual stores, changing your routine as much as you could. Still, no matter what you did, they always found you.

Soon it changed—no longer just silent stalking. One night, as you were walking home, one of the men stepped out from the shadows and blocked your path. His presence was oppressive, the way he stood there, so still, so certain of his power over you. You had no idea what he wanted, but you knew it whatever it was, it wasn’t good.

“Why are you following me?” you demanded, trying to muster up all the courage you could, voice shaking slightly despite your attempt to sound strong.

“Because we were told to,” the man said, his voice cold and emotionless. There was no malice, no pleasure in his words, just a chilling matter-of-factness. “You’re coming with us.”

Panic surged through you, a primal instinct to run, to fight, to do anything but comply. You refused to show it, refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing your fear. 

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” you spat back, hoping your defiance would be enough to make him reconsider.

His eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint flashing in them, and before you could react, he lunged at you, his fist swinging with brutal intent. Time seemed to slow as you saw the blow coming, your mind racing, but your body moving almost on instinct. You raised your arms to defend yourself, bracing for the crushing impact that would follow.

You couldn’t explain what happened next. When his fist connected with your arm, the force that should have sent you to the ground, left you unscathed. Instead, it was the man who staggered back, a look of shock and pain twisting his features. He clutched his hand, wincing as if he had struck something far harder than just flesh and bone.

You stared at him, bewildered, before glancing down at your own arm in disbelief. There was no pain, no bruise, nothing to indicate that you’d just been hit. It was as if his attack had bounced off of you, like you were made of steel.

Had you really just blocked that hit? And why did it feel like… nothing?

Before you could process what had happened, before the realization could fully take root, another man appeared out of nowhere, moving with a speed that blurred the edges of his form. Mutant. He was faster than the first, more determined, and this time, you felt your heart stop as he came at you from behind, his hands outstretched to grab you.

But something in you reacted faster than your fear. You twisted out of his grip with lightning speed, with movements so fluid and precise, it was as if your body knew exactly what to do, even if your brain was struggling to keep up. You sidestepped his attack, narrowly avoiding his grasp, and found yourself behind him, safe for the moment.

“What the hell?” you muttered under your breath, your heart pounding in your chest. How did you move like that? How had you known where to go, how to dodge?

There was no time to dwell on it. The fight intensified in an instant, the two men coming at you one after another, relentless in their assault. They weren’t holding back, and suddenly neither were you. You moved like a force of nature, dodging their attacks, striking back when you could. Each punch you threw landed with a power that surprised even you. You watched in stunned disbelief as one of the men crumpled to the ground after a single blow, his eyes rolling back as if he’d been hit by a truck.

You are not a gym regular. In fact, you hadn’t worked out in weeks. You weren’t strong, not like this. So how was it possible that your punches were so devastating, that each one seemed to carry a weight far beyond what you’d ever imagined?

Then, with a flick of his wrist, the first mutant, conjured a ball of fire in his hand, the flames crackling and roaring, craving something to burn. He hurled it at you, the fireball spinning through the air with only one target in mind. 

You barely had time to scream as the flames engulfed your arm, the searing heat burning through your skin. The pain was unbearable, a white-hot agony that made you gasp and stumble back. You expected to see your skin blackened, blistered, ruined.

And it was.

For a minute. 

To your shock—or horror—you looked down, breath catching in your throat as you watched the burn heal right before your eyes. The charred skin knitted back together in seconds, smooth and unblemished, as if nothing had happened at all.

What the fuck? 

It was in that moment that the truth hit you, like a thunderclap in your mind. You weren’t just an ordinary person caught in a nightmare. You were a mutant, with powers that had only now revealed themselves, right when you needed them most.

The men kept coming, but now you fought with a new understanding. Each punch, each dodge, each rapid movement felt more controlled, more intentional, your gym class self-defence courses coming in clutch. You were strong, faster than you’d ever been, and you could heal—regenerate from injuries that would have left others incapacitated.

Finally, the two men laid groaning on the ground, defeated. You stood there, panting, your mind spinning as you tried to make sense of it all. Super strength, super speed, regeneration… these powers, they were yours. And they had just saved your life.

But as the adrenaline began to fade, confusion set in. What did these men want with you? Why had they gone to such lengths to provoke you? To make you discover what you were capable of? 

All you knew was that one thing was clear: this was far from over. Whoever had sent these men wouldn’t stop here. They knew what you were now, and that meant they’d come after you again. You weren’t just an ordinary person anymore. You were something else, something powerful. And that put a target on your back. 

Whatever was coming next, you needed to be ready.

----

That’s how you found yourself here, one week later, crouched on the apartment rooftop, the cold wind nipping at your exposed skin. The dark streets below are eerily silent, save for the distant hum of traffic. You sense them before you see them—another group of male mutants, closing in on your position. You grip the hilt of your knife tighter, feeling the now-familiar twinge of anger and frustration settle in your chest. This is the fifth group tonight. They’ve been hunting you in groups for days now, their numbers increasing as each one goes by, and you’re tired of it. 

You’ve started to get used to your new powers—testing your limits, pushing yourself harder with each confrontation. What started as simple self-defence, a punch here, a dodge there, has escalated into something far more lethal.

You didn’t want to kill, didn’t want to by use your sharpest kitchen knife (your only kitchen knife) as a weapon, but as the attacks became more violent, you found yourself with little to no choice. 

These mutants weren’t holding back, and neither could you.

Within a week, you went from the most average person in the world to what some people might call a vigilante—except you're really only trying to save your own skin.

Leaping off the roof, you land silently behind them. The speed at which you move is almost dizzying, your body a blur as you close the distance in the blink of an eye. 

“Looking for someone?” you call out sarcastically.

They turn, eyes widening in surprise, but you’re already moving. Your blade sings through the air, striking true, as you move like a shadow, taking them down one by one. It’s not easy—these guys are tough—but you’ve become tougher. With each strike, you can feel your strength surging, far beyond what should be possible. One of the mutants tries to block you, creating a forcefield, but you grab the edges before it can fully form, and break through it, the temporary pain vanishing as quick as it came. A solid kick to his face, and he crumples to the ground, unconscious before he even realizes it.

“Is this what you wanted?!” you shout, your voice echoing through the empty street as the last attacker falls to the ground, groaning in pain. “Is this what you came for?!”

The answer doesn’t come from them. Rather, it comes from a low growl behind you. 

You whirl around, heart racing, and there he is—Logan Howlett—the Wolverine himself. The man you’ve read about in every article, every piece of mutant-related news you could get your hands on since discovering your own abilities. He’s infamous, pretty much a legend, and the stories about him are as terrifying as they are fascinating.

Standing there with that scowl on his face, he looks every bit the dangerous figure you’ve imagined. His eyes are blank, calculating, and you can feel the weight of his gaze as it sizes you up. There’s a tension in the air, thick and suffocating, as he takes a step closer.

“So, you’re the one causing all this trouble,” Logan states gruffly, irritation coating his tongue. He unsheathes his claws, the adamantium glimmering under the streetlights. The sound is unmistakable, and it sends shivers down your spine. “Heard you’ve been killin’ off mutants left and right.”

You narrow your eyes, instinctively stepping back into a defensive stance. Your heart is pounding, but you can't show any weakness. 

“Funny, I thought the same about you, Wolverine. What’s the matter? Run out of bad guys to play hero with?”

Without warning, he charges at you, claws outstretched, but you’re ready. You dart to the side, your speed giving you an edge as his claws slice through the air where you’d been standing, making a woosh sound. You counter with a swift kick to his ribs, putting your enhanced strength into the blow. He grunts, stumbling slightly, but quickly regains his balance. The momentary advantage you gained is gone as he storms toward you once more.

You meet his attacks head-on, your blade clashing with his claws in a shower of sparks. The force of each impact reverberates through your arms, but you hold your ground, refusing to back down. His attacks are ferocious, a whirlwind of claws and fury. He's fast, but you’re faster, dodging and weaving with a precision that keeps you just out of reach.

“Look, sweetheart,” he growls between strikes, his frustration evident. “You can make this easy or hard. I don’t care which, but I’m not lettin’ you hurt anyone else.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes as you deflect another swipe of his claws. “Oh, please. You think I’m the bad guy here? These jerks have been coming after me for days. I’m just defending myself.”

Logan doesn’t look convinced, and that pisses you off more than anything. “Right. And I’m supposed to believe you, why? You’re leavin’ a trail of bodies behind you.”

You narrow your eyes, feeling the anger boil over. “Because I’m not the one who started this! They did! But of course, you wouldn’t know that, would you? You just show up, swinging your claws around like you’re the big savior.”

“You got a mouth on you, don’t ya?” He retorts, snarling as he charges at you again, faster this time. You barely have time to block his attack, the force of his blow sending you skidding back several feet. But you dig your heels in, refusing to give an inch as he continues plows forward. Your speed kicks in, allowing you to duck under his next swing and land a punch to his jaw.

He staggers, but quickly recovers, swiping at you with renewed fury. You're a bit sloppy compared to him, not as much of a seasoned fighter. His claws swipe at your arm, cutting deep and drawing blood, but the wound heals almost instantly, the skin closing up as if it had never been cut. You see the flicker of surprise in his eyes, but it doesn’t slow him down. He lunges again, becoming a blur of motion as he ups the ante.

You parry with your knife, but this time, you’re on the offensive. You launch a rapid series of attacks, your speed and strength managing to drive him back. In the rush of movement, you're able to see an opening, grasping his shoulder and shoving him hard, sending him crashing into a nearby wall. The impact is enough to crack the brick, but Logan just shakes it off, pushing himself back to his feet.

“Gotta say,” you huff, panting slightly from the exertion, “I’m a little disappointed. I expected more from the you, after all I’ve heard.”

Logan grunts, clearly fed up with the banter. “I'm done talking.”

He lunges at you again, and this time, it’s a battle of wills as much as it is of skill. You don't back down, your knife clashing with his claws in a series of rapid, brutal strikes. The alleyway becomes a blur of movement, metal against metal, strength against strength. Each time his claws find their mark, your regenerative abilities kick in, healing the wounds almost as quickly as they’re made. 

And for a moment, you wonder if you’ll have to kill him too, just to survive. But then something shifts. Maybe it’s the way your attacks grow weaker, less lethal. Or maybe it’s the way Logan’s eyes narrow in realization when he notices your hesitance.

“Wait a damn minute,” Logan says, stepping back just out of your reach, wiping his mouth, then spitting on the ground. He’s breathing hard, just like you. “You’re holdin’ back.”

He pauses, his eyes narrowing as they flick down to the knife you’ve been holding, and then back up to you. His expression shifts, a mix of disbelief and exasperation crossing his face. “And is that a kitchen knife?”

You glance down at the knife in your hand, realizing how absurd it must look in the middle of this intense fight. It’s not exactly standard combat gear, but it’s all you had when this started. You can’t help the smirk that pulls at your lips as you meet his gaze again.

“It gets the job done,” you quip, shrugging slightly.

He shakes his head, clearly not impressed. “You’re something else, you know that?”

“I'm choosing to take that as a compliment,” The sarcasm is practically oozing off of you.

He eyes you warily, his posture still tense. “You’re not makin’ this easy, you know. You got me here thinkin’ you’re some crazed mutant killer, but you’re just a girl wavin’ around a kitchen knife like you’re in a bad horror movie.”

You cross your arms. “Well, I didn’t exactly have time to hit up a weapons store. Besides, I didn’t ask for any of this. These guys came after me first.”

Logan studies you. “So you say. But you’re killing dozens of mutants. Doesn’t exactly scream ‘innocent.’”

“Trust me, if I had a choice, I wouldn’t be doing this–fighting… killing–at all. Hell, I didn’t even know I was a mutant until some guy swung his fist at me a week ago.” You meet his gaze, challenging him. “And what about you? You’re not exactly known for playing nice.”

He snorts. “Yeah, well, most of my casualties are from the missions I go on, so I'd say it's justified.”

Your eyes narrow, catching the implication in his words. “Oh, am I your mission now? How long have you been tracking me?”

Logan’s expression doesn’t change, but there’s a slight shift in his posture, a subtle acknowledgment that you’ve hit on something. “Long enough to know you’re not just some innocent bystander caught up in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“So, what? You’ve been watching me, waiting for me to screw up so you could take me down?” you demand, the frustration clear in your voice.

“Something like that,” he replies gruffly, “But from what I’ve seen, you’re more reactive than proactive," he looks you up and down. "I can’t seem figure out if you’re the real threat here, or just someone caught in the middle of a bigger mess.”

You let out a slow breath, trying to calm the fiery anger rising within you. “I told you, I didn’t start this. They did. I’m just trying to survive.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, teeth grinding as he considers your words. You can see the gears turning in his head, trying to piece together whether you’re telling the truth or just playing him. He takes a step closer, his claws still out but not as threatening as before.

Finally, he asks, “You got a name?”

You roll your eyes, exasperated. “No shit I have a name.”

Logan huffs, unimpressed by your attitude. “Well, if you’re not gonna tell me, I’m just gonna have to call you somethin’… How 'bout Knifey?”

You stare at him, half-expecting him to crack a smile, but he’s dead serious. “Knifey? Really?”

Logan shrugs, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he eyes your weapon of choice again. “Fits, don’t you think?”

“Fine. I’ll tell you my name, alright? Anything but Knifey.” You say, trying not to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

“... Gotta say, Knifey sounds a little better”

“Shut the fuck up, Wolverine”

“It’s Logan, actually.”

You release a deep sigh. “I know, and I don’t care. I’m telling you I am not the one you need to be going after.”

Logan scoffs, crossing his arms. “I’ve been around a long time. Seen my fair share of people who think they’re doin’ the right thing and end up doin’ a hell of a lot of damage. So, forgive me if I’m a little skeptical.”

“You would know a lot about that, wouldn’t you?” The words come out of your mouth before you had time to think about them, and you regret it immediately. You can see the mutant in front of you’s face darken to a degree bordering murderous, and you think you’ve crossed a line you can’t come back from. Whatever playful banter existed before this is gone.

“Careful,” He growls menacingly, “You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

You swallow hard. The Wolverine is infamous for a reason, and you just poked at the beast beneath the surface. You briefly consider backing down, but your pride refuses to let you.

“Maybe I don’t,” you admit, “But I do know what it’s like to be hunted, to have no choice but to fight back. So yeah, maybe we’re more alike than you think.”

Logan’s glare softens just a fraction, and he lets out a long, frustrated breath. “You really don’t know when to shut up, do ya?”

“Not when I’m trying to make a point,” you retort.

He doesn’t respond immediately, just stares at you, as if he’s trying to decide whether to continue this conversation or end it with his claws. Ultimately, he shakes his head, the anger in his eyes dimming, replaced by something more akin to weary resignation.

