#but she yearns for at least one more child

[lokijiro]

Tween Frigga visits a witch who tells her that she will marry a king and have two children. Tween Frigga is a little disappointed because she wants seventeen children.

When Frigga is told that she can no longer have children after Thor's birth, she is confused. She is certain that despite what she is told, she is capable of having another child. However, Odin refuses to try; he won't risk Frigga's life or health, even though he hates that his queen is miserable and he knows he needs a spare.

When Odin brings Loki to Asgard, Frigga immediately knows that he is her prophecized second son.

[xiaowhore]

genshin men as shoujo tropes.

characters. neuvillette, wriothesley, & alhaitham.

note. in celebration of the shoujo renaissance (and also bc im having a hard time finishing the drafts i left half a year ago) i present to you the ideas i had while half-asleep this morning. i dunno if this will ever be a consistent series but here are the first 3! (heads up: female pronouns will be used in this fic!)

neuvilette ; the duke

it has to be said. he's the duke of the north.

you belong to an aristocratic family, but you're basically neglected due to being your father's illegitimate child with a maid and your younger sister is much better than you at every way there is. appearance, etiquette, and intellect—she is far more superior than you at these aspects. countless men ask for her hand in marriage, while none asks for yours.

but honestly, you didn't want to be wed to a noble. you dream of being a commoner, free from the clutches of your family who looks down on you and solely dotes on your sister. you could be a baker perhaps, since you've always had a hobby of making sweets.

yet your parents suddenly announce you're now engaged. and to the duke of the north, of all people! he has made a great contribution for the war against the monsters within the continent, but he is more known for his ruthlessness and harsh temperament. if you were to be his wife, what would happen to you? the duke holds a lot of power, but no one wants to marry him because they're all afraid of him, you included.

as you're being sent to his castle by carriage, you're already trying to comfort yourself. at least you're away from your family now. he couldn't possibly be worse than them. and as ruthless the rumors all say he is, duke neuvillette is not the type of man to beat a woman who has done no wrong.

your first dinner with him is completely silent. the clacking of cutlery pierces through the air, the only sound you can hear other than your heart rapidly pounding in your chest. your head is bowed, too fearful to meet him in the eye, but you can't help sneaking glances at him.

the duke doesn't appear in most events hosted by nobles, too busy defending his territory from monstrous creatures to attend. but you see now that those rumors about him being unsightly could not be any more false. his long hair drapes over his shoulders, not a strand out of place. his gaze is calculating, a fascinating blue you can't look away from, and his nose cuts a high angle—he'd look fetching if he wore glasses as he does paperwork. really... how could this man be your husband-to-be?

as you're busy worrying over how you shouldn't offend him and appreciating his appearance, neuvillette is trying his best to appear calm. the woman of his dreams is right in front of him, whose hand was promised to him if he won against the dragon slumbering in the northern mountains. the woman he had yearned for years on end, the woman who gave him strength as he was on the verge of death during the war, the woman who doesn't remember him anymore—

but he promised you long ago he'll make you the happiest woman in the world, and he's intent on keeping his vows.

neuvilette may appear stoic, but he's nothing but sweet to you. he accompanies you at every opportunity he isn't busy with work, spoils you rotten, and makes you want for nothing. word spread throughout the land that duke neuvillette couldn't be any more smitten with his wife, erasing all rumors that claimed he was heartless. you were intimidated by him at the start, but as you spent more time with him, you learned that there was no reason to be.

...however, that only applies to you. although you never said it outright, neuvillette can tell your family didn't care for you properly. he already had reservations with them, and now he has other reasons to be angry.

when your sister comes to his residence and claims there was a “mix-up” in the marriage, that she should be the one wed to him and not you, he is furious.

but there's really only one ending for this story—after all, his heart only belongs to you.

wriothesley ; the bodyguard

you're the only granddaughter of a yakuza leader and wriothesley is your bodyguard who will protect you no matter what. (not claiming ‘a girl and her guard dog’ energy; there are plenty of other mangas who have this trope too.)

you're just an ordinary girl with a very extraordinary family but you want to live a normal life free of violence and keep your family background a secret. you beg your grandfather to let you attend classes at a normal school, and he allows you in one condition: wriothesley must be with you at all times.

so yeah. this tall and absolutely ripped guy is behind you every time you walk to school, in the corridors, on the way to the cafeteria, and the only time he isn't following you is when you go to the restroom.

very protective. never lets his guard down when you're talking to boys. doesn't understand what you see in the handsome guy that everyone likes when his looks aren't all that great (he's just jealous).

“let's go home. it's about time for the car to arrive... what do you mean you still have something to do? ...there's someone waiting for you at the rooftop? you found a love letter in your locker? ...i'll wait for you at the door.”

he does wait for you at the door, but he also tries to hear the conversation you're having. and maybe he scoffs a little when he sees the guy who's trying to vye for your attention, because clearly wriothesley worried for nothing.

there will be a lot of dangerous events involved (i.e. kidnapping for ransom, attempts to kill you as revenge, wriothesley's enemies trying to harm you because you're the person he loves etc.) but wriothesley will save you each time.

“i'm right here,” he says as he cradles you in his arms, hugging your trembling body. “you don't have to fear anything now.”

it's nothing serious. just a pathetic attempt at kidnapping by a bunch of idiots who want ransom money. you're safe and sound in the car, waiting for him to finish his business with the delinquents, but that fact doesn't make his anger fade at all. “if i see a single scratch on her, i'll kill you.”

his head is bleeding, dripping crimson over his right eye, but all he sees is your bound wrists, the bruise on your cheek, the blood on your lip. he's out of bullets. you're both surrounded by henchmen. he has a single blade in his pocket. still, he roars with uncontrollable rage, “no one touches her!”

(very important detail: he calls you “my lady.”)

alhaitham ; the nonchalant male lead

he's definitely the cold guy who's (at first) rude and blunt to the female lead.

you've liked him since you were kids. your moms are best friends and you live next door to each other. both of your parents seem convinced you're going to end up together, but he rejects every single one of your advances—not that it discourages you from trying again next time.

you try to walk to school with him even though he always goes to the library too early and you're the furthest thing from a morning person. you offer him the best parts of the lunchbox you cook for yourself. you give him a cold drink after gym class. you invite him out to the mall during the weekends to hang out. you doll yourself up everyday with cosmetics and accessories in hopes that he'll think you're pretty.

but alhaitham always just looks... disinterested. especially during dinners where both of your families are present and his mother teases him about dating you for what seems like the nth time that night.

and you know he's not obligated to like you back or anything. but you still want to get his attention. you want to improve yourself to get him to like you.

alhaitham may come across as cold-hearted, but he buys you bread from the convenience store on the way to school because he knows you missed breakfast just to go with him. he keeps an eye out for any stray balls hitting you during gym class because for some reason you attract them like a magnet. he often declines your offer to go outside during weekends, but he's willing to tutor you for the test scheduled next week.

so you like to think of yourself as someone special. because surely, he doesn't do these things for anyone else, right? you must be one of the closest people to his heart, right?

but then the pretty girl from the class next door confesses to him, and you think you've lost your chance. she's tall and gorgeous, her clothes are always the latest fashion, and you're pretty sure she's around the same student rankings as alhaitham. they're talking by the cherry blossom tree, and no one can hear what they're saying behind the wall you're hiding from in your quest to eavesdrop on them.

but then alhaitham leaves first, not giving her a single glance after what you assume to be a swift rejection. the girl isn't crying, but she looks a bit shocked as she returns to school, not expecting the turn of events.

your classmates don't even pretend to be decent; all of them are asking her what happened. “he says he's not interested in dating, that's all.”

and at that, you sigh in relief. even if you're not special to him now, no one else is either.

you don't notice her looking at you, envy burning in her gaze. she didn't say any lies—but she did omit something important.

“i think... i like someone now. the most important person to me.”

[lovelybluebirdie]

The astonishing failure of a simple plan

Astarion x f!Reader

Summary: Astarion tries to wrap his head around you, when a sudden tumult in camp occurs.

[AO3]

The concept of altruism had always been quite strange to Astarion.

Doing something solely for benefiting others, without one's own needs primarily in mind – how outrageously foolish. 

And yet, he caught himself considering the idea more often since he had met you. 

You, the soft-hearted soul who always seemed to stumble directly into the next best opportunity to solve the problems of complete strangers that would cross your way – gladly interfering with any sort of personal drama. 

Although you and the rest of your travel companions had been infected with a tadpole to the brain, leaving you in desperate need for a cure to this rather urgent condition, somehow you would always manage to save a child from getting gruesomely killed by harpies, pick a fight with a powerful hag to rescue some random woman you just met or annihilate an entire camp full of goblins to ensure safe travels for a bunch of Tieflings – without at least demanding a proper compensation for all your troubles. 

You just did those things, and it drove Astarion mad.  

Perhaps one of the reasons for your undeniable saviour complex were the recurring thoughts that plagued you. You had once explained it as particularly dark urges, the impulse to hurt and kill spreading its roots inside your brain, evolving into a yearn to act out the most gruesome visions one could imagine. Gloriously kill an innocent to bathe in their blood, crush a squirrel to death with your bare fists or rip off a stranger's hand in need of help – malicious ideas that would otherwise never cross your mind.

The origin of these unwanted desires were unknown to you, but you sensed that it had to be connected to your past somehow – a part of you that had yet to be completely revealed. Of course, you had sworn to give everything in your might to resist them. And luckily for the life of your travel companions, you were mostly able to succeed.

Regardless of these murderous tendencies coming with your affliction, you were still the kindest person Astarion had ever met. A contradiction in itself, and yet you were – well, you.

Lately, Astarion had caught himself just perceiving you. 

Taking in your soft expression as you were mindlessly humming a song to yourself, sitting barefoot by the river, hands elbow-deep in the cold water to wash your clothes, sticking this stupid little melody to his head for the rest of the day.

While resting at camp, he had watched you reading – one of your favourites, the lexicon of bird species in Faerûn – a terribly boring topic, but you seemed to indulge in the lengthy descriptions of a blue jay’s wingspan. You would fetch Astarion a caught smile between slowly turned pages, eyes half-closed, before eventually dozing off in the flickering light of the fire. He had barely been fast enough to catch the edges of your slipping book, saving it from landing in the dirt.

The other day, he noticed you carefully picking flowers from the road, acting like it was the most important task on your schedule. Later, you would sit in silence, brows furrowed in concentration and hands busy with knotting them into a beautiful headband. A gift for Karlach, since you had sensed that she hadn’t been too well on this particular day.

A sickeningly sweet gesture.

And yet, so typically you. Affectionate, always looking after your dearest companions.

He remembered the feeling of you casually squeezing his shoulder after an exhausting battle, the concerned look you would give him as you noticed that he had been injured, and how you insisted on treating his wounds with the utmost care, not leaving his side before you made sure his bleeding had entirely stopped.

There was the sensation of your fingers gently forming circles through his white curls, while he had buried his fangs deep inside your neck, greedily gulping down the blood you had been willingly offered to him. The quickening of your pulse, the little shivers your body would give away as he was feeding on you. 

Your thumb shyly placed against his brow, the tender movement as you traced his features. The sincerity in your voice as you described the outlines of his face to him, after he had shared with you that his lack of reflection had turned the image of his own appearance into a dark shape from his past. Profane vanity was all he had initially seeked from you that evening, listening to you calling him beautiful and stroking his ego, and yet there had been a certain intimacy resonating in that moment. You had described to him what the world would see when it looked at him – what you would see. 

Astarion groaned and pulled his blanket up to his chin, almost covering his bottom lip with the thin woollen fabric.

Gods, how you irritated him. 

How you had infested his mind with your nauseating goodness. 

When you first met, Astarion had decided that precisely this outstanding character trait of yours should be your undoing.

You offered an easy prey, he had thought to himself in a blissful glee, as he imagined all the ways in which he would bargain your trust. 

Luring and deceiving were practically moulded into him, therefore charming you appeared as easy as picking the lock on a broken chest. In order to survive under his former master Cazador, he had become an unwilling adept in these abilities. 

Astarion flinched as the memory of his ruthless tormentor reentered his mind. Cazador had turned him into a vampire spawn almost two centuries ago and made him his slave, forcing him to a life in complete darkness and made him use his body to bring more than thousands of victims to him.

In order to deceive you, Astarion had formed a rather simple plan: Seduce you, sleep with you, manipulate your feelings so you would never turn on him – old habits that cemented over the past centuries had kicked in.

Therefore, it should have been easy with you. Instinctive. Following a pattern of studied behaviour, throwing his best lines at you until you would breathe his name between tousled sheets - leaving your body aching for him and trusting him unconditionally.  

All he had to do was follow this nice little plan of his, deepening the selfish bond he aimed to create between the two of you in order to secure his safety. To get you on his side. 

It should have been nothing more than an insurance. A simple transaction, so to speak: His honeyed words for your protection. Performing an act, yourself delightfully unaware of your leading role in this little play of his.

Well, and what else could it ever be? After all, manipulating others in order to get something out of them was the only way he had ever known. 

And yet: with you, things had somewhat felt entirely different.  

At least, his plan had evidently borne fruit by now: Not only were you voluntarily offering your blood to help him with his cravings after he had revealed his past of being a vampire spawn, you had also sworn to help him finding out the meaning of the scars on his back and dealing with Cazador when the time would come.

Still, instead of savouring his accomplishment he found himself distracted with his attempts to wrap his head around you. 

Sometimes he wanted nothing more than to peek inside this little skull of yours, picking your brain until he would satisfy his curiosity with you and determine the reason why you were lingering on his mind of late. 

He wanted to figure out what made him actually want to listen to the things you had to say, admire your wit when you would share a heartfelt laugh over one of your foolish jokes or why he would seek your company after a night spent in familiar solitude. And even worse: Why in the Hells he had caught himself enjoying how your face would light up after you had saved another unfortunate soul in need on your travels. 

Astarion sighed and pushed his fingers to his eyes, hoping that pressing them shut would free him from his vexing thoughts, as a sudden noise distracted him.

The pounding of hurried footsteps and jumbled voices rose outside his tent, growing louder and faster.

He let out another disgruntled sigh.

Gods, what would it be now?

Whoever was roaming around your camp this late at night, screaming like an animal, better had a rightful reason to do so.

His annoyance fell off immediately as he came to understand what the unfamiliar voices were yelling: Your name. Followed by pleas for help.

Before he even comprehended what exactly posed this sudden level of urgency, his feet had already dragged him outside in the dark, a cold breeze brushing against his skin.

“What is going on?” he heard his own voice meddling into the sudden tumult. 

Then he spotted you: Arms and legs hanging lifelessly, brought down on your bedding by one of the Harpers he remembered from the Last Light Inn. You were followed by a few other Harpers who positioned themselves around your tent - they were desperately shouting for a healer.

An icy grip twisted Astarion’s chest as he stormed forward to reach you, stomping through mud and dirt.

“Is she hurt?” His voice broke as he saw your face. You were lying on your blanket, eyes rolling behind closed lids, cheeks all flushed and a thin line of sweat forming on your brow. You looked utterly terrible: Weakened and sick, seemingly in a feverish delirium. 

Astarion had seen you wounded before, due to blood and gore being in the nature of your journey to free yourself from the tadpoles, but never like this: more dead than alive, not moving a single major muscle.

What in the Nine Hells had happened to you?

Astarion swallowed hard before he found his voice again and turned to the ones who had brought you in.

“What did you do to her?” he hissed, readying himself to grab the Harper next to him by the throat and shake him until his tongue would loosen. “Explain yourself, now!”

Before any of the men could open their agape mouths in response to Astarion’s daunting request, Shadowheart broke the heated atmosphere with a soft push to his shoulder and made way to kneel beside you. 

“Let me see her.” She spoke quickly as she felt for your pulse and started to spread her hands protectively over you, encompassing you in a blue radiance. She was already casting a healing spell.

“Your friend, she… she was fighting a shadow creature, and it must have poisoned her,” the Harper that had carried you pressed between quivering lips. “We already sent someone to call for Isobel. She will know what to do.” As he met Astarion’s furious glimpse, he hastily added “They – they should be here any minute.”

Poison? Astarion wrinkled his nose. Indeed, your blood smelled different – somewhat tainted. 

He focused his gaze back to you, suppressing the urge to slap that damned Harper straight across the face. 

Instead of acting out this violent thought, he sank to his knees next to Shadowheart and carefully laid one hand on your cheek. You were burning hot and letting out ragged breaths between your cracked lips.

“I can cast my spells, but I am not versed in the toxins of the Dark”, Shadowheart declared with the most tensed look on her face, her magic still hovering over your body. “We need Isobel – fast.”

Another twist in Astarion’s chest. He racked his brain for a solution, his hand still held helplessly against your cheek. You were in need of healing, desperately, and more adept than Shadowheart could provide. His senses began to blur.

Through the pulsing sound of blood rushing through his ears he could only gather a few scraps of the enfolding conversation between the Harpers and the rest of your companions that had hurried to your aid.

It was enough to paint a picture of what happened to you: During your night watch, you had noticed a Harper being dragged away in the shadows and went immediately to his aid. With a few quick blows, you had managed to kill the attacking creature and save the unfortunate man from his demise, but for its final act it stroked you with its claw, leaving a deep scratch on your right arm – the source of the suspected poison that would flow through your veins. 

Astarion bit the inside of his cheek, spilling blood. His mind was racing. 

Of course you had gotten yourself in danger over saving someone else again. 

In normal times, he would have loved to tease you for your foolish act of heroism and give you an “I told you so”, probably earning a defiant look from you while you would emphasise the importance of helping those in need. 

Hells, he desired nothing more than to listen to your moralising if it meant that he could just hear your voice right now. 

But instead of lecturing him on morality, you were still lying on your mattress, unmoving and probably on the verge of death, and he couldn’t think of a single way to rid you of this terrible state.

He felt numb. Useless. It made him sick.

A gut wrenching thought rushed over him. 

What if you would die right now – just like that? 

Before he could… Well, before he could do what exactly?

The image of your limp lifeless body with dead staring eyes entered his mind.

No. You didn’t deserve to die. You couldn’t die. Not like this. Not now, not ever, not from saving a goddamned Harper.

Then you whimpered. 

Silent, almost inaudible, but enough to set Astarion ablaze. 

The urge of punishing every single one who had dared to lead you to harm overcame him like a ruthless wave crashing shore. He wanted to cut open, to rip apart and to send everyone into eternal hell.

Fire took over his crimson eyes as he bared his fangs, the look of a predator on his pale face, ready to curse those wretched Harpers or worse, as another quiet sound spilled from your lips.

“As… Astar... ion…?”

He froze.

His name – spoken as gentle as a flicker of moonlight glistening through leaves. Not moaned in lust or used to denounce him in anger – just… him being called, in the most faintest way. 

He felt his eyes wet before he even knew it, his mouth opened for a split second only to his lips pressing it shut again, forcing himself to blink before a single tear could make its way down his cheek.

You sounded so fragile. So ... in need of him.

“Asta...rion?”

His chest twisted again.

He wanted to whisper words of comfort to you, chanting them over and over like a prayer, assuring you that everything would be alright.

“Don’t speak,” he managed to breathe in a cracked voice. “I’m here, my sweet.”

Your eyes were still closed and moving fast underneath your lids. You spoke in a fever, and he could sense that you were in pain. 

Astarion brushed a strand of hair off your sweaty brow, using just the tips of his slender fingers. A most careful touch, as if a hint of deeper force would break you. 

Then, there was no more sound coming from you.

“Hells, where is that goddamned cleric? If she doesn’t arrive here any second, I’m going to drag her over myself-” Astarion’s voice was nothing more than a helpless plea. He sounded way less threatening than he had wished for, almost spilling those tears he had to hold back, and seconds before bursting if there would be no aid for you right now.

“No need to shout, my friend. I’m right here.”

Isobel. Finally. 

A fire in his stomach again.

How dared she sound so calm, considering your condition?

With haste, Isobel knelt between him and Shadowheart and opened her pouch, revealing a set of different sized bottles. She began to examine you with concentration, lifting your eyelids to look at your pupils, checking your vitals and thoroughly inspecting the wound the monster had inflicted on you. 

Astarion gritted his teeth in anticipation, a thick lump forming in his throat. 

“Will she be alright?” he eventually demanded, his voice cracking like a violin out of tune, but Isobel ignored him and silently continued her treatment. 

“Astarion, I’m worried about her too, but I think we shouldn’t disturb Isobel right now,” Wyll interfered softly and squeezed his shoulder. 

Taken aback, Astarion pressed his lips together. Of course Wyll would be the voice of reason in a situation like this, but unfortunately he wasn’t wrong. Isobel was the most profound healer available, an expert on the shadow creatures - and unlike himself, she offered the possibility to save you.

“As I thought,” Isobel mumbled after a minute that had felt like eternity and opened one of her potions with a loud plop. “She will need this.”

She then put her thumb on your chin, carefully opening your mouth and pouring in a dark liquid, before she continued to clear your wound. 

Astarion eagerly watched her hands treating you with expertise, still not laying his gaze off you.

“I gave her a powerful antidote,” Isobel began to explain calmly as she spread a colourless balm on your torn flesh. “Such poison needs fast treatment. Fortunately, if dealt with in time, it can still be cured. I’m glad I was able to aid your dear friend before it made its way through her entire body. Otherwise… It most likely would have been fatal.”

Astarion’s muscles tightened and his stomach turned. You almost died tonight.

Isobel seemed to notice his tension, so she quickly added “With this antidote, she will be completely fine in the morning. Her fever might continue through the night, but I promise that there is no more reason for concern.”

“Are you completely sure of that, Isobel?” Shadowheart asked, seeking out reassurance that the treatment truly had succeeded.

“I swear by Selune, she is not at risk anymore. The antidote freed her from the poison and the balm will heal her wound,” the cleric responded confidently. “Her body will do the rest.” 

The tight, dark blanket that had wrapped around Astarion’s chest began to loosen up.  

“I… I’m glad that she’ll be alright,” was all he managed to vocalise as the adrenaline slowly faded from his body.

“Thank you, Isobel,” added Gale, who had been nervously walking up and down your tent as Isobel had tended to your condition. 

Even Shadowheart, a devoted follower of Lady Shar, spared a few words of gratitude towards the cleric following her sworn enemy’s beliefs.

A general sense of ease took over from the strained atmosphere that had prevailed just a moment ago.

“She needs rest and quiet now,” Isobel claimed and gave a telling look to your companions and the assembly of Harpers that gathered around your tent. 

An unspoken demand that it was time to give you some space now.

*

“I will stay with her,” Astarion announced to Shadowheart and the remaining group after Isobel and the Harpers had left for the Last Light Inn. There had been a quick discussion if you should have been brought with them, but eventually it was decided that you were more safe in your own bedroll than being dragged through the shadow infested lands again. 

“Are you sure, Astarion? I’d be more than glad to watch over her myself,” Shadowheart responded, not hiding her surprise over his proposition.

Even if Astarion wasn’t sure about anything in particular right now, he felt the pressing need to remain by your side until you would open your eyes again, ensuring that Isobel had spoken the truth and the threat had passed. 

“Well, I won’t be able to get some more rest tonight anyway, so I might as well just stay over here,” he attempted in a more indifferent manner. “Besides, her tent is by far the most comfortable one our excuse for a camp has to offer, and I’m looking forward to indulging in some peace and quiet after all of this night's terrible trouble.”

Karlach listened to his explanation in slight amusement and gave him a supporting nod. Liar, her smiling face said.

“Well, if you’re sure, and there are no objections… Then it’s fine with me, I suppose,” Shadowheart replied with a raised eyebrow. “But promise to shout for me if something’s the matter, will you?”

“Gods, would you please give me some credit here, you mother hen. I got this,” Astarion said and rolled his eyes. On the inside, he was still shaken up, and he could only hope that the slight pitch in his voice wouldn’t give him away. “So hush hush everyone, off you go now. Get in some  beauty sleep, as you all are evidently in need of it.”

“Chk!” Lae’zel interfered in the most angry whisper she could muster. “Leave Astarion to look after her for the night if he insists. I’m certain he knows the fate that will await him should she come to harm under his supervision.” Lae’zel’s very own way to express that she came to care about you.

“Charming as ever,” Astarion replied at this implicit threat, still holding no intention to move merely an inch from his spot next to your bedroll.

“You see, Shadowheart? There seems to be no need to worry about our dearest friend,” Gale added with a slight chuckle. “I suppose she’ll be in good hands for tonight.”

Shadowheart let out a grunt and readied herself to leave with the others, but not before she would lay one last gaze on you, ensuring that you had not gotten any worse over the last few minutes.

*

Astarion watched your chest rise and fall in a soothing rhythm.

What a mess this night had been.

From the moment the Harpers had brought you in it had been like a heavy weight violently crushing his chest over and over, turning him into an angry, scared wreck, and the pressure only began to wear off by now.

Realistically, he knew that you were safe and the danger had passed. But then, why was there such an uneasiness lingering on him?

He had been scared in his life before, probably more times than he could recall, and yet… The fear over losing you tonight had shifted something in him. 

You had called for him in your feverish delirium, as you were lying helpless and in pain. 

It was an image hard to shake off.

Astarion sighed, when he noticed that you were still in your armour. There was no way in Hell he would let you sleep in this reeking dirt-covered piece of cloth, so his dexterous fingers began to peel it off, piece by piece. Carefully not to wake you, he stored your armour aside, until you were lying in your undergarment. Then he took your blanket and wrapped it around you.

With another gentle motion, he let his finger stroke along your brow, brushing over the dampness of your skin. You were still feeling hot. 

His nose wrinkled as he pulled down his sleeve to cautiously wipe your sweat away. There was no need to get up to fetch some extra cloth, and he would be perfectly capable of cleaning his shirt the next morning.

For a while, Astarion would just watch over you, mustering your relaxed face and ensuring that your breathing continued steadily. You seemed to be in a calm sleep, still feverish, but evidently better looking than the moment you had been brought in.

The next morning came to his mind. Perhaps he might attempt to prepare your favourite food for you, a simple but apparently very delicious berry porridge. Not that he had any particular experience on the matter, since his culinary needs were restricted to blood these days, but if someone like Gale was able to cook it, he surely would be too. Maybe he would surprise you with the dog or the owlbear for some morning snuggling in bed, as you seemed to never spend a single day without indulging in some pets on your journey. Well, he probably should bring in both. Oh how delighted you would be, waking up to these furry little beasts, he thought with a grin. 

Then it hit him.

Shit.

His nice, simple plan with you had truly and utterly fallen apart.

What should have been nothing more than an insurance for his safety, a way to rid himself of the tadpole in his brain and offer him a powerful ally to face Cazador some day, had developed into something he never experienced before.

He genuinely cared about you - more than he thought himself to be capable of. You had become most precious to him, and he felt the urgent need to be honest with you. 

You were incredible, and you didn’t deserve to be lured into a selfish alliance.

You deserved something real. 

He wanted things between you to be something real - even if he didn’t know what real looked like. After all, charming and deceiving others was the only way he had ever known. Forming a sincere connection and being close with someone posed an entirely new and remarkably scary sensation. But maybe, with you…

Your faint voice brought him back from his thoughts. 

“Asta...rion?” 

His face softened, not as an act of will, more like a reflex.

You looked at him with half-open eyes, sounding still a little weak.

He bowed his head closer to you and spoke softly, letting his thumb brush gently over your cheek.

"There you are, my little fool. Getting ourselves in trouble over our constant need to do something heroic again, weren’t we?”

“Mh… Is that so?” you asked in a raspy voice, offering a weak smile through glistening eyes underlined with dark circles, your hair pressed damp to your skull. “And you saved me, I suppose?” 

Astarion’s heart grew tight with adoration. To him, you had never looked more beautiful.

