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fr0stf4ll · 10 days

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A proper girls’ night

paring; Azriel x reader

summary; You and Azriel have been mates for some time now, and between managing the males, training, missions, raising a child, and fulfilling duties as High Lady, you haven’t had the chance to enjoy a proper girls' night with your closest friends. But tonight is supposed to be all about you and the girls—or is it? ;)

word count ; 7.2k

warning; SMUT ;p, alcohol, drunk sex

notes; Yoo everyone, here I am again for a one shot. I'm not the best for smut so I hope that you will enjoy it. I got the idea of this story after a small party with some of my best friends so I hope that you will like it ! With love <3333

---

I was lounging on my plush couch, admiring the final touches I’d added to make this apartment truly feel like home. The floor-to-ceiling windows offered a breathtaking view of the Sidra, and soft, warm lights created a comforting ambiance. This place was everything I’d hoped for—a fresh start, a new chapter.

I had just finished arranging the last decorative pillow when a knock echoed through the apartment. I grinned, already knowing who it was.

“Come in!” I called out.

The door swung open to reveal Feyre, Nesta, and Mor. Feyre carried not just one, but two bottles of wine, Nesta had a stack of board games tucked under her arm, and Mor, of course, arrived with an enormous grin and—was that three bottles of spirits?

“Are we throwing a party, or did I miss something?” I laughed, taking in the sheer amount of alcohol they had brought with them.

Mor dropped the bottles on the counter with a flourish. “What? It’s not every day we christen a new apartment, Y/N! We needed to make sure we had enough… well, more than enough.”

Nesta smirked, adding, “You know how things go with us. We start with wine, then move on to something stronger. And just in case, I thought we’d better bring a little extra.”

“A little extra?” I echoed, raising an eyebrow as I counted the bottles. “This looks like enough to keep us going for a week.”

Feyre chuckled, setting the wine down. “Consider it insurance. We’re not leaving until we’ve had a proper girls’ night.”

Mor waved a hand dismissively. “No boys, no responsibilities, and a whole lot of alcohol. That’s what tonight is about. We’re here to have fun, relax, and forget about everything else.”

I couldn’t help but laugh as I started pulling out glasses. “Well, if that’s the case, then let’s get started.”

The girls settled in, each finding a spot on the couch or one of the oversized chairs. Mor was already opening one of the wine bottles, filling up our glasses generously.

“We’ve spent too many nights at Rita’s,” Nesta said, her tone teasing but sincere. “It’s nice to just relax here for a change.”

Feyre nodded in agreement, raising her glass. “Especially with the company. I could get used to this.”

Mor clinked her glass against Feyre’s. “Here’s to our host, for letting us invade her beautiful new home. And for not skimping on the drinks.”

“I didn’t realize I had a choice,” I teased, holding up my glass before taking a sip. The wine was rich and full-bodied, the perfect start to what promised to be a wild night.

“Tonight is all about us,” Mor declared, her eyes sparkling with excitement as she leaned back in her seat. “No boys, no distractions, just us girls and more alcohol than we know what to do with.”

“Agreed,” Nesta said, holding up one of the board games. “Let’s start with something easy. Then we can see where the night takes us.”

The night was still young, and the four of us had already settled comfortably into my new apartment. The alcohol was flowing freely—perhaps a bit too freely—and the conversation had naturally turned to gossip. It was inevitable when we got together, especially after a few glasses of wine.

We were sprawled out on the couch and chairs, each of us with a drink in hand. The warmth from the alcohol had already loosened our tongues, and the atmosphere was buzzing with the excitement of shared secrets.

Mor, never one to hold back, was the first to dive in. “Alright, ladies, I’ve got some tea. And I’m not talking about that herbal nonsense.” She leaned in, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “Did you hear about the sparring match Cassian had the other day with Devlon?”

That got everyone’s attention. “No,” Nesta said, her eyes narrowing. “What happened?”

Mor grinned, clearly enjoying the anticipation. “So, apparently, Devlon thought it would be a good idea to challenge Cassian in front of all the Illyrians—like, really make a show of it. Cassian, being Cassian, accepted, but he didn’t just beat him. He absolutely humiliated him. We’re talking flat on his back, wings pinned, can’t even move. And to top it all off, Cassian just stood up, dusted himself off, and said, ‘Next time, try harder.’”

Nesta snorted, trying to hide her amusement. “Serves him right. Devlon’s been asking for it.”

Feyre nodded, her eyes wide with delight. “I wish I could have seen that.”

“Oh, but it gets better,” Mor continued, her grin widening. “Devlon’s been walking around the camp like a wounded animal ever since. The other Illyrians are having a field day with it. They’ve even started calling him ‘the Fallen Commander’ behind his back.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Cassian really knows how to make an impression.”

“Not as much of an impression as Rhys made when he was caught singing in the bath the other day,” Mor added, her tone dripping with amusement.

Feyre blinked, caught off guard. “Wait, what?”

“Oh, yeah,” Mor said, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “I happened to be passing by when I heard it. He was belting out some old Prythian ballad—badly, might I add—and I swear, for a second, I thought a cat was dying.”

Nesta burst out laughing. “Please tell me you have some sort of recording.”

“I wish!” Mor exclaimed, throwing her hands up. “But trust me, the image is seared into my memory forever. The High Lord of the Night Court, all serious and stoic by day, and an absolute disaster in the bathroom.”

Feyre groaned, but there was a hint of a smile on her lips. “I’m never letting him live that down.”

“And then there’s Azriel,” Mor said, shifting her attention to me with a wicked grin. “I’m surprised he hasn’t broken anything with those late-night visits to your place.”

I blushed instantly, caught off guard. “What? What are you talking about?”

“Oh, come on, Y/N,” Mor teased, her eyes glinting with amusement. “We all know that shadowy lover of yours can’t keep his hands off you. I mean, with the way you’ve been glowing lately, it’s not hard to figure out why.”

“Azriel doesn’t talk much,” Nesta added, smirking, “but I bet he more than makes up for it in other areas.”

Feyre was giggling, clearly enjoying my discomfort. “Spill, Y/N! We need to know—does he really keep the shadows around, or does he prefer a more hands-on approach?”

My face was burning by now, but the alcohol had loosened my tongue enough that I couldn’t help but join in. “Let’s just say, the shadows aren’t the only thing that’s always… active.”

That sent Mor into peals of laughter, nearly spilling her drink as she doubled over. “Oh, I knew it! Azriel’s got that dark, broody exterior, but underneath… he’s a beast, isn’t he?”

I could only laugh in response, covering my face with my hands. “I’m not saying anything else!”

“Come on,” Nesta urged, leaning in. “We won’t tell a soul. Just a little more.”

I peeked out from behind my hands, giving them a sly grin. “Let’s just say, he’s very… thorough.”

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Mor cheered, holding her glass up for a toast. “To thorough lovers and late-night visits that leave you glowing!”

We all clinked our glasses together, the laughter bubbling up again. The night was filled with stories that grew more outrageous with each passing drink. Feyre even confessed to sneaking up on Rhys one morning with a bucket of cold water, just to get back at him for something he’d done weeks earlier.

“I’ll never forget the look on his face,” she giggled, eyes bright with mischief. “He didn’t speak to me for half the day—until he figured out how to get me back.”

“Did he manage to one-up you?” I asked, curious.

“Oh, he tried,” Feyre replied, a smirk playing on her lips. “But he should have known better than to start a prank war with me. I’m still two steps ahead.”

“You two are impossible,” Mor said, shaking her head but unable to hide her amusement. “But what about Cassian? Does he know about all of this?”

“Cassian,” Nesta said, still grinning, “is too busy preening in front of the mirror these days. He’s been obsessed with perfecting his ‘battle-ready’ look. You wouldn’t believe how much time he spends adjusting his armor to make sure it’s just the right amount of ‘ruggedly handsome.’”

Feyre rolled her eyes, but there was a fondness in her voice. “Typical. He’s worse than a peacock.”

“Speaking of peacocks,” Mor added, leaning in again, “I heard that Tarquin’s been parading around the Summer Court with his shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest. Apparently, he thinks it makes him look ‘mysterious and approachable.’”

Feyre snorted. “More like ridiculous.”

As the conversation began to wind down, Mor suddenly jumped to her feet, a wild look in her eyes. “Alright, ladies,” she declared, “enough sitting around. It’s time to take this party up a notch.”

The night had taken a turn, a wild, exhilarating turn. What started as a simple girls' night had quickly evolved into something far more chaotic and, quite frankly, downright ridiculous. The ridiculous part might have had something to do with the copious amounts of alcohol, but that was beside the point.

It all began after the third bottle of wine was emptied, and Mor, in her infinite wisdom, declared that the night was far too young to end with just drinking and talking. The suggestion to turn the apartment into our very own private club was made, and, well, it didn’t take much convincing.

I don’t know where Mor had pulled it from—whether it was some hidden magic or just her unrelenting spirit—but somehow, my apartment transformed. Soft lights gave way to pulsating club lights, shifting in colors that matched the beat of the music that now blasted through the room. The furniture was pushed aside, making space for what had effectively become a dance floor.

“I didn’t even know you had this in you,” Feyre shouted over the music, her eyes wide with delight as she took in the scene.

“Neither did I!” I shouted back, laughing as I twirled around in the flashing lights. The wine had long since turned my limbs to jelly, and I felt lighter, freer than I had in a long time.

Nesta, who had been initially reluctant, was now completely immersed, her usually stoic expression replaced with a flushed grin as she sipped from yet another drink. “I’m not even sure what’s happening anymore,” she admitted, before bursting into laughter at the absurdity of it all.

Mor, of course, was in her element. She had Feyre by the hand, pulling her onto the makeshift dance floor. “Come on, Feyre! Show us those moves!”

Feyre, not one to back down from a challenge, joined in with gusto, the two of them dancing wildly, their laughter filling the room. It was infectious, and soon, we were all moving to the beat, lost in the moment.

The alcohol flowed freely, and it wasn’t long before we were all well beyond tipsy. Nesta, usually the most reserved of us, was now draped over the couch, clutching her drink and singing along to the music—though the words were more slurred than sung. Mor had taken it upon herself to DJ, switching between tracks with the enthusiasm of someone who was enjoying every second of the chaos she had created.

As for me, I was somewhere in the middle of it all, dancing with Feyre and Mor one minute, then flopping down next to Nesta the next, my head spinning in the best possible way.

“This was the best idea ever,” I declared, holding up my drink in a toast to… well, everything. The lights, the music, the ridiculousness of it all.

“I told you!” Mor shot back, barely managing to avoid spilling her drink as she twirled around. “This is what girls’ night is all about!”

Feyre, who had given up on dancing in favor of lounging on the couch with Nesta, nodded vigorously. “We should do this every week.”

“Yes!” Nesta agreed, raising her glass—though she missed her mouth when she tried to take a sip, spilling a bit of her drink on herself. She didn’t seem to mind, though. “Every week!”

We all dissolved into laughter, the kind that made your stomach ache and tears stream down your face. It was a night of pure, unfiltered joy, the kind of night that reminded me just how lucky I was to have these incredible women in my life.

At some point—who knows when—the music was turned up even louder, and we all found ourselves back on the dance floor, moving in a way that was far more about having fun than it was about looking good. Not that any of us cared. This was our night, and we were going to make the most of it.

As the night wore on and the drinks continued to flow, the line between reality and whatever madness we had created blurred even further. The lights, the music, the alcohol—it all mixed together in a haze of color and sound, until it felt like we were in another world entirely, a world where nothing mattered but the here and now.

At some point, Mor pulled out a bottle of something stronger—something that definitely wasn’t wine—and poured shots for everyone. We downed them without hesitation, the burn in our throats a reminder that we were alive, that we were here, that this night would be one we’d never forget.

And it was. By the time we finally collapsed in a heap on the floor, the world spinning around us, I knew that this was a night I’d look back on and smile. We were drunk, we were ridiculous, and it was perfect.

As we lay there, catching our breath and trying to stop the room from spinning, Feyre turned to me, her eyes heavy with exhaustion and alcohol. “You know,” she said, her voice soft, “this was exactly what we needed.”

I smiled, reaching out to squeeze her hand. “Yeah,” I agreed, my voice barely a whisper. “Me too.”

