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netherfeildren · 1 month ago

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Busy, Dying. Part 1;

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: In an in-between place called his life, Joel Miller is alone. In search of a cure. In need of a miracle. In want of God.

Can I interest you in a cure for loneliness? She'd asked him in a language without words. Taking it is the easy part. Letting her go is impossible.

-OR-

an a/b/o soulmates AU

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: No Outbreak AU, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Soulmates AU, Infidelity, Cheating, HEA!!!!!, Angst, Fluff & Smut, Mating Bites, Knotting, Heat Sex, Breeding Kink, Group Therapy, Social Experiments, Basically puppy training for unsocialized Alphas, And by God that man will be house trained by the time she’s done with him!, Complicated family dynamics, Discussions of self harm, Depression, Existential Angst, Author returns not with a whimper but with a KNOT, I wrote this in a very unserious state of mind beware

A/N: Gray November, I've been down since July - but we're so back, baby. I’ve missed this so bad. I’ve missed you all, I won’t drone on and on. I hope you enjoy, and please talk to me in the comments. Update me on what I’ve missed, let me know how you’ve been and what’s happening in your life.

A great heartfelt thank you to all of my wonderful friends who so supportively cheered me on while I struggled to write this. Sincerely the best people I know.

Love you all madly.

Word Count: 6.5K

Read on AO3

Part 1;

The old linoleum tiles are the most peculiar shade of puce, and Joel has realized that there is someone sitting at the back of the room who smells… strange.

More brown than purple—an ugly color. There’s something about it that fascinates him.

The woman that is currently speaking tells of her husband; it’s the only tale she has to tell. She’s been doing it for weeks, and they all know it well by now. Older, omega, the woman, and at the latter and less comely stage of life. Most of them here can say the same. They usually give their names, those that get up to share—although it’s never a requirement when you attend, it is highly encouraged—the sharing, he means—but he never pays much mind to them—the names, that is. That’s not what he’s here for after all—to make friends. Although, he does see how that’d be the initial assumption.

Joel Miller is here for something more specific.

Six weeks he’s been showing up to these things now, and he’s yet to take a turn. He tells himself he’s working up to it.

What that specific thing is…he hasn’t quite figured out. He’s listening for it, though, and intently, even if he does skip over the names. It’s the details of what they’re telling that matter to him. The hows and intricate whys of what it is that brought them here today.

Her youth had been spent on a drunk, the woman is saying—her husband—and he’d been cruel to her in those days when there was still currency to spend in the form of her vitality. Joel nods at the puce—yes, he thinks, that’s usually the way of it. But later, there’s more to the story she reminds her audience, he drank himself into a fit, and had never been right since. The cruelty had been taken away from the marriage after that, and she’d been put in charge.

“But I wonder,” she says, “If sometimes I don’t miss it, the way he’d been,” —if the reason she was here now, with all of the rest of them that were just like her in their own unique ways, was that she’d been left lonely after her cruel husband had been exchanged for a sick one.

Joel nods again and wonders what sort of face the woman wears as she confesses but doesn’t bother to check. No matter, he knows they’re the same. If not in designation, then in heart.

It’s easy, that thing, he does it too, to wish for the bad. To want to hold on to it, the thing that hurts. Addictive, even, in some cases. Missing it is easy.

It’s why he’s here.

And it’s what they promise you. In their flyers and pamphlets, when they stand on the corners of streets talking people up wearing that look in their eye and that slouch in their step, when they smell it on you—or in the lack there of—a mate or a purpose.

Welcome to our meeting. We’re here to find the cure for loneliness.

That’s what they promise you when you come here.

It’d been that word: loneliness, actually, that had caught him. L-O-N-E-liness. There was something attractive about it to him. Not a label but a state.

You see, it was like this: Joel had seen a therapist once, several years ago, against his will and at the behest of another, who’d said all the wrong things in all the wrong ways.

“You sound depressed, Joel,” the therapist had told him.

He’d worn horn rimmed glasses and had a shiny bald head he could see the reflection of the overhead lights in. And worse—the non-scent of a beta which told him they’d never understand each other in the ways Joel longed to be understood. He’d—not hated him, necessarily—but felt an immense apathy for the man; more so than the regular apathy he felt for most things in his life.

“I don’t know what that means.”

“Very, very sad,” was the official diagnosis.

Joel hadn’t liked the sound of the word. The label. He did not like that a word so succinct could be ascribed to him and all that had happened to him in his life. There was no word for it. It just was.

But there was something different about a state of aloneness, which if attributed to himself, he could accept. He had been left alone, in ways. It was a tangible thing he could look around a room inside of himself and recognize.