“I’m afraid not, my dear. Actually, you have been poisoned by a shadow creature, so you were in need of a more adept healer. Isobel treated you.”

“Mhm.. How bad was it?”

He thought for a moment, the fear he had felt rushing over him for a split second and piercing his chest like ice. 

"Well, not as bad as it could have. I’ll spare you the details for tomorrow.”

“That’s… good.” You hummed, sounding drowsy and still a little feverish. Then, you gave a soft plea. “Astarion… Would you… stay with me tonight?”

There it was again, a pull at his heartstrings. 

Gods, you wicked little thing.

“Of course, my darling. I’ll stay as long as you need me.”

A promise, unimaginable honest had it been another time, with another person, but this was now, and this was you.

He gave another gentle press to your hand, carefully intertwining your fingers with his, as if to underline his words.

"Thank you,” you whispered, eyes closed for a second before you let your gaze meet his again. Another quiet mumble. "Could you... hold me please?"

Astarion was overwhelmed by your vulnerability for a second. He wanted nothing more than to provide you comfort, to make you feel safe, but didn't know if he should give in. Even though you had often shared your bedroll these days, this somehow felt more open, more intimate.

Before he realised what he was doing, he swiftly lifted off your blanket to slip underneath and laid his arm around your waist, pulling you in close.

He could feel your hand on his chest. Your head gently resting on his shoulder, fingers loosely clutching around the end of his collar. Your warm body against his cold.

Astarion let his fingers gently caressing the small of your back.

You were breathing steady, already seeming to doze off again. A soothing calmness came over him.

“I hope… I didn’t worry you too much,” you mumbled, more asleep than awake.

Astarion bit his lip.

“Well…” he said and cleared his throat. “I managed.” A complete understatement of events, but this was also a confession for another day. “Rest now, my love.”

Astarion continued to gently stroke your back, his lips turning into an affectionate smile. He never thought his heart to be this full over the failure of such a simple plan.

Masterlist

[a-little-unsteddie]

cw: child abuse mentioned, child neglect

Steve, who was never allowed to play in the snow as a child because it was ‘too messy’. Steve, who stared longingly outside as he watched other kids play in the snow. Steve, wanting to build a snowman, or an igloo, or have a snowball fight, but was denied each and every time by his parents. “It’s uncouth, Steven.” “It’s dirty, Steven.” “You’ll just whine that you’re cold, Steven.” “No.” “No.” “No.” Until he stopped asking altogether, even as he stared out his bedroom window at the other kids playing. Steve who loves the snow but was never allowed to play. The one time he snuck out, he was brought inside being dragged by his ear and spanked until he cried.

And then some for crying at all.

Steve goes shopping with his mom and sees a snow globe and all but cries for her to get it for him. If he can’t have the snow outside, he wants to have a snow globe to have it inside. She lets him get it, but not without commenting ‘at least it’s not going outside’.

Thus starts a collection, of sorts. Whenever he sees a new snow globe, he makes his mom buy him it and because he never asks to go outside to play in the snow if she buys one, she keeps buying them for him.

He has around 10 or 15 snow globes by the time he’s a teenager and left alone more than he isn’t. He still doesn’t go out to play in the snow, even if he silently yearns to, because now he’s ‘too old’ to play out in the snow. Tommy doesn’t like being cold, so he never goes out, and Carol won’t do something if Tommy’s not there, so Steve doesn’t bother asking her to go outside.

Steve becomes friends with Dustin and the rest of the party, and he still doesn’t let himself play with them, even when Dustin begs him to. He passes on the same excuses to him as his mom told him, and the words feel like ash in his mouth, but he doesn’t just play in the snow like he’s aching to. It’s too cold, he’ll be wet and miserable later, he doesn’t want to get water all over the house.

Mostly, they’re excuses because he’s kind of worried he doesn’t know how to play in the snow. That somehow he’ll be bad at it.

Eventually, when he and Robin become friends and their first winter together happens, he tells her this secret fear. It’s right after the kids go out to play, and it’s just them, and he whispers to her.

“I don’t think I’ll be any good at it.”

Robin is confused, of course, because how can you be ‘bad’ at playing in the snow? He elaborates to her that he’s never played and she’s less confused but more angry at his parents, which he thinks is an over reaction and she insists he’s having an under reaction, whatever that means, and the moment passes. Steve is relieved to have revealed that much to her. He still doesn’t go outside, and Robin gets cold easily, so she doesn’t want to go outside, so they stay inside together.

He still collects snow globes, when he sees them. He buys one in front of the kids and brushes it off as a white elephant gift for a family thing, but displays it in the unused guest bedroom with the rest of the snow globes. It’s on the other side of the house from where every other guest bed is, so usually no one takes it, and so he knows his collection is safe.

Even if he keeps it secret, and plans to keep it secret forever, until the following winter, after the spring break from hell and after the grueling summer and cool fall brings the snow again and Eddie Munson is a menace in his life. He’s by far the most energetic person that he’s ever been friends with, all touches and open affection, it’s almost too easy to fall for him.

Eddie is nosy as hell and of course it’s him that finds the collection of snow globes.

“What’s this?” Eddie’s voice echoes from down the hall and it takes Steve a few seconds to process where his voice is coming from before he’s rushing down the hall and into the unused guest room.

Along the left wall, there’s a shelf that stretches from wall-to-wall filled with snow globes.

Embarrassment shoots through him, and he shrugs. “…snow globes.” he explains badly, wincing when Eddie turns towards him with an unimpressed look. It quickly morphs into concern because for some reason, Steve’s started tearing up and once the tears start they don’t stop.

“Hey, it’s okay, I’m sorry,” Eddie soothes, wrapping his arms around him tightly. “You don’t have to explain if you don’t want to, sweet thing.”

And the thing is, Steve does want to explain. Suddenly overcome with the urge to spill everything, in fact. So he does. He tells Eddie about his mom and dad refusing to let him play in the snow, the one time he got caught and got spanked for it, the snow globes, the fear of being bad at playing in the snow, still desperately wanting to despite it.

Through it all, Eddie holds him and listens. He hums occasionally to acknowledge what Steve is saying, but never interrupts him, for which Steve is glad because he doesn’t know if he’d be able to continue if he was stopped for any reason.

At the end of it, when Steve’s tears have dried, and they’re curled up in a pile of blankets on the couch, Eddie vows to teach him out to play in the snow. How to make a snow angel, a snowman, an igloo, a snowball — everything. He whispers these promises and plans into his ear, their hands intertwined where they lay on Steve’s lap.

And he follows through. With everything.

And the next time the kids beg him to play, he plays his part and says no, because he’s still anxious he’s going to do it wrong, Eddie throws a snowball at his back while he’s busy arguing with Dustin. And silence falls over everyone, waiting for Steve’s next move. Because he’s never given in, and no one’s ever pushed their luck like that.

Steve turns towards Eddie, narrowing his eyes at him.

“Oh, it’s on, Munson.”

The kids cheer and then it’s chaos of snowballs being lobbed at one another.

Later, when everyone is warming up with hot cocoa, and Steve is curled into Eddie’s side with a blanket tossed over their laps, Steve knows he’s never been happier to have met Eddie, who taught him how to play in the snow.

“Thank you,” Steve whispers to Eddie, who hums curiously, lazily looking at him from the corner of his eye. “For teaching me how to play in the snow.”

“Always, Stevie. I’ll always help you.”

And it sounds like a promise.

[vanteguccir]

── ୨୧ !　𝗔𝗧𝗘𝗟𝗢𝗣𝗛𝗢𝗕𝗜𝗔

　　　　　　　　𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 x reader

SUMMARY: Where Y/N has suffered with an eating disorder for years, but lately, - because of the some "fans" and social media - her insecurities have been taking her to a more than dangerous path, which she couldn't get out without help.

WARNING: anorex!a, eating disorder, comparison, self sabotage, self hatred, panic attack, pure angst... PLEASE read with caution!

REQUESTED?: No.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Atelophobia; the fear of not being good enough.

This was one of the millions of fears and problems that haunted Y/N's mind. Her head convinced her a long time ago that she simply wasn't enough; for her school teachers, for her classmates, for her friends, for her parents, past boyfriends... not even for herself.

This led her to listen to what others said and thought about herself since she was very young, the desire to be perfect and within society's standards in all aspects of a human being consumed her; personality, thoughts, knowledge... body.

She was told all the time how she should behave, act, and be. She was just a child, but that didn't seem to matter to those who did it, clogging her up with responsibilities and comparisons.

One thing led to another. Her desperation to be the best at everything started to include her own body. "Fat" was the first word people used to describe her. She had no control over the situations around her, but she had control over her weight.

Y/N was always the biggest girl in her class, and her classmates seemed to love reminding her of that; often being excluded from work groups, forgotten in groups of friends, or not chosen in any team during Physical Education classes.

Until the year when everything changed. During the school vacation, she decided to change, intending to return to school as a new girl. The new cycle started well, Y/N saw a nutritionist, cutting out all fatty foods from her routine and consuming only healthy ones. She started going to the gym daily, doing the recommended training time. All of this led her to lose a significant amount of weight.

Soon, the vacation was over, and with that, the negative comments from her classmates were replaced by positive comments. Girls asking what she had done to lose weight like that, searching for advice and seeing her as a miracle. Boys saying how changed and prettier she looked.

How could she not fall in love with her own illness?

So, that made her feel good. Too good... her mind began to yearn to become thinner, more beautiful, just to hear more from others. And then the healthy diet and the one hour training at the gym were no longer enough for her. She needed more if she wanted to be better.

Y/N then intensified her training, staying at the gym for 2 hours per day, doing more reps with more weight. She crossed out several foods from the list of permitted that her nutritionist had made, choosing for herself the ones she thought were ideal, until it had almost nothing left.

Her brain self-sabotaged so that she wouldn't go out with her friends, because they would definitely want to eat somewhere and she wouldn't be able to.

She no longer participated in family dinners, creating excuses so as not to be forced to sit at the table and eat.

Her mind convinced her that she wasn't thin enough to satisfy her boyfriends' sexual and non-sexual desires, which made her pull away during or at the beginning of any relationship she had until the guy got tired, or she simply ended it.

She spent hours on the internet, searching for sensational diets that reduced daily calories to 500 or less, promising extraordinary weight loss. In addition to getting on the scale at least 4 times a day, hoping for a miracle every time she looked at the numbers.

Y/N replaced her eating schedules with random hobbies like drawing, learning a new instrument, or picking flowers from her garden to make flower crowns, occupying her time and mind.

Some things scared her, her period hadn't come in months, clumps of hair fell out every time she ran her hands through it. Her vision went dark at least 3 times a day. Her body shivered from the complete cold of her insides, and her stomach hurt more than usual.

But she had to suffer them alone since she had no one to talk to about, always alone.

Until Y/N met Matt.

Matt was the boy who made her want to get better. He encouraged her to look for a hospital that fit her preferences, where Y/N finally began to receive psychiatric and psychological care.

Her diet changed for the better, into foods that Y/N saw as safe. She did not abandon the gym but reduced the weight and time, maintaining her training just for the health of her muscles, as she had lost a lot of lean mass during her worst moment.

The calculator in her head finally stopped. Her eyes started seeing food as just food and not as the enemy. Her stomach craved for all the snacks she loved, and she finally ate them, without feeling guilty.

Matt was so thoughtful about her entire situation, having suffered himself with extreme anxiety from a young age. He could tell he understood in parts what it was like to live with a mental illness.

So he helped her maintain her healthy diet and eat all her daily meals within her limit - often opting to eat together in their room, since he knew the trepidation Y/N still felt about doing it in front of other people.

Matt praised her in every possible situation, trying not to be extreme but to show his intense love and support for the girl. All of that was helping her a lot.

Until it wasn't.

Y/N and Matt never hid their relationship from the public, the girl knew how famous her boyfriend was and how difficult it could be to keep their relationship hidden, they would be seen together at one time or another.

So it wasn't surprising that the girl appeared in some of the triplets' pictures sometimes, and that's what happened that Friday.

As usual, Nick posted a photo dump on the triplets Instagram to promote the publication of their new car video, and one of the photos was of Matt and Y/N, specifically one in which the two were sitting on the couch in their living room, the girl had her legs draped over Matt's thighs, while his tattooed arm wrapped tightly around her waist, huge smiles decorating their faces.

It was a cute photo, but apparently, that wasn't what fans thought.

While Matt and his brothers were in the kitchen, preparing healthy snacks - a habit they built through the girl, but which in the end helped everyone -, Y/N was lying on her bed in the room she shared with Matt, wrapped in too-warm covers, holding her phone with her right hand while her left hand wrapped around her stomach in an almost painful grip.

Her thumb scrolled through the comments screen beneath the post. Almost everyone there talking about her picture with Matt.

"Matt can do so much better than her"

"I really don't know what he saw in her"

"She's going to end up crushing him like that"

"I'll pay for the gym for her if that's the price for Matt to have a worthy girlfriend"

And so on, it was as if they knew all of Y/N's weaknesses.

Some fans of them could be cruel when they wanted to, and Y/N knew this by heart since seeing Nick crying several times because he was body shamed, or when she noticed Chris being quieter than usual after reading comments saying how loud he was and how that was unbearable.

Her heart was crushed every time she saw Matt suffer in silence until he couldn't hold it in any longer and finally cried in her lap for hours after reading people saying how insignificant and quiet he was in the videos.

Even though a huge mass of the fandom loved them with all their hearts and took care of them as much as the distance of a phone screen allowed, it still wasn't enough to swallow the hate comments.

But when it came to Y/N, more than half of the fandom turned against her. Maybe out of envy, but it was obvious that the girl didn't see it that way. She was convinced that they were right.

Her heart tightened as if someone was crushing it with their bare hands. The air seemed to escape her lungs, and the lunch she ate hours before seemed to want to go up her throat. Her fingers trembled as she held her stomach, feeling everything she had and didn't have there. Her eyes began to water, her lips quivering from the tears that wanted to escape.

Y/N quickly moved her finger to the back button, hoping to break out of the horrible cycle she was about to enter. A loud sob escaped her lips when, upon finally leaving the post, her feed reloaded, and a picture of a model that Y/N followed and admired appeared.

Comparison was her biggest enemy.

Negative thoughts about herself began to pollute her mind, everything around her becoming a fog. The sounds coming from the kitchen became muffled to her ears. Y/N's right hand - which was holding her phone - was gripping the device in such a way that her fingers turned white. Painful sobs escaped her mouth as her eyes remained fixed on the woman's perfect figure.

Why can't I be like her?

The longing for the sensations she felt when she starved hit her chest hard. The desire to want to be as thin as before - or more - filled her.

It didn't take long, and soon, the bedroom door was slowly opened, Matt's silhouette appearing behind it. His face was lit up with a smile - probably because of some joke his brothers made - while his right hand held a plate with two sandwiches.

His cheerful expression was replaced by a frown of concern. Matt quickly closed the door with his feet, walking towards the bed, haphazardly placing the plate on the nearest bedside table before sitting down on the mattress.

His hands flew to Y/N's waist, stopping over her own hand that was squeezing her skin with a force that was sure to leave it bruised.

The girl seemed to wake up from her trance, lifting her head and meeting Matt's calming - but worried - gaze. She cried harder as she imagined what her boyfriend would be thinking of her now.

Automatically, her mind started to play her current state, messy hair, swollen and red face, skin wet with tears, eyes half closed and mouth open, allowing sobs to escape from there.

"M-Matt-" Her sentence was cut off by a sob, her eyes closing tightly.

Matt took a deep breath, trying to process what to do next. His left hand - the one that didn't cover hers - slowly took the phone, taking it out of his girl's death grip. He glanced briefly at the screen, automatically understanding what was happening before locking it and putting the device aside.

He moved his body so that it was closer to hers, resting his hand on her spine and guiding her until she laid her head on his chest, caressing the area below his fingers.

Matt felt his heart break with every tremble that rocked the body beneath his caused by the sobs. If he could take that pain away from his girlfriend, he would.

"It's okay, baby, let it out. I'm right here." He cooed, his fingers caressed the tangled strands of her hair lightly, stroking the area while moving his upper body back and forth, slowly calming his girlfriend.

"Ma-Matty-" Y/N's voice was weak, wobbly from the pain in her heart.

Matt removed his hand from hers for a few seconds, stretching it to the bedside table - where the plate was -, taking the bottle of water that Y/N always filled before going to sleep. He opened the lid in one quick movement, bringing it close to his girl's face.

"Come on, my love. Sit down for a moment and take a sip of water. Please." The boy asked in a soft voice, helping Y/N straighten her posture before bringing the bottle closer to her lips, helping her take a few small sips of the contents.

He closed the bottle after making sure she was satisfied, placing it on the mattress before turning his attention to Y/N again. He brushed away the strands of hair from her face, tucking them behind her ear.

"What if they're right?" She asked in a whisper, catching her bottom lip between her teeth in an attempt to keep from crying.

"No, they aren't." Matt's tone was convincing, as if he was absolutely sure of what he was saying. "You are not worse than others because of your weight. You look great as you are. Your body is perfect, do you know why? Because he's healthy enough to carry you around and take care of you." The boy held her hands lightly, stroking the back of her fingers gently as he looked into her eyes. "The recovery journey is not easy, I remember the words your psychologist said to me when we had that session together. I imagine your head when you see clothes getting tighter, and these comments certainly make you want to give up, I know you, baby."

He paused momentarily, watching her reactions carefully.

Y/N knew that, recovery was hard work. Not wanting to die was hard work.

"Recovery is not a race. You don't have to feel guilty about taking less or more time than you originally thought or having relapses from time to time. This is part of the process, and I want you to understand this. You are the most beautiful girl I have ever seen in my entire life. When I look at the most beautiful things, I remember you. In the pink tulips of the flower shop across the street, in the Cassiopeia constellation, in the bees that fly in our garden and in the greenest tree I have ever seen." Y/N let out a tearful laugh when she heard him mention the tree, knowing his immense love for nature. "Because you're pretty like them."

"I-I'm sorry." The girl whispered, sniffling then lowering her gaze in shame. "I... I saw the photos that Nick posted, and there were comments..." She shook her head, closing her eyes tightly.

"Oh baby." He leaned slightly over Y/N, sealing his lips over her warm forehead. "If you want to apologize, let me do it. If you went through this now, it was because of me."

"No, Matt. It was never and will never be your fault." Y/N shook her head, wiping her eyes momentarily with the sleeve of her - his - hoodie, sniffling slightly before taking one of Matt's hands, intertwining their fingers. "You don't control people, much less through the internet. They will always talk a lot because they are behind a screen that protects them, but that will never be your fault. I would rather go through this a thousand times and have you with me than never have you again."

"I understand." He paused momentarily. "Please, don't let it get to that point again while you're alone. If you see something that upsets you or makes you feel bad, turn it off instantly and call me. I want to be there to help you. I want to be there for you." The brunette asked, staring at her eyes.

Y/N sighed, nodding her head and leaning slightly closer to him, resting her forehead on Matt's shoulder, exhaling the softening scent and perfume that exuded from the fabric of the hoddie on his body.

Her eyes burned from the tears she shed, closing them tightly to prevent more from falling, her heart still feeling sore from everything.

"If you want, we can contact that psychologist again, the one who helped you throughout the process at the hospital." Matt lowered his head, bringing his face closer to the back of Y/N's head, pressing his lips against his girl's hair, closing his eyes as he felt the warmth of her body close to his. "I want to attend some sessions just like we did last time, so I understand how I can help you this time."

Y/N felt her heart warm instantly, her free hand snaking to Matt's thigh closest to her, stroking the covered skin lightly.

"Okay."

Matt loved Y/N more than he loved himself, and he would make sure that she understood that she wasn't alone anymore.

taglist:

@lustfulslxt @ladybunny44 @worldlxvlys @earth2starkey @remussbitch @freshloveforthefit @il0vebeingdelulu @sturniolowhore @mimi-luvzyu @alorsxsturn @urfavgirllyyyyy @domizzzsstuff @sturnizd @hearts4chris @cupidzsq @dracoflaco @leah-loves-lilies @tylerthecreatorsrealwife

(If you want to be added to the taglist, go to this post)

[ruershrimo]

down bad fr | f.megumi x reader

@takumifujiwarastan remember how a while back you said here that it sucked how there weren't enough introverted girls, reserved girls etc. SO I did try writing this please enjoy their (gn reader woooo) emotional constipation even though the reticence of their personality isn't really highlighted eurgh

having a crush on megumi is so fucking stupid. it’s driving you insane. 

you can’t even talk to him. everything he does, everything he says— your heart leaps like a rabbit he casts, and your emotions soar into a terrifyingly messy mishmash of confusion and yearning and infatuation, and then everything in between. 

you feel helpless, vulnerable like this— rendered out of control of your feelings after years of emotional constipation and a harsh strictness on yourself to rein them in like a rowdy horse being whipped during derby matches. you’re a climber, you’re hanging precariously from a cliff with every interaction, a child standing before a blueprint with nothing but toy blocks and a kiddie hammer, a roomba with its sensors malfunctioning— you get the point. those were enough metaphors to delineate your predicament.  

well, he doesn’t even like you anyway, right?

but you want him so badly. 

you just want to hammer it into his thick skull. to just go, ‘hey, I like you even if you may not like me! just go out with me anyway!’ 

yet with each interaction you struggle even more. because how the hell do you confess to fushiguro megumi, much less go out with him and become his partner?

for years romance had remained nothing but a velleity, a nice fantasy you could slip into when your mind demanded respite in the form of escapism and jejune daydreams. but now that your adoration for him has made it all somewhat possible, you don’t know what to do— your control is being tended away from you, and the worst part is that you don’t even mind it that much. 

spiky black hair and eyelashes of silk pass you by, his scent as clean as freshly laundered sheets in hotels. at the start you had thought little about him beyond him being your classmate and eventually just your confidante. yet gradually, you surprised yourself. and everything about him is attractive nowadays: his hair, his pearlescent teeth, the viridian hue of his eyes— hell, he made even the way he drank coffee look like a model of a man in an antediluvian monochrome film of the sixties. and it was so normal, so average, that you were about to slap yourself for the fact that an everyday trait  of his had become something so lovely to look at just because it was him. megumi would hold the cup securely by his lithe fingers, the same one he spouted cursed energy from when summoning his shikigami, before lifting the cup up and bringing the brim to his mouth, his lips that never chapped. 

nobara asks whether he’s drinking black coffee to look cool around and attract people. needless to say, at least you were attracted. 

you hoped he didn’t see the way your face must have blanked out, gaze transfixed on his eyes as he took swigs from his mug. 

why’d he have to be like that?!

megumi continued looking at ozawa, the girl who had a crush on itadori— she was just like you for real, but with double the courage and half the emotional constipation. 

you hoped it would work out for her. that way, perhaps you could muster the strength and bravery to do the same, too. 

you take another look at him. he’s really pretty. had you kicking your feet in the air and all and then screaming in horror because of it, had you wrapped around his finger without even knowing. 

with the help of kugisaki and megumi, ozawa and itadori, the two of them are cajoled to go around tokyo together. it’s the best ‘date’ that the two of them can help the other two have, especially since itadori is dense as rocks (megumi’s probably worse based on your experiences, then) and ozawa is as shy as a touch-me-not flower. 

“oh, and [name],” megumi starts while nobara strolls ahead, all set to begin a new shopping spree. 

“ah— uh, yeah?” you stammer. 

“do you like me? romantically, I mean…” he scratches the back of his neck. 

what the fuck. is this seriously happening? right now? 

“huh? what? I—” 

“no, it’s just that— seeing ozawa made me think. I guess I never considered it an option, but I suppose I have had… feelings for you for a pretty long time…” 

“woah. ah, sorry, I meant— sorry, I’m just very surprised…” you scramble, your hands gesticulating all kinds of things in an exaggerated way of taking it back because yes you like him, you like him a lot— “I mean, I do like you! it’s just, fuck— uh, what do I say— I’m really scared. I thought you didn’t reciprocate at all.” 

“I could tell. but I…” he hesitates, “I overthought everything,” then with a frown, he goes, “gojo would have teased me if he was here.” 

“well, I– uh. we’re lucky he isn’t, I guess?” you pause, “...so what do we do now? are we a thing? are we dating? wait, am I going too fast? I, oh my goodness, I—” 

“would you like to?” he asks. your knees are about to buckle with every second he keeps his eyes on yours. 

“I…— well, I would.” 

“then it’s settled. can I— can I hold your hand, please?” 

“...okay.” 

with trepidation in your hands and your heart pounding in your chest, you inch your hands closer, saline sweat on them as if you’d dipped it into the sea. he keeps his gaze on yours— they’re as unsure as you are, his cheeks a slight scarlet, his eyes swirling with nervousness but a sliver of anticipation, of joy and relief. so he feels exactly the same as you do, then. 

his fingers find yours after a while, tracing along the lines of your palm like a blind man touching something for the first time. you want to learn to love and to memorise each nook and cranny of him starting with his palm, and for once emotional vulnerability is not that bad. 

kugisaki’s in for a shock as soon as she turns around. first it was itadori potentially having a partner before she does, and now megumi? 

imagine writing this because of being delulu abt an irl crush (i should be studying for my exams.) haha couldn't be me right (i'm so cooked)

[cobaltperun]

Genius - All I Want

Cairo Sweet x female (G!P) Reader

Summary: It was such a cliché, a reunion she didn’t expect to ever happen, let alone six years after she last saw you. It was supposed to mean nothing, a bit of nostalgia, maybe a brief catching up while waiting for class, it was supposed to be a small wave of nostalgia, not a tsunami that disrupted her entire life. You were her opposite, and as hard as she tried she couldn’t resist your pull.

Story masterlist / Next part

Word count: 3k

-All I want is a place to call my own, to mend the hearts of everyone who feels alone-

There was nothing quite as comforting as the freedom of an open road and the clear night sky above you. It was peaceful, though lonely sometimes.

“Well, you’re still as creepy as you were when I was a child,” you said as you watched the dense forest covering the hill ahead of you. Lovell Hill certainly didn’t get any more inviting since you last visited the forsaken small village you were born in. And it certainly didn’t look any more inviting in the middle of the night, close to midnight.

At least you didn’t have to go on foot.

That would be kinda scary, even now that you were technically an adult. At least as far as age went, yeah, you were an adult. You hardly had the life experience needed to call yourself that, though you did spend the last two years away from your parents and the safety they provided. You turned sixteen and took off on your Yamaha Star Venture, staying at one place only long enough to finish one semester at school and then moving on.

Why did you suddenly decide to come back? To this small village in Tennessee? You weren’t sure, maybe it was nostalgia, maybe you wanted to come back and see how much you changed, to measure yourself to the place that shaped your childhood, now with a different outlook on life. Like a frog from a well that learned of the ocean and yearned for the calm of its well, at least for a short while, at least until you closed the chapter of your life called high school.

The road ahead of you narrowed as you entered the dense forest, the sky above you vanished, and the only source of light came from your motorcycle. How long has it been since you ran through this forest as a child, playing hide and seek without a care in the world, without any pressure, creeped out by the random sounds and shadows, but happy to be with your friend. That was so long ago, you weren’t even going to school back then.

As you drove on you saw the lights ahead of you, and you knew exactly what they were. A lone light coming from one room of a huge mansion, the only one on the hill that was still occupied back when you still lived here. From the looks of it that didn’t change. You didn’t look at the mansion though, you just drove past it. The only person you’d be interested in seeing from that mansion probably no longer lived there. She was too good to be stuck in this small village. You remained unaware that someone in that mansion caught a glimpse of you riding by, confused and intrigued by the random person passing by.