Tonight was one for the books.

The night had taken a wild, exhilarating turn. What started as a simple girls' night had quickly evolved into something far more chaotic and, quite frankly, downright ridiculous. The alcohol was flowing freely, and the atmosphere was buzzing with energy as the room transformed into our very own private club.

But just when I thought the night couldn’t get any crazier, Mor clapped her hands together, a wicked grin spreading across her face. “Alright, ladies, let’s up the stakes. Who’s up for a game of ‘Never Have I Ever’?”

Feyre groaned, though her eyes were gleaming with mischief. “Oh gods, this is going to get dangerous.”

“Exactly,” Mor said, grabbing a fresh bottle of something strong and pouring shots for everyone. “We’re already half-gone, so let’s see who can survive this round.”

Nesta eyed the shot glass suspiciously but took it anyway. “Fine, but let’s keep it reasonable.”

“Reasonable?” Mor scoffed, raising an eyebrow. “Where’s the fun in that?”

With everyone armed with a shot glass, we settled onto the floor, forming a loose circle. Mor, as the instigator, went first. She smirked, lifting her glass. “Never have I ever… kissed someone with the intention of getting free drinks.”

Feyre immediately took a sip, as did Mor, who winked at me. “What can I say? Sometimes, charm gets you a long way.”

"When the person buying your drinks is Rhysand, it doesn't count Feyre" I said laughing at her.

Nesta, surprisingly, didn’t drink, but she gave a small smile. “I prefer to pay my own way, thank you very much.”

Next, it was Feyre’s turn. She narrowed her eyes in mock concentration before grinning. “Never have I ever… gotten out of trouble by flirting.”

Mor and I immediately took our shots, causing Feyre to raise an eyebrow. “Come on, you two, spill.”

Mor grinned, clearly eager to share. “Alright, so there was this one time in the Summer Court… I was supposed to be at a formal dinner, but I got a little sidetracked with a rather charming advisor. We were caught by one of the palace guards, and let’s just say, I had to turn on the charm full blast to avoid a very awkward conversation with Tarquin.”

Feyre shook her head, laughing. “Only you, Mor.”

I couldn’t help but join in. “For me, it was during a mission. I needed to get past a rather stubborn gatekeeper who wasn’t interested in letting me through. A little flirting and a lot of batting my eyelashes later, and suddenly I was the most important person on his list. I got what I needed, and he never even knew what hit him.”

Nesta looked at me with a smirk. “I’m surprised Az didn’t handle that for you.”

“Oh, he would’ve,” I admitted with a laugh. “But sometimes, a girl’s got to do things her own way.”

Feyre shook her head, still smiling. “Rhys would’ve been so jealous.”

“Please,” Mor scoffed, “Rhys would have encouraged it.”

Nesta chuckled, lifting her glass. “Alright, next one. Never have I ever… sent a dirty thought to your partner to see their reaction.”

Feyre and Nesta immediately took their shots, while Mor and I exchanged surprised looks, our glasses untouched.

Feyre’s cheeks flushed as she laughed. “I did it to Rhys once during a meeting—he nearly choked on his drink. I thought I was being subtle, but apparently, his reaction was… noticeable. I think I almost caused a diplomatic incident.”

Mor burst out laughing, her eyes wide. “Oh, I would’ve paid to see that.”

Nesta, surprisingly, offered her own story, her voice more subdued but with a hint of amusement. “I sent Cassian a… vivid thought while he was training the Illyrians. He dropped his sword mid-swing and nearly took out an entire row of recruits. They didn’t know what happened, but Cassian spent the rest of the day giving me death glares.”

The room erupted into laughter, the image of Cassian flustered and distracted by Nesta’s thoughts too much to handle.

“Well, I’ve never done it,” I said, still giggling. “But now I’m tempted. I wonder how a certain shadow singer would react.”

“Knowing you, Y/N” Feyre said with a grin, “he would probably drop everything he is doing to go join you.”

“Oh, definitely” I agreed, taking a sip of my drink anyway. “But let’s keep going, shall we?”

The game continued, the questions growing bolder, the shots more frequent, and the laughter louder. By the time we were on the tenth or eleventh round, there was no turning back.

“Alright, my turn,” Nesta said, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Never have I ever… had someone walk in on me during sex.”

Mor and Feyre both took a sip, while I hesitated before taking mine. “Let’s just say, it was awkward,” I said with a cringe, though I couldn’t help but laugh at the memory.

Mor, however, was not about to let it go. “Oh, no, no. You can’t just drop a bomb like that and not give us details. Who walked in?”

I smirked, taking another sip of my drink for courage. “Rhys. And let’s just say, I’ve never seen him retreat from a room so fast.”

That sent Mor into peals of laughter, nearly spilling her drink as she doubled over. “Oh, I can just picture it! Poor Rhys, walking in on you two… I bet Az didn’t even bat an eyelash.”

Nesta snickered, her eyes gleaming with amusement. “And I’m sure Azriel was just as composed as ever, right? Or did he actually look guilty for once?”

I rolled my eyes, unable to keep the grin off my face. “Let’s just say, Azriel wasn’t too happy about the interruption. But once Rhys was out of the room… he made sure to make up for lost time.”

Feyre choked on her drink, laughing as she wiped her mouth. “I bet he did! Azriel’s got that silent intensity… but I’m sure he can be anything but quiet when he wants to be.”

“He’s very… intense, in more ways than one.”

Mor grinned wickedly, holding her glass up for a toast. “To very intense lovers who know how to get the job done—and then some!”

The night had taken on a life of its own, with the alcohol flowing and inhibitions flying out the window. We were deep into the game of "Never Have I Ever," and it seemed like nothing was off-limits at this point.

Feyre, clearly feeling the effects of the drinks, leaned forward with a mischievous grin. “Alright, ladies, last one from me. Never have I ever… tried the ‘Moonlit Arch’ position.”

There was a pause as the question hung in the air. Mor immediately downed her shot, as did Feyre. Nesta hesitated, then took hers as well. Meanwhile, I just sat there, my glass untouched, staring at them with a raised eyebrow.

“Wait… what?” I asked, feeling completely out of the loop. “What’s the ‘Moonlit Arch’? Are you sure you didn’t made that up ?”

Feyre’s grin widened as she set down her glass. “Oh, sweetie, you’ve been missing out. How do I explain this?”

Before I could protest, Feyre had jumped up from her spot, a bit unsteady but determined. She sauntered over to me, her eyes gleaming with tipsy mischief. “It’s easier to show than tell.”

The next thing you knew, Feyre was pushing me back onto the ground, her hands on your shoulders. “Relax, this is educational,” she teased, as she gently pushed me down and straddled my lap.

“Feyre, what are you—” You began, but was cut off as she leaned down, bringing her lips close to your ear.

“It’s all about the angle,” Feyre whispered, her breath warm against your ear. “You lie back, just like this…”

She gently guided me into position, her hands on my shoulders as she demonstrated. Before you knew it, Nesta was there too, her eyes gleaming with the same mischief as she grabbed Feyre’s hands and placed them on either side of your face.

“It’s all about guiding the energy,” Nesta murmured, her voice low and sultry. “Make sure your partner knows exactly where to focus.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, though it was tinged with nervousness and the absurdity of the situation. “You’re both insane.”

“Insanely helpful,” Mor chimed in, a grin spreading across her face as she sauntered over. She took Feyre’s hands and moved them down to my chest, giving a light squeeze. “And don’t forget about the importance of… other areas.”

“Mor!” You gasped, my face burning as you tried to squirm away, but the alcohol had made me sluggish, and the three of them had me pinned in place.

“It’s all in good fun,” Feyre said with a laugh, her eyes twinkling as she gently patted my cheek. “Now, the trick is to—”

—

It was nearly dawn, and the soft light of morning was beginning to creep through the windows of the townhouse. One by one, the guys emerged from their rooms, each of them groggy and slightly disoriented, but with a nagging feeling in the back of their minds.

Rhysand was the first to step into the hallway, his brow furrowed in concern. “Is it just me, or is something off?” he muttered to himself.

Cassian’s door creaked open next, and he stuck his head out, his hair a wild mess. “Where the hell are they?”

Azriel appeared a moment later, his eyes shadowed with worry. “They’re not answering,” he said quietly, though his voice was tinged with concern.

The three of them exchanged glances, the same thought running through their minds: their mates weren’t back yet, and none of them had responded to the bond.

Cassian scratched his head, still half-asleep. “You think they’re okay? Maybe they… got distracted?”

“Distracted?” Rhys repeated, raising an eyebrow. “By what, exactly?”

Azriel sighed, trying to remain calm. “It’s just a girls’ night. They’re probably just… having fun.”

Cassian leaned against the wall, rubbing his eyes. “Yeah, but still… it’s nearly morning. Shouldn’t they be back by now?”

Rhys glanced toward the window, watching as the sky began to lighten. “They should be. I can’t get through to Feyre.”

“Same with Nesta,” Cassian added, his worry finally starting to show.

Azriel’s expression darkened slightly as he nodded. “And Y/N’s just giving off this… contented feeling. But nothing else.”

The three males stood in silence for a moment, the unease growing between them. Finally, Cassian huffed and pushed off the wall. “Alright, that’s it. We’re going to check on them.”

Azriel hesitated, glancing between the other two. “You’re all overreacting. They’re perfectly capable of taking care of themselves.”

“Sure they are,” Cassian agreed, a glint of concern in his eyes. “But aren’t you just a little curious about what they’re up to?”

Azriel hesitated, glancing out the window at the faint light of dawn creeping over the horizon. “Maybe… a little.”

Rhys grinned, clapping Azriel on the back. “Then let’s go. If nothing else, we can make sure they get home safe.”

The three of them headed out, taking to the skies with ease. It wasn’t long before they spotted your apartment building, and as they landed on the rooftop across the street, they were greeted with an unexpected sight.

Bright, colorful lights were flashing from your windows, pulsing in time with the faint thrum of music that could be heard even from outside. It looked more like a nightclub than a place where anyone would be getting a decent night’s sleep.

Cassian stared at the windows, his mouth slightly agape. “What the hell…?”

Rhys raised an eyebrow, clearly confused. “I didn’t know Y/N had a nightclub setup in her apartment.”

Azriel’s eyes narrowed as he took in the scene. “She doesn’t. Or at least, she didn’t.”

Cassian shook his head, his concern deepening. “Come on, just a peek. I’ve got to see what kind of chaos they’ve created.”

They descended to your apartment door, and as they approached, the music grew louder, the flashing lights spilling out from under the doorframe, casting strange, colorful shadows in the hallway.

Rhys knocked, but there was no response. He knocked again, louder this time, but the only sound was the thumping music and muffled voices from inside.

Cassian glanced at the others, a serious expression on his face. “You sure they’re alive in there?”

The three of them exchanged worried looks, and before anyone could suggest otherwise, Cassian stepped forward, bracing his shoulder against the door. “Alright, let’s find out.”

With a firm push, they forced the door open—and were immediately greeted by the sight of complete and utter chaos.

The apartment was a mess, with bottles and snacks strewn everywhere. But what caught their attention was the scene in the living room: Mor and Nesta were on the floor, laughing uncontrollably, while Feyre was perched on top of you on the ground, pinning you down and demonstrating something with far too much enthusiasm.

Mor had one hand on your chest, playfully squeezing your breast, while Nesta’s hands were on either side of your face, her touch light but clearly part of the explanation Feyre was giving.

The moment the door flew open, all four of you turned your heads in perfect synchronization, staring at the doorway with wide, startled eyes.

The guys froze in the entrance, their faces a mix of shock and utter confusion. It was as if they had just walked into another world, one they couldn’t quite make sense of.

Feyre, still on top of you, blinked in surprise, her hands frozen in place. Mor and Nesta, still in their positions, were too drunk to even try to move, their eyes fixed on the three males standing in the doorway.

For a long moment, there was complete silence, the only sound the faint thrum of the music and the distant hum of the lights.

“What the hell…?” Cassian finally managed to mutter, his voice laced with disbelief.

Rhys, his usually calm demeanor shattered, shook his head slowly. “I think we interrupted something… very strange.”