They’re meetings, is what this place is—encounter groups this coalition offers where lonely demi humans can come to congregate, discuss their aloneness, what had led them to such a state; their lack of attachments, connections, mates—alpha, omega. Held in the basement of the Emmanuel Episcopal Church on Newbury street, right between his shop and house, although they never talk about religion which he likes because he doesn’t believe in religion.

God is still under review.

He wonders if the Catholics wouldn’t have them.

Sitting forward in his seat, the metal folding chair that always leaves his back aching something fierce, he presses his elbows into his knees to distract with alternative pressure. Focusing on his fingers woven together between his spread legs, he tries to pay attention to the man who’s stood up to speak now. Older than himself, late sixties, no children, no family, no nothin’; he’d run them all off.

But Joel is distracted.

The smell is stronger now. Stranger too. Something full bodied, but metallic like rust, astringent bleach, built in a way that forces saliva to pool heavy between his suddenly aching gums. A mask that sits atop something of a much different chemical architecture—that’s the strange part.

Or—no. The back of his neck itches, and Joel lifts a palm to cup his nape, quell the sting, feel the tender mark. No. The strange part is not the illusion of the smell. What it is, actually, is that he’s fairly certain what he’s smelling is someone else's blockers. Something which he’s positive he’s never consciously noticed on another person in the thirty plus years since he’d presented as an alpha.

He has, suddenly, the quite intense urge to peek over his shoulder, certain that he’ll be caught smelling things he has no business smelling. That there will be someone just there, breathing down the nape of his neck with accusation on their tongue—boo!

Silly. But he’d known today would not be a good day.

It’d started off wrong. The milk had gone sour overnight, the check engine light had come on in his truck, all his socks were suddenly mismatched with not a single pair to be found, and his usual route to work had been waylaid by some freak accident. A tree split in half, one side into a house, the other into the road. Not a sign of lightning in the sky all night long.

Perhaps he might be compelled to believe in God after all.

Joel does not like it when things are out of order or out of the ordinary. His life was organized in a way that never caused him strife or excess. And it was not that he was stuck in his ways, only that he enjoyed his routine and disliked when things were not as they should be. And this—whatever it is he’s smelling, whoever—is not as it should be.

The older gentleman, an Alpha too, is still speaking. He had a daughter, has, who no longer speaks to him. Won’t even take his money. He’d had a long career in government that’d filled him with greed and paranoia and a radical view of life that refused to align with the way young people saw the world now. Perhaps he’d tried to change at certain times, but he was old and set in his ways. Or maybe he hadn’t wanted to change as badly as he should have when he still had the chance to. Happily stuck in the past. His wife had died, and his daughter had gone away from him. Too tired of his mediocrity as a father to give him another chance.

The man sounds like he feels sorry for himself. Like he thinks himself the victim, and this one, Joel does look up at. He looks old and worn down, heavy beer pouch and thinning hair and sagging jowls. A sad and lonely man. Joel wonders if that’s how he looks to the other people in this room, as well.

“No man knows how bad he is until he has tried very hard to be good.” Joel blinks, looks at him more closely, tries very hard to find similarities between themselves. But no—not quite right, not the thing he’s looking for. Their plight is different. This man is not alone, he’s got his weakness to keep him company.

The one thing Joel had fought like hell to keep out of his repertoire of issues. He’d run from even the possibility of it as soon as she was dead, left Texas straight for the Northeast and from thereafter, everything he’d done, he’d done with a staunchness of character. If at the end of it, that staunchness was made up of apathy or numbness or dissociative fury, well, then at least he wasn’t still that man who’d been too weak to save his daughter.

That counted very much in Joel’s book.

An overabundance of cold numbness, little anger, everything a static haze—an abstinent winter. That was his whole life. But then, look at him now, he was here, wasn’t he? He’d taken that brochure handed to him on that last warm Tuesday weeks ago as he’d headed back to the shop from lunch.

Hello, sir. Could I interest you in a cure for loneliness? The young omega had said.

It’d started like anything—an experiment or a desperate ploy. The monotony had been steady going the past few years, getting older, colder. He’d grown hard and solitary around his wound, loneliness spread like a fungus, and he’d longed for any sort of change.

“A cure…how?” The terrible shrink had come to mind.

“Oh, nothing to fret over.” The young man had a nice smile, Joel remembers. Kind and straight toothed. Honest in the way that a stranger knocking on your door to sell you a Bible seems honest. “We call it an encounter group. People come, share, tell the tales of their designation and their lives. In the end, the result is different for different people. Some move on to a second step if they need more. Others find what they’re looking for just through the connection of sharing. But no matter the result, you’ll see, you’ll be cured. Promise.” He’d winked, smile deepening, giving him an appreciative once over at the end of his spiel. Joel had blinked back, surprised, confused, but curiosity peaked enough he’d obsessed over it for three short days before he’d found himself stepping into the molted incense smell of the belly of a church so dimly lit he was sure not even God peaked in this sad space any longer.