~X~

The random biker passing through the Lovell Hill reignited her muse as her fingers glided across her keyboard. Where were they going? Where did they come from? What made them take the road few traveled? Cairo didn’t know, but she liked to imagine the strange traveler. Perhaps they were familiar with the area, confident in their ability to take a shortcut across the hill. Or perhaps they took a wrong turn and she’d soon hear the roar of the engine coming back.

Maybe it would wake her up when she finally tries to fall asleep.

Lonely girl, in a lonely place, longing for some kind of connection, for more than she already had, even if it was just a moment, she’d forget sooner rather than later. She still typed away, contemplating the biker’s decision to pass through the haunting dense forest, all the while feeling the tiny legs crawling up her bare calf. The cigarette she lit just before she picked up on the sound of the motorcycle slowly burned away, forgotten just like she was.

~X~

You parked your motorcycle in the garage, next to your parents’ car and took a deep breath. You were back home, because, truly, nowhere else ever felt as much like home as rural Tennessee. It’s been six years since you moved out with your parents, but they kept the house, kept it clean and took care of the car so everything was set for them when they visited to escape their jobs every few months or so.

It wasn’t a huge mansion, especially compared to the one you just passed, but it was a fairly big, two-story house, with several bedrooms and plenty of space in the living room, as well as a very nice, well-furnished kitchen. The pictures were still hanging on the walls as you stepped inside and took your boots off. Some were from your birthdays, some from your first day at school, some were you and Cairo, or her parents and your parents. They were all attorneys, so of course you and Cairo ended up spending a lot of time together as kids. Well, you did until you started going to school. You placed the backpack you packed your entire life in on the floor of the living room, and a bit too exhausted to go and set up a bed in your childhood room, you just crashed on the sofa and used your motorbike jacket as makeshift cover.

The house still had an admirable book collection, mostly for show though. You read as a child, there wasn’t much else to do here, but most of the books were just bought for show, never to be opened. But, they were there and they gave the house a certain aesthetic, you guessed.

As you looked at the books you noticed an old copy of ‘Around the World in Eighty Days’ by Jules Verne sticking out like a sore thumb with the damaged and stained spine separating it from the well-kept pristine condition of most of the books around it. How many times did you and Cairo read that as children? You smiled at that, promising silently to get the spine fixed up a bit. Just enough for it not to fall apart the next time someone took it, but not to the point of downright replacing it. You wanted to preserve the memories, but that was a task for another day. For now, you just closed your eyes and drifted off,

~X~

Two days later you found yourself in the vice principal’s office, just filling out the last few papers to finalize your transfer.

“You can attend classes right away, miss L/N,” vice principal Manor told you as you signed the final document.

“Right, and the locker?” you asked, ready to put away your helmet and not carry it around at all times.

The woman just slid a key toward you with a copy of your schedule. “Here you go.”

You nodded, smiling gratefully and getting up with your copies of the documents and the things your were given in hand.

“Oh, and welcome back,” vice principal told you.

She knew your parents, as they were very active in the community while they still lived here. It was the connections they still had that allowed you to make such an abrupt decision and transfer on such a short notice.

“Thanks, I appreciate it,” you still found it a bit awkward when people much older than you acted friendly toward you because of your parents. You understood, but you also felt they only saw your parents’ child, and not you yourself.

“Say ‘hi’ to your parents for me,” vice principal Manor justified your feelings on the matter.

You just chuckled lightly at that. “Of course. Have a good day,” you said politely while stepping out of her office.

You and your parents had a good relationship, you loved them, they loved you. You often talked to them over the phone, and you texted at least one of them almost daily. You didn’t see much of them though, you wanted independence and they were more than willing to give you a chance to experience life on your own, all the while making sure you knew you could turn to them if you ever needed. And you were more than happy with that.

You checked the tag on the locker key and looked around, searching for it in the hall, it wasn’t a huge school, so it wasn’t too hard to find. The almost empty hallway was a bit haunting, though, you did get here early thinking paperwork would take longer to sort out. Finally, you did find your locker, not too far from another girl that came early.

Perhaps it was the abrupt way you stopped when you noticed the number on your tag, or maybe it was your jacket and boots, but the girl looked at you.

“We don’t get new students that often,” she commented, her raspy voice catching your attention immediately.

“I better not disappoint then,” you opened the locker and placed your helmet inside. You’d have to go and pick up your books and other things you might need later. Why did you sign up for a literature class again? Oh yeah, you wanted to reignite your passion for reading after all these years.

You could feel her eyes looking you over. “Need help finding your first class?”

“Thanks,” you grinned, meeting her eyes and taking in the way she was dressed. “I like to figure new places out myself, but I appreciate the offer,” you really did, both actually. If you got lost, well, you could find your way out, again, it wasn’t that big of a school. You found your locker just fine, surely you could find a classroom.

“Well, see you around, stranger,” she winked and walked away. “I’m Winnie, by the way!” she exclaimed once she put some distance between you two.

“Y/N!” you answered and went in the opposite direction. It would be a bit awkward if you went the same way when you just rejected her offer to help you find the classroom you were supposed to go to for your first class.

~X~

The next time you saw Winnie it was less than ten minutes later, and this time she was accompanied by a shorter, black-haired girl, you didn’t pay much attention to the though, too focused on finding the classroom you needed to go to.

“Still don’t need help?” she asked as you crossed paths.

“Still no, I’ll be sure to cry for help if needed,” you joked earning a small laugh from he girls, and somehow the laughter you heard sounded familiar. A bit shy and reserved, but soft, but by the time you fully registered the familiarity of the sound the girl with Winnie was too far for you to call her.

It couldn’t be… Right?

Why would it be her? For once maybe you were wrong. Maybe being back in this place made you hear what wasn’t there.

Even if it was, well, you had half a year to come across her again.

Finally, you found the classroom you were looking for and were immediately hit by words you did not expect to hear, especially not in school, in a classroom, read loudly by a middle-aged larger male to at least slightly older man.

“Marcelle wants me to fuck her. She leaps off the couch and pushes herself between the girl and me,” the taller one, dressed in a more comfortable gray tracksuit, perhaps a PE teacher, read.

You weren’t sure how to react as the older man tried to make his colleague stop reading… well, not exactly the material you were expecting. You just entered the classroom, hoping that would be enough to get their attention. It wasn’t and you wanted to erase the ‘split fig’ line from your memory, alas, you were cursed! For you memorized what you heard like a damn recorder. Split fig would remain in your memory likely until something even more jarring replaced it.

You nearly walked out, not wanting to witness any more of this when they began going through student’s things, and that was a line you didn’t like being crossed. The student left that there trusting it wouldn’t be touched, it was private, and they had no business looking through someone’s stuff.

“Well, this is an interesting first impression,” you said without a care in the world making the two men freeze and turn to look at you. “Guess I found the literature class. Good morning, by the way,” you checked the doors again and sure enough, this was the classroom. Not that you needed to check again. Between the books on the shelves, framed pictures of famous writers, general feel of the room as well as everything written on the blackboard there was no doubt in your mind you were in the right place.

The man you guessed was the literature teacher at least had the decency to look ashamed. “Uh, good morning, are you here for the class?”

You nodded, taking a chair along and setting it next to the one where the pile of books was. “Sure, I was going to leave my stuff here, but,” you glanced at the teacher who was now next to you and then at the book in his hand that belonged back on the pile. “Maybe that’s not the smartest decision.”

You weren’t even subtle about it as you leaned back on your chair and pulled out your phone. “Don’t mind me, just passing the time until class starts,” you said, fiddling with your phone in the process.

“This isn’t how we usually are,” the teacher grabbed the book out of his colleague’s hand and placed it back where it belonged. “The school year just started, and Boris might be a bit too excited.”

You raised an eyebrow at that. “I noticed,” you said, briefly shifting your attention to the book the teacher, now named Boris, was reading out loud.

The man next to you quickly raised his hands. “Not that kind of excited, just so we’re clear!”

You just gave him a thumbs up and turned back to your phone. Things might be a bit awkward from now on, but you could live with that.

~X~

Almost an hour of awkward silence broken briefly only by the teacher, Miller, giving you a list of all the books the class was meant to cover later, the students began coming in. The school kinda came to life about ten minutes ago, as more and more students rushed through the halls to their first classes. You hoped your motorcycle was still fine, the first few days at a new, well old but kinda new in this case, place were always a bit worrisome in that regard. You’d cross that bridge when you get there, if it needed to be crossed in the first place. And then, sure enough, one of the students, a girl dressed in black sweater and white shorts sat down next to you.

“I haven’t seen you around, you must be new,” she said as she settled down and opened her notebook.

Again, her voice sounded vaguely familiar, as if you used to listen to it so often as a child but then it changed as she grew up and now only some familiarity remained. Just a small hint here and there to remind you that maybe you did, in fact, know her. Which wouldn’t be surprising, they were all your age, and it was a small village, and if you remembered correctly there were three classes in your generation. Or was it four? Either way, chances were you knew at least some of your current classmates. “Yeah, hi, I’m-“ you turned to look at the girl so you could introduce yourself and your breath hitched.

She raised an eyebrow, puzzled by your reaction. She didn’t change one bit, well, sure, she wasn’t a kid anymore, but you knew exactly who the girl standing in front of you was. Her dark long hair, flowing and framing her freckle-covered face, the soft, curious eyes studying you and an easy, friendly smile, and the adorable dimples on her cheeks. There was no way you could ever forget her, and the pile of books only confirmed your suspicions. As stupid as it was, you were genuinely surprised. You saw the lights on your way back home, though you just assumed it was her parents, not her. Why was she still in this small village? Why wasn’t she out there, making the most of the potential she had? You expected to see familiar faces, but you thought you wouldn’t get to see her again, and your heart raced as fast as your motorcycle through an open road.

“Are you okay?” she asked softly, and you felt two more pairs of eyes on you now that you remained silent for too long. The teacher, as well as the girl she was with were looking at you as well, but it hardly mattered.

“I, yeah, I’m fine, Cairo,” you finally pushed the words through your dry throat. You swallowed, getting over your surprise and smiling at her as her eyes widened. “It’s been a while.” She took a better look at you, and you saw recognition in her eyes as she took your appearance in. You couldn’t blame her for taking a bit of time to recognize you, you changed a bit since she last saw you. “Y/N,” she finally said your name, though with a hint of uncertainty in her tone, and you nodded, the somewhat shy smile on your face turning into a more confident, cheeky grin. She remembered you, and while you didn’t expect to see her you couldn’t hide how happy you were. You just hoped the way the two of you left things off all those years ago wouldn’t be an obstacle to catch up at least over a coffee or tea or something.

A/N: Well, here's the start of the next story. Enjoy! Also... Taglist? Yes? No?

[thatbloodymuggle]

MASTERMIND (ii)

TWO - FALLING WATER

SUMMARY: A child of light and dark, you are the Night Court’s best kept secret. After decades spent in hiding, you yearn to stretch your wings. But you quickly learn that freedom comes with a price, as you find yourself trying to outfox the fox in his own den.

PAIRING: eris vanserra x reader

WORD COUNT: 9.4k

SERIES MASTERLIST

WARNINGS: language, smut, oral (f receiving)

The memories of the night before come crashing down over you before your eyes even open the next morning. As you stir from your restless sleep, you can still smell the cedar of the blazing bonfire, hear the waltz of the orchestra, and feel Eris’s lips ghosting over your neck. Your eyes flutter open, and you lazily run a hand over your face. You flinch at the cool feeling of metal against your cheek, all grogginess gone as you look down at your hand. The silver of Eris’s ring still sits proudly on your thumb–a reminder that you hadn’t imagined last night’s events.

Autumn Court treating you well, my little liaison?

You jolt abruptly at the sound of Rhys’s voice flooding your mind.

Well enough, you reply as you haul yourself from the creaky bed.

Any updates? He questions.

The dust-covered floor is cold underneath your feet as you pad to the bathroom. I made initial contact last night, you reply. Your cheeks warm as you will away any thoughts about the details of your initial contact. 

Did he take the bait?

Like a fish, you hum over the connection. 

His deep laugh fills your mind, Good. Tread carefully.

You roll your eyes and send over one last message before putting up your mental barriers. Will do, oh mighty High Lord.

Right on cue, your stomach grumbles. A hunger pain washes over you, and you glance toward the kitchenette with a frown. You hadn’t even realized that the last time you ate a proper meal was in the Night Court before your departure yesterday. You hastily wipe the sleep from your face and prepare yourself for the day ahead. Once you deem yourself presentable enough, you throw a cloak over your shoulders and head out into the forest towards the town. Another wave of hunger washes over you, prompting you to winnow rather than walk.

A sweet aroma of clover and fire smoke tickles at your nose as you land in the middle of the small-town square. A soft smile graces your features as you take in the familiar surroundings–you have always loved the colonial architecture of the Autumn Court. The saltbox houses of varying sizes and colors are perfectly mismatched, with wooden ‘Open’ signs hanging in each window. You make your way down the cobblestone path, an empty basket in hand, and begin your window shopping. 

By noon, your basket is nearly overflowing with a variety of goods ranging from freshly baked pastries to perfectly ripened apples. After several hours of flashing smiles and playing the part of Athena Ellesmere flawlessly, your social battery is drained, to say the least. All you want is to curl up in front of the fireplace in your cabin and read one of the many books you’ve packed. But you have one more stop to make.

A bell jingles as you push open the mahogany door of the wheat and grain store. You barely close it behind you before you are bombarded with a familiar, cheerful voice.

“Athena!”

You fight through your exhaustion and force a wide smile onto your face as you turn to Willow. Her red hair is slightly duller than much of the Autumn Court residents–more of a strawberry blonde. But her green eyes are strikingly bright, reminding you of the emerald of Eris’s shirt last night.

You set down your basket and greet her with an embrace, “It’s good to see you, Willow.”

“You’ve settled in well?” she chirps as she pulls away with a grin.

You nod with a soft smile, “For the most part. I was just picking up some things for my stay, but I had to stop in.”

The faerie smiles and opens her mouth to reply but pauses at the sound of the door creaking behind her. You tense as a burly male enters the shop from the backdoor. Finnian is far from the worst Autumn Court male you have encountered–but he certainly isn’t pleasant either. 

A bitter taste floods your mouth as you force your head into a greeting bow for the male before you, as per Autumn Court custom. As beautiful as the land is, you could never fathom living in a society in which females are treated with such little respect. Still, you conceal your distaste as you greet him, “Hello, Finnian.”

He merely grunts and nods in greeting. You fight the urge to roll your eyes.

“Your father couldn’t come himself?” he sneers.

You dig your nails into your palms, but your sickly-sweet smile doesn’t falter, “Unfortunately, no. I’ll be doing his bids once again.”

Finnian grunts in disapproval but doesn’t press the subject further. Instead, he nods his head at his wife expectantly. Willow turns to you with an apologetic smile, “I should really get back to work. But I would love it if you’d stop in during my lunch break one of these days.”

Your smile stretches wider, your cheeks burning in protest, as you nod and pick up your basket, “Yes, of course. It was good seeing you both.”

You all but run out of the store and let out a sigh of relief when you finally drop the plastic smile. “Stupid Autumn Court males and their fragile egos,” you grumble to yourself. You were already exhausted–but that unpleasant interaction was the cherry on top of a draining morning. 

With your basket nearly overflowing with goodies, you decide against winnowing. So, with a long sigh, you begin your stride back to your cabin. The basket weighs heavily on your arm, but you allow the wind nipping at your nose to distract you from the dull ache. As you leave the small town behind you and enter the forest, you immerse yourself in the kaleidoscope of autumn colors. 

And as you study the unique bend and curve of each tree truck, you can’t help but think about your mother. The reds reminded you of her velvet dresses. The yellows were her radiant skin when the sun rays shone through the library windows. The browns reflected her kind eyes, warm like chocolate. She would have loved this. 

Your back stiffens as you feel a lingering presence behind you. You don’t dare look back, but your ears perk up. Sure enough, a twig crunches to your left.  Who the hell is watching you? A wave of dread rushes over you, but you continue forward. You make sure the rhythm of your steps doesn’t falter, as to not alert your stalker to your awareness of their presence. Your hand slowly trails to the pocket of your cloak, and you subtly brandish a pocket-sized dagger Azriel gifted you last Starfall. In one swift motion, you spin around, drop your basket of goodies, and hold the dagger against the throat of your stalker. 

Your heart sinks at the sight of bright, amber eyes staring back at you. 

“Now this isn’t a very polite manner of greeting, is it Little Bird?” Eris’s lips curl into a roguish smile despite the metal pressed tightly against his throat.

The initial shock rolls over you and you drop the dagger. A hot flush crawls up your neck and you drop to your knees to gather the apples that had spilled out of your basket to avoid his piercing gaze.

“Well, it isn’t very polite to sneak up on people, is it?” you counter.

Just as your fingers graze the last apple, he swoops down and wraps his hand over yours atop the piece of fruit. You still as he rolls his thumb over the silver ring sitting snugly on yours.

“And it isn’t very polite to steal,” he muses, “But I suppose I should’ve known better. After all, birds are drawn to shiny things.”

You snatch your hand away, and Eris uses the opportunity to grab the apple before swiftly rising to his full height. You watch, dumbfounded, as he takes a large bite, a bit of juice dribbling down his chin. He wipes it away with a knowing smirk, and the blush crawling up your neck reaches your cheeks. Your mind screams at you, get it together. You blink, taking a moment to collect yourself, before standing up on wobbly legs.

“Fox got your tongue?” he taunts.

Your lips part at the way his tongue darts out to catch another bit of juice dribbling out the corner of his mouth. Your eyes scan down his body, drinking in his appearance. Gone is the emerald silk shirt from the night before, and in its place a sage vest atop a cream, long-sleeve shirt with billowing sleeves. Even in this more casual attire, he still exudes a certain elegance. 

Finally, you are able to formulate words, “Your trousers are undone.”

His brows furrow as he looks down, and you snatch the half-eaten apple from his unsuspecting hand. You take a large bite and relish in the sweetness of the fruit. Eris grins like a cheshire cat as he realizes your play. A hearty chuckle rumbles in his chest.

“Perhaps I misjudged you,” he drawls, “You thieve like a vixen.”

You finish off the apple with a satisfied hum and toss the core into the woods, away from the dirt path. “I would think that centuries of existence would teach you better than to judge a book by its cover,” you quip, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I do have business to attend to.”

You turn on your heel and continue your stride along the winding path. To no surprise, Eris falls into step beside you.

“And what business may that be?” he inquires.

A small smile twitches at your lips, “You’re nosy today,” you tease, but answer his query, nonetheless, “Some correspondences for my father. He’s sent me here to solidify some trade agreements with the harvest season beginning.”

“A merchant’s daughter,” Eris wonders aloud, “Not exactly what I had you pegged for.”

You arch a brow and tilt your head to face him, “And what is it that you had me pegged for?”

He takes the heavy basket from your arm, ignoring your protests, “A scholar. Or perhaps a spy.”

It takes everything in you not to react to his second guess, even though his tone is teasing. Instead, you reply coolly, “Well I’m also here to do some research. I have some ideas about some more efficient trade routes, but I haven’t been able to find any library with an adequate collection of atlases.”

Eris hums in thought, and you pray he plays into your hand, “I may be able to grant you access to the Forest House library,” you force down your proud grin, “But for a price.” 

You don’t bother hiding the exaggerated roll of your eyes, “And what might that be?”

Your heart skips a beat as he steps into your path, halting you abruptly. His head dips and you suck in a breath at his proximity. You find yourself mesmerized by the strong bridge of his nose, the fullness of his lips, as he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His delicate touch sends a shiver up your spine.

“A few hours of your time. I’d like to show you a place more befitting of your beauty than that little ransack cabin you’ve been caged in. Somewhere you can spread your wings, Little Bird,” he breathes.

You gulp, eyes wide at his forwardness–not to mention his inadvertent admission that he has been watching you. You all but melt into the touch of his calloused fingers as they trail down the side of your face before falling back at his side. His lips curl with amusement as you fumble for words.

“Okay,” you lamely reply.

He hums, satisfied by your answer. Your breath hitches in your throat as he leans closer and presses his lips against your cheek. His kiss is gentle, but it lingers in a tortuous manner that leaves you wanting more as he pulls away. Warm eyes wink at you as he purrs, “Till next time, Little Bird.”

And with that, he vanishes, winnowing away before you can catch your breath. Your heart races as you lift a hand to your face, ghosting your fingers over the spot on your cheek where his lips had been. He used your own move against you, and you can’t decide if you are awed or terrified–or both. But whatever the feeling, a dark part of you revels in it.

Guilt crashes over you at the realization;  just as fierce as the unbridled desire that pools in the pit of your stomach. Your feet move with a mind of their own as your mind spirals. You should not be enjoying this. As much as Rhys may try to hold on to his feeble alliance with him, Eris is the enemy. And your indulgence in his game of seduction is a grave betrayal to not only your court, but to your sister. 

You aren’t conscious of your movements as you enter your ramshackle cabin. Methodically, you kick off your boots, set down your basket, and shed your heavy cloak. You slip out of your burnt orange dress and move to the bathroom, your heart pounding in your ears. The silver ring glittering on your thumb is suddenly scorching, and you hastily take it off, throwing it onto the counter. As you stare at your reflection in the mirror, you desperately search your own features for some semblance of stability; some sort of reminder of what you’re here to do. You turn to the side and raise your arm, brushing your hand over the underside of your breast.

A sigh of relief passes through your lips as the glamour you’ve worn since you stepped foot in the Autumn Court fades, and your tattoo stares back at you: the Night Court insignia, identical to that worn by the other members of the inner circle. But unlike the others, the Day Court sun shines bright behind the Illyrian Mountain. You trace the lines, and the tension in your shoulders subsides.

Despite the undeniable effect Eris has over you, you know where your loyalty and your love lies. No matter how wily the fox may be. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Two days. Two excruciatingly long days full of fake bargaining, plastic smiles, and arrogant males have passed–and Eris hasn’t shown his face. Perhaps he got tied up with some court politics, or more likely, he forgot entirely. Whatever the case, you are not pleased, to say the least. Nor is Rhys. The beauty of the Autumn Court is the only thing that has kept you sane. But even in all its charm, you are growing restless. And you’re not sure how much longer you can wait around, itching to play.

Desperate to blow off some steam, you find yourself venturing far into the woods to mindlessly use your powers. You know it’s a risk–if anyone were to catch wind of your Night or Day Court powers, it could very possibly blow your entire cover. But if you don’t do something, you may simply die of boredom. You lose track of time as you conjure light from your fingertips into the trees above, slink into the shadows, and winnow in circles. Light, shadow, winnow, repeat. Over and over again, until the adrenaline passes, and exhaustion sets in. 

Sweat beads at your brow as you winnow, once, twice, three times more before you finally land in front of your cabin. Your legs wobble as you stumble towards the front door. Despite your tired limbs, you haven’t felt so awake since you first set foot in the Autumn Court. 

You are minutes away from collapsing on your rickety bed and reading yourself to sleep. So, imagine your surprise when you enter and find a head of flaming red hair seated on top of it. 

Eris isn’t just seated–he’s lounging on your bed, legs crossed, as if he owns it. His eyes don’t so much as shift in your direction, as he appears to be immersed in one of your books. You squint at the title, and your eyes widen with horror as it clicks. He’s reading one of Nesta’s books. Those stupid, cursed, little smut books she can’t seem to stop shoving down your throat.

“I knew you were filthy, Little Bird, but I didn’t think you were this filthy,” Eris muses.

You’re sure your cheeks are now matching the color of his hair as you rush forward and snatch the book from his hands. His eyes finally meet yours, and if your magic wasn’t completely drained, you would slip into the shadows without a second thought. He wears a vicious grin and playful delight dances in the irises of his eyes. 

“It’s not mine,” you mumble, averting your own eyes from his punishing gaze.

He tuts, “I don’t like liars, Birdie. It’s okay to admit you need a little release sometimes. Everyone does. Although, when I need a little release, I usually–”

“What are you doing here?” you hiss, the blush on your cheeks burning even brighter than before.

He holds his hands coyly across his chest and taps his index fingers together in a taunting motion, “You promised me a few hours of your time–or did you forget?”

You narrow your eyes and clutch the book tightly to your chest, as if the damage hasn’t already been done, “A little heads up would have been nice. You can’t just barge in here as you please.”

He swings his legs over the side of the bed and rises, stalking closer to you. You tense as he stops right in front of you and tilts your chin up softly, so your eyes meet his, “I am a busy man. Forgive me, darling.”

He runs his tongue along his teeth with a feline smile as he watches you audibly gulp. 

“Where are we going?” you lamely ask.

He clicks his tongue in his mouth before replying, “Now if I tell you that will ruin all the fun.”

You roll your eyes and jerk yourself out of his hold, “Can you at least tell me what attire would be appropriate?”

“What you’re wearing is fine. But I don’t think green is your color,” he banters.

Your glare speaks louder than words.

“Although,” he grasps your hand in his and brandishes a familiar, silver ring from his pocket, “You seem to have forgotten your little trophy.”

You watch as he slides the ring back onto your thumb. You frown and flick your eyes up towards his, “You can have it back.”

Eris shakes his head, “I’d like it if you wore it–at least throughout your stay here,” he pauses, before continuing, “Can you promise me you won’t take it off again?”

Although the playful glint in his eye remains, it falters for a fraction of a moment, revealing an emotion you can’t quite place your finger on–something dark. But you decide against pushing the subject. You simply nod, and he hums in satisfaction.

“Well let’s get moving then. Unless you’d rather stay here and continue reading your filthy little–”

“I’m moving,” you effectively cut Eris off, willing the blush not to return to your cheeks. You fight the urge to roll your eyes when you feel his gaze on your ass as you exit the cabin. “Are we walking?” you send him a glance over your shoulder.

“Too far,” he falls into step beside you, “We’ll winnow.”

Your shoulders tense, and you are suddenly reminded of the aching in your body from running your magic dry earlier. You halt abruptly and turn to face him fully, “I can’t.”

Eris’s arches a brow in incredulity, “I just heard you winnow not even 10 minutes ago.”

A sheepish smile takes over your face and you reply as nonchalantly as possible, “I’m too tired. I was, erm, blowing off some steam earlier—I don’t think I could even winnow to the other side of the cabin right now.”

His eyes narrow slightly as he analyzes your answer, “Blowing off steam?”

You cringe internally and send the Autumn Court heir a nervous smile, “You know, just winnowing around.” 

His scrutinizing gaze narrows further, “So you were just winnowing around in circles?”

“Yes.”

“And now you can’t winnow anymore?”

“Correct.”

It’s the truth—just not all of it.

Despite your best efforts, you can’t contain your giggle. You didn’t think about how ridiculous it would sound; winnowing around to burn off energy, much like a dog chasing its own tail. As you chuckle quietly to yourself, the playful grin returns to Eris’s face. 

“You’re a strange little thing,” he laughs, and reaches out his hand to you.

You gaze at his waiting hand, and tentatively intertwine your fingers with his before you can talk yourself out of it. A familiar rush of adrenaline surges through you as he winnows you both, the world twisting and folding around you. 

You don’t attempt to contain your gasp at the sight before you. In-between a crowd of beautiful orange and red-leafed trees lies a waterfall unlike any you’ve seen before. In fact, this may very well be the first waterfall you’ve ever seen. It is modestly sized, and flows down several layers of terraced, moss-covered rock; but the beauty, the intoxicating smell, is unlike anything you’ve experienced before. The cherry on top of the cake is the small watermill cottage at the creek bend, just where the water falls off. The scene looks like something out of an art museum. Captivated, you edge towards the water until the mist tickles your nose.

“It’s…breath-taking,” you mumble, vaguely aware of Eris lingering beside you.

While you gaze is fixed on the scene before you, his is set on you. He can’t help but study the way your lips part in awe, your familiar eyes widen in wonderment—like you’re experiencing the world for the first time.