Azriel, for his part, could only stare, his mind trying to process the chaotic scene in front of him. “Should we… come back later?”

The sudden absurdity of the situation hit you all at once, and you burst into laughter, the alcohol-fueled hysteria too strong to resist. Feyre, still on top of you, collapsed onto your chest, shaking with laughter, while Mor and Nesta lost it completely, both of them rolling on the floor as they tried to catch their breath.

The guys, however, remained rooted in place, their expressions still a mix of shock and confusion as they watched the four of you dissolve into a fit of uncontrollable giggles.

Cassian was the first to recover, though his voice was still laced with disbelief. “What in the world is going on here?”

Feyre, still laughing, finally managed to roll off you, her face flushed as she wiped at her eyes. “I guess we got a little carried away.”

“A little?” Rhys echoed, his voice flat as he glanced around the room. “This place looks like a warzone.”

Mor, still struggling to sit up, waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, please. We were just having fun!”

Azriel, who had finally managed to close his mouth, walked over to you, his eyes scanning your face for any signs of distress. “Let’s get you home.”

You looked up at him, your smile turning into a confused frown. “But this is my home, Az.”

Feyre, catching your words, let out a snort before dissolving into another fit of laughter. Before long, you were both on the floor, laughing so hard that you could barely breathe, the absurdity of the entire situation hitting you all at once.

Mor, still perched on the floor, threw her head back and screamed with laughter. “This was better than every night at Rita’s I’ve ever had in my life!”

Nesta, who was trying her best to stay composed, finally gave in, collapsing onto the floor beside Mor as the two of them giggled uncontrollably.

The guys, still standing in the doorway, could only watch as the four of you descended into a drunken, giggling mess, their shock slowly giving way to resignation.

Rhys sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

Cassian, finally managing a grin, shook his head. “We’re going to have to carry them out of here, aren’t we?”

Azriel, who had gently lifted you to your feet again, just nodded, his concern still evident. “Probably. But at least they had fun.”

---

The chaos of the night had finally started to wind down. Mor and Nesta, still giggling, were being helped out by Rhys and Cassian, who looked more than ready to get everyone home and into bed. But you, still tipsy and more than a little giggly, had managed to cling onto Azriel.

He lifted you effortlessly into his arms, your face nestled against his neck, legs wrapped tightly around his torso. The cool night air hit your skin as he carried you out of the apartment, but you barely noticed, too focused on the warmth of his body and the comforting scent of him surrounding you.

Azriel walked steadily, his wings twitching slightly with every step. You could feel the muscles in his back flex as he held you close, his grip firm yet gentle. Despite how drunk you were, a playful smile tugged at your lips as your breath fanned across his neck.

“You know,” you murmured, your voice low and teasing, “you’re really strong… and warm. Like, really warm.”

Azriel’s chuckle rumbled through his chest, the sound sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. “Good to know,” he replied, his voice taking on a huskier edge. “Are you comfortable?”

You nodded, snuggling closer to him, your breath warm against his neck. “Mmhmm. This is nice. I could stay like this forever.”

He smiled, adjusting his hold on you slightly as he continued walking. “I wouldn’t mind that either. But we should get you home. You had quite the night.”

You sighed, closing your eyes as you rested your head against him. “Yeah… tonight was fun. I think we broke the apartment, though. Sorry about that.”

Azriel shook his head, his smile growing. “Don’t worry about it. It’s your place—you can do whatever you want. And it’s nothing a little cleaning won’t fix.”

There was a brief pause before you giggled, the sound light and airy. “Do you think… do you think Rhys was mad? I didn’t mean to make a mess.”

Azriel’s lips brushed against your temple in a soft kiss. “No, I don’t think he was mad. Maybe a little surprised, but that’s all. He knows you were just having fun.”

You hummed in response, your fingers idly tracing patterns on the back of his neck. “Good. I wouldn’t want to get in trouble… But you know what’s funny?”

“What’s that?” he asked, his tone indulgent as he continued walking.

“I kept thinking,” you whispered, your voice a little more serious now, “that I was so happy tonight… because you weren’t just my mate, but also my best friend.”

Azriel’s heart swelled at your words, and he tightened his grip on you slightly. “I’m happy to hear that,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re my best friend too, you know. I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

You smiled against his neck, feeling a wave of affection wash over you. “You’re so sweet, Az. The best.”

He chuckled again, the sound low and warm. “I’m just being honest. Now let’s get you home, so you can get some rest. You’ve had a long night.”

“Mmhmm. This is very comfortable. I think I’m enjoying this a little too much.”

Azriel’s grip on you tightened slightly, and you could feel the tension in his muscles as he tried to maintain control. “Is that so?”

“Mmm,” you hummed, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the side of his neck. “I’ve always liked being this close to you… feeling you.”

He sucked in a breath, the sound a mixture of surprise and desire. “You’re drunk,” he reminded you gently, though there was a strain in his voice as if he was trying to convince himself more than you.

“Maybe,” you admitted, your lips brushing against his skin as you spoke. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t know what I want.”

Azriel’s steps faltered as you reached the townhouse, his heart hammering in his chest. You could feel the way his pulse quickened under your touch, and it only made you more bold. “And what is it you want?” he asked, his voice low and rough.

You smiled against his neck, your teeth grazing his skin ever so lightly. “I want you, Az. Always.”

His breath hitched as he carried you inside, the familiar darkness of the townhouse wrapping around you both. Without a word, he started toward his bedroom, the tension between you crackling like electricity.

He pushed the door open with his foot and crossed the threshold, finally setting you down on the edge of his bed. But before he could step back, you grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him down to you, your lips crashing against his in a fierce, hungry kiss.

Azriel groaned into your mouth, his hands sliding up your thighs to grip your hips, pulling you closer as you leaned back onto the bed, dragging him down with you. His wings flared out behind him, twitching as your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan again.

He pulled back slightly, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he looked down at you, your face flushed, eyes dark with desire. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice thick with need.

You didn’t answer with words. Instead, you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him down to you as your hands slid under his shirt, feeling the hard planes of his chest. “I’m sure,” you whispered against his lips, your voice a sultry invitation.

That was all the encouragement he needed. Azriel’s lips crashed back onto yours, his hands roaming over your body with a possessive hunger. You could feel the heat of his skin against yours as he tore at your clothes, desperate to feel you, to have you.

His hands slid up under your shirt, fingers brushing over your bare skin, sending sparks of pleasure through your body. You arched into his touch, a soft moan escaping your lips as he kissed his way down your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

He paused at the hem of your shirt, his eyes dark with desire as he looked up at you. You nodded, and he pulled the fabric over your head, tossing it aside before his mouth descended on your chest, his tongue tracing a path down to your breasts.

You gasped as his lips closed around your nipple, his hand sliding down to the waistband of your pants. With a quick tug, he had them off, leaving you bare beneath him. Azriel’s eyes raked over your body, taking in every curve, every inch of skin as if he were memorizing you.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his voice reverent as his hands slid down your sides, his lips following the path of his hands.

You reached for him, pulling him back up to you, needing to feel his skin against yours. “I need you,” you whispered, your voice breathless with anticipation.

Azriel shuddered at your words, his lips capturing yours in another searing kiss as he positioned himself above you. He hesitated for just a moment, his gaze searching yours for any sign of doubt, but all he found was desire, love, and a deep, unyielding trust.

With a soft groan, he slid into you, the sensation drawing a gasp from both of you as your bodies finally connected, fitting together perfectly. He moved slowly at first, savoring the feeling of being with you like this, but it wasn’t long before the tension between you became too much to bear.

You moved together, each thrust deepening the connection between you, your moans and gasps filling the room as the pleasure built to a fever pitch. Azriel’s hands roamed over your body, his touch sending shivers of pleasure down your spine as he whispered your name like a prayer.

As you neared the edge, you tightened your legs around his waist, pulling him even closer as you felt the wave of pleasure crashing over you. Azriel followed soon after, his movements becoming erratic as he buried his face in your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he reached his climax.

For a moment, the world stood still, the only sound the ragged breaths of you and Azriel as you held each other close. Then, slowly, the tension ebbed away, leaving you both in a state of blissful exhaustion.

As you both lay there, catching your breath and basking in the afterglow, a soft giggle escaped your lips. Azriel, still holding you close, raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “What’s so funny?” he asked, his voice low and affectionate.

You shifted slightly, a playful glint in your eyes as you rolled over, pushing him onto his back. Azriel let out a surprised laugh, his hands instinctively moving to rest on your hips as you straddled him, your hair falling around your face in a soft curtain.

“What do you have in mind, love?” he asked, his voice filled with a mix of curiosity and desire.

You leaned down, your lips brushing against his ear as you whispered, “Something the girls showed me earlier…”

Azriel’s eyes darkened with intrigue as you began to move your hips in a slow, teasing rhythm, your hands sliding up his chest. He sucked in a breath, his fingers digging into your thighs as he tried to hold on to the last remnants of his control.

“Is that so?” he murmured, his voice rough with anticipation.

“Mmhmm,” you hummed, your lips trailing soft kisses down his jawline as you continued to move against him, the friction sending shivers of pleasure through both of you.

Azriel’s hands roamed over your body, his touch growing more desperate as you began to pick up the pace, your hips rolling in a way that had him groaning your name.

“Y/N…” he rasped, his eyes locked onto yours as you took control, guiding him deeper inside you with each movement.

You bit your lip, a mischievous smile playing on your lips as you leaned down to kiss him, your tongue teasing his as your movements became more intense. Azriel’s grip on your hips tightened, his wings flaring out behind him as he struggled to keep up with the pleasure you were giving him.

“What did those girls teach you?” he managed to say between gasps, his voice filled with both awe and amusement.

You just grinned, moving your hips in a way that had him arching off the bed, a deep groan escaping his lips. “Just a little something they thought you might enjoy.”

Azriel’s eyes fluttered closed, his head falling back against the pillow as he surrendered to the sensations you were giving him. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he murmured, though the smile on his face told you he wouldn’t have it any other way.

You chuckled, leaning down to kiss him deeply as you pushed both of you closer to the edge. “Then let’s make it worth it.”

With that, you moved even faster, your bodies moving in perfect sync as the pleasure built to a crescendo. The room was filled with the sound of your moans and gasps, the intensity of the moment taking you both higher and higher until finally, you both shattered together, the waves of pleasure crashing over you like a tidal wave.

As you collapsed onto his chest, both of you breathing heavily, Azriel wrapped his arms around you, holding you close as you both came down from the high.

“That was…” Azriel began, his voice trailing off as he tried to find the words.

“Amazing?” you offered, your voice still breathless as you snuggled against him.

“Amazing,” he agreed, his lips brushing against your forehead in a tender kiss. “But also… unexpected.”

You giggled, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest. “Just trying to keep things interesting.”

Azriel smiled, his hands sliding up and down your back in a soothing motion. “You definitely succeeded. But now, I think it’s time for some sleep.”

You nodded, feeling the exhaustion starting to catch up with you. “Yeah… sleep sounds good.”

With a contented sigh, you let your eyes drift closed, still wrapped in Azriel’s warm embrace. And as you drifted off to sleep, a satisfied smile on your lips, you knew that no matter what surprises the night brought, you and Azriel would always find a way to enjoy them together.

---

don't hesitate to comment, I read them ;)

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steventhusiast · 1 year

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i’ve seen a lot of fics where steddie are in a secret relationship before the events of season 4, and then they reveal themselves by accident-ish when they reunite or in the hospital, and the one ive seen the most is eddie kissing steve and outing them when they find him in the boathouse after he realises hes threatening his own boyfriend.

and i love that, but what if it’s steve that reveals the relationship in a pretty similar way.

max and dustin tell him eddie’s missing, and he immediately reveals that he knows eddie well just from the amount of worry and anxiety that takes over him. he knows exactly where reefer rick lives because he makes sure eddie tells him where all his dodgy drug deals happen so he knows where he last was if he goes missing.

and then they get to reefer rick’s, and steve goes straight to the boathouse, followed by the others. he slams open closets and hastily looks under tables, and then notices the tarp on the boat and there is absolutely zero hesitation in his movements he just grabs the tarp and pulls it back because he needs to find eddie, he has to be okay.

and eddie is under the tarp and steve basically melts. eddie doesn’t have time to threaten steve because steve manhandles eddie out of the boat and just holds him, first pulling him in so they’re chest to chest and can feel each other’s heartbeats, and then he leans back to look at eddie’s face. eddie won’t meet his eye, so steve adjusts to hold either side of eddie’s face and force him to look at him. eddie’s eyes are wild.