“It’s that easy?” Joel had asked, childlike in his throat-strangled hope.

“That easy.”

It seemed the smile had been honest enough to sell him the Bible.

The scent insists upon itself as the older gentleman finishes up, and Joel’s nose tickles with whatever it is it’s whispering at him. He wants to get up and walk out, run away, but suddenly his gut is tight and hot, and he isn’t sure he can actually stand up without disgracing himself in front of all these people. A wash of agonized heat moves through him, confused at what’s suddenly happening to his body.

“We have a newcomer today sharing for the first time,” Maria, the woman who leads the group, says at the front of the room. “Everyone give her a warm welcome, it’s her first day and already she’s brave enough to jump on up here.”

There’s the shuffling of bodies in their seats, a cleared throat, the man sitting behind Joel breathes so loudly he thinks he’s gotta have some sort of medical condition, the puce turns more hideous by the second, and his own heart is beating so hard in his ears the rush of blood is dizzying. He feels each thump of the thing against his breast bone in some sick imitation of a fist begging to be let out.

The new voice begins as nothing but a murmur.

An introduction—he misses the name. His breathing goes shallow, he’d tip over in his seat if he didn’t have both boots planted firmly against the puce. The voice gains strength and with it, Joel wishes he’d been paying attention from the start. He didn’t get to hear her name.

It’s a girl.

She’d run away from home in the spring of her sixteenth year to join the opera, she tells them. Had come upon the city in roaring spring and thought the rest of her life would be exactly like that, pure novelty in bloom, nothing like what she’d left behind. And was deeply disappointed when the reality was nothing such.

And Joel hears it, that disappointment in her voice at what she’d not been able to find after searching for it so religiously. This is what makes him look up at her. This, unlike all the others, he thinks he can relate to—just by the sound of her voice. The search for a thing lost which can never again be found. The fruitlessness of it all.

At that first vulnerable, terrified glance, she’s already staring at him, eyes catching like hooks.

He blinks once, twice—color—is sure he can hear the movement of his eyelashes passing through the air, the stick of his lids meeting—color—bright. This is it.

That wash of heat turns into a blaze, every single bead of sweat blooming on his brow is a tell evaporating into the ether. This is what he’d sensed from the start of the evening. Maybe even from the moment he’d seen that split maple.

“My mother always said I needed to be stronger, bolder, not so sensitive.” She looks away from him now. “I grew up in an angry house where you had to fight tooth and nail not to be overrun. Because of this, I left it at a very young age, and it was the greatest fight I could muster, abandoning that house of anger. I found myself something to bring me what I thought would be joy, a job and a city, and for a time, it was enough. But starting your lonely life so young…it’s hard.” After a pause of breath, “It’s been hard.”

“And it’s made me never want to have to—exert myself,” she says, searching for the right words, smiling when she finds them, and Joel has the urgency to smile back. “Now, I never want to have to be strong. I never want to have to try. I want to only be the way that I am. If that’s weak or sensitive or whatever it might be at any given moment, I don’t care. I don’t want to have to fight. I never want to be in an angry house again. I want someone who’ll see this in me and understand and never make me work for it, that they would give it to me willingly, easily, without me having to ask. Do you understand?” She looks about the room, and he hopes her eyes will land on him again, and even though they don’t, he feels she’s speaking directly to him. He nods, the hook of her temptation cast beneath his chin. “This is a fantasy. And it makes for a lonely existence. This idea of how I need it to be for it to be right—love.” She looks down at her hands folded atop the podium where they go to stand at the front of the group and share, and he wills her gaze to find him amidst the crowd again. “It’s so difficult. And this might seem very bad to you, weak willed, but it’s not. It’s only very honest. Which can never be a bad way to be.” That’s why she’s here, she tells them.

Finally, she looks back at him, and it’s that loneliness of two people amidst a crowd, facing one another, knowing themselves mirrored against the other and yet still disparate. There’s something indecent about the way she looks at him in front of all these people, the way he, in turn, looks back. A little bit like finding your own face on a stranger's body in a crowded room. Color rises to his face, and she gives him that same elusive smile from before.

He’s the one to look away this time.

As the crowd disperses for coffee and pastries after the last of the speakers, he searches for her. He needs to ask her name, feels as if he’s some blighted creature without it, swears he’ll never forgo attention during a meeting again if he can fish it out of her.