“It is,” he mumbles in response, although his gaze remains trained on you.

He follows you quietly—patiently—as you wander closer to the water’s edge. You run your fingertips along each moss-covered rock, trying to engrain every small detail into your memory. You crouch down to dip your hand into the blue-green water, but jolt back at the frigid temperature. 

“Where are we?” you cock your head to the side, finally peeling your eyes away from the picturesque scene.

Eris leans against a tree, his arms crossed over his chest. The sleeves of his white undershirt billow softly in the breeze. “Up North. Closer to the Winter Court border,” his deep voice rumbles over the sound of the waterfall, “I come here when I need to think.”

“I take it the house is yours?” you gesture towards the small cottage.

“More or less. It was a part of my mother’s estate once; a very long time ago,” he pushes off the tree and stalks closer to you, “It’s not a secret, but it’s…private. When I don’t want to be found, or simply need space, it’s unlikely anyone will look here.”

“Do you hide from your family often?” you hum nonchalantly.

Eris bristles slightly at your question, but replies coolly, “Sometimes. They have a tendency to be…suffocating.”

You know that feeling all too well—but you simply nod, avoiding the slippery slope of divulging your own past.  You sit down on a nearby tree stump, and gaze out at the waterfall as you ask, “Are you close with your brothers?”

He strides towards you and perches himself atop a large boulder, “In some ways, yes. But being heir to the throne doesn’t afford me the luxury of friends.”

You open your mouth to fire yet another question, but he cuts you off with an impish smile, “You’re curious today, Little Bird. It doesn’t seem fair that you know so much about me, and I know so little about you.”

“You know my name. And you choose not to use it,” you counter with an arched brow.

“Would you like me to?” he asks. 

A simple question should afford a simple answer. But for some reason, his query makes the hair on your arms stand on end. You should say yes. You shouldn’t let silly little pet names distract you from the work you’re here to do. Say yes.

“No.”

He hums in satisfaction, and you avoid his gaze by training your eyes back onto the waterfall. From your peripheral, you can see Eris rise from his spot on the boulder. He moves out of your line of vision, and you can hear the rustling of fabric behind you. Your curiosity screams at you to look back; but your stubbornness keeps your head trained forward. 

Suddenly, the rustling stops. Just as you’re about to give into your curiosity and turn around, a nearly-naked Eris bounds past you, towards the water, and dives gracefully in. Your jaw drops as you let out an involuntary squeal, trying (and failing) to shield yourself from the splash.

“Are you insane?” you shriek as soon as his head pops back up out of the water.

He shakes his hair like a dog and wipes a hand over his face with a childish grin. You can’t help but laugh at the sight, causing his toothy grin to widen even further.

“Only slightly,” he retorts, head bobbing as he treads water, “Why don’t you join me?”

You shake your head vigorously, “Absolutely not. I’m not in the mood to freeze to death.”

“Come on, Little Bird. It’s not that cold,” he taunts, “How about we play a game?”

He swims closer and you subconsciously lean forward. A glint of mischief dances in your eyes as you ask, “What sort of game?”

He raises his arms out of the water and folds them across a rock along the edge. You gulp at the sight of his broad shoulders and can’t help but study the way his muscles ripple as he moves. 

“Since you’re so privy to asking me questions,” he drums his fingers along the rock, “I get to ask you five.”

You fold your arms across your chest, “That’s it?”

A devilish grin dances across his lips, “If you fail to answer any question, you join me in here.”

Your eyes narrow into a glare, but your smile betrays you, “Three questions.”

“Four.”

“Fine,” you relent.

Eris wades gently through the water in thought before speaking up again, “What’s your greatest fear?”

Your mouth moves before you brain can catch up, “Being trapped—not like in a traditional claustrophobia sort of way, but in the sense that I can’t do what I want, move as I please.”

Eris’s head tilts as he mulls over your response before asking another question, “What’s your biggest dream?”

Again, your mouth moves with a mind of its own, “I want to travel the world—see every little piece of Prythian, and when I run out of land, explore the seas.”

“I thought your father is a merchant—you don’t travel with him?”

Your heart skips a beat as you realize your misstep. But, like the professional Azriel has trained you to be, you don’t so much as twitch an eye to show your error. “I only travel to the mainland of each Court to do is biddings for him. I haven’t seen much—really anything—beyond that,” you maintain a steady voice as you lie through your teeth, “Two more questions.”

Eris’s eyes narrow slightly as he scans your face. Your answer seems too…rehearsed. But you’ve shown absolutely no indication of lying. Finally, he asks, “What about your mother?”

Your detached exterior falters. Your lips dip ever so slightly into a frown. Eris watches intently. Finally, you muster a response, “She died during Amarantha’s crusade.”

Eris frowns and his head dips slightly—a sign of respect, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Your lips part at the motion. It is extremely uncharacteristic of Autumn Court males to treat females with such respect. In fact, Eris has surprised you with every single one of your interactions. Coming into this, you knew that he wasn’t a typical male, considering he wants Beron dead. But you weren’t quite prepared for just how, well, normal he is.

“Thank you,” you finally reply with sincerity. Your lips curl into a soft smile, one which you don’t have to force, as you change the subject, “Last question.”

 He matches your smile and swims backwards, dipping his hair under water, “I’ve better make it good then.”

You watch as he swims to and fro, taking his sweet time deciding what nonsense he will inevitably throw your way. His questions have been far too calm and calculated thus far; and you haven’t refused one. 

Right on cue, Eris swims towards you with a smile befitting of the devil. You can practically see the flames dancing in his irises, and the pitchfork tail wagging behind him.

“Does the carpet match the drapes?”

You were expecting nonsense. But you aren’t sure if anything could have prepared you for that.

Your face pales and you drop your jaw in utter shock. His is nearly as red as his hair as he tries, and fails, to contain his laughter. Suddenly, the switch flips and you face contorts into disgust.

“You are swine, Eris Vanserra. Filthy, perverted swine,” you screech as you leap from your tree stump.

He howls in laughter, and you want nothing more than to wring his neck. You turn swiftly on your heel and send him a crude gesture over your shoulder as you storm away.

“Oh, come back, Little Bird! I was only teasing,” tears spill from the corners of his eyes as he tries to calm himself down.

You pause and turn back towards him. Your glare is as icy as Nesta’s as you stare at him. He has never looked more like a fox through his snickering laughter. He swims to the edge of the water and beckons you forward. Your feet remain planted in the ground, “You promise?”

Tears of delight well again in his amber eyes as he replies, “Yes. I don’t care if they match.”

Your lips curl into a vicious snarl and you grab a rock, chucking it as hard as you can towards him. He barely dodges the flying stone through his hysterics. “Okay, okay, I promise I’m done now,” he wheezes.

You tap your foot impatiently as you wait for him to calm down. Finally, his manic laughter ceases, and he simply looks at you with a faux apologetic smile.

“Well come on, then.”

You gnaw on your bottom lip with a frown, “I’m not taking off my clothes.”

“If you swim in that dress you’ll drown,” he nods his head at the heavy material, “At least put on my shirt.”

You hesitate as you eye the cream, long-sleeved button-down shirt tossed haphazardly onto the forest floor. You reach down to pick it up and run your hands over the soft linen material. He senses your hesitation and adds, “I’ll turn around, if you’d like.”

Your eyes flick towards him, and true to his word, he turns and swims in the opposite direction. Still, you wait until he’s on the other end of the stream before stepping behind a tree and stripping off your dress. The breeze nips at your bare skin, and you shiver at the sensation. You take off layer after layer until you are left in your bra and panties. You hastily slide into Eris’s shirt and button it up all the way. It provides ample coverage, falling nearly to your knees—but you’re still freezing. And you can’t imagine the water will be any more pleasant. 

“Come on, Little Bird. I won’t wait all day,” Eris whines, the nearness of his voice indicating that he had finished his lap around the water. 

Finally, you step out of the trees. His Adam’s apple bobs at the image of you in his shirt. He doesn’t hide the way his eyes drift, scanning down your bare legs. A blush creeps up your neck, and before he can make a comment about your near nakedness, you set into a sprint and leap.

Your regret your decision before you even hit the water. And you want to kill Eris when you do. 

“It’s fucking freezing!” you wail the second your head breaks through the surface. You wipe the water from your eyes through a series of hyperventilating gasps, your body working hard to generate some kind of warmth. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you,” you repeat your new mantra over and over again, unwanted tears pricking at the corners of your narrowed eyes.

“Come here,” he beckons you forward.

You shake your head in obstinance.

Eris rolls his eyes at your childlike behavior. He swims towards you in three graceful strokes. You scramble backwards in the water, but he is a much more skilled swimmer than you. 

“Let me help you,” his voice his sweet like honey. You know this is his game—poke and prod until you bleed, and then lick the wounds clean.

You shake your head again and move to swim away, but he lunges before you can escape.

Instant, sweet, warm relief.

You nearly moan as his arms wrap around your body and pull you into his chest. He is hot—literally and figuratively. His chest burns like a furnace, and you wrap your arms around his neck without a second thought, pulling him even closer. You can feel him smiling as you nestle your head into the crook of his neck and wrap your legs around his waist. His legs work hard underneath the surface, keeping you both upright.

“Better?” he coos.

You simply grunt into his shoulder and nod.

His chuckle reverberates through your body, warming you even more. You are puddy in his hands, but right now, you couldn’t care less. You don’t utter a word as you relish in his warmth. The two of you slip into a comfortable silence, filled only by the distant rush of the waterfall and the water lapping up against your bodies. Just as you let your eyes flutter shut, the silence is severed by his rumbling voice.

“As much as I love your sharp tongue, Little Bird, I quite like you like this—sweet, soft, and pliant in my arms.”

You frown at the smugness in his tone and move to push away, but he wraps his arms around you even tighter.

“I’m still upset with you,” you grumble petulantly into his shoulder.

The tension in your shoulders eases as he presses his lips to the top of your head. You involuntarily shudder as he mumbles softly into your hair, “I’m sorry, Little Bird. Can I make it up to you?”

His hands move from underneath your thighs, and you wrap your legs tightly around his hips. Your breath hitches as he slowly trails his hands up over the curve of your hips. You are suddenly aware of how his button-down shirt floats to the surface, leaving your body almost completely exposed under the water. His hands still at the dip of your waist, and he rubs circles into your skin with his thumbs. His left hand leaves, and you flinch as it grazes the side of your neck, gently pushing your hair aside. Your heart beats frantically as he ghosts his lips along your sensitive skin. His open-mouthed kisses become firmer, but remain tentative; as if he’s giving you the opportunity to stop him. 

Slowly, you raise your head from the crook of his neck. Your eyes are wide, pupils blown as your gaze cautiously shifts upwards. You study the rise and fall of his chest, the shift of his jaw, before finally meeting the amber of his eyes. Your noses are millimeters apart—far too close for comfort, but you’re frozen in place.

Your lips part as his left hand reaches upwards again, and he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Any façade of apathy is long gone as your eyes become a window to your soul: curiosity, trepidation, but above all, an unwavering desire. Your body moves on its own accord as you run your fingers through the hair at the nape of Eris’s neck. The tip of your nose bumps against his, and that’s all it takes for him to lurch forward and close the gap between you.

Your mind typically works in overdrive. But the moment Eris’s lips meet yours, it empties entirely. His lips are impossibly soft as they move against yours in a languid dance. His hand cups the side of your face as he deepens the kiss, and you can’t help but sink into his gentle touch. His lips are smooth against your chapped ones, but you move in sync—like giving breath to fire. His fingers dig slightly into your waist, eliciting a gasp, and he uses the opportunity to slide his tongue into the gap between your lips. You jump at the cold feeling of rock against your back, but he doesn’t miss a beat as he nips softly at your bottom lip. You can feel your heart pounding in your head and your lungs burn from the lack of oxygen, but you can’t bring yourself to pull away.

“Relax, Little Bird,” he mumbles against your lips.

He pulls away but before you can protest the loss, he dips down and latches his lips to your neck. Your own swollen lips part in a silent gasp as he trails kisses down your neck, to your collarbone. You dig your nails into his skin as he nips particularly hard in one spot, and he groans against you. The hand gripping your waist slowly lowers to the curve of your hip, and you suck in a breath. He pauses his movements, and you nearly melt as his eyes flick up to yours. He waits patiently, silently asking for your permission. Your head dips into a nod and before you can process what is happening, his lips are on yours once again and his hand is firmly gripping the curve of your ass. 

This time, you can taste his hunger as he kisses you with fervor. Your head is spinning, and you grip around him tightens as he palms your soft skin underneath the frigid water. He presses you further into the rock behind you, and you freeze as his hand moves up and toys with the lacy fabric at your hips. He slides a finger underneath the band of your panties, and all of a sudden, the fog of desire clouding your mind rises.

“Wait,” you pull away with a gasp.

Even through your inner turmoil, you can’t help but admire the beauty of his tousled crimson hair, wide eyes, and swollen lips. 

His hand stills against your hip, before retreating underneath your knees to hold you up as he did before.

“I’m sorry,” he pants, “I got carried away. If I was moving too fast, I—”

“No,” you cut him off, “You didn’t do anything. You were perfect—I mean,” your decades of reading ancient literature seem to slip away as you scramble for words, “It’s not you. I just haven’t, um, you know…”

He furrows his brows in confusion, but his eyes widen in realization at the flaming, red blush crawling up your neck. The look of surprise on his god-like features makes you want to sink into the cold abyss below and never come up. Instead, you look down at the water lapping up between you two to avoid his gaze.

“I didn’t realize you were saving yourself,” his tone his soft, a contrast to his typically sharp tongue.

The blush creeping up your neck reaches your cheeks as you look up at him again and shake your head, “No, no I’m not. I just, well, I haven’t before. Not because I don’t want to,” you sigh, “I guess the opportunity has just never presented itself.”

You brace yourself for the impact of his teasing, but it never comes. Instead, his usually cold eyes are warm with understanding, and a soft smile tugs at his pink lips.

“No one’s ever touched you before?” he asks with sincerity.

You shake your head and wish the water below you would swallow you whole.

He caresses the side of your face with a feather-light touch that makes you shiver before replying, “It’s not anything to be embarrassed about. I just can’t believe no male has ever pursued you, in all your beauty.”

No man has ever pursued you, because no man has been able. You lived the first twenty years of your life hidden between rows of bookshelves. You spent the next decade hidden in the House of Wind, and since then, you’ve only left Velaris with the sole intent of business with other courts. But you can’t tell Eris all of this. You can’t tell him that you’ve never had sex before because, despite their good intention, Mor and Rhys have kept you under their thumbs for the entirety of your adult life. You can’t tell him how you desire, more than anything else, to break out of their mold. 

So instead, you say, “I want you to show me.”

Eris stares at you, his eyes swimming with an emotion you can’t quite put your finger on. You wait with bated breath, but he doesn’t move. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you lunge forward and pull him closer with your arms around his neck. The moment your lips reconnect, any thought in the back of your mind about your mission, your purpose for being here in the first place, dissipates entirely.

He groans at the feeling of your lips against his and wraps his arms tightly underneath your thighs. You barely feel the world twisting and folding as he winnows you out of the water. A wave of heat rushes over you and you can feel your whole body dry, but he doesn’t miss a beat as he carries you in his arms and runs his tongue along your bottom lip. Eris lays you down onto something soft, and you whine as he pulls away. Your eyes flutter open and your mouth sets into a pout, but for the first time, you notice the change in scenery.

You’re in a cabin—more accurately, on a plush bed in a cabin. But this cottage is much larger than what you’ve grown accustomed to in the woods.

“Patience, Little Bird,” Eris’s voice is thick with desire as he crawls on top of you. He nudges a knee between your legs, and you part them without a second thought.

He wears a smug smile as he dips down. You lurch forward to kiss him again, but he merely hovers a few inches above you, just out of your reach. You try again, this time tugging on the back of his neck to pull him down. But he simply won’t budge.

“Don’t be a prick,” you grumble, frustration boiling under your skin.

He laughs, and the sound makes something churn deep in your gut.

“Tell me where you want me, Birdie,” Eris rasps.

You frown, but you are too stunned to speak. You desperately want to wipe the smug grin off his face, but the words just won’t come out.

“Here?” he hums, rubbing his thumb along your bottom lip, “Or here?” his hand trails down your neck, to the curve of your breast. You hold your breath as he lightly drags his fingernails down to your stomach, pushing aside his shirt, “Am I getting closer?” he muses as he traces the band of your panties.

You dig your nails into his shoulders and whisper, “I want you to kiss me.”

Eris hums in approval and swoops down, reconnecting your lips once more. Your teeth bump slightly with the force of the kiss and your lips slide sloppily against his. You reach between your bodies and grab his hand, pressing it back against your abdomen before sliding it up. 

“I want you everywhere,” you mumble against his lips.

He releases a guttural moan into your mouth. Eris doesn’t give you a moment to think twice as he flips your bodies around so that his back is against the headboard of the bed, and you are straddling his lap. You move to unbutton his undershirt which still engulfs your body, but he swats your hands away. You gasp into his mouth as he swiftly rips the shirt open, sending buttons flying across the room. You let him push the material off your shoulders, and shiver as the air tickles your nearly bare body. His hands slowly, teasingly wrap around your waist, simultaneously pulling you closer and unclasping your bra. His lips slow against yours as he drags the flimsy material over your shoulders and down your arms, exposing your breasts to him.

Eris pulls his lips away from yours and gazes down at your bare chest. You are unable to will away the flush crawling up your neck as he caresses the curve of your breasts and runs his thumbs over your peaked nipples. His forehead falls against yours and he whispers against your lips, “You are perfect.”

His head dips down towards your breasts and his amber eyes flick up to yours, “May I?”

You can only nod weakly in response.

Your eyes flutter shut as he wraps his lips around your left nipple and flicks his thumb across your right. Your belly throbs at the sensation, and you shift in his lap. You jolt as your core presses against his groin, and a small smile tugs at your lips as you realize he is hard as a rock. You shift your hips again, rubbing against him, and you both moan in unison at the pleasure that shoots up your spines.

“Did your filthy little books teach you that?” he groans against your left breast before switching to your right.

You dig your nails sharply into his shoulders but continue grinding against him. His free hand grips your waist, setting a steady rhythm. Your hands trail down his shoulders, and you scrape your fingernails down his chest as you explore the firmness of his abdomen. Eris presses one last open-mouthed kiss to your breast before pulling off. You don’t give him a moment to catch his breath as you cup his face with your hands and pull him up, crashing your lips against his again. His taste is intoxicating, and you just can’t seem to get enough of it.

His hands snake around your waist and he grips your ass, squeezing the soft flesh and grinding you against him even harder. Your hands dip down from his abs to the band of his underwear. You lazily graze your hand along the material, dipping your fingers underneath teasingly. Just as you’re about to reach your hand inside, he firmly grips your wrist and flips your bodies once again so you are lying flat on your back.

“As much as I would love to have your hand wrapped around my cock,” Eris presses a taunting kiss to the corner of your lips, “This is all about you, Little Bird.”

You watch the rise and fall of your bare chest as he lowers himself down the length of your body. His trails open-mouthed kisses down your neck, between your breasts, until he reaches the band of your panties. You suck in a breath as his eyes flick up to yours, and his fingers toy with the lace trim.  

“Is this okay?” he whispers, fighting the smile tugging at his lips.

You nod dumbly.

You yelp as he hooks his arms around your thighs and tugs you down towards the edge of the bed. He runs a hand teasingly along your leg, up to your inner thigh. 

“Tell me what you want, Little Bird,” he teases as he touches every part of your exposed body, except where you need him most.

You whine and wriggle your hips, but he firmly holds you in place. He cocks a brow expectantly as he softly caresses your inner thigh.

“I want you,” you whimper, “I want you between my legs.”

Eris hums and latches his lips onto the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, sucking harshly before running his tongue along the same spot, “Here?”

Your face is flaming with embarrassment. Your core is throbbing, and you’re positive there’s a wet patch on the center of your panties. You shake your head, tears of frustration pricking at your eyes. 

He nudges a thumb underneath the band of your panties, “Am I getting warmer?”

You want to kick him, but you nod your head instead obediently. He presses his thumb directly on your clit through the wet spot on your panties, and you cry out at the sensation.

“I need words, Little Bird,” he presses his thumb harder.

Your thighs are shaking, and your desperation finally betrays you as a tear slips out of the corner of your eye.

“I want you on my cunt,” your voice trembles as you speak, “I want your fingers, your mouth, your tongue, I want it all. Please.”

His eyes darken, and a vicious smile curls onto his lips as he finally yanks the flimsy material down your legs and tosses it aside. He doesn’t give you a second to process the fact that you are completely bare for him as he runs a finger through you, admiring how your wetness collects at his fingertips. You nearly cry in relief as he finally presses the pad of his thumb directly onto your clit. Pleasure shoots up your spine as he flicks his thumb over the sensitive bundle of nerves, and you bite your lip to stifle a moan.

“Don’t be shy, darling. I want to hear how good I’m making you feel,” he purrs.

This time, you don’t stop the cry that bubbles in your throat as he increases the speed of his thumb and traces his other hand over your slick. He slides his middle finger over your entrance and pushes just his fingertip inside, his thumb continuously moving in a steady rhythm.

“Don’t tease. Please,” you beg, every ounce of self-respect left behind in that frigid stream.

He smirks and sinks his middle finger into you. You throw your head back with a moan as he curls it inside, pressing against a spot you had no idea even existed.

“I think you were made for me, Bird,” he mumbles as he slowly thrusts his finger inside of you, “I wish you could see the way your sweet cunt just sucks me in.”

You cover your face with the crook of your elbow to hide your embarrassment, but pull it away with a jolt as his teeth sink into your thigh; a warning.

He stops thrusting his finger, and instead curls it inside of you repeatedly, sending ripples of pleasure through your gut as he continuously stimulates that spot deep inside of you. A filthy squelching sound fills the room, but you too far past the point of self-consciousness to care.

Just as the tension starts to build in your gut, he pulls both of his hands away abruptly. You whine at the loss and look down just in time to meet his eyes as he runs his tongue in a long swipe up from your entrance to your clit. You cry out at the sensation unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. He moans against you, and the vibration makes your toes curl.

“You taste divine,” he rasps against you.

His tongue flicks against your clit, and you pant through uneven breaths. Your hands grasp at the sheets, desperately searching for something to stabilize yourself, and you throw your head back as he latches his lips over your bundle of nerves, sucking harshly. He sharply slaps your thigh and mumbles against your cunt, “Eyes on me.”

You all but melt as you glance down and meet his lust-filled gaze. His amber eyes don’t leave yours as he eats you out like a man starved. Your core continuously throbs, sending wave after wave of pleasure up your spine. You run your fingers through his crimson locks, pushing him against you even further, and he hums in approval.

You feel like you’ve been transported to another planet. And just when you think you couldn’t possibly take anymore, he runs a finger up your slit and sinks it back inside of you.

“Eris,” you mewl as he thrusts his finger while his tongue continues its ministrations against your clit.

He releases a guttural moan against you and curls his finger harshly against your spongy walls.

“Say my name again,” he murmurs against your slick before continuing, never missing a beat.

“Eris,” you moan as you feel the tension rapidly building in your groin.

“Again,” he groans, flicking his tongue even faster.

The pressure in your gut is almost too much, and you grip onto his hair for dear life as you chant his name like a mantra, “Eris, Eris, Eris.”

Which each utterance of his name, he curls his finger inside you. Your chanting is close to sobbing as the pressure builds, and builds, until the coil finally snaps.

Your vision blurs and you all but scream at the ecstasy coursing through your veins. You feel like you’re floating as waves of unbridled pleasure roll through your body, the tension in your gut finally coming to a head. Eris continues his ministrations as he rides you through your climax, until your legs spasm and your hips jolt at the hypersensitivity. He presses one last kiss to your core before slowly removing his hands. You can only watch in awe as he sucks his fingers into his mouth, licking every last drop of your slick from his hands.

Sweat beads at your forehead and your bare chest rises and falls rapidly as you come down from your high, slowly coming back to reality. His touch is gentle as he rises back up and lays beside you. You don’t protest as he pulls you into his chest and wipes away the tear trailing down your face. He presses his lips against your forehead and mumbles against you, “You did so well, darling.”

You rest your head against his chest and allow his warmth and the steady beat of his heart to calm you down. His fingers comb through your hair and scrape against your scalp in a soothing manner. You gaze shyly up at him, and find his eyes already trained on you. You wrap an arm around his chest and he pulls you closer, placing a sweet kiss on your chapped lips. You can taste yourself against him, and the thought makes you shiver. Your leg shifts between his thighs, and you can feel the hardness of his groin pressing up against you.

“What about you?” your voice is scratchy as you whisper against his lips.

Eris simply smiles down at you and presses his lips to your forehead, “Baby steps, Little Bird. Don’t worry about me—this was about you.”

Your heart melts at his words, and you can’t fight the small smile tugging at your lips. You rest your head in the crook of his neck and fall into a comfortable silence. The waterfall sounds through the walls of the cottage in the distance like a peaceful lullaby. 

“Thank you,” you whisper shyly, eyes flicking up towards his.

He wears his foxlike grin as he stares back down at you, “For what?”

Your lips graze his jaw as you speak, “For showing me all of this. For letting me be selfish.”

Amber eyes smile kindly at you, “Don’t ever thank me,” he says simply.

He continues his gentle stroking of your hair, and your eyes flutter shut as you marvel at how your body fits against his like a mold. 

You should feel guilty. Guilty for betraying your family. Dirty for putting your selfish desires above your loyalty to your court. But you can’t ignore how right it feels to be wrapped up in your supposed enemy’s arms. 

You know the panic will soon wash over you. But for now, you allow yourself to indulge in the marvelous incredulity of it all as you fall into a peaceful sleep to the steady beat of Eris’s heart.  

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

taglist:

@lilah-asteria @goldenmagnolias @myromanempiree @i-know-i-can @hannzoaks @olive-main @rcarbo1

[romanoffsbish]

The One That (Almost) Got Away

Natasha Romanoff (Intersex) x ChubbyMilf!R

GN!OC (Ryan) x Fem!R (Freshly divorced)

Natasha’s not the step-dad, she’s merely the dad that stepped up | WC: 9,218

Warnings: Ryan is dickhead coded | R Ghosted Nat so she is too | Confusing Feelings | Insecurities all Around (Body / Worth) | Everyone’s Horny | Happiest of Endings Though 🥰

Smut: Natasha has a penis | Oral - Both | Multiple Positions (Wall / Doggy / Guided Dick-Riding) | Praising / Degrading | Dirty Talk | Face Slap (R) | Heavy on Breeding | KO (R) | Needy R -> Cockwarming | Switch Energy but R basically Bottoms

——

Natasha watched you intently, just like she always did, and just like every time before now she wasn't left disappointed. Well, besides that time when you married Ryan, you looked gorgeous stood up at that altar, but you were painfully mismatched. They were the first person you had ever dated, but you never truly loved them. You loved Natasha though, she knew that deep within her yearning soul, felt it deep in her bones, but alas you chose the stable familiarity over love.

Natasha told you every time you two had made love that she wanted the whole thing, but you were in a committed (open) relationship. You had a child with another, and you decided she (deserved better) wasn't ready for that sort of responsibility. So, for the both of your sakes you had stopped coming over a year ago, without a word of goodbye—like a coward.

It broke you just the same, but at least you had a distraction with your infant around. All Natasha had was the haunting memories of a genuine love and, dangerous missions, a nearly lethal combination. It was only last month that the redhead stopped being reckless, which coincidentally, is exactly when she had heard of your unexpected divorce proceedings.

Tony had very loudly, intent obvious, offered a sobbing you a spacious, well-equipped place to stay since Ryan decided to kick you out, of your house. He also got you a better divorce lawyer. When she pestered him for a why though he had refused, stating 'you'll know soon enough' in the most ominous, almost threatening, way.