“hey, i’m here.” he assures, and exaggeratedly takes a deep breath for eddie to copy.

“stevie-“ is all eddie can say, his voice cracking hard, before the tears spill over.

“oh, baby.” steve pulls eddie back in, cradles his head with the back of his hand, and presses a kiss to his hair.

and then dustin says something like ‘okay what the fuck is happening here’ and ruins the moment.

#steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie drabble #stranger things #like the most drabbly drabble ever #i just started writing the idea down and this happened #mywriting

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wife-of-all-dilfs · 11 months

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rosé | f. odair

(final part of red wine)

part one, part two

summary: in the final part of the red wine series, secrets are revealed, and miscommunication threatens to tear you and finnick apart.

pairing: finnick odair x reader

warnings: angst, fluff, blood, minor injury, mentions of forced prostitution, swearing,

notes: i’m sorry this took so long to come out y’all. thank you to everyone who read and enjoyed this mini fic <3

word count: 4.1k

Finnick believed he had made a lot of smart decisions in his life—like rigging a net made out of vines to ensnare tributes in the arena, accepting secrets as a form of payment from his patrons rather than material goods, and mastering the art of seduction to manipulate his way out of various difficult situations. However, shutting you out was not one of them.

Half an hour had passed since the incident on the staircase landing. He lingered within the mansion’s extravagant walls, where other guests mingled and dined on a range of bizarre delicacies. He couldn’t eat a thing. His stomach churned at the image of your hopeless expression as he walked off. The expression he caused.

It had to be done. That is what he had been telling himself. It had to be done, otherwise, everyone in the Capitol would learn of his feelings for you. Snow would find out and most likely punish you for interfering with the arrangement he had—the sale of his body. And Finnick was very aware of what happened to people who disrupted the president’s plans.

Partygoers would have already begun to spread rumours of the scene in the courtyard. Hopefully, it would just be chalked up to a simple argument between friends. Friends. The label borderline disgusted him. You don’t fall asleep to the thought of someone and think of them the moment you wake up if you’re just friends. Nor do you look for them in every room you walk into.

Even now, Finnick was scanning the lavishly decorated banquet hall for a glimpse of your pure white gown, despite being the one who walked away. It was an instinct at this point. But there was no one in the room wearing white but him; his matching half was still outside, blending in with the winter snow. Or maybe gone home.

One colour did catch his eye though. A vibrant, almost tacky red, worn by a woman who was strutting towards him, her chin held high with pride. Finnick noticed the material of her floor-length gown. Silk. She was wearing your old dress, only the colour was incredibly off, and each hem was lined with red fur, conforming with her implanted whiskers. That was when he realised who the woman was.

Her ensemble was entirely made out of fur that clung to her body, complementing the whiskers that were embedded in her face which made her look feline.

“Where’s your dancing partner tonight?” she asked, her voice low and seductive.

The bright saturation of her dress was almost blinding as she stopped in front of him. He held back a grimace and plastered on a smile even faker than her voice. “She wasn’t up for it this time,” he lied.

“Well, everyone knows she’s out of touch with our way of life,” she said. Finnick ground his jaw, struggling to maintain his façade. Words could not explain how condescending these people were. “This dress is an adaptation of one she wore quite a while ago. Such a plain thing. I only liked the colour and bodice. The only way I could wear it in public was if I spruced it up.”

He thought back to the dress you had worn. Nobody had even come close to how phenomenal you looked. Where others needed extravagance and flounce to stand out, you only needed a simple red dress. Yet here this woman was, thinking she had the audacity to call you plain.

“I noticed. It’s very… striking.”

“Thank you, darling,” she purred. There was a predatory gleam in her eyes, like that of a wild cat about to pounce and devour its meal. “I was waiting for the perfect occasion to wear it.”

His forced smile twitched. “You’re certainly turning heads.”

“Did I turn yours?” she asked, batting her eyelashes.

Truth be told, Finnick hadn’t even remembered her existence until she walked right up to him. Obviously, he couldn’t tell her that, so he told her that she did. For a long period of time, they bounced back and forth, complimenting and flirting with each other, never dipping below the surface into a real conversation. Not that he wanted to anyway. Not with her. The only person he longed to conversate with was now out of reach.

The woman started talking about colourless topics such as the latest fashion trends in the Capitol and her opinions on the victor of the 72nd Hunger Games, all of which made Finnick wish she would just gouge his eyes out with her sharp claw-like fingernails. He couldn’t do anything but stand, smile, and agree. Doing anything else would result in Snow staying true to his very detailed threats

As the conversation continued, his attention began to drift. He surveyed the outfits of everyone in the room, amusing himself by deciding whether or not each person was making a fashion statement or tragedy. Only one person claimed the former title—the one in white.

Finnick watched as you entered the room. The giant golden chandelier cast down a bright light which caused your skin to glow with radiance; its glare enhanced the brilliance of your white dress. This brief moment ignited a fear in him that you had died in his absence because there was no way a mere human being could look so angelic.

“Finnick?” the feline asked, but her voice barely registered in his brain.

Captivated. He was utterly and completely captivated. One after the other, sudden realisations conjured in his mind. The first—there wasn’t a life worth living ahead of him if you weren’t by his side the whole way, and not as a friend or a fellow victor, but as his partner. His lover. The second—he would never let any harm come to you. He would keep you safe from Snow’s clutches, from the Capitol, from anyone who would put you in danger, even if it meant the two of you had to disappear into the vast forests of Panem.

And lastly, he was now absolutely certain that the woman in front of him could never compare to you, nor could anyone else in the ever-expanding universe. You were a basic human necessity to him. Without you, his heart might as well stop beating. Your laugh, your smile, your kindness, your unwavering support—every part of you kept him alive.

“Finnick?” the voice that went disregarded hissed again.

With a half-empty wine glass in hand, your anxious eyes searched the room. Finnick wanted nothing more than to sprint over, pull you into his arms, and cast away every trouble plaguing your mind. He couldn’t. Almost all eyes were on you, yet you hadn’t even seemed to notice. Only one person finally seemed to gain your attention, and that was Finnick, standing in the middle of the room, his eyes locked on yours.

The neurons firing in his brain signalled him to move and he did. But just as his legs started to walk, a forceful hand jerked his face to the side and a pair of harsh lips were crushed to his. Glass shattered on the marble flooring. Momentarily paralysed from shock, Finnick stumbled backwards, briefly catching the twisted triumphant smirk on the woman’s face before whirling around.

Your face was frozen with devastation; his heart dropped. Splatters of red wine had stained your gown, pooling in a crimson puddle of glass shards by your feet. Quiet mocking chuckles and whispers echoed around the room. Oh, if only he had his trident; they wouldn’t be laughing then.

An Avox rushed forward, attempting to clean up the mess, but you had crouched down with them.

“No, please,” Finnick heard you say to the Avox as he strode toward you. “Please don’t. I can do it.”

But delicate hands and glass shards never mix well. You gasped in pain. A jagged fragment you collected had sliced into your palm, creating another crimson pool in your hand.

Finnick’s strides quickened, eventually leading him to stop and kneel beside you. He wordlessly took your hand in his, cradling it as he inspected the damage. Blood coated his fingers, but he didn’t care. He might as well have cut your hand himself. None of this would have happened if it weren’t for him.

Pink blush overtook your face. For once, it wasn’t because he made you flustered or bashful, but because you were humiliated. He knew how much you disliked attention; now you were at the centre of it. Beside you was the Avox, tending to the mess of broken glass.

“Could you bring me a first-aid kit, please?” he asked with a polite smile.

They nodded and silently left. Finnick returned his attention to you, applying pressure to your wound. Your gaze was lowered, unwilling to meet his own. There was more to your demeanour than just embarrassment. There was sadness. Disheartenment. Neither of which were present when you walked in, only appearing after the feline woman had kissed him.

His brows furrowed in confusion. “Y/N—”

“Don’t,” you whispered, eyes unmoving.

The Avox returned holding a medical kit; Finnick thanked them, taking the box into his hands. He climbed to his feet, hesitating before offering you a hand up. Much to his relief, you accepted his assistance. And then, without a word, you began walking towards the nearest exit with apparent indifference to the engrossed eyes following you.

Finnick didn’t bother to conceal his icy glare toward the crowd as he trailed behind you and exited the room.

*******

Pain of a thousand unrelenting bees stung the broken flesh of your palm. Even the slightest movement of your fingers sent waves of throbbing agony up your arm. But it was nothing compared to the brutal ache of your heart.

You had entered the mansion in search of Finnick, determined to mend the crack in your friendship before it crumbled completely. What you got instead was humiliation and heartbreak. What you saw was another woman kissing the man you loved, whilst wearing a horrible adaptation of your red gown no less.

The air had been sucked from your lungs. Believing he would kiss you on the dance floor in the courtyard was nothing more than a fantasy, a dream, a pathetic fool’s wish—every term under the sun that defined something not real. At least now you understood why he was acting so differently. Because he had found someone else and that someone wasn’t you.

A lump formed in your throat and you knew tears were approaching. As if your night couldn’t get any more embarrassing.

Your feet carried you down a long corridor, far enough away from the banquet hall that listening ears and prying eyes were unable to reach. Finnick still followed behind you, though you weren’t sure why he bothered. How could he explain what you saw with your own eyes? Plus, the last thing you wanted was for his new romance to think something was going on between you and him. Only in your dreams.

Unsure of your destination, you decided to enter the first room you came across. It turned out to be a lavishly decorated library, walled with large wooden bookshelves which were filled endlessly with novels and historic paraphernalia. Sitting within the bookshelves was a stone fireplace.

The door closed as Finnick entered behind you, the silence so loud that the crackles from the fireplace reverberated through the room. Your hand still throbbed something awful so you looked down, taking in the gruesome sight of your dress. A stranger might have thought you had just murdered someone. If it were televised, it would have been deemed acceptable.

You sniffled, wearing a small bitter smile. “I ruined Snow’s pretty white dress.”

A few moments passed before Finnick replied. “Red always was more your colour,” he said, his tone anything but playful.

Ahead of you was a great wall of windows; in the reflection, you saw him staring back at you with an unfamiliar expression. His brows were pinched upwards, pronouncing the lines in his forehead, and the corners of his mouth drooped in a slight pensive frown. He didn’t look like the Finnick you knew. This Finnick looked pained. Anguished.

You dropped his intense gaze and ambled across the room. By the lit fireplace was a cushioned stool which you sat down on, eyes staring into the flickering flames. If you were lucky, maybe your dress would catch alight and whisk you away from your troubled life. Okay, perhaps the thought was a little morbid, but so was a broken heart. Of all people, why did you have to fall in love with Finnick Odair?

Cautious footsteps followed behind you, coming to a stop beside your feet. Without your acknowledgement, Finnick crouched down, eyeing the bloody mess of your hands with concern. His gaze lifted to yours, which was still on the fire, and he sighed.

“Let me take care of your hand,” he murmured.

Before you could refuse, you realised contracting an infection was worse than giving in to your stubbornness. So, you nodded.

Finnick opened the first-aid kit and began tending to your wound; his touch was so gentle it was like he was piecing together a broken china cup. Using an antiseptic gauze, he attempted to clean the damaged skin, whispering apologies whenever you winced in pain. After carefully applying a dressing, he began wrapping a bandage around your hand.

You stared into the orange flames, wondering how he would explain to that woman why he left her behind. You wondered when their relationship started and why Finnick continued to shamelessly flirt with you in her absence. You wondered if their relationship would be the end of your friendship.

“Are you in love?” you quietly asked.

His hands stilled at your sudden words, then he continued wrapping the bandage. “Not with her.”

He secured the binding with medical tape and climbed to his feet, placing the supplies back into the kit on a small side table.