He finds her at the dessert table, Maria at her side and a hand at her shoulder. Something of a thank you is being imparted between the two women. The girl is saying she’s grateful for the welcome, grateful that they’d found each other.

Joel has things to be grateful to Maria for, too. His brother, mainly. It’d been pure chance that Joel had met her here, that she knew Tommy also. She’d met his brother on a summer trek to Wyoming where they’d become friends and had kept in touch afterwards. The woman has a thing about her that ingratiates people by sheer force of will. Perhaps it’s that she’s an alpha, too. Perhaps it’s just the charisma and wide smile. The fact that she has a countenance that takes no shit from anyone, that makes demands of a person whether they’ve got any give or not. But whatever the case, they’d realize their connection through Tommy, and she kept Joel updated on his brother whom he’d not spoken with in many years.

Watching the two women stand together and share that easy thanks that Joel so urgently owes, and yet which he cannot voice, he feels, suddenly, so angry. So awkward. So humiliatingly inexperienced. So unable to grapple with the pain of human contact, the fascination of it, the humiliating necessity.

That decade old anchor weighing him in place and the guilt of even thinking of it as such.

I feel decrepitly alone and odd, he thinks. And how strange, no? He was a normal man. He has a normal job. He lives in a normal house. Unexceptional in every sense. Everything in his life had been ordinary up until that one great tragedy. And then, as if none of the before had ever existed, it was as if everything afterwards was one great landslide of wrongness. The filth of it slinging mud all over his life so that nothing had ever been right after her.

So that now he cannot even approach this girl whose name he needs to know, and Maria, to whom he owes the last surviving connection to his brother.

As Maria turns to go, she gives him an encouraging nod, sending him into an agony of shyness. She’d sensed him hovering.

The girl remains at the dessert table, perusing the pastries. He can see her fingertips dancing over the golden, sugared confections, before she settles on a plain, glazed donut. He watches the bend of her elbow, bringing it to her mouth and thirty seconds later, the empty hand reaching for a napkin. He can’t help the huff of laughter it draws from him.

Watching the unknown creature with her back turned, he peers down the length of himself. Wood stain marred t-shirt, old work jeans and scuffed boots, he’d come straight from the shop. Looking back at her, she seems perfectly packaged and pristine. The two of them, different as chalk and cheese. He tells himself he shouldn’t do it, turn around and go, leave her alone, as he steps up beside her at the table.

Immediately, there’s the heat of her skin, the smell of her shampoo, and he realizes, and it’s silly because it should’ve been obvious from the get go, she’s an omega. The epiphany, not that she is one, but that he’d been too stupid and oblivious to notice, leaves him feeling vulnerable and angry.

Any sort of hello that’d been coming alive on his tongue immediately dies. And he’s about to make a run for it once again when she speaks up from beside him, “Would you like a donut?” Her small fingers are dancing over the pastries, searching once again. “I haven’t had one yet,” she lies, “I can’t decide which looks best.”

The dancing hand pauses over a golden brown puff pastry, seemingly coming to a decision, when she turns to look up at him. The scent of her isn’t just shampoo, not just the blockers he’d shockingly picked up on before, sharp, burning his nose. It’s her skin now, too. The dry sweat from hustling under her coat to make it to her first meeting on time salted along her limbs. Hot, sweet almonds. The shocking vermillion of the morning’s split maple comes to mind. He can smell her.

“A puff pastry?” She presses, quizzical crook to her brow at his silence and glower. “I think you really need something sweet. It’ll make you feel better.”

He wants to agree, to say he also thinks he needs something sweet. All he can manage is a short grunt because she smells…indescribable. Honeyed musk, something heady, like she herself had just got done baking, straight out of the oven and full of sugar into his waiting mouth.

That earlier anger, it kicks up a notch. Why isn’t he fucking saying anything?

She shrugs, as she lifts the puff pastry to her mouth he finally manages sound.

“You stink.”

He doesn’t know when he became such a liar.

A pause, mouth open, straight, white teeth ready to bite into the fluffy sweet bread. He can see her small, pink tongue, and it makes him go a little woozy.

He might be losing his mind.

She’s got elegant eyebrows that shoot straight up her smooth forehead. The look of her skin is glorious. “Excuse me?”

Now, there seem to be too many words spilling out of his mouth. “You need better meds or somethin’. Need to sort your shit out. Can’t go gallivanting about the world smellin’ like that.” Oh god, shut up.

“Excuse me!” She takes a huge bite of the pastry. “I do not gallivant,” she shoots back, mouth full of sugar and Joel goes hot everywhere. “What is wrong with you?” she demands, the pursing of a prim little mouth as she chews, eyeing him maliciously.