The reactions to your tumultuous entanglement around the compound were mixed. Most thought you two were a great match, those who met Ryan felt this way, others felt Natasha could do better than the girl who left her hanging. Then there was Tony, who alone believed the both of you to be aloof little cowards.

Ergo his childish response. Yet here you were, at the compound she still lived in, and she still hadn't been informed... It was driving her crazy, but she kept her cool, or at least she tried to, but you made it hard.

So damn hard not to run over and yell at you, just to then kiss you breathless, then she figured she would yell at you some more; but with less clothes, and in a passionate reunification of two desperate souls.

But she stood stuck to her spot, wishing desperately that she had Wanda's handy ability to read minds...

You stood across the field in a moment of uneasy silence. Pepper had to leave in a hurry, Tony excused himself with a promise to return. So now, without distraction, you were left lost in tumultuous thought.

Ryan and you had called it quits just six months ago after you gave birth to your sweet little girl, Delilah. To the outside world they looked like a bad guy, but with one peak into the carseat hood that currently shielded your daughter from the sun, everyone would know.

Know that maybe everyone was a bit wrong here...

There was only one rule the both of you set, don't let anyone else create life with you, and with Natasha's enigmatic charm you broke it easily. Ryan was still somewhat involved with Carter, but they denounced you and Delilah instantaneously. You knew better to expect anything else, but you were too petrified of being alone with two littles to see it all clearly.

Fortunately though, Tony adored you and had set the three of you up in a cushy upscale home just outside of the bustling city. There was a park on the corner, it was your only safe haven as you waited for the divorce to finalize, it was where you processed your grief over the entire situation, and realized this was always the way life would work out. One day the redhead would be there with you, scooting down the wide, curvy red slide with Carter, and Delilah giggling in her lap.

It was an inevitability of the rawest proportions.

You couldn't stop loving Natasha if you tried, which you halfheartedly did, and she loved you without the intent to stop—fate finally felt the need to intervene.

You felt her burdened gaze the moment you entered the party, and you were burning under the weight of it. There was a blip of fear that she would never forgive you for keeping her daughter from her, but you also figured she'd understand. If you were going to work as a couple, it had to be without Ryan's interference, and they were hellbent on making sure you weren't happy even though they were with Rochelle, the supermodel.

If you so much as contacted Natasha they were ready to claim this was always your plan. Not that they'd have much of a leg to stand on, but you weren't risking them winning so much as partial custody, simply because it was just to spite you. Ryan never wanted to be hands on, it seemed they more so liked the title of being a parent and spouse, but never the actual role. If they had won you know your son would only suffer.

Disappointed was an understatement, but you didn't hold pity for yourself because everyone warned you of their immaturity from the jump. Natasha warned you everyday leading up to the wedding, she pleaded with a hurt that broke your heart wide open, yet you were stubborn, and now you are right where you deserve.

The fear of a harsh reaction held you back from approaching her, hearing an 'I told you so' or a 'what did you expect to happen?' wasn't exactly something you could handle. Even if it was what you deserved, so, you decided to leave it to her. You wanted to give her the chance to take the first step in case she was only seeking to scream at you for breaking her heart and never returning any of her calls or texts, and oh yeah, for the icing on the fucked up cake you'd baked you would have to add keeping her child from her.

Natasha couldn't focus on anything but you since you had arrived though, she actively willed you to look up at her, but she soon realized you were purposefully ignoring meeting her gaze. The ill advised thought that even when single that you wouldn't want her around broke her spirit down into nothingness.

Was she really not good enough for you?

Who was she kidding? Of course she wasn't... You were clean of a harsh origin, with a compassionate aura that bled right into your ability to be an amazing mother. Natasha wanted kids, yours specifically, but with her cold upbringing she feared she would never be what they would need, and in turn she would let you down.

Natasha didn't get to linger in her sadness for long before Maria was nudging her shoulder. "For fucks sake Romanoff, could you at least pretend to be interested in my plights?" She was reminded of the riveting conversation she'd been engaged in moments prior with a raging Maria and an instigating Wanda. Her silly relationship problems with Danvers no longer interested her when she was faced with her very own problems rooted in an extended period of longing.

Natasha rolled her eyes, and adjusted her pants to better conceal the hard on she was suddenly sporting. You just looked too good, motherhood had only ever enhanced your beauty, her purest desires for you only surplussed after your son's birth. It pained her so that you'd lived like your beauty was lost due to a miracle, and it was that night that she showed you otherwise.

The night she gave actual life to her love...

Ryan had made the first distasteful comment, it was why you were at the compound that day after all. Using the free gym six months out from your son's birth, which was fine, but you were indeed overdoing it since you had a bad back, and it was Nat who stopped you.

"Y/N, you need to take it easy, you like just had a baby," she'd tried to help, but you glared at her with angry tears in your eyes. "It's fine Nat, I need to do this. I am literally in terrible shape, I am so ug—," you'd muttered in obvious frustration, but she didn't dare let you finish your sentence. She took you right there on the mat, then again in the showers, and finally she took you to her bed and gave you all of her love.

That wasn't the start of your sinful relations, but it was the beginning of the deep lines officially blurring. Where the love the two of you felt for the other was finally released through breathy moans, soft kisses and the heat of the moment filling of your barren womb.

Every time you didn't see the beauty in your body she did, and she reminded you so well... It was not a shock to you when you saw the test; more like a total relief.

Natasha obviously knew something happened, it changed everything for her, because you and her best friend, Carter, were no longer coming around. The redhead actually sobbed on his first birthday, and she still has all the gifts she bought for him in her closet.

Wanda followed her best friend's gaze to you, and she smiled sadly. The witch was the first person you came crying to over the news, and it hurt her heart to keep this secret from Nat, but she knew that today was the day it all changed. You were going to make it all right.

Your divorce was finalized after Tony's lawyer put Ryan in their place. The open marriage was their choice, you had proof that they pushed you into agreeing, so the judge deemed your daughter's paternity a natural consequence. Now that they lost, they moved outside of city limits with their younger lover, and you contently remained in the upper-scale house, the one that didn't burden you with memories.

"Go talk to her Nat," Wanda encouraged, "Take the chance, I promise you it'll at least be cathartic."

Natasha sighed, "She's better off without me."

The redhead kicked up a cloud of dust as she sent one last longing glance your way. Her heart stuttered at the sight. You'd moved, this time her eyes found you leaning back against a table. A soft look in your eye as you watched your giggling son, Carter, clumsily chase Morgan around the field. It'd been awhile since you've been back here so you were involved in a conversation.

The grey sundress you wore was perfectly hugging your curves, and the skirt of it was flowing with the light breeze, giving her a glimpse of the silky skin of your legs beneath. It was tastefully cut, but it still allowed her to see the curve of your swollen, sagging breasts.

Natasha's eyes were focused in on the way you sucked on your popsicle though. Her cock twitched in her boxers as she saw you hollow out your cheeks, her dick longing for the oh so familiar feeling of the gesture. You mindlessly wiped away the sticky mess of artificial juices with your fingers, and her eyes were locked on them, you lifted them to your lips to suck off the sticky mess and it reminded her of that time she'd shoved hers, covered in your shared arousals, down your throat. It was the most intimate moment she'd ever shared with another, and that made her resolve fall.

The redhead couldn't stand any of it anymore, not the ache in her chest, nor her boxers, so she rushed inside the compound, ignoring the awkward stares. The door that slammed afterwards caught your attention.

Tony shoved your arm. "Go after her Y/N!"

You stared down at the stroller, admiring the peace your daughters sleeping face brought as your nervous fingers fidgeted with the strap of the diaper bag. You felt nothing but guilt after a moment though when her little eyes fluttered open to reveal a sea of familiar green. You began to wonder if Natasha would be better off without you since all you seem capable of is hurting her. All she's ever done is pour her love into you, and you actually ghosted her—the perfect woman. The longer you thought it over, the sillier your reasons felt.

Tony invited you over for this barbecue to celebrate his retirement, but you weren't dumb enough to not know why he wanted you to come. Steve, and Natasha were also retiring, the notion that the redhead was giving up this life regardless of you made your skin crawl.

Was she retiring for you? Did she know you are divorced? You knew Tony blabbed a lot, so it wouldn't surprise you if that's how she had found out.

Or was it for herself? She'd earned the right and it was a bit narcissistic to think you played any part here.

Did she have plans to find the life she wanted with someone else since you were a coward? It would only serve you right, you knew you didn't deserve her.

Tony saw the turmoil in your eyes as you picked at the foam, he gently pulled your hands from the stroller, and nodded to the door with a stern expression. "No..."

"Y/N," he sighed, ready to fight you for being a coward, but then his face fell in offense as you spoke, "You are not exactly baby proof Stark." The man scoffed, "You can't be serious, I am a perfectly functional dad!"

You deadpanned, "You are the fun dad to Pep's productive. You have her while Pepper is at a meeting and Morgan's shirt is now on inside out, she's ate off everyone's plate and if my eyes aren't deceiving me, she has a contraption from your lab. My son better..."

Tony immediately took off and you giggled, enjoying the moment of peace just before your daughter began to cry. If only Nat would have waited a minute she'd have seen you pull the tiny redhead from the stroller. It was uncanny how similar to Natasha she was.

Infuriating was more like it really, you carried her for ten excruciatingly long months, and all she got was your hair texture, lip shape, and unfortunately—temper. Everything else was Nat, aside from the blend of her skin tone, it was a beautiful mix of you both.

"What's the matter lyubov'?" You coo'd and pulled the sniffling baby girl to your chest. Unaware of the presence of your former teammates behind you. Wanda beamed at the knowledge of you learning Russian for your daughters sake, she knew Nat would likely cry at the notion too, but Maria merely gasped.

"Oh my gosh, is that Romanoff's?!" Wanda elbowed the nosy woman, at this point she wondered if Maria being the second in command for Shield was a good idea with the way she loved to gossip and tease. "Mhm..."

Wanda's hand fell on your shoulder, you were never much for staying silent, so you simply humming gave way to your obvious anxiety. "She's only crying my dear, because she knows you have unfinished business to tend to." You turned to her with a teary gaze of your own and she used the pad of her thumb to wipe them away in comforting strokes. "Hand me my niece, and go fix things with Natasha dorogoy, it'll be okay."

Delilah instantly stopped crying, her wobbly head turned slightly as she recognized Wanda's voice. The two shared excited smiles, one adorable and gummy, and the other accompanied by the faintest of wrinkles to show a long life lived. Wanda's nose was scrunched as she regarded your daughter with pure elation, and you had no qualms leaving her behind with Wanda.

"I'm sorry," you whispered as you passed her off, and Wanda wrapped her arm around your waist to offer you a comforting embrace. "All is forgiven as long as you don't fumble this time. Tell her how you feel, and let her feel it all too, she'll understand and forgive."

You nodded, offering a nervous smile then left in a hurry to get to the woman you wanted to be with for an eternity, hopeful that she still wanted the same as you.

The way to Natasha's room was quick, your muscles remembering the route without any need for a refresher. The path now forever engrained into your heart as the safest one. You pondered knocking, but then you heard the most gut wrenching sobs and felt the urgent need to push the door right open. As you opened the door though you were met with a far different sight than you had anticipated.

The sobs were ones of pure sexual frustration.

"Oh fuck!" You'd gasped at the sound of her raspy voice, the gorgeous redhead was leaning her head against the glass of her vanity as she jerked herself off with a pair of red lace panties that you'd left behind.

Natasha watched you in terror, her stomach tied in a more dreadful knot now that overpowered the arousal she needed to release. Once the shock wore off you stepped in, expression neutral as you shut her door with your foot, then used your powers to lock it.

"Y-Y/N, I can explain," she stuttered as you were silently approaching her. "How about you just let me take over instead, yeah?" Natasha nodded, her mind in a trance of sorts as she allowed you to remove her hand and use your own. The strokes you gave were feather light, but just because it was you she was on edge.

Pre-cum dribbled onto your thumb, and you used it to lube up her cock, and make your hand have a slicker surface to increase speed. You felt your panties dampen the longer you stroked her pulsing shaft, eyes locked in on the way her mouth was hung open, and her moans were raspy, melodious gifts for your ears.

"Y/N," she gritted out your name as her cock twitched with an increased warning, but you abruptly let her shaft go instead, and she sobbed without shame.

Natasha was frustrated with you on so many levels, but this had her feeling embarrassed. The way that she hasn't been able to get off without a piece of you in over a year shameful. Then when she was finally about to climax, with the real thing, you took it from her...

Again—you just kept taking, and taking from her, and now she was unsure if she had anything left to give.

"We need to talk," she rasped angrily and you nodded, but then you dropped to your knees with a wink. "We do need to talk Natasha," you purred her sentiments against the sticky red tip of her cock, reworking her mind into a haze as you prepared to give her head.

"Shall we do it now then?" You asked teasingly, but with your mouth inches from her throbbing member she could only frantically shake her head. "Later," you hotly voiced for her, you kissed her tip then licked her essence up with a soft flick through the sensitive slit.

All Natasha offered was a delayed, husky, "Mmm," too engrossed by the exhilarating sensation of your warm tongue swirling around her shaft as you slowly lowered your head until the tip of your nose brushed against her fuzzy abdomen to say much of anything else.

This was exactly what she needed. You knew it was only a matter of time before you two would have to face the reality. But, for this brief moment in time, you wanted to use your mouth to pleasure her, to soften the blow if you will, as you gave a physical apology.

After proving to yourself that you could still take all of her you pulled back and let her slick dick go with a pop so that you could admire it. While keeping your eyes locked on hers you lowered so you could lick a slow stripe up from her balls, over the underside of her shaft, flicking over the pulsing veins; building her excitement way up until your lips finally wrapped back around her head to give her some overdo pleasure.

"Oh fuck, I've missed your perfect mouth," she cried out, her hand suddenly fell atop of your head and she used all of her strength to still your bobbing so that she could fuck her cock deep down your throat instead. It was never not uncomfortable to be gagged for you, but your dampening panties gave way to the enjoyment.

Natasha felt even hotter as your excess drool pooled at the base of her shaft and slowly dribbled onto her balls. It was like every one of her senses was heightening as she felt as her auburn pubes became matted and clung to her balls. You felt it too, as they swung with each deep thrust and slapped into your sweaty skin.

There was no way the moment could improve, or so she thought, because with a firm tug on her sack, and the hollowing of your cheeks as your throat contracted around her tip she was no longer in control, her release torn from her with a throaty scream that made your arousal increase tenfold, and stain the black carpet.

The familiar taste of her was enough to bring you to the edge of glory, coupled with the way she continued to fuck your throat without so much as a thought to your needs arousing and you found yourself painfully ready to bust. Her cum was inched down your throat with every continued thrust, and you moaned along happily as you continued to suck her dry, all the way up until her member fell flaccid in your mouth.

You were nearly there, your thighs rubbed together just right, but the redhead would be damned if you were to waste your cum on her carpet instead of her readied tongue. "There's no going back after this Y/N," she rasped against the shell of your ear as she pulled you to your feet while tucking her cock back into her briefs. "If I kiss you now, then you are mine for the claiming. Understood?" You hated so much that her glossed eyes shone with immense fear and hurt.

"Do it," you pleaded, a part of you hoping that what you are going to say later doesn't change her promise; you desperately wanted to be hers for good. "Please!"

Natasha gripped you by your hips and pushed you back onto the bed as her lips met yours. Her skilled hands unclasped your bra while her tongue slowly swirled around yours, tasting herself and silently vowing to never let you go a day without being filled by her in someway. All she wanted was to be yours, and make you hers in every sense, and that included breeding you, but not before she gave you the sloppiest head.

"God, you're so hot Y/N!" She practically screamed, the need for emphasis obvious. The way she stared down at your forever changed body with admiration made you want to cry. You gulped as her eyes trailed up to yours, she offered you a loving smile but her heart broke at the sight of your petrification. "Don't lie..."

Natasha was going to kill your ex. One final mark...

"Oh my beautiful girl," she sighed, her hot breath brushed over your slick mound and she admired how your body twitched and arched at the pleasure just a breeze gives to your cunt. She placed a gentle kiss to your clit, but kept moving up instead so she could kiss the stripes that adorned the plush skin of your belly.

"You are the hottest woman around detka," she admitted without any waver in her voice, her nose nudged against the soft skin of your stomach as she wordlessly continued to admire your body and the sacrifice you have made twice now. "I can't wait to etch more of these lines, to stake my claim to your womb."

You whimpered, but something about the sound wasn't rooted in pleasure, so she came back up to hover your face. "What's wrong detka, am I moving too fast?"

You smiled sadly, and shook your head, "No, it's just.. I-I," you couldn't help but to stutter now, "The claim is already yours Natasha, and it always should've been."

You don't regret Carter, how could you? In spite of all the turmoil surrounding him, he was a lovely toddler. With a natural curiosity to keep him fun, but a cautious approach that kept him safe from the lingering dangers of the world. Your son was the definition of perfect, and was never regretted, you merely rebuke Ryan.

"How so?" Natasha challenged, and you gulped, "We divorced because Delilah is yours Nat, our daughter."

"Yeah," she sighed with a sad smile, "But this time I'll be around to help as your body changes, to take care of you as you deserve while carrying my love around."

It stunned you to see nothing but love and solace behind her eyes, she wasn't angry, she was visibly relieved. Which meant this wasn't exactly news to her.

"You knew?" She nodded, and you felt your throat go dry; of course she did, Natasha wasn't regarded as a top tier spy for nothing. You frantically moved to defend your decisions, "I-I wanted to tell you Natty, but I was so scared." Natasha kissed your trembling lips tenderly in an attempt to cut off your anxiety, and for a perfect moment there was nothing but peace.

"I understand," she eventually whispered as she parted from the kiss, "You couldn't be sure of your feelings, you were only six months postpartum when we made her." Her, Delilah, Natasha's precious mini me that she'd yet to meet and the product of a destined love.

"No," you insisted, "Please do understand that I was never confused about my love for you. Every time we made love that ring would burn on my finger like the devil himself possessed it, because the greatest sin I've ever lived was pretending not to be in love with you."

You watched her eyes narrow in confusion and sighed resignedly. "You deserved someone better, I knew I wasn't enough for you. You're a model with a heart of gold, and I'm just a—." You were both momentarily stunned as her hand made contact with your cheek. The both of you blinked back your shock, and after she saw you were okay her eyes completely darkened. "I'm going to kill them Y/N, they deserve despair for ever making you question even an ounce of your beauty."

"Natty no," you pleaded for Carter's sake, "I mean yeah, Ryan wasn't good, but they were a bad I deserved," you saw the way her eyes narrowed and your speech flinched, "I-I am trying to say that you were too good."

"Me?" She scoffed with a twist of pure disgust, "How could I ever be too good for you?! Y/N, you are —."

"You're so beautiful Natasha," you sighed, cutting her off, "I don't even mean your looks, I am appreciative for them, sure, but it's your heart that I adore."

You couldn't fight the smile that took over your face, the veins of her cock pulsed through the thin material of her boxers, felt pulsing against your thigh along to the beat of her racing heart and you knew you'd said the right thing. Natasha's eyes were welling with tears as she leaned in to kiss you, it was tender and not at all foreign, but it was a feeling you'd nonetheless missed.

She always regarded your body with love, even in the more rougher moments, when she'd abuse your body like you'd beg her to, she would whisper her hearts reassuring thoughts. Deep down she always knew you asked for what you thought you deserved, so she gave you it, but not without what she knew you needed too.

"You're so good Y/N," she practically pleaded, her eyes shed hopeful tears that dripped down your temples, "I'm blessed to be in this position with you right now, the mother of my kids," she proudly said, her subtle claim to your son made you sniffle. "You deserve to be loved just like you love everyone else; without limit."

"Natasha," you whimpered, and she pecked your lips. "You're my wildest dream come true; a sight for sore eyes, an absolutely amazing mother, with the physique of a goddess. You are a blessing worthy of worshipping, I can swear to you that there's no one more perfect for me than you detka, you are the love of my life."

"Fuck," you scoffed over a sob, "So damn cheesy..."

Natasha hummed softly, "Can you feel it?" and offered you an amused smile. You blinked up in a daze as she brushed your knuckles over her lips, and you felt her dick twitch against your skin as she husked, "My love."

Your body took her words as a sign to start working towards pleasing her, you were desperate to feel it wholly. Natasha threw an arm around your waist as her back arched, securing you to her as she thrusted up involuntarily and reached a prime point of pleasure that made you both scream, yours shrill and hers a rasp. The way her throbbing tip was rubbed raw as her briefs smeared your arousal around your clit had you both already breathless, it took everything in her not to enter you then. If not for her desperation to taste what she'd been missing she would've given in instantly.

"Natty please," you tried, but ultimately failed, her raspy voice denied your pleasure, "Not yet, I need to return the favor first, I miss having your taste on my tongue and smelling you on my lips hours later."

It infuriated your cunt, who's hollowed walls clenched with need, but in the same breath her tone turned you on beyond belief, to not only feel, but to hear just how affected she was by her lusty desires centered around eating you out alone had your legs naturally spreading.

"There's my good girl," she praised against the plushness of your thigh, her tongue laid flat as she slowly licked up the essence coating your skin on a scandalous route to the grand prize, your oozing core.

Or better known to her as paradise.

After teasing you enough, with abrasive nibbles and her tongues follow up soothing caresses she felt it was about time to give you exactly what you both needed. Her lips twitched as she purposefully breathed your arousal in, and you choked in contrast when she lunged forward and began to eat your puffy pussy out.

There was no more gentle, loving Natasha; her eyes blackened, the carnality shown she was nothing short of feral, the filthy moans vibrating you into an orgasm as her tongue lapped at your core proof enough. But, for the sake of imagination, picture as if she was actually outside right now. Forced to participate in the watermelon eating contest, her hands tied behind her back and her face hovered over the three thick pieces on her plate; she'd beat both Sam and Bucky in record time, twelve seconds—four per slice, and still have enough time to make you scream around the corner, pinned to a wall while the boys struggled to focus.

The Falcon's wings would dip when informed it took him thirty seconds, but not as disappointed as The Winter Soldier who took thirty five. Fortunately for the boys, Natasha was buried in a more fitting place, winning at life as the soldiers tied, but lost to Thor who did it in ten, followed by a burp and plea for more.

You also endlessly pleaded for more, then rather suddenly for less, but inevitably you went unheard as your thighs deprived Natasha of both air and the ability to hear. Yet she kept going, making you scream out her name seconds later, and cream on her tongue.

Natasha felt your thighs relax, and with a firm grip she separated them, digging her nails into the skin as she took in an exaggerated gulp of air. You mewled and threw your head back to avoid her scarily arousing gaze. The both of you knew she was trained to hold her breath for extended periods of time, but it was hot nonetheless for you to witness, and her to pretend.

Truthfully, you internally, always made her breathless, so she was simply emoting. After a moment of you both coming back to your senses Natasha groaned, her red tip brushed against the sticky fabric of her boxers and she was disappointed she came outside of you.

"You always do this Y/N," she groaned, "I can't even help but to fuck the air to the sounds of your cries."

"Sorry," you whimpered, Natasha watched with a smirk as your entire body shivered. Then her face dropped as she realized something, "It just wasted our greatest chance at making a baby Y/N! The first round is the most potent, so now I'll have to fill you twice."

"Delilah is only six months," you panted, your words of concern not matching the clear state of your arousal. "Yeah detka; that means we are, quite frankly, behind."

"Behind?" Natasha nodded as she avoided your gaze to focus down on the mess of her boxers as she took them off and flipped them inside out. "Detka, we don't waste, so finish your treat before you get answers." There was no hesitation as you sucked the cotton fabric clean of her, moaning and soaking through the pair.

"You want this, don't you?" Natasha asked, her confidence dimmed as the fear of rejection emerged. You spit out her boxers and shrieked, "of course I do!"

Natasha hummed, "Then yes my love," as she gently stroked your cheek before pecking it. "We're gravely behind, so let's just call this an efficient way to catch up. I'll overload you on my love, and swimmers."

"Okay," your voice absolutely breathless as you allowed her to pull you up off the bed, having accepted the hand she'd extended out just so she could pull you close and kiss you until your were both breathless.

When you were distracted enough she spun you around and pressed you into the tacky wall with her muscular frame, her hot breaths fanned across your skin and your clit pulsed. She drove you wild, evidence of that being the way that your slick dribbled down the sides of her length that curved beneath your cunt.

"Are you ready to be bred?" Her fingers fondly traced over the marks on your hips. "To be full of my pulsing cock as it busts? I promise I'll leave you beyond full."

"Mommy please," you whined and pushed back with all your might to curve her dick up and into you. "Oh, you know what that does to me detka; you're in for it now."

Natasha pressed her body up, and rocked her hips until she'd smeared enough of your slick onto her length. It was a precautionary measure to ensure you minimal pain as she never failed to stretch you to your limits.

"Fuck mommy, you're so big," you mewled as her tip barely pressed into you, the redhead chuckled and slammed her hips forward, swiftly bottoming out and causing your body to lurch painfully into the wall. "Mmm, mommy loves the way you feel wrapped so tightly around me detka, suffocating my dick like the filthy whore that you are." She sloppily pecked your cheek. "This is right where you belong."

"Wanna stay like this forever," you sighed contentedly as your heated cheek brushed against the chilled wall with each shallow thrust she rewarded you with.

"That can be arranged," she rasped into your ear as her hips began to move a bit more. "Nobody else will ever get to see you like this again," she added, her growl and grip possessive as she picked up a pace you never could keep up with. Enhanced as you were with powers, the strength and stamina were all more Natasha's forte; fucking you limp a cherished specialty of hers.

"Nobody has seen me since you," you cleared the air in a dizzy slur, and felt as she prematurely shot into you, but Natasha recovered her composure fast and continued to fuck you while holding back her orgasm.

"Because this pussy is mine," she grunted, her hips now swirled with each thrust as she sought out your sole pleasure. Hearing that you were celibate in her absence a major ego boost as she rammed her fat cock into your spongey sensitivity with each precise jolt of her body into yours and pulled out those glorious supporting moans of a job well done. "Say it!"

"All yours mommy," you cried out sharply as her finger rapidly swirled against your swollen bud. "Damn straight," she groaned as she twitched and spasmed against your quivering walls. "Fucking hell, I'm going to fill you to the brim," she groaned against the base of your neck as she hastily pounded your body up against the wall.

Her hands gripped the fluff of your hips and fully drove her pelvis into your backside so that she could push you over the edge. "I'm so close mommy, please." Natasha obliged your pleas with a swift plan, her tongue teasingly licked the shell of your right ear, "Go on then sweetheart," her free hand moved to grope your breasts that leaked nonstop with warm milk while the other hand continued to stimulate your needy clit. "Let go and drench my cock; make a mess of me."

"Oh, oh, oh shit," you shrieked as you felt the coil within you snap into jagged pieces of pleasure. Nicking every inch of your body—setting your nerves ablaze. Pins and needles lasted for a perceivable eternity as you swore and soon enough you moaned a chorus as she fucked you through the toe curling orgasm.

Natasha shifted your bodies with ease, her cock still driving into your needy hole as she carried you over to lay your front down on the bed, she kept shallowly thrusting, but her strained cock managed to hold out. Even though she wanted to stay true to her words, she continued to hold back her own release for you.

"Your moans are my favorite," she whispered amusedly against the skin of your shoulder before placing a gentle kiss there, and thrusting in deep, pulling sultry cries from the depths of your needy soul. Only to then suddenly pull out so that she could admire your bare backside while calming her need to breed you.