“Fine,” he mutters. “Maybe you’re not the one I should be takin’ down. Doesn’t mean I’m gonna start trustin’ you.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” you reply, feeling a bit of relief that the situation isn’t about to escalate into another fight. “But I swear, there’s someone else out there pulling the strings. And I’m not sticking around to be their puppet.”

He nods slowly, crossing his arms again. “We’ll find out who’s behind this, but I’m callin’ the shots. You step outta line, and we’re gonna have a problem.”

You smirk, a little of your bravado returning. “I’ll try not to disappoint you, Logan.”

You can tell he doesn't appreciate your attitude, but he lets it slide. “Let’s get one thing straight. This ain’t a partnership. I’m doin’ this to figure out what the hell’s goin’ on, not because I like you.”

“Trust me, the feeling’s mutual,” you shoot back, though there’s no real heat behind your words.

Logan turns abruptly, not even bothering to beckon you with him.

It makes you roll your eyes but you fall in step beside him anyway, knowing that despite the rocky start, this uneasy alliance might be the only thing keeping you alive. 

“…So… where exactly are we going?”

He sends you a sidelong glance. "Who said I’m takin’ you anywhere?"

You throw your hands up, exasperated. "Well, if you don’t, these mutants are going to keep hunting me, and I’m going to keep killing them…” you shoot him a look, batting your eyelashes innocently. “You wouldn't want that, would you?"

“Fuck off”

"Well, too late for that now."

He grumbles something under his breath that you don’t quite catch, but it sounds a lot like cursing his bad luck.

"We’re headin’ to my place. It’s the safest spot right now."

----

Turn’s out, it’s not really his place. Or at least, it’s what you’d thought it’d be. It’s more of an abandoned warehouse that he just decided to seek refuge in one day, doing the bare minimum to make it feel at the very least, home-y. The heavy metal doors creak open, revealing a chaotic interior cluttered with garbage, old newspapers, and a few scattered items. In the corner, a single bed and a sagging couch that look like they’ve definitely seen better days.

Your nose wrinkles in disgust as you take in the mess. "Seriously?" you mutter, your voice tinged with disbelief. "This is where you've been hiding out? It looks like a tornado hit a thrift store."

Logan, who had been trailing behind you, lets out a low grunt as he shuffles past, not bothering to respond to your jab. His heavy footsteps echo in the otherwise silent space, the sound bouncing off the bare, cold walls. He heads straight for a small, battered table that looks like it's one sharp nudge away from collapsing. On it lies a worn notebook, its pages yellowed and curling at the edges, evidence of extensive use. Without a word, he picks it up and starts flipping through the pages, his expression unreadable.

Your curiosity gets the better of you, and you step closer, peering over his shoulder. "What's this?" you ask, reaching out to take the notebook from him. He hesitates for a brief moment before relinquishing it into your hands. As you flip through the pages, your eyes widen in shock. The notes are detailed, almost obsessively so, listing the names of various mutants, their abilities, and the exact locations where their bodies were found. 

"Oh, great," you say with a sarcastic, half-hearted laugh. "You've been keeping tabs on me. What kind of creepy stalker are you?”

He rolls his eyes and snatches the notebook back, his voice dripping with irritation. "I wasn’t exactly tracking you. I was trying to track whoever’s been killing all those damn mutants."

Logan’s jaw tightens as you just continue to stare, and he lets out an exasperated sigh. "And don’t act all innocent. I needed to know who was causing all the chaos."

Scoffing, you continue to look through the notebook, stopping when you come across a particularly detailed entry. "Wow... 26 kills? Not too shabby for an amateur mutant, huh?"

“Is your mouth unable to stay shut?” he questions, though you know better than to answer that. 

The notebook flops back onto the table with a casual flick of your wrist. "Hey, don’t be mad just because I’m doing a better job than you expected."

He crosses his arms over his chest, his muscles straining against the fabric of his shirt. "I’m not mad," he snaps. "I’m annoyed that you’re making light of this. It’s not exactly a high score to brag about."

"Oh, come on. You’re the one who turned this place into a shrine to my success” you smirk.

"It’s not a shrine," Logan growls, his patience wearing thin. "It’s a record. If you’d been paying more attention to what’s going on, you’d know that."

The playfulness fades from your face as his words hit home. He’s right, but you’re not about to admit it. Instead, you deflect. "Yeah, and if you’d bothered to talk to me instead of playing detective, maybe we’d have figured this out sooner."

"You think you’re the only one who’s had a rough time? This whole situation is a mess, and we’re both caught in it." His eyes narrow.

You cross your arms, mirroring his defensive posture. "You didn’t have to get involved, you know. Unless...what if you’re the bad guy here?" you challenge, raising an eyebrow in suspicion. "Using all these mutants to lure me into your dungeon under the pretense of trying to ‘stop’ me?"

His response is immediate. "I’m way too lazy to think of doing all that."

You can’t help but believe him, especially given the state of the warehouse. He clearly lacks the energy—or the interest—to tidy up his living space, let alone mastermind a complex plot. You let out a sigh and walk over to the sagging couch in the corner. The fabric is threadbare, and the springs groan in protest as you flop down onto it.

"Fine, fine... I trust you," you concede, though your tone is far from serious. "Did you notice anything specific amongst these mutants?"

"Yeah, I’ve noticed somethin’,” Logan says, dragging a hand down his face, now looking more tired than ever. “They’re all pretty low-key. Not exactly top-tier in the mutant rankings. Never caused any trouble before, yadda yadda. If anything, they’re usually on the weaker side."

You furrow your brows, intrigued. "So they’re not a serious threat."

"Exactly," Logan confirms with a nod. "It’s weird. These mutants aren’t the type to just go around being fuckin’ annoying like they have been. Someone—or something—must be pushing them into this."

"You think they’re all being controlled somehow?" you muse, the pieces slowly falling into place. "And that’s why they’re suddenly acting out of character?"

"Seems like it," He replies, rubbing his temples. "Must be powerful if they’re all falling in line like this. We’re going to have to dig deeper to find the source of it.

He moves to sit next to you on the couch, the worn fabric sinking even further under his weight. "Tell me everything you know," Logan says quietly, his voice a tinge softer now, almost coaxing. "Everything that’s happened to you."

You sigh and lean back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling as you start to recount your experience. "It all began about a week ago. Just a normal day, I was walking to the grocery store, then I noticed this guy following me. At first, I thought it was a coincidence. But no matter where I went, he was always a few steps behind."

His attention sharpens, his gaze locking onto yours. "And?"

"It started as just stalking," you continue, your voice growing quieter as the memories flood back. "Nothing violent. But then, it started happening with different people. Each time, they were more persistent, more intimidating. It became clear that something was off."

You can feel Logan’s gaze burning into you, his concern evident in the way he leans closer, listening intently. "Eventually, they started getting aggressive," you say. "One night, one of them blocked my path and tried to grab me. I managed to fight him off, but when he hit me, it didn’t hurt. I mean, it should have, he looked pretty strong, but my arm felt fine. That’s when I realized I had powers—some form of super strength, super speed, and healing abilities."

"And you figured that out just from fighting them off?" he questions, somewhat impressed.

You nod, rubbing your arms as if to ward off a lingering chill. "Yeah. I didn’t really have a choice. They kept coming, and I had to use whatever I had to protect myself—including my damn kitchen knife. The more I fought, the more I understood what I could do.”

Logan pauses, his expression unreadable as he processes everything you’ve said. The dim light from the single bulb casts long shadows across the room, emphasizing the lines of fatigue etched into his face. Finally, he stands up, his movements slow and deliberate. "So, here’s the plan," he starts, his voice rough and tired. "We need to figure out exactly where these mutants are coming from. There’s gotta be a main location where they’re getting their orders or some central hub for this control."

You hum in agreement, though a part of you is reluctant to jump back into action so soon. "Alright, so how do we start tracking that down?"

His lips press into a thin line as he thinks it over. "We’ll stake out the rooftops. From up there, we can get a clear view of their movements and see if they’re converging somewhere specific. Maybe spot a pattern."

You stretch, stifling a yawn as you glance around the shabby room. "Okay, but are we doing that tonight? I’m pretty beat."

“Seriously? You want to put this off?" he accuses, face twisting in irritation.

"I’m up for it, but I’d be more effective if I’m not running on fumes. Plus, you look pretty tired yourself," you shrug. 

He lets out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair. "Fine. We’ll do it tomorrow."

A small smile tugs at the corner of your lips as you sense his reluctance to agree. "So you agree with me," you state, not really feeling any real pride, but just wanting to push his buttons.

Logan grumbles under his breath as he starts to clear a space on the threadbare couch, which creaks loudly under even the slightest pressure. "Do you ever shut up? I’m letting you crash in my bed, aren’t I?"

You chuckle softly, watching him arrange a tattered blanket on the couch with exaggerated care. "Yeah, yeah, okay. Goodnight, old man."

"Watch it, Knifey," he mutters, settling onto the couch with a groan as the springs protest under his weight.

You roll your eyes at his choice of nickname, and with a sigh, you make your way over to the bed, which is small and far from luxurious, but it’s better than nothing. The mattress dips slightly as you climb in, and the covers are thin, barely providing any warmth. Still, exhaustion pulls at you, and you barely have time to think about what the covers smell like before sleep overtakes you.

----

pls comment or message me if you'd like to be added to the series taglist!

[yaniluvs]

ᓚ₍ ^. .^₎ ∘ ∘ ‪ 승민 ; HOLD ME TIGHT ── aftercare with your boyfriend, after a particularly long and rough night.

𓍯 idolbf!seungmin ʚଓ fem!reader ：（ 𝒾 ）1k ── ༯ HEADCANON, fluff, humour, aftercare, bit suggestive, req. by anon! . ⸝⸝𓂃 LiBRARY . /ᐠ.ꞈ.ᐟ\ྀིྀི

yani's note ˖˙ ᰋ woohoo, double post !! might post again today, cause i feel like it. thank you to my luv, anon, for requesting this, hope i have written it to your expectations! (╥﹏╥). jeongin's next ;3. so many asks, i'm gonna be posting daily, please be patient hehe. comments, requests, asks likes and reblogs are always appreciated ! comment/ask if you want to be added to my mastertag ! happy reading <3

the dim lighting of the bedroom cast soft shadows over the minimalistic walls, the faint glow of moonlight spilling in through the window. it was quiet now, save for the occasional rustle of sheets and the low hum of the heater working to keep the chill of winter at bay.

seungmin knelt on the bed beside his girlfriend, his hands working meticulously at her shoulders, thumbs digging gently into the knots he was sure he'd caused. his brows were knit in concentration, his usually sharp eyes softened with guilt. he rarely ever got like this—serious, cautious, and so full of concern it made y/n want to burst out laughing again, but she bit her lip to hold it in. for now.

"you’re laughing in your head, aren’t you?" seungmin asked flatly, his voice low but laced with exasperation.

"no," she lied, her lips twitching as she bit back a giggle.

seungmin paused, fixing her with his trademark deadpan glare. "do you think i’m joking? i feel terrible, y/n. terrible." he exaggerated.

she turned her head slightly to glance at him, cheek smushed against the pillow. his fingers froze on her shoulder blades, a slight pout tugging at the corner of his lips. god, he was adorable. for someone who prided himself on being savage and composed, seungmin looked like a kicked puppy right now.

"min, you’re literally being ridiculous," she said, her voice brimming with amusement. "i told you i’m fine. i liked it."

his expression didn’t change. "i was too rough. you winced like…twice. that’s two times too many."

y/n rolled her eyes dramatically, flipping onto her back despite his protests of "stay still, i’m trying to help." she reached out to cup his cheek, her fingers warm against his skin. "first of all, i winced because i was overwhelmed, in a good way. secondly, you apologizing twenty-seven times is going to make me start keeping a tally."

seungmin blinked at her, his lips twitching into the faintest semblance of a smile before it disappeared again. "it’s not funny."

"it’s very funny," she teased, sticking out her tongue. "you’re being such a baby about this, it’s cute."

"..not cute," he retorted, his ears burning red as he avoided her gaze. his hands returned to her shoulders, his touch feather-light now, as if he feared breaking her. "you’re impossible."

"and you’re overthinking. i’m fine. actually, i’m better than fine—i had a great time. you’re just melodramatic," she quipped, letting her voice drop into mock-seriousness.

"melodramatic?" he echoed, scandalized, his hands pausing mid-massage. he tilted his head, narrowing his eyes at her. "that’s rich coming from you, miss ‘do you think my soul left my body just now?’."

y/n erupted into laughter, clutching her stomach as she replayed her own words from earlier in her head. "okay, fair, but in my defense, it did feel like that."

"right. that’s why i’m apologizing," seungmin muttered, shaking his head but unable to hide the upward curl of his lips this time.

she reached up to grab his hands, pulling him down to lay beside her. he came willingly but let out a small grunt of protest. "i’m not done—"

"you’re done," she interrupted, poking his cheek. "come here and stop worrying. it’s getting embarrassing."

"embarrassing," he repeated, tone dripping with mock disbelief. he turned onto his side to face her, propping his head up with his hand. "that’s it. i’m officially offended."

"oh no," she said dramatically, clasping her hands to her chest. "what will i do if the kim seungmin is offended? whatever shall i—"

he reached out to clamp a hand over her mouth, shaking his head. "y/n. stop. talking."

her muffled giggle turned into a full-blown laugh as she shoved his hand away, and he groaned, flopping back onto the bed. she turned to face him, their noses almost touching now. his sharp features softened in the dim light, his usually playful smirk replaced with something tender.

"seriously, though," he murmured, his voice quieter now. "i don’t want to hurt you. ever."

y/n felt her chest tighten at the sincerity in his tone. she reached up to trace the line of his jaw with her fingertips, her touch light but grounding. "i know," she whispered. "and you didn’t. i trust you, seung."

his eyes searched hers for a moment, as if looking for any sign of doubt, but all he found was the warmth and reassurance that she always gave him. he sighed, finally letting the tension seep out of his shoulders as he relaxed beside her.

"you’re so annoying," he muttered, but his lips quirked up at the corners.

"and you’re dramatic," she shot back, poking his chest.

for a moment, the room was filled with a comfortable silence. seungmin reached out, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her closer. he wasn’t usually one for skinship—he’d much rather tease her from across the room than cuddle—but moments like these, when the world was quiet and it was just the two of them, he let himself indulge.

"can we just agree that i was a little rough and move on?" he asked after a beat, his voice muffled as he buried his face in her hair.

y/n hummed thoughtfully. "mmm, no. i’m gonna milk this for at least another week."

"of course you are," he deadpanned, his fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on her back. "you’re lucky i love you."

"aw, you love me?" she teased, leaning back to look at him with a mischievous grin.

he rolled his eyes but didn’t deny it, his cheeks tinged pink. "don’t push it."