Brows drawn together in confusion, you turned to look up at him. “But I thought—"

“Things are much more complicated than they seem,” he interrupted. There was a clear vase of white roses on the table. Finnick toyed with the petals, caressing them between his gentle fingertips. “No one understands me better than you do, and there is no one in this world I trust more. But… there are still things I’ve been keeping from you.”

The troubled expression on his face melted into one of vulnerability. This was a new appearance for him. Finnick was known nationwide for his radiant confidence and charm; he never let his guard down. You have had difficult conversations before, such as discussing each other’s hardships and innermost secrets, but none of them seemed to affect him like this.

“Everyone knows about my visits to the Capitol,” he continued. “How I spend nights with different people every time as if it’s all a game for my pleasure. But it’s not true. It’s not my game I’m playing.” He began walking over to the wall of windows, overlooking Snow’s gardens. “There’s a part of it that no one knows about.”

You rose from the stool, beginning to take slow steps towards him. “Which is?”

The fire flickering behind you deepened Finnick’s features. It intensified the shiny bronze of his hair and enhanced the defined contours of his face, making it easy to see the muscles in his jaw clench with apprehension. He stared out the window so intensely that you were sure his usual green eyes were blazing with their own inferno.

Even full of angst, he was painstakingly beautiful.

His chest inflated with a deep breath. “President Snow… sells me to the Capitol.”

Horror washed over you in monstrous waves. Sells? Only one explanation appeared in your head as to what he meant. You remained silent, praying he would prove your assumption wrong.

“After I won my Games, he saw my success as an opportunity to please his citizens. He began offering me to potential buyers—'admirers’ is what he called them—who soon became my regular customers. They would use me however they liked. Some would pounce on me the second I stepped through the door. Others were relatively tamer. Kinder. They would have me take them on dates or watch a movie with them, but one way or another, it all ended the same way at the end of the night.” He sucked in a sharp uneasy breath before continuing. “Then there were the rare few—the ones who treated me like I was nothing more than a ragdoll for their amusement. They did things that were… unspeakable.”

Nausea churned in your stomach as your mind conjured sickening images. It couldn’t be true. You refused to believe that human beings could stoop to such levels of atrocity to make one person endure so much cruelty. Then again, you lived in a world where children were sent into an arena to fight to the death on live television.

Finnick looked like he was holding himself together by a thread. Every word he confessed shattered your heart into a million pieces. How could this have happened to him?

“I’ve tried to refuse but Snow threatened to harm the people I care about—my family, my friends. After I met you, I knew you were added to that list.” He finally turned around to face you, his eyes filled with such anguish, it shook you to your core. “The Capitol owns me, Y/N. Body and soul.”

Despair riddled your entire body. As you stared at him, the image of a teenager appeared in your mind—eyes sea green and hair a fiery bronze. He was just a boy when it started. A child.

“I’m—I’m so sorry,” you managed to whisper. “I didn’t know.”

“I didn’t want you to know.” His eyes dropped to the floor. “I didn’t want you to think less of me.”

“Less of you? Finnick,” you said softly, stopping in front of him. Your eyes beckoned for his; you needed him to look at you, to really take in your next words. “There isn’t a single person alive I think more highly of than you. No one even comes close. Can’t you see? Just having you in my presence makes me feel whole. You make me whole.”

Tears glistened in his eyes as they flickered between your own, absorbing every reassuring word you said into his mind, his bones, his entire being.

“You have brought so much into my life,” you continued. “So much good. And I would never have made it to where I am now without you. So please, don’t ever distance yourself from me because you think I will judge you. I won’t and I never will.”

As the room stilled with silence, a lone tear rolled down Finnick’s cheek. His Adam’s apple bobbed, revealing the sob he was keeping restrained within his throat. And then a smile started to grow on his face, small at first, but then it stretched wider and wider, deepening those dimples that you adored so much.

You knew that your words had touched the deepest parts of him. That you had managed to convince him ‘less’ could never be a word used to describe him. He was more. More kind, more genuine, more caring than almost all of Panem.

“You’re incredible,” he whispered in awe, looking at you as if he were witnessing the birth of the universe. “Sweetheart, you’re incredible. Do have any idea how rare that is for a person to be? I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve someone like you in my life, but I swear I’ll do whatever I can to keep you. And if—” His gaze drifted, seemingly wrestling with a decision in his mind— “if that means I have to share all my secrets with you, then I will.”

“Have you got any more secrets, Finnick?”

He returned his attention back to your face. The indecision from moments ago had disappeared and was replaced with certainty, which was underscored by a sort of tenderness that settled in his features.

“Just one,” he murmured. He paused, observing the universe before him and wondering how on earth he got so lucky to have the privilege of having it staring right back at him. “I’m in love with you.”

Electricity shocked your heart like someone had placed a defibrillator over your chest and hit charge. Love? You? He was?

“What?” you asked, dumbfounded.

“I should’ve told you sooner,” he said, shaking his head. “I should have told you everything. Even if saying this means I’m risking everything between us, I can’t keep it from you any longer. God, sweetheart, I love you so much it fucking hurts. I always will, even if you never feel the same.”

Somehow in the span of twenty minutes, everything you thought you knew came crashing down. First, your heart was broken by the thought of Finnick kissing another, and then it was healed. And then it broke again as he voiced his arrangement with Snow. It could never fully heal again while Snow was alive, not with what he was forcing upon Finnick.

But Finnick pieced together every piece he possibly could with his confession, one heartfelt word of declaration at a time.

The weight of his confession hung in the air. His eyes held a mixture of anxiety and hope for your response. Time seemed to stretch out as you tried to find your voice. How do you declare your love as powerfully as someone who just bared their soul to you?

An emotional laugh bubbled up your throat, your eyes brimming with tears. “You idiot,” was what you said, the words spoken with utmost adoration. “I’ve loved you this whole time.”

Finnick’s eyes widened in amazement and a brilliant smile broke across his face. Before you had a chance to react, he had moved towards you in one swift step, pulling you into his arms and crushing his lips to yours in a powerful, passionate kiss.

Your hands were quick to cling onto him, desperately terrified that if you let go, he would vanish into thin air. Every ounce of yearning and hidden affection from the past year poured into this one single moment, into the movement of your lips against one another, and the feeling of your hands cradling each other’s bodies.

Emotions were running high. You could taste both your own and Finnick’s tears as they streamed down your faces, salty and palpable with affection. The sheer relief of finally being free to express your love was so unimaginable that you felt like you would be crying with happiness your whole life.

Finnick’s hand cupped the side of your jaw and he lowered his head, deepening the kiss as much as he physically could to make up for all the time he wasted. His lips were soft and adoring, savouring the sweet taste of your lips on his. His other arm tightened around your lower back, pulling you even further against him.

You felt like you were melting into his embrace and happily, you would have. It felt so right, so safe to be held by him. The world outside the library no longer existed; there was only Finnick and you. Your hands settled on either side of his jaw, staining his skin red from your blood-soaked bandage. You knew he wouldn’t care—the blood belonged to you.

And that is how you spent most of the night. In the library, in that one spot by the windows, in each other’s arms. At some point, you ended up sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace, both covered in red and feeling blissfully content. Your back was leaning against Finnick’s chest, his arms wrapped around your middle as he occasionally pressed his lips into your hair.

You toyed with the fabric of his sleeves, your head leaning against his collarbone as you watched the flames once more.

“If Snow ever finds out…” you murmured.

“He won’t,” he reassured quietly. “I won’t let him. He’s taken too much from me; he won’t take you too.”

You turned your head to peer up at him, wearing a teasing smile. “Can’t live without me, Odair?”

He grinned, leaning in closer. “Never without you, sweetheart.”

Once again, Finnick’s lips were on yours, conveying every ounce of immense love he felt for you through his kiss. The only time either of you broke apart was to whisper sweet declarations of your devotion and reverence before returning to each other again. This was when you felt most complete.

When you felt whole.

tags: @queenofspades6 @powellssaturn @bellamybellamyblake @heroinhchicblog222

#wife-of-all-dilfs ✍️#finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair smut #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair fluff #sam claflin #the hunger games #catching fire #mockingjay #peeta mellark x reader #peeta mellark #katniss everdeen

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doumadono · 5 months

Text

Warnings: smut w/o plot, fem!Reader, metal dick, oral (f & m receiving)

Synopsis: after a tough mission, you and Boothill have a drink in his room. Little do you know, this drink will lead you to uncovering all of his secrets

OTHER FANDOMS MASTERLIST

Boothill's cybernetic body is large and imposing, and you can't help but feel small and fragile in his presence. But despite his intimidating appearance, he has a certain charm that you find irresistible.

That night, as you're sharing a drink in Boothill's quarters after a tough mission, you can't help but stare at his metal-plated chest and powerful arms more than you ever allowed yourself to before.

Boothill notices your gaze and smirks, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "I see you're checkin' me out, honey," he says, his voice deep and gravelly. "Would ya like to see more?"

You nod, your heart racing with excitement as you set your drink aside. You can't help but stare, your mouth slightly agape.

"You're pretty much obsessed with me, ain't ya?" Boothill chuckles and gets up from his seat, setting his glass down. He saunters towards you with a mischievous grin on his face. He knows exactly what he's doing as he slowly begins to unbuckle his thick leather belt.

His metallic fingers clink against the cold steel of the buckle, sending shivers down your spine as you bite your lower lip, sucking it in your mouth. With a flick of his wrist, the belt comes undone, and Boothill lets it drop to the floor with a thud. His pants are oh so tight, revealing the tantalizing curve of his metal pelvis. He takes his time, savoring the anticipation in your eyes as he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his tight material pants. Inch by inch, he reveals the smooth, polished metal of his metallic hips. The muscles in his thighs ripple and flex with the movement, causing the intricate circuitry beneath his metallic skin to gleam in the dim light. The metallic dick springs up free. It has a polished steel surface. The shaft is smooth and thick, made of titanium, and there's a line of circuits running along the underside, imitating the prominent vein that would be present on a human penis. The mushroom-shaped head is plump. Boothill's testicles, too, are a marvel to behold. Made of the same sleek titanium as the rest of his manhood, they hang heavy and full. He steps out of his pants, his metal dick bobbing with each movement. Then Boothill chuckles, a deep rumble that seems to emanate from the very core of his being. "Like what ya see, honey?” he asks, his voice a low growl that sends shivers down your spine.

You can't help but reach out to touch his testicles. "Gosh," you gasp.

"I take it for yes," he says, his voice full of confidence.

You nod again, unable to speak.

He takes your hand and places it on his cock, encouraging you to touch him.

You wrap your fingers around his metallic shaft, feeling its coldness and hardness.

Boothill lets out a low moan, his hips thrusting forward as you begin to stroke him. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this," he says, his voice strained with pleasure. "I've been dreamin' of buryin' my cock deep inside your tiny cunt, makin' ya scream my name as I fill you with my seed."

Your heart races at the thought of Boothill's cock inside you. You're already wet with anticipation, your pussy aching to be filled.

Boothill must sense your desire because he suddenly picks you up and carries you to his little cot. He lays you down gently and begins to kiss you, his narrow lips hot and demanding.

You respond eagerly, your tongue exploring his mouth and sharp teeth as you taste the whiskey on his breath.

Boothill's metallic hand reaches out, caressing your cheek. "Ever been with a cyborg before?" he asks simply after making sure to leave a hickey on the side of your neck.

You shake your head, your heart pounding in your chest. "No, I haven't…"

Boothill's grin is wide and wild. "Well, then, darlin', it's about time you did." He pulls you closer, his lips crashing down on yours yet again. His tongue explores your mouth, tasting and teasing.

You can feel the coolness of his metal body against yours, and you moan into the kiss.

Meantime, Boothill's hands roam over your body, his touch setting you on fire. He cups your breasts with one strong palm, his fingers tweaking your nipples through your bra until they're hard and sensitive. Boothill's other hand slips down, directly inside your pants. His cold, metallic fingers find your clit, and he starts to rub slow circles around it through your panties, grinning as he feels the damp spot in the middle of the fabric. "Naughty."

You gasp, your hips bucking against his hand.

With a quick movement, he rips your shirt and bra, and opens your trousers, swiftly pulling them down, tugging them off your legs. He reaches your breasts and takes one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking and biting gently with his sharp, shark-like teeth.

You cry out, your back arching as he continues to pleasure you.