He hasn’t the damndest clue.

She is not wary of him in the slightest, which in turn tells him he needs to be wary of her.

Another large bite, inexplicably she extends her free hand towards him—potentially going into shock and entirely out of his depth when he takes it, the vulnerability of tendon and muscle soft beneath his strength—offering him a firm shake. She gives him her name.

In that moment, she has a look about her that tells him she’ll bite back if he isn’t careful, even if she hurts herself in the process.

And now he knows you.

“We might as well acquaint ourselves if you’re going to insult me. Don’t you think?” Peering up at him, he’s tall, well over six feet, and broad shouldered. Older, distinguished, but in a rough way, hewn oak, gray. “Are you typically this rude? Or is this a special occasion?”

Incredibly handsome.

“I’m being serious.”

“I do not stink. No one has ever said that to me, and my blockers are quality. It must be a you problem.” The puff pastry really is very good. And this man really is very handsome. Coming here today was a good idea.

One of the girls from the theater had suggested it, handing you a pamphlet with Looking for the Cure for Loneliness? emblazoned across the top, and even though she’d done it kindly, any other person would’ve taken the implication as an insult. Hey girl! No offense, but we all in the company think you’re super weird and have you heard about this support group for losers? Kind of like Omegas Anonymous!

Those hadn’t been her exact words, and you hadn’t taken offense. After the initial agony of embarrassment, you’d warmed to the idea. You’d heard of groups like these before. Congregations of demi humans where one could come to find community or connection. Be it socializing or support for people struggling with their designations and all that they implied, they served their purpose. And anyways, you weren’t in a position to be nitpicky.

It’s true, you’re alone.

So alone, in fact, that even the people around you could tell. Strangers, coworkers, your roommate and her girlfriend. Like some noxious cloud of loneliness following you around virtue signaling the desperate need for love and companionship and understanding you’re so in need of.

You increasingly saw yourself as a dancer on her toes, trembling delicately all over, vying desperately to survive to the end of the song. A monster with too many heads. A Cerberus of the richest caliber.

Two or three would’ve been acceptable—heads—but you'd long surpassed that and moved on to something unrecognizable and unpleasant. Desperately in need of a solution.

“Maybe you’re the one that stinks. Maybe it’s your upper lip.” And voila, the monster makes her debut.

“My—” The rude alpha, obvious, that one, lets out a choked sound, a deeper wash of color immediately flooding his cheeks. You dip your head sideways, appraising him as you polish off your second pastry. He has pretty bone structure, masculine, and after he’s done choking and spluttering, he can’t help but laugh a little bit. You see it.

Beneath a mouth that looks forbidding, perhaps even a little cruel, you can sense that he is not an unkind man.

Yet you’re not so green that you can’t recognize the gnawing hunger of loneliness in others. There’s always a reason people find themselves in places like these. His face, edged with the weariness of age, makes this obvious. He has good reason for subjecting himself to this.

Reaching for the lovely eclair you’d been deciding between earlier, you take a large bite of it. Almond cream and a thick layer of icing on top, humming happily as you chew while he stares at you like the three headed dog.

You hold the dessert out towards him, offering. Palm up, he shakes his head no, slightly disgusted look on his face.

“So. You come here often?”

He blinks. “Really?” Patronizing look on his face now.

“Why not? I am actually interested to know if this is worth my time.”

He rolls his eyes. Oh, he’s fun. “Yes, I come here often. Every Friday, for the past two months just about.”

“And you like it?”

“Is this the sort of place one likes?”

“Oh, come on. You never know what you might find.” He watches your mouth as you finish the eclair, swallowing hard. “Anyways, I think the world is kind of over out there. Don’t you? Might as well make the best of it in here.”

Thumb pressed against the edge of the table, he looks down, suddenly awash with shyness once again. A shy alpha, who’d of thought.

“What did you used to do?” He asks, motioning at the crowded room full of chatting alphas and omegas. You wonder how many of them will go home together for a fuck after this.

“When?” You ask, sure he means in lieu of this group, if you’d ever had another form of demi human community.

“Before this.”

“Before this? Nothing.” Smiling at him, certain he isn’t picking up on your teasing.

“Nothing?”

“Nope. I’ve always been here.”

“But— Don’t you…I thought...” He’s cute, shaking his head like you’re just too confusing to sustain. “You sing, right?” He pivots.

“Sing? Me? Whatever made you think such a thing?” The sly look on your face goes completely over his head and slides to the rest of the sweets. If he wasn’t watching, you’d have another.

“You said. You said you’re in the opera,” he gruffs back, looking visibly aggravated now.