"too late." she leaned up to kiss his nose, her heart swelling at the way he scrunched it in response. "i love you too, you big softie."

seungmin groaned dramatically, but the small smile tugging at his lips betrayed him. "this is why i don’t do skinship. you get all weird and sappy."

"you don’t do skinship because you’re awkward," she shot back, grinning.

"not true," he argued, pulling her closer and holding her firmly against his chest. "i’m holding you right now, aren’t i?"

"true," she agreed, nuzzling into him. "maybe you’re not as awkward as i thought."

he let out a soft chuckle, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "don’t get used to it."

"too late," she whispered, her voice full of warmth.

and as seungmin held her close, the lingering worries from earlier finally faded away. because with her in his arms, laughing and teasing like always, he knew they were okay. better than okay. they were home.

mastertag ୨୧ @cosmicalily thank you luvie <3

[soulofapatrick]

Wingspan - Azriel x female reader

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

Warnings: Semi-smut; male orgasm

Words: 5K

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

Y/N's POV

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But I do. Gods, I do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s all it takes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s pleading.

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

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

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

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

Mate.

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

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

But we’re not done.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now.

ACOTAR Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 12th Oct 2024

[aventurineswife]

aventurine, sunday, and any others when reader pretends to not remember them after a bad injury hehe…[angst with fluff at the end] i love giving my poor babies heart attacks mwahaha

anyways love u and ur writings btw k byeee drink water ok byeee 💕✨

“I'm sorry, but who are you?”

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Sunday x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Soft Fluff, Light Humor Angst to Fluff, Established Relationship, Memory Loss, Reassurance.

Warnings: Emotional distress (brief moments of fear and confusion).

A/N: thanks for the reminder, anon! 😪😮‍💨I really need to drink some water

Aventurine's eyes widened, his usual playful smirk faltering as you looked at him, confusion clouding your gaze. He reached out, as though instinctively wanting to close the distance between you, but he hesitated. Your words cut through the air, soft and fragile.

"You… you are… who exactly?"

The words stung more than he expected. His heart raced in his chest as he observed the faint, distant look in your eyes. He had always been in control of the game, masterful in reading people, but this? This was a blow to his carefully constructed facade.

"You don’t remember me?" His voice was softer now, the bravado slipping as his pulse quickened.

You shook your head, an empty feeling creeping into your chest. "I don’t think so. Sorry… am I supposed to?"

Aventurine's smile faltered, and for a moment, you saw something raw beneath his cool exterior. Pain. Fear. He stepped back slightly, trying to hide the cracks forming in his walls.

"I suppose I’ve miscalculated…" he muttered to himself, voice barely audible.

But then, you reached out and touched his arm gently.

"I—"

Aventurine looked at you, his breath catching in his throat as you softly smiled. "I do remember you, though. Maybe I was just… testing you?"

The game was on again, but this time, it was different. He chuckled, a soft, relieved sound that made the weight of his worries lift just a little.

"You're dangerous, you know that?" he said, his voice returning to its usual lighthearted tone, though there was an underlying tenderness now.

You smiled. "I think I’ll keep you on your toes."

And with that, the shadows of doubt lifted, replaced by the warmth of your presence—one he could no longer imagine being without.

Sunday stood there, his eyes darkened with a mix of concern and confusion, staring at you as if you were a stranger. His fingers twitched slightly, an impulse to reach out, to make sure you were real, that you hadn’t slipped into some other world.

"You… you don’t recognize me?" he asked, his voice almost a whisper, fragile under the weight of his own disbelief.

You blinked at him, the blank look in your eyes unnerving him more than he cared to admit. "I’m sorry… I don’t think I do. Are we… close?"

The air between you seemed to freeze, thick with unspoken emotions. His mind was racing—how could you forget him, forget everything you had shared? The kindness, the warmth, the bond he’d built so carefully with you...

"I see," Sunday murmured, his gaze softening with a hint of sadness. "I suppose it’s a part of the dream, isn't it? To forget… to lose everything."

You could see the strain in his expression, the hope fading from his eyes. "Sunday, I… I didn’t mean to forget you."

You reached for him, your hand trembling as you touched his sleeve. The contact seemed to pull him out of his thoughts, and his breath caught.

A moment of stillness.

Then Sunday smiled faintly, the sadness still lingering. "I suppose we’ll just have to make you remember, won't we?" His voice was gentle, though you could hear the underlying fear in it.

You smiled, this time with a reassurance he needed. "I think I already do."

A sigh escaped him, a soft, grateful breath as he pulled you into his arms.

"Don't ever scare me like that again." he murmured into your hair, holding you close.

Ratio’s usual air of unshakable confidence was nowhere to be seen. He stood before you, his eyes wide with confusion and an almost frantic edge to his movements.

"You—don’t remember me?" he repeated, his voice betraying a crack he hadn’t expected.

You stared at him, trying to piece together the fragments of the world around you, the details of his appearance leaving you more unsettled than anything. "I… I’m sorry, I don’t think I know you."

His frown deepened, his expression unreadable but filled with something you couldn't quite place—was it hurt? Disbelief?

"I see. This is… unfortunate," he said, voice smooth yet tinged with something that didn’t fit. He folded his arms over his chest, eyes narrowing slightly. "I expected better from your memory."

You looked at him more closely, sensing a vulnerability underneath the sharpness of his demeanor. He was, despite his intellectual brilliance, losing himself in this.

You took a step closer, closing the distance between you, your hand reaching for his, gently catching his wrist. "I’m sorry… but I’m sure we’ve met before. I just—"

He paused, his sharp breath catching in his throat as he looked down at your hand on his. For a brief moment, his composure cracked, and you could see the raw emotion behind his usually controlled facade.

"Don't do this to me," he whispered, his voice barely audible, as if the weight of the situation was too much to bear. "You must remember."

You smiled softly, understanding now. "I remember. You’re the one who always insists on teaching me things."

His gaze softened instantly, a relieved exhale leaving him. "Good."

Ratio’s usual brilliance returned, but this time, there was something gentler about him. "Perhaps next time, try not to lose your memory so easily."

And though his words were sharp, his hand reached out to take yours, a reassurance that you were not lost to him.

Me lmaoo

[rhysazriel]

Kinktober Day 3: Toys

A/N: I was considering making it a Modern AU but I had an idea for this one and just went with it hehe. 18+ only!! Includes sexual themes and use of sex toys!!

Kinktober Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Strong arms snaked around your middle, disturbing your thoughts as you stirred the soup. A head rested atop you shoulder, a familiar sense of curls tickling the side of your face.

He brought his lips to your ear, soft and gentle as they caressed the skin in a ghost of a kiss. “I have a surprise for you.”

You tried to fight the fluttering of your lashes at the sound of his voice—deep and sultry—the voice he used too often in attempts to sway you to the bedroom.

“Oh?” You swallowed, resuming the stirring. “What’s the occasion?”

Azriel nipped at your earlobe, moving lower to flatten his tongue against the ridge of your jaw. “No occasion, I just have a gift for you...seeing as I’m being sent away on another mission at dawn.”

A discontented sigh slipped your lips at the reminder. It was becoming an issue; how often Rhys was sending your mate away. Az would be sent away for a week, return for a short thirty-six hours, before leaving again for another four to five days.

You understood his job, his duties. But nothing prepared you for these random spurts of hardly seeing your lover. During most of his missions, Azriel would have to close off the bond between you both. You’d be left alone, empty. Missing him and having no way to communicate.

It made you bitter. You wondered how Rhys and Feyre would cope if the roles were reversed for a month.

“So an apology gift?”

Azriel chuckled softly into the nape of your neck. “It’s a gift that benefits the both of us.” He reached a hand toward the stove, shutting off the flame and prying your fingers from the ladle.

He lifted you to sit on the counter, standing between your parted legs. You smiled at his frame still towering over you. He retrieved a slender box from within the shadows, lifting it between your bodies.

Hesitantly, you removed the lid, blue tissue paper now hiding your gift. Azriel held his breath as you moved it out of the way, watching as your eyes widened and pupils dilated.

"Azzy..." You took the toy in, fingers grazing down the feigned veins of the shaft.

Azriel hissed. "I had it magically made," he explained, his hand reaching for your face. "It's a replica of... well, mine. It's enchanted, too. Whatever you do to it... I will feel it."

Your eyes were glued to the toy–the toy that looked exactly like Azriel's cock. It's colouring the same shade, the veins in the same places. The length and width just as delicious as the real thing.

"So...you want me to use this on myself? When you're gone on missions?"

He nodded his head, his thumb stroking against your cheek. "We can talk through the bond... but on those long missions, I'll still be able to feel you and make you feel good."

Your bottom lip caught between your teeth. "Can we try it?" You look up at him. "Can you use it on me now? Show me what to do."

The darkness in his eyes exploded, his grip on your neck tightening.

Azriel grabbed the cock from the gift box, his eyes closing a the sensation he could feel in his boxers. He lowered it between your thighs, slinking his hand up your dress.

"I can smell how soaked you are, sweetheart. Is this exciting you?"

You nodded pathetically, spreading your thighs wider. The cotton of your underwear clung to you like a second skin, the wetness seeping through the fabric.

One of Azriel's shadows darted to your cunt, tugging your ruined panties to the side to give its master access. Azriel ran the tip of the cock through your folds, a shaky breath leaving his lips as a whimper left yours.

"I can feel how soaked you are." He kept his eyes on you, but you understood. His cock was bloating in his pants, he could feel you there, enticing him in.

"I'm gonna fuck you with this toy and then I'll fuck you with the real thing."

[yandere-sins]

Monstober - Day 5: Naga/Lamia [Elemental Sacrifices Part 1/4]

I am fashionably late and since this story was supposed to come out on my birthday I switched the prompts since we all know Nagas are my roman empire, hehe >:3

Also this is part 1 of 4 of a little mini-series happening in this Monstober Challenge, and I will lovingly call it the Elemental Sacrifices. I know we already had a sacrifice before, but what if—hear me out—we have 4 more? Yes, I thought that was a good idea too, glad we agree :D

(They are not much related aside from the concept, but they are in the same universe, so maybe there's some potential for future ideas! :D)

Prompt: Day 6: Naga/Lamia | Scales // Wrapping around // Poisonous Warnings: Yandere, AFAB!Reader, Sexual Actions (Dub-Con, Use of Aphrodisiac, Drinking said Aphrodisiac and getting it stabbed into your arm, Deep Kissing, Accidentally cutting your own tongue, Fingering), Violence (Biting with fangs, Description of (meager) fighting, Cutting the enemy, Blood mention), Monsters + Descriptions of Monsters, Light self-degradation, Long Post

The tradition had always existed.

From the moment you were born, you were told about the sacrifices made to the four gods, which took place twice a century. The four tribes would unite in peace and unity for this month of reverence, choosing their sacrifices carefully and laying down their weapons to organize and strategize the ceremonies so that no god would feel aggrieved. It was a wonder that people that worshipped different things, lived by different means, and usually clashed like hot and cold, light and shadow, could work together meaningfully to pay their respects, assure that everyone would continue to be in the favor of the different gods that roamed the lands you lived on.

And yet, somehow, it had always worked out.

"There, almost done," your mother mumbled, curling your still-damp hair around her finger so it would frame your face. You clenched your fists in your lap as you sat in front of the mirror, unable to even look at yourself without retching. 20 years ago, when you were told the stories for the first time, no one had assumed you'd be the one to be sacrificed in the next ceremony. No one informed you that your days were numbered, your purpose to be nothing but monster fodder.

Because that's what they were, monsters, nothing more, nothing less.

A two-headed snake, an ancient tree, a tentacled beast, and a fire-spewing reptile with wings—those were the four monsters you and the other tribes worshipped with offerings and sacrifices. All your life, you practiced the mindful handling of the teachings, learning how to hunt, fight, and serve your god. But even so, just because you were born the child of the leader, you were going to be discarded by your own people, and your hatred was as fiery as the vulcanos that surrounded your homeland.

"I heard the water tribe sends their most wonderful singer this year, too."

It was a frail attempt at small talk, and you couldn't care less about how pleased your mother sounded as she told you about the other sacrifices. The other poor souls that probably wanted nothing more than to run away about now. You had hidden your tears very well with your head hung low, but you couldn't imagine the other sacrifices felt any less miserable as you did.

You had plans for the future, plans that involved leading this tribe and creating a family sometime. Maybe participate in a war with the other tribes and show off the prowess of the fire tribe leader's oldest child. It was in the nature of your people to be strong and powerful, as was the exceptional artistry of the water people.

"And the earthclan sends another one of their scholars. I don't understand why they think the nature gods would like all these people hiding with their noses in their books, but I'm sure they have their reason for choosing them. Oh, but the wind people are also sending their ruler's child, just like you!"

A tone of pride swung in her voice as she continued arranging vividly red flowers like a crown in your head, pulling at strands of your hair to wrap them into the stems so they'd hold. "And yet, you'll make the prettiest sacrifice of them all. You'll make us all so proud!"

Inside of you, a war broke loose. A war you knew you couldn't win as you knelt on the floor of your childhood home, the place you always thought safest in all of the lands, yet it was no longer the place you'd return to after this expedition. All your good deeds and all your achievements were for naught because when the announcement was sent out that the sacrifice was going to be held that year, it ended your life instantly.

A part of you knew it could happen. Although you never wished this fate on anyone, you had always hoped for a sibling, born or adopted into your family, that could take this responsibility from you ever since you learned of it. Other tribes voted. They chose by luck or by skill at the time of sacrifice. But not yours. Yours had traditions, which meant the leader's strongest family member would go to the gods and ask for their blessings. Get eaten in exchange for a promise of safety and prosperity that the monsters could easily break on a whim. Returning would mean the blessing failed, so that wasn't an option. If you couldn't appease them alive, you would do it with your death. The ultimate sacrifice.

"Now, you're perfect. Look at you, my pretty child."

Pushing her fingertips into the underside of your jaw, your mother forced you to look up into the mirrors. Tears tumbled from your eyes as your head snapped upwards to avoid the discomfort of her nagging touch, and you watched her expression fall in her reflection. Not from sorrow, mind you, but anger.

"This is your duty," she reminded you. "Now that you have grown up and proved your worth, you should feel honored to be chosen."

You bit your tongue, swallowing the disrespect you wanted to voice. You couldn't care less about the sacrifice, about gaining the ire of some monster that some old people had decided to worship. About your mother's opinion or that of anyone else!

Deep inside you, you were afraid. Fear, first and foremost, had always been your teacher. It showed you the boundaries of your abilities and pushed you to perform deeds beyond your capabilities in times of need. It wasn't something to be ashamed of or scolded for; it was natural and normal.

But right behind it was anger. Anger at this tradition, anger at your family, and anger at the monsters for demanding lives in exchange for peace. Gods they called themselves, but there was nothing godly about how they conducted their demands. They were cowards with a taste for human blood, and instead of fighting and being slain by those humans, they demanded sacrifices to satisfy their hunger.