His hand travels down your body, his fingers finding your wet pussy. He strokes your clit, causing you to gasp with pleasure. "You're so wet for me," he says, his voice full of satisfaction. "I can't wait to taste you, and to feel you wrapped around my cock." He drops to his knees in front of the cot, pulling you to the edge. He spreads your legs wide, exposing your pussy to him. His tongue darts out, licking your clit.

"Oh, fuck," you moan, your hands going to his two-colour hair, holding him in place.

Boothill starts to lick and suck, his tongue delving deeper and deeper into your slick wetness. He eats your cunny out in earnest, flicking his tongue against your clitoris in a stuttering rhythm that gives you no time to catch your breath. From time to time, he makes sure to stick his tongue into your warm entrance, eagerly drinking all of juices that are dribbling out of you. Sometimes he gives kitten-like licks, while other times he licks in a single stripe, starting from your entrance, through your slit, and directly to your clitoris; his tongue flexing.

Soon, a cold, metallic finger prods your entrance too, quickly joined by a second as it slides in. The cyborg grinds the heel of his hand against your swollen clit as he works his fingers in and out of you.

"Don't stop," you beg, your hips moving in sync with his fingers.

And Boothill doesn't stop. He keeps going, his other hand slapping your clitoris lightly. He attached his mouth to the swollen bud yet again, sucking hardly. And then, with one final lick, you come, your moans filling the air as your runny juices cover his chin after you grind your pussy against his face a few times.

Eagerly and quickly, you drop to your knees, the wooden floorboards digging into your skin. You lick your lips, savoring the anticipation, and then lean in, pressing your mouth to his iron cock.

Boothill's fingers tangle in your hair as you begin to work the metal, your tongue gliding along its length. The taste is foreign, yet enticing, and you find yourself growing more and more aroused with each passing moment. Your own desire is pooling between your legs and thick juices are dribbling down your thighs as you suck the metallic dick.

The sounds of your moans and the wet slurping of your mouth on the iron fills the room.

You continue to lick and tease the plump head of his iron dick, your tongue tracing the intricate design of the metal.

Boothill's breathing grows heavier, and you can sense his growing need for release. You open your mouth and take the head of his cock between your lips. You slide further down the shaft, your lips tight around the steel as you deepthroat him.

Boothill groans, his hips bucking involuntarily as you work your magic. "Fuck, honey, just like that, you're doin' such a good job down there."

Your hands roam his body, exploring the hard, cold contours of his chest and abs as you keep on sucking his cock, looking up at him with your best doe eyes.

With a loud groan, he yanks your head off his cock and forces you back on the cot. He continues to stroke your clit as he positions himself at your entrance, his cock nudging against your slick pussy lips. He pushes in, slowly at first, but then with more force.

You moan as you sense him filling you up to the brim, your pussy stretching painfully to accommodate his thick girth. "Oh, fuck!"

Boothill pauses, giving you time to adjust to his size. "Fuuuuck. You feel amazing," he says, his voice strained with pleasure. "So tight and hot, warmin' my dick up." He begins to move, his hips thrusting forward as he fucks you. Boothill starts to thrust harder, his hips slapping against yours.

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. You can feel another orgasm building up inside of you, and you know it's going to be huge.

Boothill's thrusts become more urgent, his cock hitting your G-spot with each stroke. The cyborg pounds into you so fast and deep you can hardly catch your breath.

Your eyes are glistening with unshed tears, your tits bounce with every thrust, and you’re still holding onto his strong forearms. The wet slap of Boothill's hips against your pussy, the obscene squelching from your dripping wet pussy as his cock pistons in and out of you make you arch your back and moan like a whore. Your pussy is clenching painfully around Boothill's cock as if trying to milk his cock right on the spot.

He must feel it too because he begins to thrust harder and faster, his balls slapping against your slit. "Come for me, sweetheart," he urges, his voice strained with pleasure. "I want to feel you cum all over my cock."

With a few more thrusts of his, you explode, your orgasm washing over you in waves of pleasure. The walls of your pussy clamp down on the cyborg's cock.

Boothill follows soon after, his cock twitching as he comes to his own orgasm inside of you, filling you with a thick seed. "Yee-haw! Fuuuuck, fuuuuuck! Yeees!" He gives a few last thrusts, pushing his cum deeper, fucking it into you so you’ll be dripping white for hours, and then he finally pulls out with a groan.

The slurping sound your cunt makes as his cock leaves your pussy is obscene, so is the cloudy trail of mixed white and clear fluid that connects your pussy and the mushroom-shaped tip of his metallic cock until he withdraws completely.

You lay there, panting and spent, covered in a cold sweat as Boothill lays down beside you, his strong arm draped over your waist. "That was amazing, honey," he says, his voice soft and satisfied as he place small kisses to your bare shoulder.

You nod, still unable to speak. You've never experienced anything like this before, and you know that you'll never forget it. "I think I fell in love with your metal rod," you chuckle quietly, your cheeks going beet red.

special tags: @shonen-brainrot @crystalwolfblog @hornydynamight @doumaslotus @bakugoscunny

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bcyhoods · 7 months

Note

hi! can I please request the prompt “caressing the other's cheek softly, hoping to wake them up that way” with steve and shy!reader? maybe it’s their first time waking up together and he’s just so in love?

thank you for the req nonnieeee <333 need him in my bed immediately, thanks! | 0.5k gn!reader

Steve can’t seem to put his finger on it.

Maybe you were born with some sort of super power. Like you’re able to induce serenity with just a touch of your fingertips, a timid press of your lips to his cheek. Or it could be something spiritual. Something about your souls being intertwined due to something living in the stars or the color of your aura or something.

He doesn’t really know. Waking up to you in his bed for the first time makes his brain all fuzzy.

The sun spills in through his blinds and covers every inch of your exposed skin in golden warmth. Your hair is wild, splayed out over his pillowcase — which he’s sure now smells like your shampoo. You’d slowly inched apart from each other during the night, but your hand still rests over his torso, accidentally bunching up the material of his shirt around your fingertips. The longer he lets himself look at you, the harder his heart thrashes around in his chest.

He doesn’t really want to wake you, but he so desperately wants to talk to you. With a tentative hand, he trails up your arm to cup your jaw. His thumb gently passes back and forth over the swell of your cheekbone, reveling in the softness of your skin. A blithe grin hijacks his mouth once he sees you beginning to stir.

“Hmm.” Your hand is gone from his torso to grasp onto his own hand, still just barely caressing your face. You blink a few times, adjusting to the brightness filtering in when you see his face. Warmth settles on his freckled cheeks and paints his skin pink, and it only gets deeper when you give him your own sleepy smile. “Morning.”

“Good morning,” he answers, voice raspy and deep.

He’s looking at you like he can find an answer in your eyes. You might have the entire universe hiding in your pupils. Definitely something akin to stardust shines in them, he swears.

His attention makes you feel lightheaded and your skin burns beneath his touch. You squeeze at his fingers and pucker your lips to fruitlessly keep your nerves at bay, but it produces a kind of upside-down grin that makes him beam and chuckle. You giggle and ask, “What are you doing?”

“Nothin’. Just wanna look at you.”

“Ugh,” you groan and roll your eyes, but the wide smile on your face reveals your secret. Steve Harrington makes your stomach flutter and makes your heart beat so erratically that you can feel it thump and shake against every inch of your body. That’s why you’re quick to shield your face with your hands, muffling your nervous giggles in your palms.

“Oh, stop.” Peeling your hands away from your face, he brings them up to his lips and kisses your knuckles, unceremoniously. The smacking sounds make you laugh, and when he notices, he makes sure to kiss them louder. He stops the assault on your hands to cup them together and press them against his chest.

His heart beats as quickly as yours does.

“I liked sleeping with you,” you tell him with a gummy smile like it was confidential.

“Yeah?”

You’re immediately recognizing the double entendre, but he’s too lovesick to notice. You consume his every thought, it’s impossible to get his mind working accurately. So instead of teasing you, he whispers

“I liked sleeping with you, too, honey.”

#been hoarding this in my drafts cuz i have mixed feelings 🤨#also seeing exactly where i lost steam is so funny #ᝰ cece’s scribbles #steve harrington #stranger things #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington hc #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x reader #steve stranger things #stranger things fluff #stranger things blurb #stranger things fic #joe keery

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obsessedwrhys · 29 days

Text

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ BROKEN FRAGMENTS

ᯓ★ Kurt finds you hurting yourself. Graphic description of cuts and scars/gore (?), SH, comfort, can be read as platonically or intimately. Reader is fem!! (I do not condone to anything in this fic. I just wanted to provide comfort to those who need the love they deserve.)

۫ ꣑ৎ Please reach out to someone if you're going through a tough time. Do not suffer in silence. YOU deserve to feel safe just like many others. Warning, this may be triggering for some so PLS DONT FORCE YOURSELF TO READ IF ITS TOO MUCH

ᯓ★

How you found yourself starting this habit was like a haze. You don't remember it all that well, but the emotions, the overwhelming emotion of guilt and pain always made it feel like it was just yesterday.

You had your reasons to carry out such acts.

But you knew that those reasons weren't an excuse for this.

Deep down you knew it was bad... but if it's bad, why does it make you feel so much better?

Should you feel guilty for wanting to be better?

After all, you never really knew how to express yourself... it always felt like this was the only way for it.

You made your way through the corridors of the mansion. The others had went for a mission so it was just you left behind. Why you weren't chosen to go was unclear but you had a grudge on why.

You tried your hardest to ignore it but you can feel how everybody was beginning to worry about you.

Moments where they'd take short glances of you...

Asking you if you wanted to hangout more...

Even secret talks regarding your wellbeing...

You'd be an idiot if you chose to believe your change of behaviour wasn't taking its effects on the others. You just feel like you've lost the spark you used to have in you. But can they blame you when you no longer have the energy to fight?

You retreated to your room, sitting on your bed to stare at the ground for a good few seconds before letting out a sigh. You searched through your drawers, looking for the exact thing you needed to get your mind off of these thoughts.

You really wanna stop... but it's so hard to...

Your hand just itches each time...

Your mind was a race track where the thoughts won't stop until one finally crashes.

You pulled up the sleeve of your hoodie, collection of scars that went back to weeks ago. Maybe even months. You're not sure and you could care less about it.

One...

Two....

Three....

Four.........

You continued on, the sight of the blood made you feel alive again. It was like you've pulled the curtain aside to reveal what was behind it. Your flesh and blood. Your very proof of existence. To prove you were real and breathing.

However that moment of euphoria soon vanished... you stare, almost blankly at the cuts as the blood continued on dripping out.

Why do you never feel good enough?

When will the time come where this moment will just be a faded memory?

Why—

Suddenly there was a knock on the door but before you could respond, it opened by itself.

"(Y/N) I wanted to—"

The sight left him quiet. Kurt, who's smile was on his face dropped immediately the second he saw what was happening. You stare back, guilt heavy in your gaze as your face turned red.

Oh nononononono....

Whatdoyoudo?run??hide???kickhimout???

Before you can even think of how to act, he was the first to act, he took a few steps inside your room before closing the door shut behind him. He approaches you, carefully, almost like you were a wild animal he didn't wanna scare off because it was clear you felt tensed and afraid of how he may react.

Once he was close enough, he looked at you with a concerned expression on his face. It was visible to see that he was more worried about your wellbeing than anything right now.

"Do you wanna talk?" He knelt down in front of you, his eyes roamed over your body to see just how much harm you’ve done to yourself.

You look at him, afraid to speak. Afraid he may not understand and right away, he understood what you were trying to express in your eyes and he tilts his head with a sympathic smile.

"…I’m not angry at you" He said, a soft and understanding expression on his face as he looked at you.

Just then, Kurt slowly reaches out to you and places his hands over yours, gently prying the blade from your hands. Even though the sight of the blood on your hands worries him, he manages to keep a calm and relaxed demeanor for your sake.

"Shhh. It's okay...it's okay..." He mumbles to you in a soft comforting tone as he sets the blade aside and gently take your bloody hands back in his.

Even though some may get on his. It didn't matter, all that mattered to him, was making you feel okay.