Such fun.

“I’m a supernumerary,” you concede as you turn, making your way to an old relic of a pew along the far wall, tragically abandoning the desserts.

He follows as you go, sitting a respectful distance beside you.

“I don’t know what that is.”

“We’re the actors that fill the stage at the opera.”

“No singing?”

You shake your head, flirting with him. “I’m a wench, I’m a courtesan,” You bat your lashes, fingertips pressed coquettishly beneath your chin, “Part of a harem. I’m every woman you’ve never known. It depends on the opera.”

“I’ve never heard of that before.”

“I started as a stagehand when I first got to Boston. Worked my way up.”

“How’s it work? Lines or somethin’?”

“No lines. No anything. I’m a background actor—an extra, basically. If anything, I’m given some simple choreography direction, laugh, sigh, show fear, horror, shock. Whatever. I’m playing pretend without actually having to do anything.”

“No working for it.”

Your smile melts to blandness. So he’d been listening, then.

“Did you want to sing?”

“No. I wanted to be a supernumerary.”

“Strange. I’ve never heard of that,” he repeats.

“You did say, yes.” Now, the smile turns auspicious. Everyone’s here for something. “What do you do?” Perhaps this is it for him.

You eye the rest of the congregation, at the far exit, there’s a large alpha helping an omega into his coat.

“Got a shop, furniture, woodworking and such.”

“You make things?” He nods. “Ah, a man of creation.”

Sitting back to take him in, he’s got the beginning insinuations of silver speckling the dark hair at his temples, a well groomed beard, and large, intimidating hands.

His small huff of laughter is bashful, tinged with something disappointed. “No, nothin’ that grand.” And he’s got an accent heavy at the ends of his words, not Bostonian. Southern.

“But you know, I wanted to say…”

“Yes?” You press when he loses his courage, leaning towards him, inhaling deeply.

“Well, that I know what you meant earlier. Sometimes I can be the angry house.”

You blink once. Sit back. “I see.”

“It’s hard work. I have to try every day at it.”

Hard work being the house, or not? Two opposite sides of the same coin.

“How do you stop yourself?” You cast a line, fishing for his character.

“Don’t know. Keep myself cold, I think.”

“That’s no way to be.”

“No. It’s not.” He sounds amused. You want to bite him.

Everyone’s here for a reason.

“Ah, well. Perhaps that’s what’s brought you here then,” you say, twisting the toe of your sneaker against a scuff on the old hardwood, leaning forward on your palms wrapped around the edge of the pew.

“Maybe,” he says, but a sort of pained, exasperated sound follows it. Your hung head turns to peer at the handsome face, and he’s already looking at you.

There’s something animal afoot. Perhaps in terms of designation, sure, of course, like the rest of the alphas and omegas here. Your designations weigh heavily in the air. But also intrinsic to your two personalities. You feel you know him. That the two of you might have the same sorts of problems, desires. And as you stare at him, you think you may be equally measuring each other’s character, finding that similarity in one another.

His eyes move quickly between yours, over your face, and you can tell that prolonged eye contact isn’t his norm.

He has the most surprising set of bright hazel eyes like river stones.

Suddenly, you feel desperate to pull out a flicker of sexuality in the man, hear it in his voice. Sure, that with him, the experience would be entirely different, exhilarating. Perhaps a challenge. He seems to be more quiet and more patient than any other man you’d ever come across, but also more stern—taking in that soft mouth held so firmly. Far more remote too, by the far away look in his gaze. You want to see how he could be moved and what the sight of it would look like.

“Maybe not,” he finally continues. “I’m looking for something, I think.”

“Something like what?”

“Someone like me.”

“An alpha?”

“No,” he looks away, cringing. The word out loud seems a shock to him. “Did you listen to the woman at the start—missing the bad thing? I struggle…with that. Holding on, not letting go even when I know I should.”

You’re at an age now which sometimes makes it hard to realize or accept that what you’re living is your life. That it’s been time to grow up. That you have to remember to move forward when it’s your turn in line.

Which is to say, that you understand him—the difficulties of knowing when to hold on and when to give up.

“Sometimes you hurt yourself because you don’t have anything else to do. Sometimes, because the alternative is much worse.”

“Holding on ‘cause there’s nothing else to do?”

“Sure. Or you’re used to it.” You’ll be gentle with him, you decide. He’s in need of gentle handling despite the stern face; not a puzzle so arbitrarily solved. And those eyes are still so bright, he doesn’t seem like he needs any more hardship.

“Don’t know why I’m tellin’ you this,” he says, accent heavy.