And there was nothing you could do to save yourself.

If you rebelled, you'd be dragged out by your limbs and hair, even if that destroyed the work they put into prettying you up. Who needed to be pretty when they'd be eaten alive? Still, as a warrior at heart, you couldn't imagine a greater shame than to force your friends to bring you to that dreadful sacrificial space, even if they might think it was for the greater good. If you had to go out, you wanted to do so with your head held high, no matter how foolish that pride of yours was. It was better than to put your unfair death entirely into the hands of others.

If you were going to be a martyr, then you'd at least die fighting until your last breath.

---

"That's far enough," you announced, coming to a halt at the edge of the lush green forest you used to hunt in. Before you, vulcanic stone spread in dark hues as far as you could see. Ash filled the air, mixed with the taste of metal and fire. Nothing grew on the stone ground, it was as welcoming as a death threat. Veins of red broke through the stone, leading to pools of lava that was cooking beneath the stone surface, the air simmering from the heat that immediately greeted you, coating your skin in a sheen of sweat. Once you had found the duality of this place beautiful. Now you dreaded it, hands curled into fists as you took slow, steady breaths to calm yourself.

"I wish to face the gods myself."

"Go forth then. Make us proud," your father expressed, resting his hand on your shoulder. A simple squeeze was all you got, and much like your mother who hugged you before your departure, their gestures were too brief to be any comfort. You wondered how they could have possibly come to terms so quickly with losing their own child when you, the one to be sacrificed, were struggling with your fear and pride.

Every step on the hot floor was like a stab of a knife in your back. The hunting party that had accompanied you watched as you continued your journey towards the sacrificial space the ancestors had created, their gazes like whips that spurred you on. But they didn't linger. Since they didn't have to tie you down on the altar, they had no reason to watch the gruesome death of their own kind, knowing that either way, you weren't going to return. You knew the way back to your village like the inside of your pocket, years of roaming the jungles teaching you how to go home. But they'd kill you before you cursed the village with your failure to be sacrificed. Merciless, cold. You were no longer a part of them. You were a meager part of the tradition now.

However, the way to the altar was actually more of a challenge than going home. You had only been there once as a child, laying flowers down for your uncle, who had been the last sacrifice years before your birth. Your father may have called him your uncle, but it turned out he was an adopted orphan who ended up paying for his dedication to your family much later. Your father seemed unsympathetic towards him, but it dawned on you that he must have never been close to this brother of his, probably knowing the fate that awaited him.

You never knew your uncle, but back then, you had been proud of him, too.

That day was also the first time your father explained the traditions and the importance of keeping them up. How much honor it brought to your family and how many lives it saved to lose one person. You wondered why, after he taught you so many skills, worked so hard to make you a respected member of your tribe, and loved you like a father would, he could so easily send you to your death. But it slowly dawned on you what kind of person your father was. One that didn't truly cared for his "family", only for his own pride and gains. And you had been so easily fooled as to believe him all this time.

It took you much longer than you remembered, but eventually, you reached the grounds your ancestors had created for this spectacle. It was close to the foot of the volcano, an altar erected from the stone sprouting from the ground with nothing else present in this wasteland. The heat had increased substantially over time, every breath burning in your lungs, your eyes dry, and your feet chafed from walking over the smoldering stone for so long. Dread was no longer a constant companion as acceptance slowly crept into your mind. You had seen the bones of many humans on the way to this place. Apparently, not everyone had been so lucky to have made it this far, either the environment or the monster killing them before they reached the altar. Or maybe themselves, now that you thought about it.

The sight of the raised altar forced a shuddering breath out of your lungs, the stinging sensation barely enough to distract you from the blaring truth. You were going to die. One way or another, you would. Touching the side of your leg, you felt the leather holster beneath your dress. The dagger you sneaked would probably not be enough to kill the monster, if there ever was one. Still, if you could inflict some damage to it, perhaps your tribe would one day snap out of the trance that it was this immortal threat that your ancestors appeased by offering their own children to it. Maybe they'd see the wounds and realize they didn't have to cower in fear of it, and thus, maybe your sacrifice would not be in vain.

Brushing your hand over the warm stone, you felt an untypical cold shudder run down your spine, knowing it was meant to be your deathbed. You wondered how many before you had laid here, waiting for the monster to come. How many had prayed, hoped, and begged to be saved, and how many had fought and struggled like you were going to. Following in their footsteps now, you knew they did what they thought was their best. That was the greatest honor you could bestow on them.

You hoisted yourself up, struggling to climb on top of the massive stone slab, before you sat close to the edge and stretched out your legs, feeling the burned and chafed soles of your feet crack as they finally got some rest. Hissing, you were confronted with the pain, yet you only sighed, swiping your hands over your face to free you of the sweat that was desperately trying to cool you down. Even if you were used to the warmer temperature of your home, it was nothing against the volcanic heat, and you almost admired it for burning for so long, never bothered by anyone. The air was as heavy as your soul felt, trapped in your body and scared to the heavens.

Imagining the snake did very little to soothe your mind, but you still tried to prepare for the shock its sight undoubtedly would be. You imagined a snake as tall as a building, with two heads splitting apart at one end. Heads with sharp fangs and venom dripping out of their mouths, eyes that ate you up before their maw even got close to you. It would slither over the ground, nimble, avoiding the lava pools, but too large to hide behind the wasteland it reigned over. Bloodlust urging it on as it smelled the sweet fragrance of the flowers on your head, which were delighted to bloom in the warm temperatures. A green tail? Brown? Perhaps a little of both? Maybe its scales were dark red like all the blood it drank from the sacrifices.

"Look at that, they do sacrifice their own kind."

Deep in thought, the heat probably having gone to your head, you hadn't noticed the chafing sound that slithered closer from behind. Only when someone suddenly spoke did your mind alert you of the danger, and you jumped down from the altar, swiftly spinning around and bracing yourself. One hand hovered over your dagger beneath your dress, and the other arm stayed defensively in front of you. With the distance you managed to jump and the massive altar separating you from the monster, you were at a surprising advantage, and it felt good to have the upper hand.

Your eyes widened at the sight of two men standing behind the altar, one of them leaning down on the stone surface right next to where you had sat. In contrast, the other stood straight with his arms behind his back, but both watched you with burning intensity. Immediately, you noticed their similar appearances, the light grey hair falling from their heads, bound by braids, and still with countless strands falling over their exposed chests. Their eyes were like marbles, reflecting the different colors of the area in them, elongated pupils slightly vibrating as they fixated over and over on you. But what really put you off was their size. Their legs must have been easily as tall as the altar, and that was no size a normal human should have had.

"Mother never told us sacrifices were this cute."

The man leaning on the table rolled over on his side, his hair splaying all over the altar in waves. And yet, even while moving, his gaze never trailed off—but yours did. You let out a horrified gasp as the scaled tail of a snake buckled and arched to accommodate the man's movements, and with a surprised jolt, he reared upwards, exposing even more of the tail that started at his hips.

A moment of silence washed over you three, and you felt incredibly exposed and stared down by two pairs of eyes as if they were pinning you into place. Willing you to not move a muscle, to be eaten without putting up a fight. No one said anything before the startled man laughed out loudly, shaking his head and holding his belly before slapping his free hand attention-seekingly against his companion's arm.

"That scared me," he chuckled. "I've never heard that kind of sound before."

The other man let out a hum of agreement, nodding his head before looking back at you. You were at a clear disadvantage, unsure where to look first and who to focus on, as you were outnumbered by the two. The one that kept talking was smaller than the other, although this could have been the heat playing tricks on you. Both were muscular, but he was less refined than his almost-twin. You wagered you could take him on if there wasn't a scaley tail winding from his hips. That would be additional weight you couldn't topple, no matter how much you playfighted the other hunters and warriors of your tribe, which sometimes outdid you in terms of weight and size.

The quieter one, on the other hand, had the typical looks of a working man in the village: big arms coming from a strong back and toned muscles that the woman would drool over, while the other seemed fit and nimble. But your eyes unwillingly focused on the tail as the two scaled the altar, moving forward oddly in sync until it became clear why.

Their two strands of tails flowed together between them into one massive one.

It was mesmerizing, you had to admit, the scales an iridescent white. But whenever the tail moved, it took on the hues of the land, grey and red, only to return to their original color as it wound itself. You were awestruck and panicked at the same time, as the tail seemed to be neverending, wrapping around the altar, finding hold on the stony ground that even your feet struggled with. Fear filled you as you watched their slithering movements, the mistake in your thinking now glaringly clear: The monster existed, and it had come for you.

"Y-You're the monster!" you screamed, and the smaller one of the two scrunched up his nose, taking offense. The white scales swept over the altar, landing in the space between you and the stone with a heavy thud. His body was barely shaken by the impact, so perfectly in balance with itself despite their unnatural split into two different entities, and the seriousness of the situation rained down on you like their sharp gazes as you realized there would be no chance of you overpowering either of them.

Even with their connection, they spread out too far to reach both simultaneously. They could still move independently, even if their range was limited to what their body could give. But even without them rearing up on the tail, they were almost two heads taller than you were. They knew their body better than anyone, and you didn't doubt they had some tricks up their non-existing sleeves to best you.

Biting your lip, you finally slipped your hand beneath your dress, never letting the monster—monsters—out of your sight. To your surprise, you watched their gazes slip to where you raised the fabric, observing you with curious intention, their split tongues slipping out from their lips, tasting the air as they ogled at your exposed thigh.

Your hand curled around the grip of your dagger, and the moment you pulled it from its holster, the snakes lept forward. There was no time to be proud of yourself, but your reaction was immaculate. You jumped back just in time to avert the nimble one's grabby hands, even drawing blood as your blade slit open the skin between his thumb and pointer finger.

However, as fast as you dealt with one of the snakes, you couldn't recover quickly enough to avoid the second pair of hands. Much like you anticipated, their range was too extensive to fight both of them at once, and although you ducked beneath one hand of the stronger monster, his second hand latched on, right in your hair. You watched as the red petals of the flower crown loosened and swayed in the air like a sad veil of defeat.

Your head was yanked back, and you acted quickly, directing the knife towards the unprotected free shoulder, somewhere that would hurt. Somewhere that would leave a visible scar and show everyone that these monsters could be injured. But a bloody grip around your wrist prevented you from pushing the dagger into the creature's partially scaled bodies, your hopes crumbling into ash.

"You good?" the more muscular man asked, and the other clicked his tongue in annoyance while you flailed and struggled in their grip. Your free hand was useless as you couldn't even reach forward enough, and so were your legs as you stood on your tiptoes while they yanked you around.

The latter lifted the hand that was holding your wrist to his mouth, licking up the blood that spilled from the cut on his as he maintained eye contact. You bared your teeth in both pain and defiance, not showing any of the miserable fear and panic you felt inside. You didn't manage to do what you came here for, and you felt the power surging through their bodies just from their hands on you. The failure gnawed at your determination, the fight as good as lost.

"We're not monsters," he hissed, glowering at you, although it looked more like a pout. "But you sure are quick on your feet."

Their comments should not have caused your heart to swell with pride, but hearing it from the monster you swore to hurt in exchange for your life did feel good.

"Surely you wish you'd have gotten an easier meal, monster! But I won't go down until I have shown everyone that you can be wounded and defeated! That you will bleed if the people unite! There will be no more sacrifices once they've seen what I did to you!"

"We're not monsters!" they repeated in unison before exchanging a brief glance with each other.

"Well, I won't call you god and beg for your mercy!" you spat, and the lips of the snake with your hand in his grip curled into a grin.

"Are you sure about that?"

With his blood coating your hand, he raised it way over your head, causing you to gasp as your whole body strained to accommodate the movement. His hand slipped upwards, a few fingers holding you in place, while some snaked between your palm and the knife in your grasp, prying your hold from it inch by inch. You let out a soft whine as the leather grip was torn from you and watched the metal clatter to the ground.

But you didn't have the time to mourn the loss of your only weapon, not when your arm was bent backward. Immediately, your free hand shot up, trying to dig your nails into the fingers wrapped around your wrist still.

That was your greatest mistake. With his free hand, the quiet monster immediately reached for both of yours, wrapping them in his palm as quickly as their tail could around your body.

You were kept on your tiptoes as you felt the scales of said tail slither over your skin. Creeping beneath your soles and running up your ankles, squeezing the flesh of your shins firmly together before wrapping around each thigh individually. You kicked and squirmed, but their tail was almost as unrelenting as their hands, and you involuntarily winced as your wrists were squeezed together as if tied by a rope.

"It's true we are not the monster you're trying to defeat," the leaner one claimed again, licking his wound like an injured animal.

"That's our mother," his brother explained curtly, and your head whirled around to him, the questions etched into your face.

"Look at us; we're only half the snake she is."

With an exasperated huff, you looked back and forth between the two, reeling at the revelation. "That's not possible! You... you are a snake with two heads. It's exactly as it's told in our stories!"

"They're not wrong..."

"I mean, she is a literal snake with two heads. And she's gigantic. You should be glad she didn't find you first, or you'd be even less than a small snack for her."

"And our dad is human. Like you."

You must have looked rightfully befuddled as the two went back and forth on their explanation, but once they were done, you could only gulp, unsure what to make of the situation. "So... you're not the monster that demands sacrifices?"

"No."

"Not really."

"Then..." It was hard to form the words that zapped through your mind, your mouth suddenly feeling dry again as the adrenaline sifted from your blood flow. Nothing could rationalize this situation, and you were still strung up by their hands and tail. This almost felt too good to be true, so you had to take your chance as long as you could. "You'll let me go?"

A moment of silence hung over all three of your heads before the brothers slowly ripped their gazes off you to exchange sly smirks. You wobbled as their body—and by extension, yours—set into motion, slithering back to the altar until you were sat down, your back forced to rest on the stone like a lamb to slaughter, hands hanging over the edge above your head and legs still wrapped by their tail.

"Oh, you can't just leave," the lean one purred, coming up from below you and planting his clawed hands firmly on either side of your arms. "The nights get so cold, and the days are so lonely with our mom busy occupying our dad. She never lets us play with him or come back to our home. Won't you keep us company for a while longer? I'm sure you can teach us some things, and we can teach you."

The other settled on the opposite side, still holding your hands in place as he grunted in agreement. You felt the bile rise in your throat as one touch slipped below your line of sight, claw-like nails raking up your thigh and moving beneath your dress. Their intentions got more apparent as the fabric was gripped from above, too, slowly, sensually raising over your skin until the hip strap of your underwear was revealed.

In a last-ditch effort, you tried to struggle once more, legs tugging upwards and kicking at the ever-winding tail while your hands twisted in their hold, causing it to crush down onto your bones even more. That wasn't how you wanted to go down; it wasn't the fight to death you thought you'd have!