Her hands groped the skin of your sore ass, you whined as her cold fingers trailed over the already bruising skin, tempering the sting from her hips prior assaults. "Daddy please," you whimpered, and she dug her nails into the skin. "Stop being so impatient detka, we're making up for lost time here—be a good girl, and don't rush the process."

"Sorry mommy," you whimpered, and though she couldn't see you she smiled at the remembrance of your usual pout. "There you go," she praised, "Always so good for me baby, I promise that I will never tire of having you like this," she paused, lining her tip back up with your dripping entrance, "Spread wide open as your pretty, puffy cunt devours my shaft."

That was the only warning you had before she slid her thickness back inside of you and began to give you the type of strokes that made your spine shiver; slow, and deep enough that you could feel your guts shifting.

You whimpered softly, "Fuck, I'm already so close again..." Natasha chuckled, "I know, I can feel you trembling detka, fuck, your walls are squeezing me so tight." The redhead stilled for just a second, much to your bodies dismay too, you pressed your ass back and your cunt somehow sucked her in even deeper. It took everything in her not to bust, but she wanted to be truly levelheaded about this before she lost control.

Two kids under two was no easy feat, to be ready for a third required a sure mentality. It was your body after all, talk all she wanted of her possession of your body, that was only in part true. You were in charge of what she did next, whether that be to cum inside you, or to release her potent load onto your back. Either way she'd be satisfied, and all she really wanted was you to be happy with the overall outcome too.

"Want to carry my baby again detka?" Her lips gently pressed into the skin of your shoulder, the moment was far less sexually charged, she gently marked your surrounding skin up while patiently waiting for your eventual, labored response. "Please..."

"Are you sure?" Natasha doubled down, her cock twitched in anticipation for your final reply. "Yes," you were breathless, "Please, just breed me already! Wanna be full of you." Natasha hummed, then picked her pace up, she still reached your greatest depths, but this time she went much faster—leaving you to moan nonstop.

"Gonna fill you until I'm sure I've succeeded," she rasped confidently after a moment of nothing other than listening to skin slapping, and juices sloshing. "Then I'll fuck you from the back every month and feel the way your body changes for our fetus," she placed a sloppy wet kiss behind the shell of your ear and your body shuddered as your walls clamped down on her thick shaft. "Fuck, I heard that pregnancy makes you even hornier detka. Maybe I'll hit it every night. I'll destroy this pussy before the birth ever could."

"Fucking hell Natasha," you shrieked, but it faded into a low pitched moan as the tip of her spurting cock hit that glorious spot deep within that blurred your vision. It happened just as she pressed her wandering hand against the bulge pushing your stretched skin back out.

Your vision blacked out, your cheek pressed into the sheets harshly as the redhead continued to thrust against your pussy's tight resistance to prolong your orgasms and to also allow your walls to effectively milk her cock, ensuring maximum breeding efficiency.

When even she couldn't take anymore she fell into your backside a panting mess. "You did so good," she reassured you, her hands tight grip on your hips loosened so she could stroke your sides instead as you both took a moment to regulated your systems.

After a few moments Natasha became restless, her stamina bouncing back fast as she rose up and slid out of you, leaving behind a sticky mess of your arousals as she did; her clean sheets never stood a chance. It was a moment of total joy for her to watch as your pussy contracted, sensitive walls pushing the excess of her cum from you a sight worthy of marveling. The way it bubbled and popped was absolutely mesmerizing...

There was hardly a lull in her cocks erectness, she stood there still slightly out of breath, with her sticky member inches away from her rock-hard abs in a sweaty glow. Tension held her body captive as she picked her next move. "I want you to ride me detka, bounce on mommy's cock for a bit, suck me dry."

"Mommy, I..." you sighed, "I'm tired."

"I know honey," she coo'd as she sat down on the edge of the mattress, her nimble fingers wrapped around your thigh and teasingly squeezed. "I'll do all the work." With the promise of the needed assistance you slowly shuffled over to her, and threw your leg over her spread set, opening your slick lips back up and allowing her to slip herself back in. You moaned into her shoulder as you felt your mixed slicks gush as your core met the base of her cock at a new, delightful angle.

"Mommy," you called shyly, as if you weren't already in the midst of a raw fucking, your glossy eyes fell to her lips, and she shook her head in amusement as she chuckled, "Come on detka, take what you need."

The way you kissed her every single time was how she knew your feelings for her went beyond that of lust. It was always soft, and sensual with a sense of urgency. Sometimes she felt like you were out to devour her entirely, and if you were, she wouldn't even mind. To be taken out by your lips on hers sounds heavenly.

"Oh god," you whimpered, overrun by a pleasure only she could offer you, her hands on your hips guided you, but she let you control the kiss. "I need you all the time Natty," you panted harshly against her lips as you only briefly disconnected them. "I can't get off without you. Not even listening to your old voicemails work."

"You'll never need to again detka," she growled, hands possessive as they pulled your body back down by your hips to meet her desperate thrusts, "I'll fill you up every day if that's what you need—mhm, yeah; this pussy of mine will never have time to miss me."

"Please..." you begged as your lips left hers so your head could fly back in pleasure, and your hands clawed at her neck, leaving behind angry red lines. Natasha's breath stalled, the grip she had on your hips tightened, then she dropped you mid lift because of how dizzy she felt with the way that your walls squeezed her shaft every damn time it left your warmth. Your face fell to her neck, lips latching onto her pulse point, and with you working to claim her too she busted. The warmth of her seed splattered against your walls, again, the stream nudged your g-spot with a firm flow, joined by the harsh slam of her tip; it was all too much, and in some strange way it never felt like it was enough.

Arousal gushed all over the redheads skin, and slowly dripped down the oak bed frame, polishing it anew.

The way your combined releases ran down from her abdomen and saturated the skin of her balls made her body tense as she produced even more of her seed. Natasha hadn't stopped thrusting, in fact she flipped your body onto the bed, and sent you into another wave of pleasure, and your mind to another dimension.

It had been exactly fourteen months, and ten days since she last felt as her cock rearranged your insides so she wasn't ready to stop. Natasha panted against your neck as she kept fucking your unconscious body.

Eventually she fell semi-flaccid, and her breath was so erratic she had to stop her body from continuing to ram into you. Even if the urge persisted, you were more than fucked out, so she was mostly satisfied. There's no way her diet super soldier swimmers weren't going to fulfill their duty. If the redhead is lucky she'll get a two for one reward. She can't wait to be waiting on you hand and foot. There'd never be a night you went to bed hungry, or uncomfortable.

You'll carry her kids, and she'll carry the rest of the burdens that come with life. The redhead admired your still face, your eyes tracked behind your lids, and your even, cool breaths fanned across her warm face. This was what she believed bliss to be at its core.

Natasha gently slid right on out of you, but it didn't last long before she was sheathed within your velvety warmth again. After you awoke she'd kissed you tenderly, and as her tongue explored your mouth you reached down to pump your hand up and down her cock, it was loud and wet, your hand growing sticky with your mixed arousals and her body shuddered.

"Inside," you breathed in a fit against her lips, she chuckled in disbelief at your needy behavior, and happily guided her cock to your entrance and watched as your walls sucked her in and your wetness gushed all over. "Oh fucking hell detka," Natasha groaned as her fingers flexed against your hips, "Eto ray."

(this is heaven)

"Mhm," you softly hummed your agreement, your hazy eyes fluttered open a moment later as you cheekily smirked up at her. "That dick game is god tier Natty."

Natasha rolled her eyes, then chuckled against your skin as she happily burrowed her face into your neck. All of the lust had faded, for now, and all that was left was to soak in the fact that this was finally happening.

Nothing could ruin the moment, well, almost nothing.

Your phone dinged about half an hour later, and if not for being a mom you'd have ignored it. You lazily lifted it from her nightstand. A soft giggle left you as Natasha grumbled in annoyance at the shift of her cock that was still inside of you. The woman turned her head on your chest and peered at your phone suspiciously only to see that it was lit up with an innocent text from Wanda.

Shall I take the kids back to mine ? 👀♥️

"Tell her to wait," Natasha pleaded, then in a rush she jumped up, leaving you hollow and raced into the shower. You did as told, then followed behind, and the two of you tenderly, yet speedily cleaned the other off.

Wanda sat in the living area with Carter asleep on her bump, and with Delilah laying on the play mat below her, happily kicking her feet. You quietly moved to sit beside your best friend, and watched with a smile as the love of your life cautiously approached your child.

"Hello there moya malen'kaya lyubov'," she was so soft spoken as she spoke to Delilah that you almost didn't recognize her voice. Tears brimmed your lids as you watched the way that your daughter lit up at hearing the spoken Russian, of course Natasha noticed too.

(My littlest love)

"Detka," she whimpered, and looked up into your eyes "Do you speak to her in Russian?" You nodded and sent her a playful wink to cover your emotional gaze. Natasha however turned stone cold serious as she said: "YA sobirayus' sdelat' tebya svoyey zhenoy."

(I'm going to make you my wife)

Wanda giggled from beside you when you frowned and looked to your love with a pout. Natasha smirked this time and winked back, "We'll work on your Russian, then we'll return to that phrase when you understand."

"Oh," you chuckled softly, "I understood, I just expected a first date, then the fat diamond ring."

You turned away from your blushing lover, and scooped your son off of Wanda. "Thank you for the offer, but I'm not leaving you with my two gremlins when you already have two growing inside of you." Wanda went to protest but you leaned into her ear to whisper: "The walls at my place are soundproof..."

You walked away with a proud smirk as the women sat there with collective reddened cheeks. Wanda left a moment later with a kiss left on your daughter's cheek, and a rush in her wobble. Natasha shook her head and chuckled softly at your daughter, "Tvoyu mat' ne zrya prozvali 'Ubiytsey'" Delilah tilted her head, and Natasha was perturbed by Wanda's obvious influence.

(Your mother wasn't nicknamed "Killer" for nothing)

"Detka, where are we going?" She asked as she trailed behind you with a curious infant sat atop of her hip. "Home," you replied flatly then turned around with a contradicting grin. "You ready to shack up darling?"

"I don't know," Natasha teased, "that's a lot of responsibility to place upon a free flyer like me."

"Then I guess," you were cut off by a kiss that left you speechless, yet slightly humming as you grinned against her plush lips. "You've been tamed by a," she cut you off again with a peck and answer: "Beautiful, perfect in all of the ways that count, sexy ass milf."

"You're such a hopeless romantic," you teased, and she matched your grin with a suave lift of the mood. "I'm never hopeless with you Y/N, just soft, and absolutely, undeniably in love with you."

"Jeez Nat, keeping charming my pants off and we'll literally end up with a baseball team." The redhead chuckled, "A team of tiny assassins and witches," then sidled up to you, and slid her free hand into yours in perfect rhythm. "You're insane." Natasha swung your connected hands and grinned up like a devil. "I sure am crazy for you, so yeah, I'll claim it." She winked slowly and snorted when you glared, it was entirely heatless and she knew it.

Then to make the moment all the more special she leaned forward and smiled at your son. "Hi there sweet boy, I'm," she went to introduce herself but the nearly two year old interrupted her excitedly, "Mama!" Natasha was stunned and you elated to see it was a good thing, her eyes lit up with so much love, and she dropped your hand so that she could snatch Carter right from you. "Hey! You already have a baby!"

"You hush," she hissed playfully, then you saw her eyes glisten as he nuzzled right into her neck like she was safe and she emotionally whispered to him in Russian: "Moy ideal'nyy syn, ya budu lyubit' tebya bez ogranicheniy."

(My perfect son, I will love you without limits)

"Moya dragotsennaya Dalila, ya nauchu tebya vsem svoim znamenitym dvizheniyam," she placed a gentle kiss to her face. Then her gaze turned to you as you scoffed, "Not happening if she takes after me for once."

(my precious delilah, I will teach you all my famous moves)

"Don't worry, I didn't forget about you," she turned around and came to a sudden stop. Forcing you to nearly bump into her, but she took a smooth step back with a stupidly hot smirk on her face. "I could never." Natasha leaned in and kissed your lips with a precise tenderness. "I love you, and I plan to for the rest of my life," you blurted, stealing her thunder but she loved the sudden declaration of yours more than her own repeated ones. "I'm so glad you're the one who almost got away, because I'd forever be lost without you."

"My rodstvennyye dushi," she whispered as she pecked your tear tracked cheeks, "Ty byl moyey sud'boy," this time she was pressed against your lips. Then she pulled back with a smile as she continued to speak as her lips met her sleeping babies faces. "Oni nashe naslediye." Then she perfectly crouched without jostling the kids to kiss the skin of your tummy. "For good luck."

(We are soulmates / You were my destiny / Them our legacy)

——

[doomedlovers]

call me daddy

char: toji fushiguro word count: 1.9 k tags: smut, mdni, m!reader, amab!reader, bot/sub!reader, dom!toji pwp, unprotected sex, moderate feminisation, toji wants to impregnate reader but that doesn't actually happen, anal fingering, penetration, nipple play (?), i think there's spanking in there don't quote me on that, pet names, slight alcohol use, not the safest of sex and probably inaccurate but eyyyy, dubcon if you squint.

toji fushiguro was a peculiar man. from the moment (y/n) met him, he couldn’t help but feel a weird, almost magnetic pull, towards the lazy man with that cocky smirk of his and those intoxicatingly beautiful green eyes. even when toji was at his lowest, drinking beer from a stray bottle on his dirty floor, (y/n) couldn’t help but feel not only sympathy, but immense attraction towards him. and thus, he’d help the older man off the floor, shove him in the shower, praying that toji’s towel around his hips would fall before he managed to close the door. but alas, a man could only hope.

(y/n) had been letting toji crash at his place for a while now, seeing as that was a much better option than spending entire nights over at the horse tracks bleachers, hiding from the officers patrolling. over time, he noticed the little habits toji had. how he’d bite on the side his scar was situated when he was thinking hard for once. or how he’d disappear for days and suddenly come back with a shit ton of money— money that toji slowly started using to pamper (y/n) with fancy dinners. well, right before he spent the rest on booze and horse racing. but hey, at least he cared, right?

for a while now, toji had expressed missing his son, but more so, he had expressed how much he wanted to take care of another baby— forgetting that the first time around he wasn’t exactly a model father. and yet, the older man kept expressing how much he had wanted a baby.

“i remember when my wife was pregnant,” he pondered in a drunken haze one night, looking at the empty bottle of booze between his legs. he had a bittersweet smile on his face, the moonlight cascading onto his dark hair. toji was aware that when his wife was alive, when he still had their son, he wasn’t a model husband. sometimes he wished he could try all over again. other times, he had no regrets over how he chose to live his life. why should he be restricted and tied down? and yet, he yearned for those moments his wife depended on him, how cute she were when she was pregnant with their child. how doting she was when she took care of little megumi. but now, he only had booze and horse racing to look forward to. and (y/n), he supposed.

the next morning, (y/n) woke up with a huge hug tugging on his underwear, ever so slightly. the wind of a deep breath rang next to his ears, making him shiver as his eyes fluttered open. “wha…” he muttered softly as he turned his head ever so slightly, his gaze meeting those mischievous green eyes.

“good morning, baby boy,” toji said in a gruff voice, the smirk evident in his tone. his hand slowly left the band of (y/n)’s underwear, delving inside his shirt and touching his skin. “never noticed ya smell so intoxicating…” he purred into (y/n)’s ear.

(y/n) could feel something poking his lower back, quickly awaking from his haze. looking at toji, the way he was holding him, the way his hands ghosted over his skin giving him goosebumps… it was exactly what he had been wishing for so damn long. perhaps he should stop the other male; this probably didn’t mean anything either. chances were, toji just got horny and he was the closest body he could have his way with. but god, even that mere thought of toji finding him attractive enough to bang made him grow a tent in his boxers.

with a lazy turn, (y/n) faced toji, his own eyes looking up at the other male. for a moment, he just stared at toji’s face. that tantalising smirk on his lips that made his intentions known, that goddamn scar beneath his lip, making him even more attractive. those green eyes, filled with mischief and playfulness, but by gods, was he drunk on all of him.

toji’s hand climbed beneath (y/n)’s shirt and slowly traced circles around his stomach. a sparkle flickered in his gaze, his body leaning closer to the other male. “you’d look so adorable with a fucking bump here…”

“pardon…?” (y/n) asked as he looked up at toji. just now he was able to smell the faintest traces of alcohol in toji’s breath, and in paired with his latest discussions… gods knew what toji wanted to do with him. and yet, despite his better instincts, (y/n) found himself getting into the idea… sure, was it biologically impossible? kinda yeah. that made it no less hot.

soon enough, toji’s hand reached higher, caressing the other male’s nipples, flicking the sensitive buds. propping himself up on his free elbow, toji leaned his head to press open-mouthed wet kisses on (y/n)’s neck. soft sighs escaped his lips as he flipped the other male on his back, effectively climbing on top of him. slowly, he took off (y/n)’s shirt and threw it on the ground far away, his mouth now latching onto the soft skin of his chest. one hand was propping him up, while the other was now playing with (y/n)’s boxers, his fingers playfully kneading his ass ever so slightly, before going back up to caress his waist.

soon enough, the older male had unbuckled his belt and discarded his trousers somewhere on the bedroom’s floor. his hands worked meticulously on taking off (y/n)’s briefs, tossing them away. both their hard-ons were now visible, basking in the air of sex that filled the room. (y/n) squirmed as toji’s large hand pumped twice his cock, before he brought it close to his own. a dry laugh left toji’s lips as he rubbed their lengths together, a smirk tugging on his features.

(y/n) closed his eyes from the stimulation, wiggling under toji’s grasp. soon enough, he felt two large hands holding his hips upwards. he saw toji circle his cock around his room, smearing his precum on his twitching hole. he felt a slight change as toji held him up with one arm, as his other rummaged the drawers, before taking out a slender bottle. squirting the lube on his fingers, toji inserted first one, then two fingers inside of (y/n)’s ass, the pace quick and impatient.

toji seemed unfased by (y/n)’s squirmed over the cold sensation within him, or the constant stretch of his asshole. and while he loved the expressions (y/n) was making, he couldn’t help but make his pace quicker and quicker, impatient to start the real thing. after a few moments, he noticed (y/n) shudder, the male’s cock leaking precum. with a scoff, he stopped his motions completely, wiping his hands on his abs.

a whine escaped (y/n)’s lips.

“i’m not letting you cum until i fucking breed you,” toji said with a sneer, licking his bottom lip at the sight of the male beneath him. he was sure the other male protested, but he didn’t case as he grabbed the other man’s waist and pushed him closer to him. propping (y/n)’s legs over his shoulder, he circled his cock around his rim. “i’m gonna breed you so fucking good.”

before the man beneath him could even process those words, toji entered him fully. toji’s balls rested against the male’s ass, precum already leaking both their cocks. (y/n) was almost speechless at how full toji’s cock made him feel. he had been daydreaming about this scenario, ever since toji had started living with him. and yet, no imagination, no amount of times masturbating to the thought of the older man, could possibly prepare him not only for the sheer girth of his cock, but also the force with which he’d push it in.

toji briefly looked at (y/n)’s fucked out face of pleasure, before he started slamming his hips back and forth with an insane pace. it was as if he was driven by powers higher than both of them. as if there was some kind of biological need to cum right at that moment. for the first few thrusts it was painful, but it only took a few seconds for (y/n) to get used to the feeling and the immense pleasure it brought him. the pain, the pleasure, the way the older male slipped in and out of his gaping hole were enough to make him cum in matters of seconds. a guttural moan escaped his lips as he came all over his and toji’s abs.

toji stopped his thrusts for a moment, as he saw the cum covering his abs. adjusting (y/n)’s leg on his shoulder, before one of his hands reached to smear the cum all over (y/n)’s stomach. he drew a circle and then slightly pressing the other male’s stomach, as if trying to find the outline of his own cock. reaching the other guy’s abdomen, he smirked.

“that’s where i’m gonna pump a baby in you,” was all he said as he started thrusting again, holding (y/n) tightly against him so he wouldn’t be able to escape his deep thrusts. small grunts escaped his lips as he looked at the male beneath him, the face he made, the tears in his eyes. “you’re gonna make me a daddy,” he whispered almost softly, as he gripped on the headboard for better stability as he kept thrusting inside, even more harshly than before.

(y/n) could feel himself get close again, his moans getting more high pitched as he tried to let toji know. one hand was gripping on the sheets, while the other was grabbing toji’s arm that loomed above him. “i-i’m clo-ahhhh… i’m close-”

and when he expected toji to go even more feral than before, if that was even possible, he could feel toji’s thrusts get more shallow, less quick. “no, not yet, baby boy…” he said in a hushed tone, trying to catch his breath. “you haven’t been nearly as vocal as i want you to be…”

“you’ve got to be shitting-ahh!” mid-sentence, toji curled his hips, pushing his cock deeply inside (y/n) before pulling away completely again.

“that’s nice, but you can do better.”

toji started thrusting again at a brutal pace, and when (y/n) tried to muffle his screams, he’d stop again. this happened a few times, not only teasing and edging (y/n)— who was so damn close, and yet so fucking far away— but also ensuring the other’s throat wouldn’t work properly for at least a couple of days. and yet, the louder (y/n) got, the closer to the edge toji was, the more feral his thrusts were.

“that’s fucking it,” toji growled, his nails now digging into the headboard as his hips moved almost mechanically. “gonna fucking fill you up. knock you up. that’s what you’ve been wanting eh? you– shittt… you think i-i hadn’t noticed? huh?”

at this point, toji was muttering incoherent sentences. he kept going and going, pushing his hips in and out in and out and in— as if a tidal wave crushed onto him, he moved his hands from the headboard and put them again on (y/n)’s waist, pulling him towards his hips, as if he wanted no droplet of his cum to be wasted. he could feel the other male convulse under him as a grin spread on his lips before he pushed his hips a few more times, fucking his cum further inside (y/n)’s hole.

with a soft pop toji finally pulled out of (y/n)’s rim and took a look at the male. dirty, tired and completely fucked out would be the words he’d use to describe him. a proud smirk stretched across his lips as he gave a playfully spank on the guy’s thigh before putting them back on the bed. sitting on the edge of the bed, he rested his elbows on his knees as he looked back again at the mess of a man he had left.

“ready for round two?”

[blackbleedingrose]

Long Lost Morningstar - Part Two

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Pairing(s): Charlie x reader (platonic), Vaggie x reader (platonic), Charlie x Vaggie

Genre: Fluff

Warning(s): minor cursing.

Notes: This is the second installment of LLM. This one will be going more in depth in (Y/N)'s life in Heaven and her relationship with Michael and Charlie. I will also be working on another Hazbin mini series (the one I mentioned in my last post) so part three will take a little longer - so, please, bare with me.

Words: 2215

"This is one of the reasons why I wanted to meet you in the first place. . . My full name is (Y/N) Demiurgos. Daughter of Archangel Michael Demiurgos".

(Y/N) Demiugros have lived in Heaven her entire life among the archangels, seraphims, and winners (human souls who ascended into Heaven after they died).

She, herself, was a seraphim - one with very large and beautiful wings; six in total.

Her father, Michael, was one of Heaven's archangel's and one of the Seven Virtues. He was the one who had created her from stardust.

At least, those were the stories she's been told her whole life.

Though, it was strange. . .

Her father had crafted her in his likeness and yet the two couldn't be more different.

Not to say Michael was a complete stiff or was lacking any sense of humor - in fact, all of the archangels had their own strange quirks. (Y/N) loved being around them and often shared their humor.

The problem here was. . . her curiosity.

She was a naturally curious being and would often dream of things most of Heaven would frown upon - like six-winged ducks.

As a child her curiosity would sometimes get the better of her and she would try to venture beyond the archangel's castle (where she lived with Michael and the other archangels).

Of course, Michael was always there to stop her from wandering too far.

It became evident that (Y/N)'s curiosity and wonderous spirit would only get worse if he didn't stop it right there and then.

He didn't want her to end up like her real parents.

What (Y/N) didn't know was that almost everything she has ever known was a complete lie.

Or that Michael was not her real father/parent.

That title rightfully belonged to Lucifer and Lilith Morningstar.

But, of course, no one who knew ever planned on telling her; so, instead they twisted the truth.

Michael told her all about what Lucifer and Lilith had done and how the two brought evil into humanity. An act that got them a one-way dropped elevator ride straight to Hell.

Obviously leaving out the part where Lucifer and Lilith were her real parents, and instead told her they were her estranged uncle and aunt.

He had hoped telling her this would stifle her growing curiosity and wandering enough to keep her out of trouble and from ending up exactly where his twin brother and his lover had all those years ago.

It also helped that ever since Lucifer and Lilith's trial, Heaven has been cracking down on teaching their residents obedience and the consequences of straying too far.

And for a long time it worked.

(Y/N) was one of Heaven's top students and a role model seraphim to all angels alike.

On the outside she was grace, obedience, and perfection personified - just as she was taught and just as Heaven wanted.

But on the inside, she was still that curious and wonderous spirit who would secretly write her dreams in a private journal she had to hide away in a pocket dimension with her magic.

(Y/N) yearned to venture outside of Heaven and explore all the different realms to see what they had to offer. Like the ones she's read from the books in Heaven's restricted section that she may or may not break into in the dead of night (she's a sneaky little sneaker :P).

Tales of archons, unique planets, and realms with distorted human desires would fill her head - her heart yearning to one day travel to those places herself.

But for now, her life was in Heaven as a role model seraphim whose curiosity and wandering was kept in check.

. . . Until she caught wind of the Princess of Hell's meeting by her fellow seraphim, Emily, during their weekly hangout.

(Y/N) was aware Lucifer and Lilith had a child born in Hell, but she never expected her demon cousin would ever be granted permission to enter Heaven.

She couldn't help but wonder what her cousin wanted with Heaven.

Whatever it was, it was big enough to warrant a whole trial with the Head Seraphim, Sera.

Oh, no - there goes her curiosity.

(Y/N) knew her father would frown upon her interacting with the daughter of the ones who damned humanity. . . but she couldn't help it! She really wanted to meet her cousin and see what she was like.

Maybe people in Hell weren't as bad as Heaven made them out to be.

Luckily for her, Emily was quite the chatterbox and told her all about how she and Sera were going to give a tour to the Princess of Hell and her partner, the hotel they were staying at, and the exact room number.

Before she went on her way, (Y/N) managed to get one of her doting simps friends to cover for her and her duties to avoid raising suspicion.

When Emily and Sera had finished talking to Heaven's demon guests and brought them to their hotel room, (Y/N) was hidden away in the hallway waiting until they left.

As soon as she was sure Sera and Emily were gone, (Y/N) quickly rushed to the door.

She silently psyched herself up before knocking.

Charlie and Vaggie, who were skeptical to hear a knock so fast, hesitantly opened the door.

"Uh. . . Hello?".

When Charlie opened the door she definitely wasn't expecting to see a very tall angel with long blonde hair, purple eyes, red cheek circle's, and a big smile on her pale face standing outside. For a moment Charlie could have sworn she was almost looking at her mother.

"Hello! You must be Charlie and Vaggie! Emily's told me all about you - well, the only things that she knew before meeting you. Haven't had the chance to ask her about you after meeting you, but since I'm here now I might as well as you yourselves!".

(Y/N) snapped out of her trailing thoughts and rambling, "Oh, shit! My bad! I got a little carried away and forgot to introduce myself. Sorry. My name is (Y/N). I'm a seraphim. It's so nice to finally meet you!"

Charlie and Vaggie had to recover from the whiplash of the seraphim's personality and onslaught of words. Not wanting to offend her and mess up her chance before the trial, Charlie invited (Y/N) inside. (Y/N) eagerly accepted and walked into the room admiring it - she's never been in a hotel before.

"So. . . why are you here?" Vaggie asked rather rudely suspicious of why a random seraphim would go out of their way to talk to people from Hell. "Vaggie!" Charlie whisper-yelled afraid she offended a potential high authority in Heaven.