“Well you did come here for a reason. Didn’t you?” Discreetly, you slide closer to his side, but he doesn’t notice. Apparently lost in the realization that perhaps this was what he’d come here for, to talk to someone, to have someone listen and relate. You’re almost positive he’s never gotten up to share with the group before in all his time coming to the meetings; doesn’t look like the type.

“I came here because I’m going to take better care of myself,” you tell him. “I’m going to try harder.”

“Harder at what?” He blinks as if attempting to come out of a dream.

“Everything. I don’t want to end up like my parents; drunk, angry, alone. I’m scared of it. I’ve avoided at least two of them.”

“I’m afraid of getting older,” the dream moves in his eyes. “That I’ll forget,” he says, but you don’t ask what.

All of a sudden, he seems very real. The swells of grief and loneliness moving through him so similarly, so close to the surface.

Springing up, you turn to face him and he follows to stand too. You can hear the crack of his knees unfolding, and when he lifts his left palm to stifle a gruff cough, the band of gold around his finger is paralyzing.

All of a sudden, he’d seemed like what you’d been looking for here too. There’s laughter coming from the church rafters.

“You’re a widower?” He wants to forget, he’d said he wants to let go.

Hadn’t he?

But instead, “What? No.” You stare pointedly at the ring, and he looks down at it also. “No,” he repeats.

“So’re you looking for a fuck, or what?” You try and hold back the bite it comes with, but you can’t.

“No. No. That’s not what I’m looking for.”

You don’t understand, impaired by your youth, you forget you’d chosen to be gentle with him. “Maybe it’s what you need,” you tell him, turning towards the exit before you can watch him cringe.

He follows at your heels, grabbing his coat from the hook by the doors before he’s stepping out after you into the fall blister. It’s cold and wet and glorious out.

“Don’t you have a coat?” He demands.

“Nope.” You start walking towards Arlington Street and the park.

“Did you walk here? It’s freezing out.”

“I did,” you turn back towards him, still moving, and he starts to follow.

“From where?”

“Downtown.”

“Where?” He scowls at your uncooperation, the married man. Alpha. The truth was that he’d smelt strange to you too. Like no one ever had before. As glorious and shocking as the cold. Like if snow had a scent. Disappointment churns in your gut alongside the excitement at the sight of him stalking after you.

“I don’t think you know it.” Your backward walk is interrupted as a hurrying stranger bumps into you, sending you staggering. Watch it, the Boston snark spits. The alpha turns to scowl, heavy boot forward like he’s half a mind to follow after the person you’ve just inadvertently assaulted.

And it occurs to you, “You didn’t tell me your name.” How silly of you. You’d been so distracted you’d forgotten to ask, and what if you never see him again after this? What if you can’t muster the courage to come back again next week? What if he can’t?

“It’s Joel.”

You think it sounds right.

“I might—know it.” Where you’re headed to. You smile at the dog with a bone. The disappointment pulses. “Is it far?” He presses. You shrug, looking over your shoulder. You’re going to lose yourself in the garden for a few hours, forget about him. “Why don’t you drive?”

“I like to walk,” you tell him, turning back.

He looks at you like he doesn’t like the things you say much less the way you say them much less the way you’re grinning at him. Perhaps he can see the disappointment and is disturbed by the sight of it, but the possibility seems too altruistic.

“You should try it sometime, Joel. You might like it too.”

His huge body seems to be shivering in the cold.

“I think…” The look on his face has turned suspicious now. He takes a step towards you. “You’re very strange. And you’re very young. I don’t think we should be friends.”

Your heart gives a demanding thump. “We’re not going to be friends.” When you’d first spotted him in the crowd, the strangest feeling had come over you. A tug behind your belly button, a scalding heat at the back of your neck, at your wrists. Perhaps it’s merely imagination, the look of disappointment you think you see on his face right before you turn away from him to continue on walking. “And I’m not that young anymore.”

You’d known today was going to be a good day. Extra cinnamon in your latte, a late start to your morning, warm in bed, no rain in the sky despite the cloud cover. And your director, late for rehearsals after some freak accident had befallen the roof of his house.

“That’s what all young people say.”

Part 2;

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

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#busy dying fic #vic fic #joel miller fanficition #the last of us au #joel miller x you #joel miller

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azzibuckets · 3 days ago

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we make a good duo [pazzi]

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

summary: some christmas day fluff written at 1 am for yall….and also a fic finally written from azzi’s perspective😪 | masterlist

Azzi wakes up smothered by blonde hair.

It shouldn’t be a surprise that Paige has somehow made her way on top of her in her sleep. Yet despite three years of dating and seven years of sharing beds together, she still marvels at how Paige can possibly make herself comfortable with her limbs all splayed out across Azzi’s body.