"End me, then. Get it over with," you yelled out, laying your head to the side and closing your eyes, the reality too hard to face. Sooner or later, you'd die anyway, and if this were the things you'd have to endure, you'd rather be dead. It wasn't the kind of sacrifice you wanted to be, one defiled and molested before you'd be killed, so you'd rather be dead than witness it.

"Hush now," someone murmured, and you felt a hand sweep underneath your chin, turning your head forward again before tugging it up and over the altar's edge. Your eyes snapped open as your instincts kicked in, but as you opened your mouth to scream, it was quickly covered by another.

A tongue slipped between your opened lips before you could close them, slashing around inside harshly and clogging your throat. There was too much to take, and you gulped down the wetness it brought, sloshing it everywhere to the point it dripped from your lips, running down your face that immediately heated up beneath the fluid. It tasted sweet and even when you wanted to stop, you couldn't, gulping down all that was given to you.

Your body began to relax while you felt a hand drive down the front of your torso, brushing an entire palm over your breast and getting stuck on your nipple. You jolted, a pang of electricity flying to your head and down your spine, your back arching as you couldn't understand what was going on anymore. You had never felt this sensitive before, and as the hand continued to roam from one side to the other, finding the budding nip beneath your dress and twisting it, you let out an unholy moan into the mouth of the monster, your own tongue lashing upwards until it got caught on a sharp fang. Despite not feeling it, you were pretty sure your tongue was ripped open, but even more of the sweet-tasting, addictive stuff dripped from the fang, gushing into your mouth. You gobbled it up, considering you had nothing to drink throughout your journey, and your mind was not getting enough of the taste.

"Considering how quickly you got hooked on our mating fluids, I'd not be surprised if you do end up calling us gods when we're done with you."

You barely heard the voice of the curious onlooker beyond your line of sight, your mind wholly crazed by the liquid that coated all of your mouth and senses. It took almost more work to extract the monster's tongue from your throat than it had putting it inside. Your head followed it upwards, unwilling to part while the drool kept dripping down onto your face.

As you were freed of the kiss, a shameful, miserable sigh of disappointment escaped you, and you barely regained the ability to reply, "Never," in response to what the snake had said. That caused both of them to chuckle, and the sound sent a core-clenching, spine-tingling warmth throughout your body. Your lips quivering as your mind begged for more of that deep rumble cursing through their bodies.

"We'll see about that," the monster from below mumbled as he raked his claws over your thigh. Immediately, you were jolting upwards in their hold, caught between pain and pleasure as he lightly scabbed your skin. It was a small revenge for his own wound, and the scratches burned deliciously as they welcomed the hot air all around you two. "You're already so wet for us."

"It's called sweat," you mewled defiantly, the sound of your voice not befitting your sarcasm. You clenched your legs together, but it was a vain effort with the tail still stuck above your knees, easily prying them open by driving upwards. The scales rubbing over your skin didn't help your misery at all, and you wanted to throw your head against a solid wall with how dizzy and needy you felt. It wasn't you on that altar, but a very distorted version of you, one that wanted to be fucked silly even though what you really wanted was a good fight.

The two laughed at your comment, and you moaned in annoyance at the electricity that sapped through you at the sound of their voices. Your head fell back over the edge, and you came face to face with the more muscular one of the brothers as he lowered himself to your eye level. His eyes raked over your face, then up to your exposed neck just waiting to be bit.

"You're so cute," he mumbled, split tongue darting out again, tasting the air. Your pussy clenched as you wished for that tongue back in your throat or, even better, caressing your quivering folds below that were begging for something to fill their loneliness. The experience was new to you, as you had never wanted intimacy like this with anyone before. You had been so focused on your goals and diligently upholding your parents' rules and traditions that you never craved anyone, but especially not these two beasts.

"I'm not cute," you mewled, closing your eyes and biting your lips as you felt the sharp claws hover above your abdomen, gently stroking the skin below your navel from side to side, your core clenching even harder with pure, undiluted desire. But when the fingers slipped beneath the rim of your underwear, you moaned as you expected them to dip into the wet mess that lay just beneath, the expectation almost enough to send you over the edge.

"Oh, yeah?" the snake-man grinned, and you felt one finger press into your slit, your folds welcoming it warmly and with a shudder going through your body. You quaked in pleasure, eyes blown wide open, and the two fangs of the monster were all more prevalent as his lips split into a toothy smile. "So cute," he doubled down, pulling your arms taut until your body stretched to the last of its capabilities.

With his lips gently brushing against your forearm, you were wholly unprepared for the sharp pain as he dug his fangs deep into your skin. But the shriek quickly turned into a moan, your hips grinding against the finger probing at your entrance as more of the aphrodisiac went straight into your bloodstream. You watched the dark fluid drip off your arm, causing even more heat to spread where it flowed, and you were mercilessly whining as you couldn't move your hips nearly enough to satisfy your needs.

"Please," you snapped upwards, staring at the creature settled on top of the altar next to you, leisurely rubbing his hand along your pussy.

"There goes the begging," he reminded you, and you bit your lip to the point of hurting yourself.

Fuck, that wasn't what you wanted to say. It wasn't how you wanted to die, you never intended to let it get this far. Pathetic, pathetic, absolutely pathetic. You were a fucking warrior, you fought threats and hunted prey, you were not going to surrender to them—

"Fuck!" you gasped out loud this time as one digit slipped inside you. You felt it hook inside your pussy, slowly dragging out despite being clung to firmly by your insides. All the faster did he push it inside again, every joint that buried inside you made you arch your back and rejoice. You nearly avoided being scratched open inside, purely by how slick your pussy and his hand were by now, more fluids gushing out as he pulled his finger from you again and again.

Simultaneously, another digit curled down, fondling the heated folds until it pressed down on your clit, forcing a mewl from you. Fangs tore out of your skin, but you barely noticed as the two fingers united, taking up more space inside of you and scissoring your walls apart until you felt your pussy gaping and drooling obscenely.

"I'll not... submit," you stammered between bated breaths. "I'll not... be your plaything."

"And we wouldn't want it any other way," they chimed in unison, exchanging a satisfied glance before grinning.

"Mom always said to look out for the feisty ones."

"We just didn't think you'd come to meet us so soon."

"Or that you'd be this fun to play with."

Your whole body shuddered as both fingers were pulled out of your terribly needy hole. Your breath was almost non-existent, the lack of air only stimulating you more as you heard the sloppy sounds of your wet pussy letting go of the monster's fingers. A hand slipped beneath your head, helping you to hold it up as you watched the leaner brother lifting his pointer and middle finger to his face, split tongue lapping out to taste your slick pulling strings in the gaps while maintaining eye contact with you all throughout it.

"They're perfect," he purred as he looked up, stretching his arm towards his brother, who leaned forward to have his taste of you from his brother's fingers.

"Damn, that's sweet," he commented too on your fluids, licking them from his lips as he looked down at you in a mix of surprise and awe.

"And so pretty, too."

You felt their eyes in the same way their claws had raked over your body. Hungrily, with the intention to harm you. And yet, your hole kept gaping, needing more stimulation, wanting more. You were the pitiful prey you kept denying you were, but it seemed that in their eyes, you were so much more than that.

"Our little fighter," the one at your side murmured, stretching upwards to hover beside your face.

"Are you not even finishing what you started?" you spit, your venom not nearly as effective when your voice sounded as if you were drugged and disgruntled.

"Oh, I will, little fighter. We're going to make sure you can take us before spreading you on our cocks and make you cry out in pleasure until you call us "god". But before that, you have to be good and let us take you to our nest. Bonding will take so much time, and you are much too vulnerable out here."

"Fuck you," you grunted, trying to elbow him, but your arm barely moved.

"Keep it up," he grinned. "Wouldn't want you to give up too easily. Breaking you in is part of the fun."

"You're a fucking monster after all."

The snakes hummed thoughtfully as you were finally pulled off the table. Instead of being dragged by your arms or wrapped in their tail, however, you were slung over the bigger brother's shoulder, feeling his hand immediately settle beneath your asscheek, not so subtly poking at your pussy with his claw.

"Let me go!" you demanded weakly, your sore hands pounding pitifully into his shoulder.

"And miss out on all this fun? I don't think so," the leaner brother answered.

"Mother told us you can't go back anyway," the one carrying you added, throwing salt into the wound. They were right, but that didn't mean you'd go down so easily, even if your legs were still quivering and your head throbbing with need. "They'll kill you on sight, won't they? And then they'll return you to the altar so we can eat you."

A hand clasped around your jaw, claws digging into your cheeks as your head was lifted to face the leaner brother. "You know we prefer a different taste," he grinned, and you felt your anger rise again together with the shame of his implication. Collecting your saliva and some of the residues of the aphrodisiac, you spit them into his face, not caring whatsoever what that meant for you.

The snake-man scrunched up his face, quickly wiping it away. "Save your drool," he snarled, and you grinned victoriously despite the clasp he held your face in.

But as if on cue, a large palm flattened against your ass, and you jolted forward on the shoulder, eyes blown wide open as you gasped. You couldn't believe it as the wave of pleasure finally crashed into your rockfest resolution, your toes curling upwards and your eyes rolled back, your orgasm hitting you harder than even the slap had.

"Oh, god," you whispered breathlessly while riding the high of pleasure and shame as you felt your juices leaking even through your panties, dripping and running down the body of the other stronger brother.

"Seems like you finally get it, sacrifice," the guy in front of you noted, brushing his thumb over your lips, which opened automatically to his beckoning.

"Let's go, brother," he urged. "Seems our little fighter needs just a bit more convincing as to why they'll love being ours. I can't wait to make their belly swell with our clutch, just like Mother has always told us."

"We're lucky we found a mate so quickly," the other agreed, and you let out a defeated huff, no more words to counter them with coming to your dazed thoughts.

Their tail set into motion, scales slithering over stone, while your mind drifted off, the aphrodisiac having too much of a hold on your conscience for you to be rid of it quickly. You were going to be taken by the monsters, and if you thought you were helpless before, your body now barely felt like it belonged to you. It was as if you weren't its master anymore, but that drug and those snakes were. You could only shiver, even though the air was getting hotter the closer you three got to the volcano, wondering if you at least fulfilled your duty as a sacrifice.

And when that duty would finally end.

[reidmarieprentiss]

Dare Ya

Summary: Spencer and Penelope are roommates, you get a dare during girls night that changes your relationship with Spencer.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAU fem!reader

Category: fluff

Warnings/Includes: alcohol consumption, mild crime description, sneaking into beds

Word count: 3.6k

a/n: this is so silly & cute ,, i saw someone say they love penelope and spencer being best friends and i can't disagree hehe

main masterlist

After surviving a terrifying attack outside her apartment, Penelope Garcia can’t shake the feeling of vulnerability that now shadows her every step. Seeking solace, she reluctantly accepts Spencer Reid's offer to move in with him, hoping his quiet, protective presence will help her regain a sense of safety. 

—

Penelope was sprawled out on the couch, her colorful blanket draped over her as she scrolled through the latest memes on her tablet. Spencer walked in, holding two mugs of steaming tea, carefully balancing them as he made his way to the coffee table.

"Okay, Penelope, I’ve got your chamomile, extra honey, just the way you like it," Spencer announced with a proud smile, handing her the mug.

Penelope’s eyes lit up as she accepted the tea. "Spencer, you’re an absolute gem! What would I do without you?"

Spencer sat down beside her, taking a sip of his own tea before replying, "Probably starve, considering your idea of dinner is three packets of Pop Rocks and a diet soda."

Penelope gasped dramatically, clutching her heart. "I’ll have you know that’s gourmet snacking in some cultures!"

He laughed, shaking his head. "Well, in this apartment, it’s all about balanced meals and—"

"—and daily doses of nerdy lectures from my favorite genius!" Penelope finished his sentence, her grin widening.

"Exactly," Spencer agreed with a chuckle. "Besides, you’re the only person who appreciates my random facts at 2 AM."

Penelope nudged him playfully with her elbow. "Of course! And who else is going to let me blast show tunes at full volume while I reorganize your books by color?"

Spencer’s eyes widened in mock horror. "Wait, you wouldn’t dare…"

Penelope leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Oh, sweetie, it’s already done."

He stared at her for a moment, then sighed dramatically, leaning back against the couch. "You’re lucky you’re cute."

"And you’re lucky I love you," Penelope shot back, lifting her mug in a toast.

Spencer clinked his mug against hers. "Best roommates ever."

"Forever and always," Penelope agreed, smiling warmly at him.

—

“Reid, don’t forget I’m having the girls over tonight,” Penelope reminded him as she flitted around the kitchen, her excitement palpable.

“Girls' night, I know,” Spencer replied with a small smile, glancing over at the calendar on the wall where Penelope had circled the date in bright pink marker. “You wrote it on the calendar.”

Penelope paused, turning to face him with a hopeful look. “Are you going to join us this time? It’s going to be fun! We’re talking snacks, gossip, and maybe even some scandalous games…”

Spencer chuckled, already making his way toward his room with a book tucked under his arm. “I’ll pass, thank you,” he said, his voice warm with amusement. 

Penelope pouted playfully, but she couldn’t hide her grin. “One day, Dr. Reid, you’ll see the light and join us!”

“Maybe,” Spencer called back with a laugh, already imagining the lively scene that would soon fill the apartment. For now, though, he was content to let the girls enjoy their night.

Penelope Garcia loves hosting her infamous girls' nights with the BAU ladies, filling her and Reid's apartment with laughter, drinks, and the latest gossip. Spencer, ever the accommodating roommate, doesn’t mind the occasional takeover—he’s more than happy to retreat to his books. What he didn’t anticipate, though, is you always showing up in your cozy pajamas, looking irresistibly adorable and sending his heart into a tailspin. As the nights unfold with playful games and shared secrets, Spencer finds himself leaving his room more and more often, struggling to keep his cool amidst the lively chaos.

—

The apartment is buzzing with energy as you, Emily, JJ, and Penelope sit in a cozy circle on the living room floor, surrounded by empty wine bottles, snack wrappers, and the remnants of your laughter-filled evening. The air is thick with friendship, and after a few rounds of lighthearted gossip, the group decides to spice things up with a classic game of truth or dare.

Penelope leans forward with a mischievous glint in her eye. “Okay, truth or dare?” she asks, her voice full of playful challenge.

Feeling the warmth of the wine and the comfort of your friends, you giggle. “Dare, obviously,” you say confidently, knowing full well that Penelope won’t go easy on you.

The girls exchange conspiratorial glances, their eyes practically twinkling with mischief. Emily is the first to speak up, grinning as she leans closer. “We dare you to… climb into Spencer’s bed while he’s sleeping.”