"Oh, well, I was hoping to get a chance to meet you both. When Emily told me about how the Princess of Hell wanted a meeting in Heaven about her hotel to redeem sinners, I'll admit my curiosity was peaked and I knew I had to see who you were in person".

Charlie gasped, her eyes shining, "Does this mean you think it's possible to rehabilitate demons?!". Vaggie glared at the angelic being, "Why would a seraphim care to meet people like us?".

(Y/N) gave the two a gentle smile, "Well, I tend to be a naturally curious individual - which I'm sure you can imagine isn't something Heaven is too fond of. As for redeeming sinners - I'm not sure. Personally, I would love to see souls in Hell given the chance to be redeemed and enter Heaven. Especially the ones who truly do not deserve eternal damnation. Which is why I'm excited to see how your trial ends. Hopefully you have evidence to prove your hotel works. I mean, if the Princess of Hell is willing to vouch and put in the effort on giving sinners a better chance at an afterlife in paradise, then maybe not all demons are bad after all".

Charlie and Vaggie were awestruck. Sure, Emily was really nice but (Y/N) was the first angel to actually be willing to give them a chance. Charlie had tears in her eyes, "D-Do you really believe that?". (Y/N) smiled and laid her hand on Charlie's, "I do".

Charlie and Vaggie smiled at the seraphim. It was nice to see that there was one angel here in Heaven who wasn't going to shut them down right away - someone who genuinely supported their cause.

The three chatted some more - mainly Charlie and (Y/N) with Vaggie chiming in from time to time. Now that the three got more comfortable with each other, the conversation was going a lot smoother. Despite just meeting one another, Charlie and (Y/N) felt like they've known each other for years.

"So, what do you do here in Heaven?" Charlie asked (Y/N). "Oh! Well, I sometimes help the archangels with their duties, but I mainly work in court trials", (Y/N) answered. Charlie's eyes lit up, "Court trials?".

(Y/N) immediately caught on. She shook her head, "Oh, no. Not in the actual trials; that's for the higher seraphims. In this case, Sera and Emily. I'm just a stenographer and record keeper. I help keep and maintain the court records and sometimes record the trials in person".

Vaggie raised a brow, "A seraphim as a stenographer?". (Y/N) nodded, "It's actually a very important job. . . but, I won't lie and say it was my first choice for a job. It was my father's idea. His way of keeping me busy, entertained, and out of trouble".

Charlie blinked, "Oh! Who's your father?". (Y/N) bit her lip nervous, "This is one of the reasons why I wanted to meet you in the first place. . . My full name is (Y/N) Demiurgos. Daughter of Archangel Michael Demiurgos". Charlie and Vaggie's jaws dropped.

"Archangel Michael?! A-As in my dad's twin brother?!".

(Y/N) nodded fiddling nervously with her hands. Charlie did a double take, "Woah, woah! Wait! Then doesn't that make us-" "Cousins," (Y/N) confirmed. Charlie gasped placing her hands on her cheeks, "OMG! That's amazing!". (Y/N) smiled in relief, "Yeah. I guess it is".

"Who's your mom?" Charlie asked eagerly. "Oh, I don't have one," (Y/N) said rather casually. This made Charlie and Vaggie feel a bit bad, "Oh".

(Y/N) waved her hands, "Oh, it's not like that! I've never had one! You see most angels are typically created here in Heaven using stardust, which is how my father created me. He used his likeness and the female reference of Lilith - your mother. And thus, I was born".

"Oooh - that makes so much sense! Now, I understand why you look so familiar!" Charlie smiled at her newly found relative. She couldn't believe she had a cousin in Heaven. One so kind and beautiful.

(Y/N) was relieved at how fast Charlie accepted her. She was worried she might not be too fond of having an angelic relative.

Vaggie was a bit nervous to discover that (Y/N) was the daughter of a higher ranking angel, but it quickly went away when she saw how happy her and Charlie were talking to each other.

She's only known (Y/N) for a short while, but she truly believed the seraphim had no ill intentions towards them and genuinely wanted to get to know them.

In fact, (Y/N)'s personality reminded her a little of Charlie.

(Y/N) admired her cousin for her big heart and the confidence she had in her own dreams. She was ashamed to admit she was a little envious.

How she wished she could act on her dreams like her little cousin; but, Heaven would never allow it. Her father always had to remind her not to stray too far, or she might end up just like her uncle and aunt. . . Fallen.

This was why she had to always keep up appearances when she was in public. No one other than those closest to her knew of the dorky, cheerful, and quirky side of her personality. To everyone else she was poised, graceful, and elegant.

When Charlie had asked her about her dreams (Y/N) told her seraphims weren't allowed to dream, or at least have dreams that would go against Heaven's rules.

Despite trying to hide how much that bothered her, Charlie and Vaggie noticed the small shift in her behavior. They felt bad for her wishing Heaven could be more open minded.

(Y/N) quickly waved it off claiming she was okay and that she was used it. She understood her father just wanted to keep her safe and out of trouble.

Soon it was time for (Y/N) to go to avoid making her father suspicious of her whereabouts.

Before she left she and Charlie shared a tight loving hug. (Y/N) wished her good luck in her trial and that she would be rooting for her.

Hearing her cousin support her dream and wish her luck made Charlie feel a lot better about the trial.

Being around (Y/N) made her feel comfortable and safe. She felt familiar, which now makes sense seeing as the two were family.

Her dad couldn't be here, so it felt good knowing there was someone in her family here in Heaven who believed in her.

With those thoughts in mind, she was ready for the trial and positive she would change Heaven's mind and prove the hotel's credibility.

. . . Too bad things sometimes don't go as we hoped.

Taglist:

@soobryu @kyo-kyo1 @miyako-night20 @charliecharlie65 @unknow-sama @myluckymoon @lbcreations-blog @moonchaos18

[a-hazbin-reader]

Alastor X Reader Headcanons

✅️Romantic

❌️Platonic

Part One:

Part Two:

TW: A little spicy, Valentino jumpscare, Vox being a little pushy, A little Vox X Reader

Description: A BALLROOM DANCE TROPE?!?!?

Alastor heads straight to the one person who he knows can help, someone who claims that romance and love are her specialties

Rosie doesn't even look surprised to see Alastor, in fact, she looks a bit disappointed that he hadn't shown up soon

"Well, well, well~ If it isn't Mr. Casanova himself!"

Her tone is nearly mocking as she ushers Alastor into a more private area, rambling about men being hopeless as she sets the table

"You know... I quite liked Y/N! A shame to see you let them go."

Alastor almost feels like a child under her judgemental gaze, his ears folded flat, and his shoulders drawn up

"Ah... Well, I was actually here to talk to you about that. I'm in the market for some advice on how to...make amends with Y/N."

Rosie immediately perks up, clapping happily as she learns forward in excitement

"Now that I will gladly help with! We just gotta fix you up a smidgen and deal with that emotional constipation of yours!"

"H-hey now!"

You wake up in a room you don't recognize and almost panic until you see Vox coming out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his hips

Can he even shower? Who knows

"Oh, you're finally awake...~"

You feel your face burn as you turn your head away, Vox seemingly shameless about his body as he chuckles and walks around you to grab his clothes

You have to swallow and force your eyes to stay on the wall as Vox walks around behind a thin, nearly see-through, panel and drops the towel

Subconsciously you reach for the bead Alastor had given you to calm your racing heart, only to find that it's missing and guilt overwhelms you

You figure you must've lost it when you were attacked by those thugs and somehow that feels like you lost your last connection to him

You're suddenly brought back to reality when a drop of water trickles down your leg and you look up to see Vox kneeling over you on the bed, a frown on his face

"You alright? You look a little sick still, must be a side effect of whatever those fuckers gave you."

He traces a claw down the side of your face, drawing a shudder from you as you pull the blankets back over your body

"I'm fine... Just a little gross feeling, that's all."

As nice as it feels to receive affection again, especially from someone who seems to genuinely want to give it to you... It feels wrong, Alastor's image flashing in your mind

Vox tuts and moves to the other side of the room, coming back with clothes and a towel for you. You can't help but notice that the clothes are very... VoxTek.

"You'll feel better after a bath, everything you need is right here. Unless you need some help in there~?"

His smirk is positively predatory, pulling you in closer by your face so you're forced to meet his hypnotic gaze. You feel your face burn at the implication

You manage to squeak out a negative and shake your head, pulling away and moving to get up, your legs wobbling under your own body weight

Just before you're about to collapse, Vox catches you, pulling you to his chest with a smug look on his face

"Maybe I could at least help you get there, hm?"

"I-I suppose..."

Once you're alone in the bath, then you feel your mind wandering back to Alastor once again. You wish you would stop pathetically yearning for him

Physically, you were affected by both Vox and Alastor but emotionally... Alastor came out on top no matter which way you cut it

You felt guilty as though you were stringing Vox along even though you tried not to. Now, here he was putting himself out there again for you

Thankfully your legs work again once you're ready to get out, putting on the clothes Vox had given you and stepping out of the bathroom

Only to see the overlord waiting eagerly for you, an almost boyish excitement radiating off of him as he held something out in his hand

You took the old-fashioned looking paper and examined it, the ink still so fresh on it that you could smell it. It reminded you of Rosie, in fact...that was her signature at the bottom

An overlord dance..? What the fuc-

"You should go with me. As my date."

He poses it casually, as if it's just a favor between friends when you both know he's looking for more. Something he wants but you're not sure you can give

"I guess it would be rude to refuse the man who saved me."

He chuckles darkly and wraps an arm around you, collecting a drop of water from your neck with his claw and flicking it away

"Yes, it would be~"

It's the longest, hardest(that's what she said) most difficult week of Alastor's afterlife waiting for the day of Rosie's dance to arrive

He's been rehearsing everything he's going to say to you, especially the part where he apologizes because his mouth refuses to say the words

Alastor's mind is static thoughts of you and the million different ways you might react to him, he doesn't even notice Rosie fretting about the rain and how it's going to ruin everything

"Alastor! This is practically a glass building we're talking about here! How am I supposed to set a romantic mood in the ra-candles! Of course! Lots and lots of candles!"

What if Y/N doesn't show up? No. Mimzy told him in good faith that Y/N would be there, with Vox, but that's something he can deal with

Rosie taps his shoulder, her hands going to her hips as she stares him down.

"And YOU are going to be late if you don't start getting ready right now! Go on now mister!"

It's an awkward ride to the venue with you, Vox, Valentino, and Velvette, plus their dates all crammed into the same limo. The only consolation is that Angel was Valentino's date so you two get to throw each other looks the entire ride

The rain has turned into a downpour, Valentino and Velvette complaining that their outfits/makeup aren't meant for this kind of weather

You're a bundle of nerves by the time the vehicle stops, taking Vox's hand and stepping out. You feel a bit like a celebrity with all the cameras flashing and reporters yelling

The rain has everyone rushing inside so it's not something you get to focus on for long. You and Angel can't help but laugh at how ridiculous it is to watch all the overlords fret over their clothes

But your laughter is cut off when you see Alastor from across the room, the two of you immediately making eye contact and not breaking it. Not even when Vox places a drink in your hand

You hardly break eye contact at all, not when Vox drags you out to the dance floor, your gazes meeting with every spin and twirl

Not even as Vox mingles and parades around with you on his arm, your skin prickles in whichever direction Alastor is. You find yourself migrating closer to him without knowing

Vox is too busy trying to keep Valentino from throwing a tantrum over something stupid to notice that you've wandered away. Angel takes the chance to push you forward suddenly, straight into Alastor

"Go get your man, toots~"

You're too busy falling to notice Niffty darting around in the background and causing chaos over by the Vee's, nipping at ankles and pulling on cords

The moment Alastor's arms wrap around you to catch you, it's as if your entire body has become electric. Alastor smoothly sweeping you onto the dance floor to cover up your fumble

"My dear, you're more lovely than I remember~ Though your outfit could use a little bit more red~"

As much as you've missed him and dreamt about him...you're still hurt.

He laces your fingers together once he feels you start to pull away, his free hand coming to rest on your hip as he spins you gracefully

"Alastor, unless you're going to apologize-"

"I'm trying to, but darling, you keep running from me! I...I hurt you and I'm sorry for that."

You rest your hand against his neck, rubbing your thumb against his pulse and feeling how erratic it is. The only sign that he's nervous right now

"I was so caught up in my feud with Vox that I was blind to how I made you feel...and by the time I realized that I had fallen for you, you wanted me to let you go."

Somehow, he's managed to guide you both to an exit, taking you into an empty hallway and pulling away with a tight smile. If you stare at him hard enough, then you notice that he's blushing

"You love me, Alastor..?"

It's all you can manage to squeak out, the overlord backing you up against the wall as he crowds you in, grabbing your hand and kissing it

"More deeply than I'd care to admit, I'm afraid my heart is in your hands, darling... please be gentle with it."

Being so close to him again, hearing him confess to you, it's all so overwhelming, and all you can do is reach up and touch the beads on the end of his monocle. The familiar feeling of onyx against your fingers helps sooth you enough to find the words

"Do you love me enough to kiss me? Without needing to spite anybody?"

Alastor's entire body shudders in pleasure from the simple touch, drawing you closer to him by your hips and leaning in to brush his lips against your own

"Darling, I love you enough to do so much more than that."

There's a hot fizzy feeling that flows throughout your entire body once he finally kisses you, your arms wrapping tightly around his neck once he licks inside your mouth. One of his hands sliding further down to grab your leg and hike it up as he presses closer, growling at the taste of you as he-

"So I take it you've made your choice, Y/N?"

Vox!

You have to grab Alastor by the back of his hair and yank him off of you so that you can explain yourself, something that Alastor seems to enjoy far too much but that's something to unpack for later

"Vox, I'm so sor-"

He simply holds his hand up to stop you, a slightly annoyed look on his face as he rubs his forehead

"I know when I've been beat. Normally, I don't accept that but I don't want to be anyone's second choice. Though, I do think you're missing out and Alastor? Fuck you."

"Likewise, old pal~"

And just like that, Vox is gone. A small part of you feels guilty, but a greater part of you is relieved that things didn't escalate further

You're brought out of your thoughts by the feeling of Alastor biting your neck, a pleased hum escaping him as you gasp and tug on his hair again

"A-Alastor...take me back home..."

The thought of you coming home, your real home, is a pleasantly sobering one for him and he pulls away to gaze down at you

"That sounds like a beautiful suggestion, darling~ Let's get you home and get you out of these horrid VoxTek clothes!"

"Hey! I picked this out!"

"VoxTek is what makes it so horrible~"

You hug his arm happily as you two step outside, Alastor pulling out an umbrella and holding it over you both. Though you have to really squish together to stay completely dry

The entire walk back is spent kissing and sharing horribly love sick looks with each other. Alastor humming a happy tune and spinning the two of you around occasionally

He stops once you're at the steps of the hotel, pulling you flush against him once again and rubbing your cheek as he leans in to kiss you

It takes forever for you both to pull away, panting softly and making heated eye contact

"Welcome back home, my love~"

Don't worry about Angel, Niffty ended up causing a fire and they ran out together happily. Valentino's wings caught on fire and Vox found a new pretty thing to fall in love with. Velvette is now invested in everyone's relationship

@deadpoolssweetchimi @milkissesx @yourdoorisunlocked @pinestwinssimp @cinnamon-galaxies @eris-norwega @lil-glum @s0f14224 @chair-made-of-potatoes

[lesyeuxdemoii]

paige bueckers x oc

warnings: parent issue, cursing, mention of sex. that’s all that i’m aware of, lmk if anything else

: hii ! extremely happy to join pb community. this is my very first fic, and eng is not my first language, so🙏🏽

also, this work is heavily inspired by: @sommerbueckers and @arlertwhore , that’s why i’m giving full credits to them.

————————————————————————————

I’m not exactly sure how i got into this.

I can’t remember the time that I had any complications in my personal life, yet, i never had one. My main focus was always ballet. Always. I was involved in that endless circle since I was 7. My mother, a former ballerina herself, after unsuccessful attempts to force my older sister to follow her path, took me in her hands, and because of my gentle and submissive characteristics, I obliged. Not that I complained, I did enjoy ballet. I didn’t see myself without it, it was part of me and my persona. School didn’t happen to be a problem as well. I didn’t just get good grades, I got the best ones. In simple words — I was the golden child, the one that was always bragged in rare family gatherings.

Speaking of, the opposite of me was my older sister — Giselle, we called her Gigi. She had that outgoing, extroverted, energetic personality, a personality that was indeed stronger than mine. Gigi’s life was full of parties, passion, dedication, fun. I adored her, her appearance, her lightweight character. We became inseparable when our parents started the train of their “business trips”, leaving us fully alone. They were never at home, never cared enough. They even skipped my 18th birthday, the one that was so important for me, but I hope guess FaceTime saved the situation. It was fine for a while, though, me and Gigi had each other, and that was enough.

My life, apart from yearning for my parents, that i tried to deny, was good. Until… until I got too close with my sister and her friends. That one friend, in particular. That’s how my calculated life was ruined, forcing me to face with something, that I wasn’t entirely prepared to handle. Not alone.

Why did i even come to this party? It was never my thing, I preferred extra practice more, than being trapped in direct contact with sweaty, high, drunk people. They were all so wasted, meanwhile I barely had any sips of my drink. I just couldn’t say no to Gi. She insisted that I need some distraction from my robotic routine, of course I had to say yes, and of course I had to lie to her, hiding the fact that I already owned a distraction, for months, actually.

I stood in the kitchen, leaning against the wall, scrolling through my Instagram feed and periodically checking the time. After a while of mindlessly staring at my phone, i heard that someone entered the kitchen, someone tall, specifically blonde.

“Can’t you just have some fucking fun?” - a voice came from the door, looking up and down my petite, delicate body, compared to her athletic and strong one. I didn’t have to raise my head, already knowing that the signature smirk was present on her pretty face.

“I’m having my own fun here, you don’t have to worry” - I replied without looking at her, trying to act unbothered by her presence, which I most likely failed to do.

“C’mon bro, you can’t isolate yourself from everyone. From me, at least.” - she answered, slowly approaching, and standing closely in-front of me.

“Don’t call me “bro”, I’m not your buddy, Paige.” - she slightly chuckled from my response, taking the phone out of my hand, forcing to look at her.

“First of all, look at me when I talk to you, secondly, you are my buddy.” — she said, studying my face with her beautiful eyes. It looked like she was trying to draw my portrait in her head.

Sure, she absolutely had to mention that I’m her “buddy”, as if it didn’t hurt like knife. I don’t remember how I ended up being engaged in half-situationship position with the infamous Paige Bueckers. I’d met her through Gi, obviously, nothing surprising. She was the walking charm, the magnetic and utterly unattainable girl. Paige was one of the most desirable people, she could have anyone, anytime, anywhere, yet, she chose me to be her secret. Why? I was absolutely clueless. Maybe my innocence was something that attracted her, but you never know. Although, the two things I certainly knew were,

1) She was unbelievably good at everything. (sex and basketball, especially). 2) I was deeply inlove with her, but she didn’t seem to know that, or she pretended not to.

“Seriously, what do you want? I’m already on my nerves, don’t try to piss me off, like really.” - I said, staring back at her, while crossing my arms, as she put my phone on the nearest table.

She smirked, clearly unaffected by my fake attitude, when she brushed my hair behind my ear, resting her hand on my cheek. - “I can take you home, baby.” - she whispered, her voice went down especially during the last part. My eyes softened, and i found myself leaning into her touch.

“Can’t leave Gi here.” - I frowned a bit, but my sister was always my N1 priority.

"She’ll understand, Don’t worry. I will talk to her.” - she moved her lips to my temple, placing a soft kiss there, then to my cheek, repeating the action. I was satisfied by the affection that I received, so i simply nodded, letting her take the control.

Car ride was peaceful. I didn’t know what Paige said to Giselle, but she knew what she was doing, and i fully trusted her. Her hand rested on my thigh, as she drew small circles on it with her thumb, her eyes being fully focused on the road. Her touch was possessive, yet so tender.

When we reached to the destination, Paige demanded to see me off to the door, ending up entering the house. As soon as the door closed, her lips were smashed against mine, her hands pulling me impossibly closer by my waist, while I was holding her face. The kiss was passionate, almost sexual. Our lips moved in perfect sync, as if they were made for each other. It was so intoxicating, so intense. Her grip on me tightened, and i slightly hummed in response, causing her to smile. She slowly moved down to my neck, trailing open-mouthed kisses all over it… And for one second, I almost forgot, that everything we were doing was not right, it was a secret.

Sweet secret, that only we were able to knew.

[cressidagrey]

The Ties that Bind - Chapter 2

Summary: 

Shadowsingers were made, not born. Made out of trauma and loneliness and desperation.

So when Cilla and Azriel meet and their shadows entwine, they both meet the only other person that could understand these particular childhood scars.

The last thing Azriel had ever expected from his mate, however, was for her to have a surprising connection to his brother.

Warnings: 

Definetly NSFW, Mentions of Child abuse and neglect, really bad self image, definitely not why one should cement the mating bond, Azriel is kinda an idiot who is so happy that he has found his mate that he doesn't question things

(super pretty dividers by @tsunami-of-tears)

Cilla wasn’t the name she was born with. 

She had no clue what name her mother would have picked for her if she hadn’t died. Maybe she had a name picked out before during her pregnancy. When she hadn’t known that Cilla would rip her apart from the inside out on her way into the world. Who knew? Not Cilla. 

Cilla wasn’t the name she was born with. 

Cilla wasn’t what she grew up being called. 

That ran the gamut of “half-breed abomination” to “bastard” to “useless bitch”. (And some more that she didn’t want to remember. Her grandmother had been quite inventive…though she would never forget the shrieks of “murderer”)

Cilla…Cilla was the name her shadows picked out for her. 

Cilla was a name she…used, because a name should be given to a baby by somebody that loved them, and the shadows were the only thing in her life that loved her. So Cilla it was. 

These shadows…they were the only thing keeping her alive these days. 

Had been, for years. 

She could still remember the day they had come to her…When she had laid in that tiny little attic, where she couldn’t even stand straight, her wings bound to her back…how they had come to her and had twirled around her…how they had started talking to her…so many voices at the start, until she had managed to pick out just one. 

They were hers. Hers and hers alone. 

And she had learned to hide them away, in the black curls of her hair, so that nobody could see them. 

Even after she had escaped that attic…after she had started working in the tannery. 

Her wings already set her apart. No need to add to that…the wings already made some people look at her like something was wrong with her, not helped by the pointy ears. 

She hated these wings. They had killed her mother. They were the reason for seemingly every single problem she had had. If she didn’t have them…if she didn’t have them, her mother would still be alive, and her grandmother wouldn’t have hated her and…

And still, after she had left that attic and these wings had no longer been bound to her back…after she had learned not to drag them over the floor because people stepped on them and that hurt and she had figured how to heft them up…After all of that…something inside her had suddenly starting to yearn to fly. 

She had no fucking clue where it had come from…if it was some…dormant…illyrian thing that had decided to rear its head. 

Cilla had refused for years. 

Even when the shadows had repeatedly assured her that it was fine…that nothing bad would happen if she did fly. 

Look, even the High Lord does it! the shadows had assured her. 

Good for him. His wings hadn’t killed anybody, probably. 

Until finally…finally, she had given in. Only to realise quite quickly that she had absolutely no talent for flying. But by then, Cilla was furious. These wings were useless and had murdered her mother. At the very least they could make her fly. 

And so when she finally had a half day at work…she tried again. And failed again. And tried again…and failed again…and tried again. 

She had been trying again that day…and had once again failed. 

When she plummeted towards the ground, her last thought with some amusement had been that if she died like that, what wild animal would rip apart her carcass? 

She wasn’t scared of death. Why should she? It couldn’t be worse than her life. She had spent so long fighting every day for simple survival…that she was often so very tired of it. If she died...it was fine. She didn't really care, to be honest. 

She had expected death. She had not expected to wake up, wrapped in warmth and blankets, the smell of cedars and cold and winter in her nose. It smelled so good that she wanted to roll around in it. 

“It’s alright,” a gentle voice told her. Dark, male…beautiful. She wanted to listen to whatever he said…even when she didn’t know him. Who was he? “Can you open your eyes for me, Cilla?” he requested and she forced one eye open.  “There you go. Good, Sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. Nobody ever called her sweetheart. Who was he? 

Her vision cleared. 

A male. Black hair, hazel eyes. She didn’t know him. Even hunkered down next to her…he was massive. If he wanted to hurt her, she was going to have absolutely no chance against him. None whatsoever. 

And then just as suddenly, something inside her snapped. She couldn’t explain it. She only knew that suddenly…her world narrowed down onto him and only him. 

He was…

She needed to touch him. She didn’t know why, she only knew that she needed to touch him. 

One hand reached out…and then was caught by shadows. 

But it wasn’t her shadows. Weren’t…

His shadows, Cilla’s shadows whispered. His shadows? 

He had shadows? He had…She wasn’t…She had never met another fae that had…shadows that talked to them like she did. But then she had also never mentioned it to another person…hadn’t dared. She had expected somebody else to tell her that she was insane, not quite right in the head…

“You…You’re just like me,” Cilla whispered, her voice breaking. 

He was like her. She had never met another who was like her. There were only rarely fairies that she met that had her wings, or something similar to it. Half Ilyrian, one of the female in the tannery had sneered at her. Better than Lesser Bred Mogrel as her grandmother had used to say. 

She hadn’t thought that she ever would find somebody that was like her. 

“I am,” he agreed softly, mustering her with hazel green eyes. 

He promised not to hurt you. His shadows voiched for him, her shadows cooed softly. He’s safe, we swear. 

Safe? 

She never had anybody that was safe. She never had anybody who…who wanted her around…who…

He’s your mate, Cilla, her shadows told her drily. That’s what you felt snap. It’s the Mating Bond. 

Wha…What? 

“Mate?” she breathed out, staring at the male before her. He was her mate? Her mate? 

A jerky nod came from him as he watched her, hesitantly. Like he imagined she would try to take off his head for this. Even when all Cilla wanted was to wrap herself around him and never let go. 

Mate. Her mate. 

She couldn’t stop herself from throwing herself at him and he caught her, pulling her against a broad and solid chest, a chuckle coming from him, the sound beautiful.

“I am your mate,” he agreed with her, as he cradled her in his arms and she pressed her face against his chest, breathing cedar and morning mist and him. 

Safe, her shadows cooed and she relaxed against him. 

Mate. Her mate. 

He pressed his lips against her hair and she curled her hands in the shirt he wore, even as he shifted. 

“Let’s get you back under the blankets. You are still icy,“ he said softly.

She just clung tighter to him, unwilling to let him go. 

He seemed to read her mind as he shifted both of them, tucking a heap of blankets around her.

“Shhh, I won’t go anywhere, sweetheart,“ he shushed her. “Nothing could get me away from you right now,“ he promised her and she couldn’t help but tremble against him. 

“What…” she whispered, hesitating. Of course, Cilla hesitated. She had every reason to be wary, even with her shadow’s promise…even with the Mating Bond between them…

He was…he was so happy. So pleased. She could nearly taste how happy he was about her. 

She couldn’t even remember the last time anybody was happy to see her.  

“You can ask me anything,” he promised her immediately, fiercely. “Anything.”

“What’s your name?” Cilla dared to ask, as he tucked the blankets tighter around her, still letting her rest against his chest, letting her hide her head there. No reason to face him. Not like that. 

“Azriel. My name is Azriel,” he answered, his voice soft. “Your shadows said your name is Cilla?”

She managed a shaky nod, just as one broad hand gently tipped up her chin and she watched hazel eyes as he probed around her temple. She couldn’t help but flinch against his hands, feeling tenderness. 