Sensing you didn't have the strength to speak... and seeing the tears forming in your eyes. He caresses the sides of your face to wipe the tears away with his thumb. His touch was gentle and in a way it comforted you.

Your avoiding eyes finally locked with his, just to be met with his warm and soft yellow eyes that made your heart melt. Despite how seeing the slight fear in your own eyes made his heart ache, he manages to give you a soft smile.

"It's going to be okay..." He assured as he held you closely against his chest, gently rubbing your back in a soothing manner. He was slightly surprised at how small your body felt in his arms, but that just made him want to hold you more tightly in his arms and tell you that everything would be alright.

"You're not alone... I'm here for you. I promise..." He softly placed his hand on the back of your head and gently stroked your hair.

His words and how he was treating you made you feel seen.

Cared for.

Loved.

"I'm sorry" You tried to stop your tears but you were unable to hold everything in anymore. At the same time, the burn of the cut made your skin itch.

"Shhh... it's okay" He muttered, holding you tighter to have you cry on his chest.

"You don't have to apologize... Shhh... it's going to be alright..." He continued on stroking your hair comfortingly while he rest his head on top of yours.

Kurt hold you closely to his chest, his arms wrapped around you as you cried like your lungs were burning. His cheek was now rested against the top of your head and how he carried on to make gentle hushing noises in an attempt to soothe you made you feel appeased.

"You're safe... you're safe... I promise you’re safe with me" He said.

The room was quiet as you two remained in each other's arms. No amount of words could express how belonged you felt in his embrace. Even though your face was a mess of tears and snot, he didn't care if it was getting all over his shirt because none of that mess is equal to the situation you're in right now.

By the time you have calmed down, he felt it was the okay time to treat your scars now. Being as gentle as he could, he lifted your head so he could look at your self-inflicted wounds, his expression showing his concern but not a trace of judgement.

"Let me help you" He said softly, his voice just as gentle as his touch.

You watched when he got up to get a band aid kit from your closet. Then returning back on the bed, the mattress sinking back down from his weight. Kurt grabbed a piece of clean towel and you couldn't help but find the sight of him dapping it gently on your cuts with such focus touching.

After applying a thin layer of antibiotics, he took a roll of sterile gauze from inside the first-aid kit and gently wrapped the gauze around your hands and arms to help stop the bleeding and prevent further scarring if possible. His touch was firm but tender, his fingers carefully wrapping the gauze around your wounds.

Once he had finished bandaging your hands and arms, he gently cupped your face in his hands and looked at you with care in his eyes.

"Are you feeling better now?" He asked and you hesitated... then nodded.

Seeing you nod made him feel a bit relieved, but he could still sense that you were feeling vulnerable and fearful. He looks at you with a glint of hope.

"You don't have to tell me everything now... let's take it slowly... hm?" He said and you nodded again, a grateful smile on your face.

"Mein hübsches mädchen" He leaned in, resting his forehead on yours as he closes his eyes.

"Lieber Gott, bitte schütze dieses Mädchen vor allem Bösen und Schaden. Helft ihr, sich zu erholen und zu heilen. Schenke ihr Frieden und Trost in dieser schwierigen Zeit" He uttered, a prayer you assumed, his voice was small and hushed that it was comforting listening to him.

When he finally opened his eyes, he smiles at you, his fangs becoming noticeable as well.

"What do you say we raid the kitchen? Hm?" He asked and with that playful look on his face. It was hard to say no.

"Yeah..." You answered and he gave you one last squeeze of a hug.

"I know you're hurt and scared, mein liebling. But I promise I'll always be here for you. Together we can get through anything" He said, his words being enough to make you feel better now.

"Thank you"

Deep down you knew your habits would still haunt you but at least now you felt there was somebody there for you, to help and care for you.

Healing itself has no end but is a lifelong journey.

A journey Kurt is willing to go on with you.

#writing this csuse i need this from my comfort character rn #idk who else also needs this #x reader #fluff #angst #comfort #x men 97 #x men #x men x reader #x men 97 x reader #nightcrawler #nightcrawler x reader #nightcrawler xmen #kurt wagner #kurt wagner x reader #kurt wagner x you #x men nightcrawler

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seresinhangmanjake · 7 months

Text

The Favorite

dad!Jake "Hangman" Seresin x reader

Summary: The Daggers meet your and Jake's baby girl for the first time and arguments over who will be her favorite aunt or uncle quickly follow.

Notes/Warnings: part of the Oh, Baby Universe, but can be read alone. Based on a suggestion from @tgmreader

Words: 1288

Between the ‘She’s like your clone, Jake,” from Nat, the ‘Is anyone else surprised Hangman beat us to the baby train?’ from Bob, and the offended ‘Wait, you two were hooking up and you didn’t tell me?’ from Javy, Jake is clearly exhausted. Not that he didn’t anticipate being worn out after introducing his daughter to his team, you both did, but the last forty-five minutes have far surpassed expectations.

Being confined in a room with the Daggers historically proves to have its drama—whether in the form of unnecessary argument or playful teasing—but with your new baby girl at the center of everyone's attention, drama has started to take on new meaning in the form of obsessively watching Eve as if she might start doing tricks or giving you both grief for not spilling every detail of your ‘sneaky, secret relationship’ before this moment. To your relief, though, they’ve steered clear of asking questions about your absence over the majority of the past year. They don’t push, knowing that information will be revealed with time.

“It’s just…” Mickey begins as his eyes snap back and forth from the baby to Jake, “...so weird.”

When you chuckle, Jake rolls his eyes. “It’s not weird,” he counters.

“It’s pretty weird, man. You’re, like, a dad.”

“Lots of people are dads,” Jake says as he runs his knuckle down the cheek of the infant in your arms—his new little love.

“Yea, but you’re the dad of Y/N’s baby.”

As Bradley snorts at the obvious, you look to Jake to check on the effect of Mickey’s unfiltered words. His eyes are on your face and you smile to soften the sudden twinge of uneasiness speckled amongst the various green flecks in his irises.

Though Jake has expressed mental security in his place within the lives of you and your child, you fear what might occasionally be running through his mind. The last thing you want infecting his confidence is the consideration that maybe this situation is weird, that maybe he isn’t meant to be the father of your baby because he wasn’t intentionally chosen for that role.

Eve wasn’t planned. You can’t change that. And the choices you made when you discovered your pregnancy are enough to have any man reasonably questioning himself. But there is no other man you want as your baby’s father. Jake is it. You’re pretty positive he was always meant to be it, because your brain refuses to picture another in his place.

Jake’s stare breaks when Bradley starts to speak. “We all knew how these two felt about each other, even though they were doing nothing about it,” he says, shooting you and Jake a smirk so quick it’s barely acknowledged before he looks back to the group of pilots. “I promise you guys, once it fully sinks in, it won’t feel so wild that they accidentally made a tiny human.”

Nat’s head snaps up from Eve, but her finger remains wrapped in the infant’s smaller ones. “When, exactly, were you given enough time for it to sink in?” There is suspicion in her tone. Then her eyes go wide. “Did you already meet the baby?” she asks before turning to you and Jake. “Did Rooster meet her before the rest of us?”

As if sensing the shift in the room, Eve lets out a little whine and starts to wiggle in your hold.

“Yes, Nat,” Bradley answers for you. You can feel the sass bubbling around him as his arms cross over his chest. “By a whole three days.”

“Three days matters,” she retorts. “It could be the difference that makes you Eve's favorite. The earlier the interaction, the better.”

“She’s only a few months old. You might still have a chance, Nat,” Reuben chimes from the sideline.

“Don’t bet on it,” Bradley snorts. His sass is so expertly conveyed you’re shocked his tongue doesn’t stick out to accompany his words.

You’d scold him if not for the fact that these two often enjoy ruffling each other’s feathers when the opportunity arises. It’s all in good fun, but sometimes, depending on the topic, the teasing aspect goes over their heads.

You suppose it’s flattering that being your child’s favorite is enough to cause a bit of an upset, but it’s wasted energy. Jake will be Eve’s favorite. The Father and The Favorite are not mutually exclusive, and you know in a room full of the people she loves most in the world, Eve will never fail to run straight into her father’s arms.

Nat, however, does not consider that inevitability as she carefully slips her finger from Eve’s to face the six-foot-tall brunet head-on.

Jake mutters a curse, fingers rubbing across his forehead.

With his hands raised, Javy takes a step forward as if to prevent a physical altercation. “Alright, everybody take a breath,” he says. The winning, cocky grin that has tempted a woman or two or thirty is spread across his face. Then he points to himself. “I'm going to be the favorite. I'm her father's best friend.”

“I don't think that guarantees anything,” Bob says, only to receive a scowl in return.

It’s then that Mickey throws his own name onto the ballot. “You know, if we base this on entertainment value, she’ll obviously like me best. I’m the funniest.”

“Also the most irresponsible,” Reuben adds.

“What’s that got to do with it?”

“Um, everything,” Nat clarifies as Bob nods in agreement. “For one, you’ll never be the babysitter.”

“If you were the babysitter you’d need a babysitter,” Bradley chuckles, patting Mickey on the back.

Bob clears his throat and pushes his glasses up his nose. “That is very true; it would be chaos. What baby Eve here could use is a calming presence, and that’s me, so–”

“I’m calm,” Reuben interjects, pulling a scoff out of Javy.

“You also come up with insane ideas that make everyone miserable,” Javy says. “What are you going to do, have the baby compete in challenges only to suffer through two hundred push-ups if she loses?” he asks. “I think that’s grounds for immediate disqualification.”

Reuben’s response is drowned out by the additions of each pilot arguing their case for favorite aunt or uncle, and you’re too drained from the last hour to attempt untangling voices.

Jake sighs and shakes his head before taking your hand in his and leading you out of the living room, up the stairs to where Eve sleeps. You’re thankful that, at some point, despite the noise filling the room where your friends remain, your little girl managed to fall asleep. As you place her in her crib, you glance at Jake.

He’s sitting on the loveseat on the opposite side of the room, one hand running down his face, the other reaching out for you. When you take that hand, he pulls you onto his lap, shifting around until you’re comfortable with your back leaning against the armrest. A palm draws a lazy line of warmth up and down your leg.

“You’re a trouper, Honey,” he says, eyes unmoving from your knee.

You chuckle. “It could’ve been worse.”

“We should’ve done it one at a time; single-file line. The last thing I wanted was for you to be overwhelmed.”

Sitting a little straighter, you reach up to cup Jake’s cheek and guide his face toward yours. “Jake, I wasn’t overwhelmed. I’m fine and so is Eve,” you promise him. “Besides, they’re my friends, too. I knew what we were getting into.”

Jake leans into your touch before turning his head to kiss your palm. “They’re all crazy,” he says.

“Yes, but they’re ours,” you reply. Then you nudge your head in the direction of the crib. “And now hers.”

---

tags: @wkndwlff @kmc1989 @sagittarius-flowerchild @dempy @oliviah-25 @rosiahills22 @xoxabs88xox @matisse556 @hardballoonlove @lynnevanss @pono-pura-vida @tgmreader @amgluvsbooks @ravenhood2792 @djs8891 @shakespeareanwannabe @sailor-aviator @penguin876 @tgmavericklover @athenabarnes @emilyoflanternhill @wretchedmo @shanimallina87 @crowsreadsarahjmaas @mamachasesmayhem @sky2nd @jessicab1991 @rosedurin @averyhotchner @horseshoegirl @roosteraloha @b-bradshaw @memeorydotcom @ryiamarie @ateliefloresdaprimavera

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naffeclipse · 27 days

Text

Packmates

Reader x Orca!Eclipse

Commission Info

This is such a delightful little fic requested by @counterbalance involving Orca!Eclipse having a little heart-to-heart with Michael and Vanessa with, of course, Y/N overseeing it! It's very cathartic and sweet to see all of these characters talk to each other after everything that has happened. I hope you enjoy!

———

Spring in the Arctic is frigid. No flowers bloom along the frozen land. Sea smoke sends pale wisps into the rosy pink dawn light. Jutting mounts of hills and ice jag the landscape as you slip closer and closer to the edge of the snow-dotted ocean.

You tuck your scarlet wool scarf tighter around your throat. Goggles and a hood protect your face and eyes from the wicked air so cold, it brandishes itself like a knife against exposed skin.