Your eyes widen in surprise, your cheeks flushing at the thought. “Wait, what?!” you whisper, a mixture of shock and excitement bubbling up inside you. The mere idea of being that close to him, even in such a silly, innocent context, makes your heart race.

JJ nods enthusiastically, her smile widening. “Come on! You’ve been crushing on him forever. It’s the perfect opportunity to get a little closer,” she teases, nudging your shoulder playfully.

Penelope claps her hands together, her excitement barely contained. “Think of it as a harmless prank! He’ll never know, and it’ll be our little secret,” she adds with a wink.

You bite your lip, your mind racing. The thought of sneaking into Spencer’s room, tiptoeing over to his bed, and slipping under the covers while he sleeps soundly is both terrifying and thrilling. But the encouraging looks from your friends, coupled with the wine-induced confidence, push you to make a decision.

“Okay, okay, I’ll do it,” you finally agree, your voice a little shaky but determined. The girls let out a collective squeal of delight, stifling their laughter as they quickly urge you toward Spencer’s bedroom.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves as you carefully open the door to his room, the soft creak of the hinges sounding far too loud in the quiet of the night. Spencer is fast asleep, his face peaceful in the dim light filtering through the curtains. His glasses are on the nightstand, and a book lies open beside him, his fingers still loosely resting on the pages.

With your heart pounding in your chest, you slowly approach the bed, your steps light and cautious. You glance back at the doorway, where the girls are peeking in, holding their breaths in anticipation. Gathering every ounce of courage, you carefully lift the blanket and slide into the bed beside Spencer, your movements as gentle as possible.

As you carefully slide under the covers beside Spencer, you’re acutely aware of every sound, every movement, your heart hammering in your chest. You had been fully prepared to stay for only a few seconds before making your escape, but the moment you settle in, something unexpected happens—Spencer, in his sleep, rolls over and instinctively drapes an arm around you.

You freeze, eyes wide in shock, as you feel his warmth envelop you. His face nuzzles into your shoulder, his breath soft and steady against your neck. Your initial reaction is to panic, to jump out of the bed before things get any more complicated, but the sensation of his embrace is so comforting, so natural, that you can’t bring yourself to move.

Instead, you find yourself relaxing into him, letting out a breath. Spencer’s grip tightens slightly as if seeking out your warmth in his sleep, and your heart melts at the sweet, innocent way he snuggles closer.

From the doorway, the girls are watching with wide eyes, trying desperately to suppress their giggles. Penelope claps a hand over her mouth, stifling a squeal of excitement, while Emily and JJ exchange looks of pure amusement, both of them barely containing their laughter.

You turn your head slightly, giving them a pleading look to stay quiet, but you can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips. There’s something about the way Spencer holds you, even in his unconscious state, that makes you feel safe, cherished, and you can’t bring yourself to disrupt the moment.

As the minutes tick by, the warmth of Spencer’s embrace and the steady rhythm of his breathing begin to lull you into a state of calm. You know you should slip out, return to the girls, and let them finish their game, but instead, you find yourself growing drowsy, the fatigue of the night catching up with you.

Before you know it, your eyelids grow heavy, and you drift off to sleep, nestled comfortably in Spencer’s arms.

Back in the living room, the girls exchange glances, their excitement bubbling over. Penelope, always the ringleader, whispers with a grin, "Looks like she’s spending the night there. Mission accomplished, ladies."

Emily chuckles softly, shaking her head in disbelief. "She’s really going for it, huh?"

JJ giggles, still trying to keep her voice low. "I think we just made Spencer’s dreams come true—literally!"

The girls continue to snicker and whisper amongst themselves, marveling at how perfectly the dare has played out. They decide to let you enjoy your impromptu cuddle session, knowing that this is one girls’ night that will go down in history.

—

The morning light filtered softly through the curtains, gently stirring you awake. For a moment, you were wrapped in the cozy haze of sleep, feeling an unfamiliar warmth around you. As your eyes blinked open, reality came rushing back, and your heart dropped into your stomach—Spencer was still there, his arm draped across you, his face just inches from yours.

Panic set in as you realized exactly where you were and what had happened last night. Before you could gather your thoughts, Spencer stirred beside you, his brow furrowing in confusion as he slowly woke up. His eyes fluttered open, and the moment he saw you lying there, his expression shifted from sleepy contentment to utter shock.

“Wha—what’s going on?!” Spencer exclaimed, his voice a mix of confusion and panic as he scrambled back, pulling the blanket up as if it could somehow explain the situation.

You bolted upright, your cheeks burning with embarrassment. “Spencer, I—I can explain!” you stammered, trying desperately to find the right words. But the sight of his wide, bewildered eyes only made your heart race faster.

“Why were you…? How did you…?” Spencer was clearly struggling to make sense of it all, his mind racing as he tried to connect the dots.

You cringed, feeling mortified beyond belief. “It was just… it was a dare,” you admitted, the words tumbling out in a rush. “Penelope, Emily, and JJ—they dared me to sneak into your bed while you were sleeping. I swear, it was just a silly prank. I didn’t mean to—” You broke off, feeling the heat of humiliation crawl up your neck.

Spencer’s eyes widened even more, if that were possible. “A dare? You climbed into my bed because of a dare?” He sounded incredulous, his voice cracking slightly.

You nodded, biting your lip and wishing the ground would just swallow you whole. “I’m so sorry, Spencer. I didn’t think—I didn’t realize you’d… snuggle up to me like that.” Your voice trailed off, the words sounding as ridiculous out loud as they did in your head.

Spencer’s face turned a shade of red you didn’t think was possible, his mind clearly reeling as he processed what you had just told him. “I—I didn’t know. I must have been dreaming or something. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… I didn’t know you were there!” He was stumbling over his words, just as flustered as you were.

The awkwardness in the room was suffocating, and you could feel your heart pounding in your ears. The last thing you wanted was for Spencer to think you were some kind of creep. Your mouth opened and closed a few times, but no coherent words formed. The embarrassment was too overwhelming.

“I should go,” you finally managed to squeak out, your voice barely above a whisper. Without waiting for a response, you scrambled out of the bed, nearly tripping over your own feet in your haste. You bolted for the door, your face burning with shame.

Spencer started to say something, but you didn’t stop to listen. You couldn’t—every fiber of your being was screaming at you to get out of there as fast as possible. You could hear the girls' giggles in the living room as you rushed past them, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t bear to face them, not after what had just happened.

The moment you were out of the apartment, you leaned against the wall, trying to catch your breath, your heart still pounding. You had never been so embarrassed in your life. The whole thing had backfired spectacularly, and now you had no idea how you were ever going to face Spencer again.

Inside the apartment, Spencer was left sitting on the bed, staring at the door where you had just fled. His mind was still trying to process everything that had just happened, his cheeks still burning. He had never been so confused, or so flustered, in his entire life.

—

After the chaotic morning had settled down and the girls had finally left, the apartment grew quiet. Spencer was still in a bit of a daze from the unexpected events that had unfolded earlier. He moved around the kitchen mechanically, setting up breakfast while his thoughts churned. 

“So, boy wonder,” Penelope began, sliding into a chair at the kitchen table as Spencer placed a plate of scrambled eggs and toast in front of her. “Care to share what’s going on in that big brain of yours?”

Spencer sighed, sitting down across from her with his own plate, though he wasn’t sure he had much of an appetite. “I’m just… confused, I guess,” he admitted, poking at his eggs with his fork. “About everything that happened this morning.”

Penelope nodded, a knowing smile playing on her lips. “Yeah, it was definitely one for the books,” she agreed. “But I think there’s more to it than just a silly dare, isn’t there?”

Spencer hesitated, his brow furrowing as he tried to find the right words. “I don’t know. It’s just—when I woke up and saw her there, I was… shocked, obviously. But then, after she explained, I just couldn’t stop thinking about how it felt to have her there, so close. And now, I feel like I completely scared her off.”

Penelope’s eyes softened as she looked at him. “Spencer, I think you’re missing the bigger picture here,” she said gently. “Do you like her?”

Spencer looked up at Penelope, a bit startled by the direct question. His cheeks flushed slightly as he considered it. “I mean, yeah, I do,” he admitted, his voice quiet. “She’s smart, funny, and… she makes me feel things I haven’t felt in a long time. But I never thought she’d be interested in me like that.”

Penelope’s smile widened, her heart warming at the sight of her friend finally acknowledging his feelings. “Well, that’s where you’re wrong, Doctor,” she said with a playful wink. “The reason we dared her to climb into your bed wasn’t just for fun. It was because we’ve all noticed how she looks at you, how she gets all flustered when you’re around. She’s been crushing on you hard, Spencer. We thought a little nudge might help her break the ice.”

Spencer blinked, the revelation sinking in. “She… she likes me?” he asked, surprise and hope flickering in his eyes.

Penelope nodded enthusiastically. “Oh, she’s got it bad for you,” she confirmed. “But she’s also shy and probably feels like she’s not on your level. That’s why she freaked out this morning—she’s likely mortified because she thinks she messed everything up.”

Spencer leaned back in his chair, processing Penelope’s words. It was almost too much to take in at once, but the more he thought about it, the more everything made sense. The way you always seemed a little nervous around him, the way you’d light up when he shared random facts or when you’d bump into each other in the hallway. And now, the fact that you’d been daring enough to go along with something as bold as sneaking into his bed—it all pointed to one thing: you had feelings for him, just as he had for you.

“I can’t believe I didn’t see it,” Spencer said softly, a small smile beginning to form on his lips. “But now that I know… what do I do?”

Penelope reached across the table, placing a hand on his arm. “You talk to her, Spencer. You let her know how you feel, that you’re not upset about what happened. She’s probably freaking out right now, thinking she ruined everything. But you can turn this around, make it something good.”

Spencer nodded, feeling a sense of determination growing within him. “You’re right,” he said, his voice gaining confidence. “I need to talk to her. I don’t want her to think I’m upset or that she did something wrong.”

Penelope beamed at him, giving his arm a supportive squeeze. “That’s the spirit! You’ve got this, Spencer. Just be your sweet, nerdy self, and everything will fall into place.”

—

Monday morning rolled around, and the usual bustle of the BAU was in full swing. The team was busy reviewing files, catching up on paperwork, and getting ready for whatever case might come their way. But Spencer Reid had something else on his mind—something far more nerve-wracking than profiling criminals.

With a bouquet of flowers in one hand and a small, carefully wrapped box from your favorite bakery in the other, Spencer made his way to your desk. His heart pounded in his chest, a mix of anticipation and anxiety as he approached. He had rehearsed what he wanted to say over and over, but now that the moment was here, his nerves threatened to get the better of him.

You were focused on your work, completely unaware of the flurry of emotions heading your way. But when you sensed someone standing in front of your desk, you looked up, and your breath caught in your throat.

Spencer stood there, looking slightly nervous but determined, holding out the bouquet of flowers—a beautiful blend of your favorite blooms, carefully chosen with Penelope’s help. Your eyes widened in surprise, your heart skipping a beat.

“Hi,” Spencer said softly, his voice a little shaky but warm. “I, um… I got these for you.”

You stared at the flowers, then at Spencer, your mind struggling to catch up with what was happening. “Spencer… what’s all this?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He took a deep breath, gathering his courage. “I wanted to apologize for how things went on Saturday. I know it was a little… unconventional, but after thinking about it, I realized I shouldn’t have let you leave feeling so embarrassed.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, both touched and confused. “You don’t have to apologize, Spencer. I was the one who—”

He gently cut you off, holding up the box from the bakery. “And I also got you this. I know it’s your favorite,” he added, offering the box with a small, hopeful smile.

You hesitated for a moment before accepting the box, your fingers brushing against his as you did. The gesture made your heart flutter. “Thank you,” you said softly, feeling a mixture of emotions welling up inside you.

Spencer shifted slightly, looking down at the flowers before meeting your eyes again. “I’ve been thinking a lot about what Penelope said, about how sometimes we all need a little push to see what’s right in front of us.” His gaze was earnest, his voice steady as he continued. “And I’ve realized that I don’t want to miss out on what could be something really great.”

Your breath caught as his words sank in, your heart beating faster as hope began to bloom within you.

“So,” Spencer continued, a small but sincere smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I was wondering if you’d like to go out with me sometime. Maybe we can start over, without the dares, and just… see where things go?”

You felt your cheeks warm as you looked into his eyes, seeing the vulnerability and sincerity there. The embarrassment from the weekend melted away, replaced by a growing sense of excitement. You glanced at the flowers and the pastry, your favorite treats carefully chosen just for you, and felt a smile spread across your face.

“I’d love that, Spencer,” you replied, your voice filled with warmth.

Spencer’s smile widened, relief and happiness evident on his face. “Really?”

“Really,” you assured him, your heart fluttering with anticipation. “And thank you for the flowers—and the pastry. You really didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to,” Spencer said softly. “You’re worth it.”

Your smile grew even brighter, and you couldn’t help the way your heart swelled at his words. “Well, in that case, I guess I’m going to have to say yes.”

Spencer’s face lit up with joy and relief, and he let out a breath he was holding. “Great,” he said, his voice full of quiet excitement. “How about dinner tonight?”

“That sounds perfect,” you replied, feeling like the luckiest person in the world.

As Spencer walked away to return to his desk, a spring in his step, you couldn’t help but glance down at the flowers and the pastry. The weekend’s awkwardness seemed like a distant memory now, replaced by the sweet possibility of something new and delicious.