“How is your head?” he asked her.  “You hit it against a rock when you fell down.” His hand once again came into her field of vision. Only then die she realise…His hands were…scarred. Horribly scarred. Looking worse than even her back did. 

“Fine. Doesn’t hurt,” she managed to bring out, her voice still hoarse. 

He fixed her with a look, his gaze serious, even as that scarred hand came up to cup her cheek, shaking slightly, and she leaned into his touch…leaned into his warmth. 

“Just tender?” he checked and she nodded. But even that…if Cilla could have his thumb smooth over her cheekbone like he did…she would gladly take that. 

“I never thought I would get to meet you,” Azriel said softly. 

She swallowed. 

“I always thought mates were for better people than me,” Cilla admitted. Not her. Not with the kind of taint that had covered her since the day she had been born. She didn’t think that she was good enough to deserve a mate. To deserve him. 

To deserve a male that was so gentle with her, so kind. 

Azriel’s face crumbled, as he crushed her against his chest and she breathed in his scent, calming something deep, deep inside her. 

She really would give everything to roll around in his scent. 

Like this, she did the next best thing and buried her nose in the crook of his neck, right next to where she could feel his heartbeat and his blood rush underneath his skin. 

“Oh, Sweetheart,” Azriel choked out as he held her, arms wrapped around her. “You don’t need to worry about that.”

Worry about what? About her not deserving him? 

But these thoughts fled her head anyway…when she dragged in another breath and his scent enveloped her. 

Safe. All about his scent made her feel safe. Safe and taken care off. She couldn’t even remember the last time she had felt like that. Had she ever felt like that? 

No, the shadows whispered. He’s your mate. His instincts are primed. If you’ll let him, he’ll take care off you. 

“Will you…will you stay with me?” Cilla asked him, hating how childish her voice sounded to her own ears, how it shook. But she didn’t want him to leave her. Didn’t want him to leave her alone and go away and…

“I’ll stay with you until you tell me to go away,” he promised her, and something inside Cilla eased at that. 

He would be there, with her…and she could feel…safe. 

She felt the warmth his body seemingly radiated just for her and pressed even tighter to his chest, in response, still breathing in his scent. It was nearly drugging her, that scent…making tension leave her body, made that always present knot in her stomach unfurl…He dipped his head down to her forehead, pressing his lips to it. Cilla needed a moment to parse it until she understood that he was kissing her. 

Food. She was supposed to give him food. Right? That's what she was supposed to be once she found her mate. 

You’ll trigger the Mating Frenzy, the shadows warned her. She knew that. Well, kinda. 

Cilla didn’t care. Even when her knowledge of what exactly happened during it was…fragmented. Nobody had ever talked to her about it and she had nobody to ask, so all she knew was the stuff that she had…snapped up. 

She still hadn’t figured out what her landlord meant when he told her that she could earn the rest of her rent on her knees though. 

You will never take him up on that, her shadows hissed.  

She wasn’t planning on that. That glint of something in her landlord's eyes as he had said it had scared her. 

You’ll trigger the Mating Frenzy and your mate will be pushed to consummate the Mating Bond, her shadows said quickly. He’ll…fuck you. 

Fuck her. 

Not that she had much experience with that either. Though if some of the conversations she had overheard meant anything, it was seemingly everybody’s favourite pastime. 

So it couldn’t be that bad, right? 

She didn’t think he would be outright cruel to her. He touched her with more gentleness than she ever had anybody else touch her…

And if it meant that he would stay with her forever, then…

Food, she needed food. 

It wasn’t her shadows that pressed a dry cracker in her hand…it was his. Somehow she knew that. They looked identical, but somehow Cilla still knew. 

Still, she took that cracker, as she sat up slightly, his arms immediately loosening around hers. She lifted it to his mouth. “Eat?” she requested, her voice shaking. She half expected him to turn her down, to laugh at her even thinking that he wanted to bind himself to her…

Instead, his eyes widened and he stared at her in wonder. 

“Are you…are you sure?” he asked her, his voice hoarse. 

She nodded. 

Yes, she was sure. 

Sure, because for the first time in her life, there was somebody there that wanted her. 

He ate. 

A dam broke. 

When before that thread that connected them had felt fledgling and like she could ignore his feelings, far removed from her… Suddenly it roared to life. 

that dam broke and all she could do was to cling to him as he pressed his lips to her forehead again and she breathed in his scent…as want and need and adoration and a thousand other things were warring inside her, desperation clawing up her throat. 

He tipped up her chin, his hands still so incredibly gently on her body, before he fit his mouth over hers. 

She gasped into his kiss, her mouth opening on her own accord and suddenly his tongue was licking inside her mouth, and a shiver broke out all over her skin. 

It made him pull back immediately, his pupils wide open, staring at her. 

“Get back underneath the blankets, Sweetheart,” he told her, his voice gravelling, brokering absolutely no argument. 

He fit himself underneath them with her… her legs opening so that he could fit himself between them until she was bracketed by warmth until all she could see in her nearer vicinity was him and only him.

Cilla had never loved anything more. 

She lifted her head in invitation and he kissed her again. 

Was this…all he wanted?

Apparently not. 

Only then she realised that she was no longer wearing her dress. He must have undressed her, gotten her out of her drenched clothing and then covered her back up with a shirt that was his…just that now it shredded underneath his hands and he pressed another kiss against her lips…nearly apologetic. 

She couldn’t care less, because she was quite sure that she had already shredded his shirt as well, where she had fisted her hands into it. 

And then Azriel kissed her mouth again and all thoughts fled Cilla’s brain anyway, desperation settling inside her brain. 

His broad hands soothed down her body, touching her gently and soft and never painful. 

Nothing hurt, nothing ever even threatened to hurt…not even when one hand slipped to the apex of her thighs, petting her there, nearly leisurely. 

She had never felt anything that made her feel like these fingers made her feel. 

Something inside her twisted as they brushed against the hot seam of hers…when they pressed very gently upwards, until they found that little nub. A full-body shiver wrecked through her, and he swallowed her noises. 

And then, so very gently, he drew a single finger over the membrane of her wing. 

She was used to rough touches if any. Was used to pain and jerking…was definitely not used to a whisper-soft touch. 

Cilla didn’t understand what happened. Didn’t understand what he did to her, before her whole body already seized, her inside clenching and throbbing. She had never felt anything like this before. 

She whimpered into his mouth, her back arching, his mouth slipping down to her neck, pressing kisses there as she shook underneath him. 

“Cauldron, you are gorgeous when you come,” he whispered. 

Come? 

Your pleasure, the shadows whispered. 

Oh. 

She didn’t even get to say anything before he eased one thick finger inside her. 

“Oh gods,” she choked out, suddenly feeling so…so full. 

So utterly and… completely his. 

Still, she wanted to be the one to make sure that he felt just like she did. 

“What about you?” she asked him, her voice thin and reedy, punctuated by a gasp. 

Azriel chuckled softly, just as he crooked his finger just so and she trembled again. 

“Don’t worry, Sweetheart,” he promised her, catching her mouth with his and she hungrily kissed him. Cilla clung to him, completely ruining his shirt in her quest to feel his naked skin against hers, and he pulled it over his head with an impatient growl, fitting her skin against hers, making her shiver with something that definitely wasn’t the cold. 

“I need you,” she whimpered, not even sure for what exactly she was even asking.

“You have me.” He promised her, pressing another kiss against her mouth, licking into it, tangling with hers. 

She wasn’t even sure when exactly he had lost his trousers, just that suddenly the thick blunt head of his prick notched against her and before she could even start to be scared, pressed inside her. 

Gods. 

The sound that escaped her was a high whine, her back arching against him, suddenly…finally, filled by him. 

And then he stopped, filling her up only slightly and she protested with a wiggle of her hips. 

“Fuck, sweetheart, you’re bleeding,” he cursed, and she blinked open her eyes to watch realisation settle on him. “You…have you done this before?”  Azriel asked her, still holding her hips tightly, stopping her from further pressing him inside her.  “Have you had sex before, Cilla?”

She just shook her head. 

“Gods, Sweetheart, why didn’t you say something?” Azriel asked her, desperation settling into his voice. 

“Does it matter?” Cilla asked him, her voice shaking. Did it matter to him? She hadn't even really thought about it. She had just wanted...she had just needed to feel him as close to her as she possible good, she had just wanted to cement their mating bond, she had wanted...

“Just…I would have eased you into it,” Azriel protested, as he dropped his head to hers. “We could have…taken it slower.”

Her eyebrows furrowed. 

He wasn't...angry? He just wanted...had just wanted to make it easier for her?

She didn't know what to say to that. She didn't know what to...

“You did,” she finally disagreed, letting one hand slip over his back, pulling him closer to her, and he went, pressing soft kisses all over her face. 

“Not like I would have,” he sighed. “Does it hurt badly?” he asked her, still peppering kisses over her face. "Do you want to stop?"

“It doesn’t hurt,” she promised him. Her muscles ached, the stretch clearly not something she was used to, but it didn’t hurt.  There was no pain. Actually, Cilla quite liked the feeling of him lodged inside her. "And I don't want to stop." 

She really didn't. Cilla tried to move her hips, rocking back down against him, and Azriel let her, pressing one soft kiss against her unresisting lips. 

“I’ll make it up to you,” he promised her softly. There was nothing he needed to make up to her…but she wasn’t going to start protesting because she wanted him inside her, and she wanted him inside her now. 

And then, he pushed deeper and she shivered once again, shifting her legs so that she could wrap them around him properly. 

One moment later, his thumb was back on that little nub of flesh at the apex of her thighs and she quivered. 

She wrapped her arms around him, clinging onto her mate with everything she had. 

He was inside her, surrounding her, everywhere and Cilla…Cilla felt safe. 

For once in her life, she felt safe and let somebody else take care off her. 

He was touching her like it was a privilege. 

She had never thought that…that any male would touch her like that. Ever. 

But Azriel did. Azriel thrust inside her slowly, with gentle rolls of her hips, so carefully not to hurt her, not to use his strength against her. 

Azriel guided her gently, making it easy for her to feel the rhythm and reciprocate…touched her until that shivery feeling from before returned…until she could feel herself clenching around him, her head thrown back with her moans, her back arching as it felt like her whole body was climbing higher and higher towards her release.

And then finally…finally she reached her peak, with a whimper. 

Cilla took a page out of Azriel’s book, reaching out for one of his broad massive wings and brushed her fingers against the warm skin. A ragged groan came from Azriel and she felt something hot coat her insides.

He didn’t pull back, didn’t move out of her grasp…the only thing he did was to roll them so they were on their sides, not wanting to squash her with his weight. 

One wing came over her, wrapping her up, right there against his chest, curled into the warm, comfortable bed, her head tucked against him…He pressed kisses to her face and her neck and her shoulder, everywhere he could reach. 

Safe. 

She was safe. 

Safe and cherished.

[katyahina]

So, this is what I understood about Midra Mansion and Frenzied Flame business (in chronological order)

It is more like a reference so I don't forget, just piecing the story together since I am sure I found all helpful items yet! Add please if there is something else!

1) So, it started with how for one reason or another, Midra and people in this place attracted paranoia (?) of the hornsent and were done dirty by inquisitors! Not specified whether they actually done something bad or not!

The entrance in this location is guarded by Elder Inquisitor Jori, that also summons ungodly amount of fellow clerics what in the actual Deacons of the Deep was that fdhfdhs

^ This item is dropped by an NPC Maddening Hand, and this IS my reason to think that rather than everyone here being punished for potentially messing with Frenzied Flame, they were accused and hunted for something else and affiliation with FF came because of that resentment!

^ This dialogue perplexed me at first, as I initially thought it related to inquisitors coming in the Manse after the FF events, but by now I concluded it more likely related to the era where they were hunted as heretics for no particular reason! Because people of the Manse should have known what in another case:

2) The contact with Frienzied Flame happened and effected the people and the place in general. Like I said before, Frenzied Flame started to manifest upon yearning of Midra/his people for revenge. He might have even been directly contacted by the Three Fingers in a similar manner as how Marika was contacted by the Two Fingers for her situation, as suggested by an item found in this map:

Besides, the whole Manse was destroyed but especially the books, and we will get to it later but evidently it was done to hide the knowledge about Frenzied Flame accumulated:

3) A child of Midra and Nanaya likely was lost to a failed attempt of becoming Lord of Frenzied Flame! Nanaya is depicted holding her hand on her belly on the portrait, perhaps being pregnant, and the torch you pick from her corpse is said to be gently 'cradled' by her! I need to see Japanese script to confirm or deny how accurate the word 'cradling' is here since it does have connotation with caring for the baby, so put a pin on it! However, feeling of affection from her alone might make this nitpick less relevant.

These 'evidences' that it was their child do not look very strong, I admit this much, as well as calling it 'distant' land is odd. I think it still works; for example, distant from the standpoint of the world map in general since it is very well hidden!

^ We pick this item from the corpse of Nanaya herself. Her eyes are obscured on the portrait and yet that looks to be an artistic decision. Her corpse, on the other hand, has eyes covered with bandages! We can assume that she went blind from spending too much time holding onto this "torch", as well as that prolonged exposure to FF was what killed her in the end. Why cling onto this spinal column so much, if not because it belonged to someone dear for her?

I suppose it is up to interpretation whether Nanaya approved of the idea of the Lord of the Frenzied Flame as their kid and only lost courage when the plan failed and availed them nothing, or she didn't know Midra would let their son of all people to go through such a risk and father and son acted behind her back (maybe not they alone), or she straight up disapproved of Frenzied Flame moods and called inquisitors for """help""" herself to at the very least isolate the madness! So, speaking of:

4) Inquisitors learn about Frenzied Flame business here, those who were helping with the Frenzied Flame meddling were executed, Nanaya is spared for either reason.

I didn't understand it instantly, but yes, the implication of the neat row of beheaded guys right at the entrance with their wrists tied is that they were executed:

The glowing 'stick' in their necks does give me an impression of their barbs, however they do not stick out at the sides?

So, the Hornsent inquisitors did this to him, but as we learn from Midra no longer being able to take it and pulling the barb out of himself this is not a fact that they've done it specifically to seal the Frenzied Flame! Because why would they leave him like this despite the risk that he could choose to pull the barb out one day? They might not have known that Midra caught Frenzied Flame to this extent and just believed in giving specific form of punishment to the leader of the dangerous people! ...right?

^ Wrong! @val-of-the-north shared this icon for an item that exists in the game files but was not implemented in the end, on which Midra's had both has the same eye as Tarnished has after being grasped by the Three Fingers and has obvious trace of their grab not unlike Vyke's armour! This gives me a feeling that the Inquisitors had enough information to conclude something wasn't right. So, maybe they decied that they killed him and were not aware that FF would not let him die now?

OR MAYBE Nanaya is the key here! If she was fully affiliated with Midra and servants on FF plot, why she never got executed? She might have successfully lied to them about not having been aware to still seize some control, or she genuinely disapproved of all this and wanted it to stop. Thus, in case if the inquisitors knew of Midra's situation, maybe they also trusted her to control him from breaking free.

^ This suggests that Nanaya knew of what danger he held within prior the inquisitors did their thing! Since he was also willingly holding onto her demand for such a long time, maybe he himself realised the ramifications by then, especially if their son was lost like this. This gives me an impression that they both agreed it all went too far and decided to call for "help", whether Nanaya was a part of the plan all along too or simply was able to collect herself when Midra confessed her everything, dragging their son into it included, and understood they had bigger problem to worry about now!

^ This makes me feel like "weakness" it refers to was actually his reluctance and fear upon realising what he messed with, rather than actual failure! I don't know about you guys, but I found him a pretty functional Lord of Frenzied Flame during the battle 🤔 But if he contracted the 'Lord', how his head was still in place when inquisitors arrived for his ass? So likely he was able to keep it in before, to "endure" like Nanaya said earlier, when NOT "failing" would entail "understanding" and embracing the motivations and the meaning of FF. (Melina looks with a massive judgement)

However, pulling out that barb also entailed succumbing to the Frenzied Flame, which now made him no longer "fail" at it.

5) Inquisitors remain to patrol the perma-damaged land getting afflicted with FF themselves so no curious idiots wander here, Nanaya and other spared (?) people die from old age.

(sorry for phone picture, I forgot to copy this one to USB fhdhdsf) Even if Lord of Frenzied Flame was prevented, the impact of the contact with the Three Fingers (?) was permanent now. There was no way to destroy it (how do you destroy THE desctruction?), only keep it secluded.

^ I mentioned how Nanaya oddly was spared, but what about this person? Either not she alone and this guy might have died from old age or something, OR these are the words from the time before inquisitors arrived here. Because, again, we have evidence that Midra and Nanaya knew he contracted Frenzied Flame even before that, from the description of his remembrance!

^ This, all things considered, refers to the time the Hornsent arrived here to execute, punish and set up the patrol, as they discovered what happened!

__________________

So, yeah.. It is a really messed up story. I have enough pointers towards how the family, ironically, had to accept "help" from THE very folks who harassed them to the point of events that attracted the Frenzied Flame to begin with! Even if they are probably/likely descendants or a branch-off from the hornsent that originally were hunting them as heretics. Like realising that no amount of torture and mistreatment of their people must doom the whole world to burn, yet it would happen if Frenzied Flame broke loose from here.

[scullysexual]

She’s already in the water when he climbs in, the cold a welcome relief from the heat of the day and the humidity of night. He sits on the ledge, the water coming up to just above her chest, the perfect height. Scully is submerged, the water sitting just below her chin. She doesn’t seem to mind it, however.

Mulder takes her in. He yearns to see her bathing suit, to see the way it hugs her body, cups her breasts. It’s black, he knows, he can see the thin straps, the way they travel up her shoulders and disappear behind her neck.

Her hair is up. Twisted in that way he oftens sees after she’s had her bath. Freshly washed hair kept away from the chlorine and he knows it’s freshly washed because it’s thicker, brighter. The strands that don’t quite reach or stay in their clips float about in the water around her neck . The night air is still humid and the smaller hairs that frame her face curl around.

And her freckles. She is bare faced tonight, a rarity he sees, and the sunshine today has made them pop. He asked her once why she covered them, her response was to pull a face and say, “Because I already look younger than I am, Mulder. I don’t need to be looking like a child as well.”

He didn’t think she looked like a child, she looked carefree. He wanted to reach out and kiss each one, pull her clothes away and discover the hidden ones, kissing and naming as he goes, drawing the constellations between them.

Looking at her now, he is aching for her and he is achingly hard staring at her.

“It’s nice out here, at least,” she says looking around.

“Yeah, it is,” he says back, not referring to the scenery surrounding them at all.

And maybe he’s looking at her a bit too closely, a bit too lovingly, for she turns back to him, eyes narrowing.

“Do we have something to talk about, Mulder?”

Mulder blinks, swallowing, sitting up a little straighter. “I, um…Do we?”

She is suddenly before him, close enough to touch. He can see more of her now, no longer obscured by the water. His gaze falls down, brain short-circuiting, eyes almost popping out of his head.

Cleavage. Lace criss-crossing over her breasts.

“Mulder?”

There’s a note of desperation in her voice. Mulder begrudgingly pulls his eyes away and looks at her. Suddenly the number 36 hits him like a brick.

36 freckles on her face.

“36!” he yells out.

She looks at him puzzled.

“Sorry,” he apologises, looking away, unsure why he said it.

She’s closer to him now, a knee either of his hips, straddling him. He can smell her body lotion and it makes his brain go fuzzy, blood rushing south as he sits in pure torture.

“Mulder?” she asks again. He looks at her so goddamn close.

Her hands touch his shoulders tentatively and he jumps at her touch, heart hammering. He wants to ask her what she is doing but whatever she’s doing is incredible and he doesn’t want the spell to break.

“What is it, Scully?” he asks instead, his voice sounding hoarse. He resists the urge to touch her, clenching his fists instead under the water.

Her eyes briefly flick down to his lips, her own parting slightly, before they return to his eyes.

“Kiss me.”

His body acts quicker than his brain can respond. In an instant his mouth is crashing down onto hers. The hands that fought so hard not to touch her grip her sides. It’s game over when his fingertips touch the bare skin of her back.

Mulder pulls away and is momentarily distracted by how flustered Scully looks: cheeks slightly pink, lips swollen…He’d be impressed with himself if he wasn’t currently pushing her into to him, desperate to see what his hands are touching.

There was clearly a theme going on with this bathing suit she’s chosen. The back criss-crosses in the same way it does at the front, leading all the way down until it reaches the small of her back.

“Fuck, Scully…” His head falls onto her shoulder. He’s hard. So hard it’s painful.

“I was hoping you’d like it,” she says shyly. “I bought it for you.”

He’s died, he thinks. He’s died and gone to heaven because there’s no way Earthling Scully would say something like that.

He starts to press kisses to her collarbones and the base of her neck.

“I love it,” he says though his speech is slightly muffled against her skin. “You should wear it all the time.”

His erection strains against his shorts and so badly does he want to pull her down and grind himself against her but the water is too deep for her and a drowning Scully would be an inconvenience to him right now.

“Can we get out of the pool please?” he asks.

“God, yes.”

She climbs onto the bench and hoists herself out, sitting on the ledge, legs still dangling in the water. He gets a good full look of her bathing suit out of the water now and briefly closes his eyes, committing it to memory before he climbs out of the water himself.

They go the closest room which happens to be hers, forgo any towels or drying off. He kisses her again, letting, his tongue exploring her mouth while his hands explore her body. She sighs and moans while his hands stroke up and down her back, fingers catching on the lace.

“This isn’t a complicated contraption to take off, is it?” he asks against her lips.

Scully takes his hands, placing them off the back of her neck where the straps are tied in a bow.

“Just pull on that,” she says.

Mulder follows her instructions, yanking on the end and the bow breaks apart, straps separating.

They pull apart so she can take it off. The wet suit clings to her body as she forces it off but Mulder can barely focus on that as more and more new Scully is revealed to him. He’s never came just by looking at a naked body before but he can’t be certain it won’t happen now.

She kicks the offending item away and it sits crumpled on the floor, already soaking the carpet below it. Mulder’s eyes remain on her body until her hands go up into her hair and he snaps them up.

“Let me,” he says reaching out to pull on the clip. Her hair, curly from the shower, tumbles down.

Mulder doesn’t think he’s seen anything more beautiful.

He stands there just staring at her, his jaw hanging open.

She smiles shyly. “Like what you see?” Her hands fall in front of her stomach, fingers nervously fidgeting with each other.

“Fuck yeah…” he answers, eyes still roaming, unsure what to linger on.

“Are you…?” she gestures to his shorts.

Why the fuck is he still wearing his shorts?

“Oh yeah.”

He pulls them off and kicks them away as quickly as he can while she sits on the edge of the bed. Her eyes widen slightly when she catches sight of him and it’s her turn to swallow.

“Mulder, it’s…”

He looks down at his own penis and tries to keep the smug smile away. “I know,” he answers. “It’ll fit, Scully.”

She frowns at him. “I know that. Just…go slow, okay?” She looks down at him again looking almost…fearful.

Mulder approaches the bed, his hands circling her thighs before parting them and kneeling between them.

“Hey,” he says, looking a finger under her chin and lifting her head up. “I’d never hurt you, you know that.” She nods and he presses a kiss to her lips and pulls away. “If you don’t want to do this just tell me.”

He waits for her answer, not moving.

“I want to do this,” she says.

Relief spreads through him because he wants to do this too.

He really wants to do this.

He kisses her once more.

“Then budge up a bit, baby.”

She moves, twisting so she’s laying against the pillows. Mulder hovers above her, her kisses her again, allowing the kiss to grow deeper than the last two. His hands start trailing down her body, venturing towards that place both she and him long to touch. He gets so close, just inches away before he trails his fingers back up the opposite way. She groans into the kiss.

“You’re an ass,”

Mulder chuckles. “You know you love it really, baby.”

“Call me baby one more time and I’ll shoot you.”

“But then I wouldn’t get to do this.” He touches a finger to her slit, slowly drawing downwards. Scully sighs, pressing deeper into the pillows.

“You like that, baby?”

“Yeah…” she sighs.

He gathers her wetness, circling her entrance and pushing a finger, then two, inside. She feels incredible, clenching around his fingers, the little sighs and moans exiting her mouth. He uses his thumb to swirl her clit and she jumps a little at the contact. He grinds into the edge of the mattress hoping to relieve some of the tension when she makes a noise, hips stuttering against his fingers.

“Mulder?” she says, her hand trying find him.

“Yeah?” The hand not currently inside her finds hers.

“I need…” He listens. “Inside…please.”

He moans at her request, fingers fucking her harder.

“Fuck, Scully…”

“I’m so close,” she says, her voice hoarse. “I want to come with you inside me.”

He never ever in a billion years think he would hear her say those words to him. He pulls his fingers out of her and puts them into his mouth, eyes closing momentarily at the taste of her. One day, when they’ve got time, he’s going to spend hours tasting her properly. For now, though, both he, she, and his dick want nothing more than to be inside her.

He lines himself up, is about to push in when suddenly—

“Shit, I don’t have a condom,” he exclaims but Scully shakes her head.

“We don’t need one. Please, Mulder,” he begs and how can he say no to a begging Scully.

He ventures in as gently and as slowly as he can manage, remembering his promise not to hurt her as he pushes it way in, feeling her stretch further than she did around his fingers. She’s tight and hot and wet, smelling of body lotion and chlorine and Scully and it’s that final realisation that he think causes him to black out.

He comes to seconds later to Scully pushing on him.

“Mulder, I really need you to get off me and move.”

“Fuck, shit, yeah,” he says, hoisting himself up, still dizzy. Slowly he starts to move. “I think I blacked out for a second.”

She laughs.

A wonderful, belly laugh which is incredible to hear but he is balls deep inside her and she is laughing.

“What’s so funny?” he asks.

“Can’t say I’ve never made a guy black out during sex before.”

“Yeah, well, there’s a first time for everything, baby.”

He starts moving in and out of her, sliding easily each way. He thought she felt incredible around his fingers but he had no idea what he was missing.

“I will get my gun,” she says but her threat is hindered slightly by the sigh that follows it immediately after.

“What’s stopping you?” he asks.

“You feel so fucking good it’d be a shame to kill you.”

It’s his turn to laugh then.

Soon all laughter dies and Mulder feels the familiar jolt.

“Are you close, Scully?” he asks.

“Yeah, just…”

He touches a finger to her clit once more, circling the bud until he feels her clench around him, her hips rising off the bed, and the fluttering of muscles as she comes all around him.

A orgasming Scully becomes his favourite Scully. It sends him over the edge, spilling into her.

He wants to stay like this forever.

Scully on top of him, covering him like a blanket, sleepy, naked, and soft in his arms.

He never wants to leave this room.

There is something on his mind, however. A question. What happens when they do eventually leave this room?

He spirals.

He can’t go on pretending he’s not been inside her, that he hasn’t sat in the front row hearing her moans, felt her coming around him, felt her skin soft and warm as it is, circling the cluster of freckles on her hip and thigh.

He can’t leave this room like none of it happened.

He won’t.

“I suppose it’s time to have that conversation now.”

“What conversation?” she asks. Her own fingers are making their own circles on his chest.

“This. What just happened.”

Scully sits up, albeit sluggishly, sighing and pushing her hair out of her face. Mulder thinks he should stop touching her but taking her hands off her body requires more strength than he has right now.

“Mulder—”

“I can’t act like this didn’t happen, Scully. I won’t.”

Her hands touch his face like it’s the last time she’ll ever touch him and he holds onto her tighter hoping that it isn’t.

It’s not.

“Later,” she lays back down on his chest, adjusts herself more comfortably. “Later, I promise. I just want to stay like this a little longer.”

Later. He can give her later.

@today-in-fic