The darkness of a blistering cold night in the polar region lifts away, and the sweet, soft light of a new, short day begins. Slowly, the days will get longer and longer, until there is only the hint of dusk before it brightens all over again. You marvel at the sunlight on the glittering frozen ground. The way it refracts upon the tips of waves as the ocean churns slowly in its below-zero temperature state.

All of this is no matter to an orca siren. Eclipse has never been cold. Only alone.

That will change.

You trek across the plain with company. It’s taken you a few days to prepare Eclipse to meet your packmates as he refers to them properly. He’s not wrong. Michael and Vanessa form your little tightly knit group, forged by comradery from first being stuck in such a stark landscape in a tiny base, to then enduring the mysterious uncertainty of sirens and the lingering presence of those who hunted them.

They tried to protect you and you protected them. On your left, Michael’s head is on a swivel. He strains his neck as he peers down into the deep and dark indigo waters as if he might spy Eclipse before he’s ready to emerge. His gloved hands clench, held in front of him as if a harpoon might materialize and drop into his waiting palms. The fur of his dark gray parka is red, pushed by the slight breeze as if he were an Arctic fox roaming, briskly attempting to keep away from a much larger threat.

Vanessa walks so close to you on your other side that her shoulder repeatedly brushes against your own with the thick scratch of durable fabric from your Arctic gear echoing. Her face repeatedly turns to you. A black aviator hat protects her head from the fierce cold, the white fur along the flops of her head attire serving to keep her safe and warm. She anxiously moves her arms. You wonder if she intends to hug you or drag you back to base—either way, she seems to want to grab onto you tightly, as if you might fall through the thick ice now.

They have their reasons to fear, but it’s alright now. Eclipse isn’t going to hurt anyone.

Seeing is believing, it seems, as you lead them towards the icy coast. The water reveals a deeper teal hue to its soft waves and lapping against the edge of the sea as the sun glares across the horizon. You squint against the brightness. Holding up a hand to help shield your gaze, you search the salty edge of the ocean.

Eclipse said he would meet them. He said he wants to know your packmates better.

“Stay here,” you say softly.

Michael’s shoulders become rigid. His eyes, verdant and almost wild, like a creature about to snap with its fangs, follow you in anticipation.

“Are you sure?” he asks.

You turn back, smiling despite how well your Arctic gear covers you up.

“I am. It’s okay, Michael.” In a firmer tone, you remind, “You said you would give him a chance.”

Inhaling deeply, he dips his chin once. “I did. But he’s still a siren.”

“And you’re a human who had a harpoon.” You face him, no longer shrinking in his presence. There are no more secrets, no more reasons to protect each other from the truth. You love Eclipse. That should be enough for Michael but it’s going to take a little more time.

But he’ll see.

“We don’t have them now,” Vanessa says. She crosses her arms in what might have been a pout but her gloved hands grip herself anxiously. “It—He can still sing.”

“He won’t. He promised me he wouldn’t.” You have to ask much of them, and winter isn’t enough time for change, but it’ll have to do. “Trust me.”

They can now. Michael and Vanessa glance at each other, reassuring and perhaps, reinspired by the other.

You nod gratefully and turn back to the water. You kneel at its edge, searching for a tell-tale sign of a sharp dorsal fin or burning red flukes. He shouldn’t be bold—at least more than is excessive for him. You took great care to explain to him how wary Michael and Vanessa might be and that he needs to be on his best behavior. He promised but the way he held you close in an embrace left a grain of doubt in your mind.

In the distant dark teal of the Arctic Ocean, you spy the beautiful, red-tipped dorsal fin of an orca siren. Eclipse. He swims slowly, approaching in the way a shark might curiously regard fresh bait while it’s not currently hungry. You wait. In the corner of your vision, Michael and Vanessa tense. You remain, hands on your legs, inhaling the frost-bitten scent of the wind before the dorsal fin dips below.

Right before you, where ice meets water, Eclipse emerges dripping wet, maw wide open in a grin. His eyes burn through the chilled landscape. One yellow and one red eye greet you with a radiant wonder. His expression softens. Your heart warms as he reaches for you, black-tipped claws dripping wet.

“Happy day, birdie,” he singsongs in a low rumble of harmonics.

His hands brush your gloved palms, and you hear a strange rush of steps behind you. Eclipse’s eyes narrow. He latches onto your wrists just as arms encircle you from behind, one over your shoulder, and another around your waist, and a breathless sound of panic touches the back of your hood. You look down to find the off-white garb of Vanessa’s Arctic gear clinging to you, her gloves twisting deeply into your coat.

“Vanessa,” Michael says, his tone unreadable. He steps closer just as Eclipse growls.

“It’s okay,” you pipe up over everyone. “We’re fine, everyone’s fine.”

Tensions soar as you slowly turn your head back to find Vanessa wide-eyed and breathless. Her gaze is locked onto Eclipse. A rumble on the threat of a snarl vibrates through Eclipse’s chest. Vanessa holds you tighter.

“Eclipse, will you let go of me?” You level him with a pointed stare. “I want to introduce you to my packmates.”

Eclipse’s teeth flash. His array of head frills, flaring in dark oranges and deep reds, cut through the blues and whites of the Arctic in his agitation.

“Eclipse,” you say softly, “Let me go. Just for a moment.”

His gaze drops back to you. You are firm, and unyielding as he lowers his shoulders. A softness returns to his feature. Though he appears pained to release your wrists, his claws slip away.

Vanessa’s death grip upon you loosens in the slightest.

“Vanessa, this is Eclipse.” You pat her arms once. “He’s not taking me anyway. You can stop grabbing me now.”

She drags in a ragged breath. She slowly blinks, her green eyes returning to a more sensible state as she at last withdraws her arms from around you. You pat her arm again. Yet, she sits close beside you, trembling with anticipation.

Gently, you gesture towards her, “Eclipse, this is my packmate, Vanessa.”

He tilts his head. Hiding his teeth, he smiles. “Hello.”

A stare follows from Vanessa, caught somewhere before wariness and the strangeness of an orca siren speaking to her. Was she expecting a monstrous grable to leave his lips or perhaps a wicked song?

“Hi.” she finally decides. She glances at you in confusion for a moment.

Oh, right. Packmate. You’ll explain that later.

“Eclipse,” you then hold your hand out beyond Vanessa to Michael. He still stands on his feet, unwilling or unable to join you guys on the ice that the orca siren leans his arms against. “This is Michael.”

Eclipse’s eyes sharpen as if the tip of an icicle. He lifts his hand. Michael tenses, his fists balling into fists.

“You are the child of the human who took away my pod, my family,” his deep voice is abysmal with the accusations. “I thought you would be worse.”

Michael turns hard as stone. Tension laces his jaw as he clenches tightly. Your heart skips a beat, glancing sharply between the two.

Eclipse snarls. “Your father killed my mother.”

“Sirens are dangerous,” Michael retorts, his shoulders braced for an impact that you refuse to see.

“Eclipse, you said you would be good to my pack,” you say sharply. You reach out and touch the back of Eclipse’s slick, sheeny hand.

He pauses, his eyes flashing to you. His claws quickly curl around your wrist.

“I am,” he says, but he lowers his voice.

Vanessa tenses, her hand reaching to hook around the crook of your arm. Desperation fills you to the brim.

“Please, there’s been enough fighting and hatred.” You look between all three of them. “You all have suffered, haven’t you?”

You steely hold Michael’s gaze. His expression morphs between molten rage and seething hatred before melting into something less bitter. You turn on Eclipse. His expression is sharp, edged with rime and fangs. You squeeze his hand. He glances down at your small gloved fingers in his palm. Slowly, he breathes out a huff of misty air. When you turn to Vanessa, her head is already bowed. Her grip upon your arm is no longer a means to keep you close, but to anchor herself.

“My sister,” Michael says, then stops. He struggles for a moment before looking at Eclipse—truly looking at Eclipse for the first time. “My sister is gone because of my father.”

The beginnings of a snarl pulling over his teeth stop. Eclipse’s grip around your hand becomes gentle. A low sound of sympathy escapes him in a warble.

“Afton let my mother be taken by a siren.” Vanessa’s voice is so small, you almost don’t catch it. “He sacrificed her for the sake of his studies.”

Her fingers dig into your coat. You wish you had another hand so you might comfort her.

Eclipse looks at your other packmate, much more gentle as he leans closer as if to console her. Then, for a moment, he’s pierced with a strange expression. He leans away. His hand slips out of yours as he clenches his hands. His claws rake over the ice.

“Did the siren take your mother as a mate?”

Vanessa’s head lifts. Her mouth contorts as if her very muscles are paralyzed before she says gravelly, “I think so.”

Eclipse’s gaze falls over you. A memory of a time of being stolen away, held underwater, and forced to swim leaves you with a chill. Eclipse, however, slowly inches his hand back to you, open and waiting, and you accept it again. His shiny black and white markings are still sea salt-slick. He whistles a soft sound.

“It is wicked to force your will upon another,” his voice is low, repentant.

Michael and Vanessa share equal expressions of scrutiny and wonder. Perhaps you merely imagine the first shine of acceptance in their eyes, but it’s a start.

Visibly, they relax. Vanessa still holds to your elbow but her fingers are no longer hooking around you in the hope of keeping you from being reeled out. Gradually, Michael lowers himself onto one knee. He rests his arm on his leg and loses the tautness in his body.

You hold tight to Eclipse’s fingers. You wish you could close the distance. It’s been a few days since you’ve returned to the Arctic and spent time with Eclipse, but you still yearn for more of him. It was a long and cold winter without your siren.

Perhaps humans and sirens don’t have to stay enemies. Perhaps the past can die with the generation who couldn’t stop fighting. Maybe you all can be better, and happier.

“Eclipse, will you tell Vanessa what you told me before?” you nudge. You think it will sound better coming from a siren than from you.

Straightening, Vanessa glances quizzically at you, then Eclipse as a few water droplets fall from his frills.

“Your mother may be alive.” He turns towards the sea without releasing your hand. “She may be out there. I can help find her if that is something you wish.”

A ripple of shock crosses your friend’s expression. Of course, you and Michael promised to help search for her mother now that she understood what may have become of her. This is one of your motivations for returning to the Arctic. Vanessa is almost speechless. You have never seen her emotional before, but you wonder if she may weep. Is she happy or angry that a siren would offer such a thing to her? Knowing what happened to her mother?

“You know where she is?” she asks.

“No,” Eclipse corrects promptly, “but I can aid in your search. I know these waters. I have swam them all my life. If she is here, I can locate her.”

She glances at you, her eyes shining. You smile reassuringly. Slowly, she turns to Michael. His expression is firm and difficult to read, but he gives a slight nod.

This might not end up how you wish it would, but it’s something. It’s hope—a possible answer after never having her mother all of her life. You wonder what kind of tail her mother could possess, and shiver as you glance down to your legs covered in thick Arctic gear.

“I—Yes,” Vanessa says at last. She faces Eclipse. “I would owe you everything if you helped me find her.”

A wide grin splits the crescent marking of his face. Just below the water and beyond the edge of ice you sit upon, his tail snaps to one side.

“No need. I want nothing more than what I have.” He squeezes your hands. His claws carefully brush over the fabric of your gloves as your heart swells with pride.

You face him. Gently tugging yourself free of Vanessa’s grip, her hold loosens and she lets you go, her hand hanging in the air while you close the distance between you and Eclipse. His arms open gladly. You enter his embrace. A spark of shyness flies through you, never having an audience before to witness the affection between you and the orca siren.

Eclipse makes you forget all else as he hums soothingly. He nuzzles softly along your hood, pushing your goggles up to touch the heat of your skin. You close your eyes. He squanders not the opportunity to press a slick kiss to one eyelid, then the other. You breathe softly.

“Thank you,” you whisper to him.

“I thought you would know there is no need to thank me,” he rumbles with mirth, “but I still enjoy it.”

You pull back and touch his cheek. He leans into it before you remember who is present. You turn back to Michael and Vanessa and bashfully ask where they should start looking first.

#naff's writing commissions #apex polarity #orca!eclipse #therapy time for everyone!!#vanessa and michael are just so concerned for y/n #and eclipse is doing better!!#naff writing

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