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

tag list <333 @spencerreidsreads @sapph1re @idefktbh17 @dirtytissuebox @yokaimoon @reggieswriter @loumouse @mentallyunwellsposts @time-himself @chaneladdicted @kathrynlakestone @furrybouquettrash @hearts4spensco @gilwm @khxna @charismatic-writer @lilu842 @greatoperawombategg

[gutterfuuck]

Can I request a mark drabble w/ breeding kink 👉👈 I'd love either bff mark or sinister mark but if you go the sinister route can I be a bit of a coward and ask that he be a little. Softer. Maybe specifically for the reader bc I am a little pansy and I get unrealistically offended when I'm condescended or treated like property, and while it would be hot if this man talked down to me I would also be inclined to punch him in the baby maker and then we'd all suffer bc no smut would ensue 😭

Sorry, I just dumped a bit of unwarranted baggage on u there but you come off as really sweet in all your posts so I hope it didn't bother you too much! Thank you for all of your posts btw your writing is delicious! Also your English is very good, you have a great grasp of the language and I respect and appreciate all the effort you must put into making all of your writing so articulate. English especially is said to be very hard to learn so I immensely respect the effort that goes into it, regardless of any/how much help you require/accept to do so. Manifesting a mild inconvenience to that anon a while back who accused you of faking for some reason I hope they step on a wet kitchen tile while wearing socks or something and rethink how they choose to speak to people online. 😊♡

hello anon!! thank you so much for your considerations, maybe it is because i am emotional since i get very choked up when it is birthday season but this had made me cry happy tears 😭😭 also, i agree!! if anyone was to talk to me like i am disposable in real life, i think that i would break down and disintegrate haha!! it is not cowardly to ask for things, do not be swayed!! baggage is never unwanted here, i am the baggage 😂!! i will do the upmost of my best ability, as i have been waiting to write for s!mark again 🤭🤭 also, i do agree people should be more mindful about what they say to others! you never know what anyone is going through, just because you can hide behind a screen mask doesn’t mean you should or can be mean to people!! i do not judge those who do though, they will learn as months and years pass, people do learn and change!!

cw: mdni, smut, breeding kink, just a little drable to warm up my fingers hehe!! minor injury, reader patches him up

you could hear your husband come crashing through the juliet balcony of your bedroom, bumping into the bed and waking you up fully. you bolted up, scanning the darkness of the room and staring at the silhouette of your lover, crouched over in the shadows. “mark?” you peep, eyes still adjusting as you clicked on the bedside lamp, your eyes instantly closing when the brightness took you by surprise.

he looks back at you, pulling his mask with its flimsy broken black goggles off of his face and discarding it to the floor with a heavy sigh. mark always found it so cute how you’d gasp with your hands flying to cover your mouth when he returned with an injury, your worried eyes looking him over as you jump out from under the covers, hands flying up to cover his cheeks and observe his cut nose bridge, one of his eyes squinted due to the budding bruise on his upper cheekbone, “gonna nurse me back to health, baby?” he asks, smiling down at you and placing a kiss to your forehead. he listens to you lecture him about being careful when visiting other planets, rolling his eyes like he’d really just die like that. you knew he was tough, but it didn’t hurt to be concerned.

he sits on the side of the bathtub in the bathroom, tilting his face to the side so you could rub his injuries down with antiseptic solution, mumbling something about how he was still half human so he still had to be a little careful. he didn’t know how many times he’d had to tell you that even though he was still half human everything else was 100% brutal alien. each time he told you, you ignored it. maybe you liked patching him up, placing cute bandages on his face to stop his bleeding. he was hardly injured but he’d be damned if he didn’t let his cute little wife dote on him like this, the sleeves of your fluffy gown he’d bought home for you rolled up your arms as you fiddle with the first aid kit.

“y’know what’d me me feel better?” mark says, taking your hands into his. god, he could just crush you right now, you were so adorable. you hum in response, intertwining your fingers with his as he brings them to his lips, trailing kisses up your arm and pulling you closer, inching towards you slowly. your mouth hangs open with a breathless silent mewl as his lips stop just by your jawline, finding it hard to hold himself back from nipping your skin and marking you up. you nod at his earlier question which draws a chuckle from him, hands moving down to grip your hips and pull you onto his lap, “let’s go to bed, then.”

you’ve got your face in the crook of his neck, holding onto his back as he pistoned his hips in and out of your tight heat, never being shameful of your moans. music to his ears, he thought, letting you cry out so desperately into the night. if you had neighbours you’re sure they’d complain. he groaned when he felt you clench around him, muscled thighs stuttering for a moment as you suffocated his cock within your walls. “oh, babygirl-“ he tilts his head back, holding you firmly as your legs wrap around his waist, practically bouncing you up and down on his dick himself, “m-mark..-!” you squeal, voice raspy and throat dry when you feel him buck up into your g-spot, weeping head poking at it repeatedly, trying to pull your orgasm out of you. you whine loudly, holding onto him like you’d fall apart if you let go.

“shhh, s’okay, hold onto me like that, there we go.” mark comforts you, such a strange comparison from when he’s out causing mayhem to now. if those who opposed him were to see him right now, they’d think he’d be a different person. he was so soft with you, treated you like you were made of porcelain and you loved it. you were glad that you’d somehow tamed him in a way, molded him into your perfect husband as he made you into his perfect wife. domestic bliss.

you stifle your noises with his shoulder, softly biting on it as he snapped his hips up into yours vigorously, his own orgasm approaching hard and fast. you could feel the way his cock throbbed inside of you, the way he slowed his hips a little before trying to keep up his pace. “so tight, always so perfect n’ tight f’me, aren’t you?” you nod brainlessly into his shoulder and he coos at you, eyebrows furrowed together as he gasps lightly.

“i’m gonna cum, princess.” he says breathlessly, humping against you for his own orgasm, “inside…” you whisper to him and he almost loses it right there, almost falls over when he thinks about the implications it might have. “inside? yeah-fuck, gonna let me cum inside, just for me?” mark pants, pussydrunk figure caging you in under him as he chases his orgasm, “gimme a kid… f-fuck, gimme a baby, wanna make you a mama… g’na look so perfect— fuh-uck..!” he babbles, vision blanking as he cums inside of you, wave after wave of his warm seed spilling into your cunt, seeping into your womb. he canted his hips a few more times, almost fucking himself into overstimulation as he continued talking, “..gonna give me a mini me, huh? complete our little family?” he asks as you nod in agreement, too fucked out to even process what he’d said to you just now.

[jamminvroomvroom]

in the middle of nowhere.

ln x fem!reader

in which you get the wrong idea in the middle of nowhere, so lando finally pops the question.

hello again! two fics in three days, unhinged jas is back 🤭 right so anyways, here you go! i love this concept so much and i hope you do too, lemme know what you think!

this can absolutely count as part two to everything if you want it to!

songs to set the mood: green eyes::siena by nothing but thieves, fearless by taylor swift, white ferrari by frank ocean, to love by suki waterhouse

warnings: 18+ minors dni! smut, angst for a sec, fluff, bit of choking, reader being stupid, lando also being stupid, then being so sickeningly in love, car sex hehe

2.1k words

the proposal

lando could see it now, the picture clear in his mind. the lines of your dress, clean and white. a veil that flowed, lacy and intricate. your eyes meeting his as you ascended towards him, ready to be bound together in life and love by two silver bands.

all you had to do was say yes. all he had to do was ask.

it was simple enough, getting down on one knee, bowing down before the woman he cherished with everything he had. the planning, however, that went into asking the question was eating him alive.

lando thought that he’d nailed it, finally landing on that one big idea that you’d remember for the rest of your lives. the perfect moment where he’d pledge to be yours forever.

little did he know that while the preparation was killing him slowly, it was also killing you.

-

the car ride was quiet.

lando tried to remain neutral, hiding his nerves and excitement. today was the day, you were en route to a small vineyard in the south of france. the drive from your monaco apartment wasn’t too far, but it was long enough for the pair of you to slip into silence. lando perceived it to be comfortable, glancing at you every now and then, noticing how you were taking in the countryside.

he tried not to concern himself over the way you were fiddling with your hair, chewing at your fingernails. you didn’t seem to notice the way he was watching you, eyes flirting between where you sat and the road ahead. he was more concerned by the dark cloud gathering ahead, but found some hope in the way the sunlight broke through, casting beams of light every which way.

the road was dead, not another car for miles. lando felt like you were the only two people in the world, manoeuvring the vintage lamborghini through the winding lanes, the overhanging trees casting curious shadows. it felt like a fairytale, until, of course, it didn’t.

“do you still love me, lando?” you choked out, finally turning to look at him.

lando slammed the brakes, hard. the way they screeched in protest told him that he’d be dropping a large sum into his mechanics bank account, but he couldn’t find an ounce of care, not when the woman he adored was asking such gut wrenching questions.

“what?” lando spat, delirious with confusion. his eyes were wide, wild with fear. “i- what?” he repeated himself, heart beating dangerously fast, and not in the usual way it did when you spoke.

“you just… are you breaking up with me?” your eyes were brimming with tears, lip quivering ever so slightly, but you stayed strong.

“are you serious?” lando was bewildered. “why would you think that?” he was wracking his brain for anything he’d done wrong.

“you’ve been so distant, at first i thought- well i don’t know what i thought, i just feel like you’re slipping away from me.” you sounded like the shell of your usual self, distraught in the face of it all ending. lando was too.

“baby, i’m so sorry. you’ve got it all wrong, i promise.” lando turned in his seat towards you, quickly checking his mirror as he did, safety first. he grabbed your hands, eyes meeting yours as he tried to convey reassurance.

“why have you been like this, then? have i done something wrong?” and so the troubleshooting began.

lando clenched his teeth, wondering how on earth he could explain his way out of this one without completely letting the cat out of the bag. it seemed that while he was planning perfection, he’d been neglecting you and he felt painfully stupid.

“i can’t… well, i can’t say.” lando replied, voice laced with hesitation. you frowned at his lack of explanation, head tilted in confusion.

“you can’t say? well that’s reassuring.” you bit back sarcastically. “if you don’t want me anymore, i’d rather you just tell me now.”

lando couldn’t believe what he was hearing. three years. three years you’d been together, and he was sure he’d loved you even longer. he was shocked that you thought that low of him, that he’d treat you so poorly, stringing you along. he could admit to himself that he’d made a bit of a mess of this, but he couldn’t accept that you thought he didn’t love you.

lando lived and breathed you.

“are you serious? you think i don’t want you?” his mind was moving a million miles an hour, and it spurred him on to make his next move. “get out the car.”

lando swung his door open, bounding round the door to open your door. there was a little velvet box burning a hole in his pocket, and he could feel it getting hotter with every stride he took. you stared at him dumbfounded when he took your hand, pulling you out of the car and into the road. you glanced around nervously, making sure you weren’t about to cause a car crash, but the coast was clear.

he pulled you into his chest, holding you close, eyes fixed on yours, his own a little teary now.

“you think i don’t want you? god.” lando sighed, shaking his head. one of his hands snaked down to his pocket. “you are the only person i will ever want. i didn’t want to do this here, had a whole plan and everything, but that means nothing to me if the woman i love thinks i don’t want her.”

his little speech had knocked the air out of you, and as he sunk down onto one knee, the colours of the sun hitting him so beautifully, you realised just how wrong you had been.

“baby, from the moment i met you, i knew. i knew you were gonna be my person, i just didn’t even imagine that you’d feel the same way. these years with you have been the best fucking years of my life, and i knew from the beginning that i wanted you by my side through it all.”

he was grinning up at you, a ball of nerves and curls, a few tears falling. you were a river, weeping over him, one hand clutching over your heart, the other fallen to your side.

“maybe i got it wrong, and i’m sorry. i’m so, so sorry. but i’m asking what i’ve wanted to ask for a ridiculously long time.” lando breathed. “will you marry me?”

you blinked, once, twice, choking out breaths between sobs. you dragged him up from the ground, kissing him with everything you had left. it was passionate, heavy with pent up emotion, and you never wanted to let him go. you cupped his face, keeping you together when you broke apart.

“yes, lando.” you whispered. “of course.” he slipped the ring onto your finger, a perfect, effortless fit, and then you were kissing him again, as close as could be, his hands all over you.

that’s when you felt the first drops of rain, the clouds finally breaking, just as they’d been threatening to all day.

“oh, fuck.” lando muttered, ready to pull you back to the car, but you wanted this moment to last.

“it doesn’t matter.” you said, letting the droplets coat your flushed skin. lando just smiled, relief washing over him like the rain.

you were engaged. fuck the rain.

and so, there you were, getting your very own movie moment, kissing in the rain with the love of your life, your fiancé, the man you would spend the rest of your life with. the sun still broke through the clouds, bathing you in light as the rain splattered against the damp ground. the leaves of the trees seemed to glisten, water droplets casting twinkles like fairy lights all around you. somehow, after everything, it was perfect. more perfect that anything you could have asked for, and, as bittersweet as it was to admit it, better than anything lando could have planned.

you threw your head back, staring up at the sky. lando leant forward, kissing over your exposed neck, and you hummed in delight. his lips worked their way up until they were ghosting over the shell of your ear.

“i love you. i will always love you.” lando whispered, and you melted into his hands that had a firm grip on your waist.

you shared a look, every worry dissipated, and you saw your life together, right there in his eyes. a flower littered aisle, him in a sleek black suit, his eyes meeting yours from the other side of the room. and then he was kissing you again and you felt the cool, damp metal of his car against your skin. your mind was full of houses in the country, white bedsheets, children playing in a garden. dinners by a fireplace and maybe a dog. but everything you saw slipped away until the only thing that remained was lando, right here, right now.

he was all over you, wet curls trickling cold water over you, sending a shiver down your spine. you grabbed at his shoulders, pulling at his soaked shirt, the white material translucent from the weather. it clung to him deliciously as you ran your hands over the linen.

“get in the car.” he groaned, sliding the material of your skirt up your legs. you complied instantly, turning to climb into your seat, when he stopped you. “no, honey. on my lap.” he smiled mischievously as he slid into the passenger seat and you quickly followed clambering onto his lap.

lando pulled your left hand up, so that it was resting over his heart. you finally had a chance to properly take in the ring, breathtaking as it was. it was an emerald cut diamond, simple yet elegant, exactly what you’d always envisioned.

“you see that? every time you look at this ring i want you to remember that i will always be yours. okay?” his voice had dropped, making the moment you were in even more intimate.

“okay.” you whispered, and his hand trailed lower, slipping under the hem of your ridden up dress. the other went to your neck, fingers gripping softly at the base of your throat.

“you thought i didn’t want you?” his grip tightened, your eyes wide in awe, fixed on his, murky blue green waters turned dark. “silly girl.” and then his other hand found your underwear, tugging it to the side.

lando moaned when he felt how wet you were, dripping all over his fingers, nice and ready for him. he worked through your folds, applying a firm, slow pressure to your clit. your mouth hung open, eyes fluttering shut from the pleasure, but the way his hand closed around your neck had you staring back at him again.

“i need you.” you whimpered, your own smaller hands gripping at his wrist, pushing him further into your delicate neck, rolling your hips against where his hand worked against your soft flesh.

“don’t doubt me anymore, do you? not when i’m the only one who can make you feel like this?” lando teased, and your stomach tightened, clamping down on the two fingers he’d slipped inside you.

“no,” you whined. “only you, lando.” and that was enough convincing for him.

he held you up, just enough to free himself from his jeans and boxers, and you gripped his shoulders, clawing at him as you sunk down on his length. the rain fell harder, condensation gathering on the windows as you ground down on him, meeting his thrusts. tears pricked your eyes; he felt so good, fit you like a missing puzzle piece, and you’d doubted him. you knew, in that moment, that you’d never do such a thing again.

moans were shared between you in unison, your foreheads pressed together as you both got closer and closer, the tight space intensifying the desperation to meet your end. his hands were firm on your hips, his body tight underneath your hands. you couldn’t keep the pace, thighs aching where you were straddling him, and he quickly took charge. your head fell to his shoulder, panting into his ear as he gave you everything, putting everything he had into the final few thrusts.

you laid against his chest in silence after, the sunset casting pinks and purples over the car. you grinned lazily, exhausted, your heart fuller than ever before.

“i’m sorry i doubted you.” you mumbled into his neck, nosing at his stubbled jaw.

“i’m sorry i made you doubt me.” he responded, stroking your hair, squeezing you tighter for a second.

“i can’t wait to marry you, lando.” you kissed his jaw, sitting up to smile at him. your hands looped around his neck, twisting his curls around your fingers.

“my wife.” lando chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. “let’s get you home, hm?”

“please.” you crooned. “i’m sure you need to tell max that you finally asked me, huh?”

“you know me too well.”

-

taglist

removed tags that weren’t working! lemme know if you wanna be added or removed

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[himasgod]

Kinich x sh Reader

Where he sees the scars on your wrists

Where you two were relaxing by a campfire, and he sees your scars on your wrists and forearms again, as your sleeves accidentally rode up. Even though he knew everything you went through a long time ago, he never dared to talk about your sh scars and just stared at them. Until today, you faced him, and he dared to talk about them.

(A bit lazy writing maybe? I’m already writing a sh request with Scaramouche, Kinich, Lyney and Heizou that I’ll publish soon, where each one is going to be much longer and more complicated, but I wanted to write this, so it came up a bit short and lazy hehe. Anyways, the same warning I put in these kind of one shots. You are not alone, if you need help or want to talk about something, write me without fear. If you feel identified, the first thing is to be okay in the present. If it was a thing of the past, don’t worry, the scars will heal <3)

The flickering light of the campfire cast long shadows in the dense Natlan.

Kinich sat across from you, sharpening his claymore. Ajaw was so tired that he simply rested on the ground at Kinich’s feet, oblivious to everything. The rhythmic sound of stone against metal was almost comforting, a constant contrast to the chaos of sounds in your head. His golden and green eyes would lift up from time to time, catching your gaze fixed on your hands.

You sat cross-legged, your arms pressed against your chest as if trying to protect yourself from the weight of the world.

The sleeves of your robe had slipped slightly, revealing the scars that marked your wrists and forearms.

It wasn’t the first time he had noticed them.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you muttered, tugging at your sleeves hastily.

“How so?” His voice was calm, but there was a tension in it, a control.

“As if you pity me.”

He set the claymore aside and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I don’t pity you.”

You snorted, your voice thick with self-loathing.

“So what is it? Curiosity? Disgust?”

The air grew heavier, laden with unspoken words. Kinich didn’t flinch at your accusations. Instead, he tilted his head, his sharp features softening.

“Neither. I’m trying to understand how you survived something like that.”

The honesty in his words made a lump form in your throat.

“You don’t understand,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “It wasn’t about surviving. Back then… I didn’t want to... I didn't”

Kinich’s expression darkened, not with anger, but with a deep sadness that mirrored yours. He stepped closer, his calloused hands seeking yours. You tensed, but didn’t pull away as his fingers carefully pushed your sleeves up, exposing the scars you’d tried so hard to hide.

“This,” he said quietly, his tone firm despite the storm in his eyes, “is not signs of weakness. It’s proof that you fought battles most can’t even imagine. You’re here now. You won.”

Tears began to pool in the corners of your eyes.

"I didn’t win. I just… survived.”

“That’s enough,” he replied firmly. “You’re still here and that matters. To me, it matters.”

His grip on your hands tightened, anchoring you.

“You’re stronger than you think, and if anyone ever makes you feel like you’re not…” He paused, and a flash of the firelight illuminated the curve of his lopsided smile. “I’ll make sure they’re sorry.”

A small laugh escaped your lips, but you were still crying a little.

“You’re too much, Kinich.”

“And you’re not enough for yourself,” he replied without hesitation.

“So let me be here for you until you see how I see you.”

His words settled deep within your chest,

spreading warmth where there had only been cold before.

[ne-videl]

𝓾𝓷𝓮𝓺𝓾𝓪𝓵 𝓶𝓪𝓻𝓻𝓲𝓪𝓰𝓮

♡

yandere Poseidon x fem reader

hide your tears and smile, little goddess.

yandere, unhealthy relationships, objectification, angst, power imbalance, depressed reader, forced marriage, poor english, sfw. first half – Poseidon's pov, then yours.

word count: ~1.5k

a/n: hii everyone!! how have you been? I have no ideas. like, absolutely. art block I guess?? anyway, have some of my old stuff. this is my least favorite yandere trope, but I love angst, so sometimes I go for it. by the way, when I first started it, I wanted to write a super idolized fluff but... well, we have what we have, or "why you don't want to marry Poseidon". hehe big booba man hehehe

the endless ocean is noisy outside the huge windows.

today, the sea sings a memorial service for you.

two people at the altar – the god and his bride.

Poseidon wants to smile rapaciously at her shaking figure.

she's afraid, poor thing. who wouldn't be afraid? he is, after all, the god of all gods, known for his cruel and merciless temper, the lord of the seas.

and she will become his lady very soon.

[name].

her name spreads like ambrosia across his lips.

even her name is so ordinary, so human, as, indeed, everything else about his charming wife.

she was a priestess in Poseidon's temple: in his own, so there's nothing wrong in taking what was already his. he noticed her by accident.

[name] was sitting hunched over, touching some bright flowers with her bruised palms. he liked to visit this temple sometimes: it was quiet and peaceful in the atrium, noisy humans did not flicker before his eyes.

little human girl did not even flinch when he silently stood next to her, only continued to look with big and very sad eyes at the colorful flower bed.

at their second meeting, she greeted him.

at the third time, she dared to start an idle conversation.

the fourth, and she talked about life in the temple.

at the fifth time she asked why he was coming here.

Poseidon always stood silently next to her, looming over her like a suffocating shadow. he was amused by her chattering, and, unexpectedly for himself, found her presence soothing, pleasant, unlike other humans, the mere sight of whom made the eye of the deity twitch.

life was bad for her in the temple.

[name] told him, she was sent to this place when she was still a girl, and she spent her whole life by the cold blue sea.

new head of the temple did not like her, saying that there was nothing for women to do here. that she should get married, but who needs her?

Poseidon saw the marks of beatings on her girlish body.

so he took her with him. she served in temple made in his name, spent her short life at his domain – it is quite natural that she will become his wife.

of course, it is unheard of that god marries a human – but does he really need someone's approval?

ʚ♡⃛ɞ ______

Hades advised to propose to her. it's the way humans do it.

Poseidon did not ask for her consent, for him it was just a formality: of course she would say yes, he was sure.

he will dress her in the finest silks, she will own the most beautiful jewels on all Olympus, the sea itself would be at her feet – how could a human girl want more?

smile spreads across his face as he sees her eyes widen, as she begins to shake – no doubt, from embarrassment – and his palm rests protectively on top of her head.

of course she agreed, how could it be any other way?

his fiancee is incredibly sweet. but weak and naive at the same time, like the rest of the human race. but he will protect her, give her a better life.

she must be very grateful to him.

ʚ♡⃛ɞ ______

Poseidon remembers their wedding well, how [name] looked in amazement at the beauty of Atlantis, at the greatness of his seas.

in white robes, with downcast eyes, she swore an oath binding her life forever to a cruel deity, accompanied by singing of nymphs and the sound of the ocean.

she was now a goddess herself, whether she wanted to or not. of course, she wanted to, it couldn't be any other way. she loves him.

and, as the new lady of the seas, she will spend her now eternal life by his side. Poseidon will make sure of this no matter what.

she fearfully puts her small palm into his, while he, her husband, leads her through the corridors of the palace. [name] is silent. probably still embarrassed.

from now on, she will be the most beautiful ornament of his possessions, the shining pearl of Atlantis – his precious property, belonging only to him. and the sparkling ring on her tiny finger was proof.

ʚ♡⃛ɞ ______

"wife." – [name] immediately turns around, smiles, comes closer.

his hand rests on her waist, his grip firm, possessively strong. she doesn't notice.

or pretends not to notice.

over time, [name] got used to him, cheered up, blossomed. it couldn't have been any other way, right?

songs, dances appeared, bright flowers and ringing laughter in the cold and empty corridors.

she became friends with his brothers, was able to conquer the proud Aphrodite, whom she now called her friend with visible joy.

Poseidon is pleased to consider himself a good husband.

he loves to see his wife smiling, laughing.

even if it's not just with him. it's better to be patient for a while, he thinks, than to lose her cheerful chatting for the whole evening.

though, she's cute even when she's angry.

Poseidon was gentle with her. allowed her much, much more than others, even spoiled her. [name] was his wife, after all, so he had to make sure she looked good enough.

he's a good husband.

[name] never contradicted him, never raised her adorable voice at him, never was not too selfish.

although deep down, he would like her to become more spoiled. so that, like him, she would not tolerate anyone's presence, except, of course, her husband.

to think of it, why would she need anyone besides him? she can be quite happy within the walls of the palace.

Poseidon dismissed these thoughts from himself – for some reason, his wife liked to be in society, even if without him.

well, he's willing to put up with her quirks as long as she knows who should come first for her.

ʚ♡⃛ɞ ______

the outfit given by Aphrodite was very becoming to his spouse. Poseidon loved to see her beautiful.

in luxurious clothes, undoubtedly worthy of the wife of a sea god, or in the warm candlelight in the night darkness of their shared bedroom, happy or shedding tears, [name] was equally beautiful.

the precious treasure of Atlantis.

he was never moved by her tears – even if she was crying, of course she loved him anyway. [name] is happy. so why make a big deal about it?

none of the pathetic mortals could take care of her like he did. none of them would love her the way he does.

"you are my wife. you're not going anywhere."

ʚ♡⃛ɞ ______

you didn't tell anyone about your sorrow: didn't share it with anyone – neither with Aphrodite, nor with the nymphs and mermaids, your husband's brothers remained in the dark too.

a little human girl shedding tears by the huge waves.

an unhappy goddess, forever imprisoned in an cold palace, surrounded by hypocritical deities, in the iron grip of an unloved husband, eaten alive by sadness and suffocating hopelessness of her position.

none of them saw you as an equal: you were only a curious little thing, a way to dispel eternal divine boredom, and the Olympians, of course, did not bother to hide this fact.

you didn't know what your husband found in you, and you didn't want to. sometimes you wished that back then, many, many years ago, he would have left you in that temple, or that you would run from the garden in terror, or anything. anything.

ʚ♡⃛ɞ ______

you knew your place well.

by his side, always, no matter what. from the very day when you stood at the altar and did not dare to raise your eyes to your fiance, you were no longer anything human.

from that moment, you became an ornament, a property, a beautiful doll. nothing more.

Poseidon wanted to see you happy – and you smiled, laughed, you did everything that you thought he would like.

are you satisfied? please tell me you're happy. I'm scared.

scared.

your husband allowed you the freedom he thought his property could have, and you greedily soaked up every drop of it.

you're lucky, you told yourself, you're very, very lucky. It could have been worse. any other girl would give her soul to be in your place, – repeated, looking at your own reflection in the cold glitter of jewelry.

you must be like it yourself. a thing. a thing, of course, must have an owner, and a thing cannot be sad.

Poseidon's cold hand rests on your waist, pulls you into his arms, and you do not allow yourself to resist: you exhale into his neck, placing your small palms on his broad back.

your spouse is purring contentedly.

he's happy. you can relax a little.

ʚ♡⃛ɞ ______

sea nymphs comb your hair, weave pearls into thin braids, fold strands into an intricate hairstyle.

"what's bothering you, madam?" – the lady of the seas does not bother to answer, your dead calm gaze wanders over the high ceilings, walls and huge windows of your chambers.

a common topic of idle conversation among the Olympians was Poseidon's boundless adoration for his charming wife. cruel god who fell in love with a mere mortal – what a beautiful story.

even the ocean itself seemed to dote on you. whenever the warm waves caressed your feet on the coast, your dried-up insides were filled with melancholy. your body was here, in Atlantis, which became a prison for you, and your soul, which remained to pain in your chest human, floated far away. your tired mind wandered, and you are a little girl again, and once again the bright sun warms your childishly plump cheeks, and in your hands are colorful flowers, and the kind grandpa from the temple strokes your head.

Poseidon will be coming for you soon – as always.

as always, you will talk about something, laugh, sitting on his lap in the throne room. or in one of the living rooms, or in the bedroom – you were not allowed to leave him without permission.

you flinched when you felt his strong hand on your shoulder.

Poseidon smirked.

his wife is not going anywhere. she will stay with him.

forever.

not the best one of my works but uh well I felt like posting something

maaybe will be deleted since it doesn't look as good as I thought it would be in english

btw thinking about writing tartaglia fic soo the next one is probably gonna be genshin man again

thanks for reading!!

[s0ulryo]

Boyfriend Alastor Headcanons .♡ ⋆·˚.

[Alastor x Reader] Synopsis: Oddly specific (but also vague) boyfriend Alastor headcanons.  Tags: Soft, established relationship, typical violence  Notes: Probably ooc, not proofread, lowercase intended, feeding the void, i hope u enjoy hehe

(Reader is always gn unless specified otherwise.)

BOYFRIEND ALASTOR, who loves to be a pain in your ass—constantly saying that he won’t do the chores you asked him to do—but ends up doing everything you asked and everything you were supposed to do. 

BOYFRIEND ALASTOR, who will send out his shadow to mess with you when you guys are apart.

BOYFRIEND ALASTOR, who will attempt to bite you every chance he gets, forgive him; you just look so tasty!

BOYFRIEND ALASTOR, who uses your shampoo, conditioner, and body wash when (if) he takes a shower—he likes how you smell and can’t be bothered to buy his own.

BOYFRIEND ALASTOR, who loves to cook for you! he often cooks meals that his mother taught him to make; he also enjoys it when you add your spin to those recipes. 

BOYFRIEND ALASTOR, who takes all your things and hides them; there is no reason, sometimes he feels a bit silly. 

BOYFRIEND ALASTOR, who often asks you to dance with him. he likes spinning himself and spinning you till you’re dizzy. 

BOYFRIEND ALASTOR, who will attack anyone who disrespects you with no hesitation—they’re basically disrespecting him when they disrespect you. 

BOYFRIEND ALASTOR, who likes to cut you off, speaking or waiting in line, doesn’t matter to him; he really just wants to test your patience. 

BOYFRIEND ALASTOR, who head bumps you when he doesn’t know what to say. 

BOYFRIEND ALASTOR, who likes wearing your things that are easily concealable; jewelry, socks, nail polish even—it reminds him of you, usually smells like you, and it’s probably cleaner than his stuff. 

BOYFRIEND ALASTOR, who will sneak up behind you every chance he gets. 

BOYFRIEND ALASTOR, who likes staring at you; he’ll try to do it when you’re not paying attention to avoid having to talk about it. 

BOYFRIEND ALASTOR, who really does care for you; believe him, he’s trying his best to show his affection.