As if on cue, Paige burrows her head deeper into the crook of Azzi’s neck with a contented sigh. Azzi runs her fingers over her back for a moment, allowing her girlfriend a few seconds of rest before slowly starting to slide her body out from under the older girl without waking her.

Azzi’s unleashed her arms and is prepared to wriggle out her legs next when Paige hooks a leg over her body, pulling her in.

“Paige.”

Paige’s eyes remain tightly shut, but her fingers curl just a little bit tighter around Azzi’s waist.

“Dumbass, I know you’re awake.”

The corner of Paige’s lips turn upwards, and Azzi bites back a smile. “If you’re gonna try and pretend to be asleep, at least keep a straight face.”

Finally Paige opens her eyes, her smirk growing wider. “Oh hey,” she feigns a yawn. “Good morning.”

Azzi pushes Paige’s body, but the blonde stays stubborn in her koala grip around the younger girl’s body. “Get off me. I need to pee.”

“My girl’s so mean to me,” Paige grumbles, lying her head on Azzi’s chest. “Just want some morning cuddles.”

“It’s Christmas, Paige. I bet everyone’s already awake downstairs.”

“They’re still eating breakfast,” Paige says sleepily, eyes already fluttering shut again. She falls silent, her breathing evening out, and Azzi’s about to smack her awake when one of her eyes fly open. “But I could eat mine up here,” she says suggestively, her pupils darkening.

Azzi shakes her head in disbelief. “So fucking dirty,” she mutters, flicking her girlfriend on the forehead.

“Bruh, I’m joking,” Paige complains, exaggeratedly rubbing her temple in faux pain. “Just five more minutes, please?”

Azzi relents, slipping on her side so she can look down at Paige. The older girl looks almost irresistibly good right now, her hair mussed up, blue eyes half lidded and sleepy. Her shirt has ridden up to show a sliver of pale skin and the top of her boxers peeking out over her pajama pants. Smirking a little to herself, Azzi plants a hand on Paige’s waist, caressing the exposed skin of her stomach with her thumb.

Paige’s lips part a little, a breathy moan escaping, but her eyes don’t open. “Feels good.”

Azzi continues to rub circles with her thumb, her hand slowly dipping below her shirt and making her way up Paige’s tummy to her ribs, flirting with the lower hand of her sports bra.

“Fuck.” Paige grabs Azzi’s wrist. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

Azzi’s hand immediately disappears from under her shirt. “Whoops.” She smiles innocently, giving Paige a kiss on her cheek before sitting up in bed. “We should get ready now.”

Like the fatass she is, Paige brushes her teeth quickly and doesn’t even bother to fix her hair or change her clothes before bounding down the stairs to eat breakfast. Azzi takes her time, carefully making the bed before slowly joining the rest of her family.

She can hear Paige and Jon arguing before she even makes it to the kitchen. “That’s mine!” Jon says, exasperation clear in his tone.

“You had thirty minutes to eat!” Paige shoots back.

“I didn’t know there were strawberries til now,” he complains. “At least give me one of them.”

Azzi walks in the room to see her brother and girlfriend death glaring at each other over an empty bowl on the counter. Paige’s plate is stacked with pancakes, whipped cream, and exactly four strawberries.

“Jon,” she chastises. “Don’t be annoying. Let our guest have the food.”

“Guest?” Jon grumbles. “Are people still guests when they’re here all the damn time?”

“Yes, they are,” Paige interjects. She turns to Azzi, her eyes brightening when she sees her. “Hey.”

“Paige, you don’t even like strawberries,” Azzi, ever the mediator, reminds her as she opens the fridge, searching for orange juice.

“Yeah, they’re for you.” Paige slides the plate over to her before starting to build her own.

“Baby,” Azzi says, dimples on display as she smiles down at her breakfast. “Thank you.”

“Az, can I have one?” Jon says hopefully, his fork already poised at her plate.

“Fuck off,” Azzi says.

“I thought this was the season of giving,” Jon grumbles before storming out of the room.

Paige laughs. She presses up against Azzi, kissing her temple. “We make a good duo.”

“Our brothers hate us.”

Azzi holds her breath for a second. She hadn’t meant to say that - Ours. But when your brother is her brother, when your families are so intertwined you almost forget that you’re not blood related, isn’t that the only way you can describe it? Ours?

But Paige doesn’t even hesitate. She gives Azzi a proper kiss on the mouth, tasting Crest and whipped cream and home. “They do,” she agrees.

#paige bueckers #azzi fudd #uconnwbb #pazzi #uconn wbb #wcbb #fluff #blurb #fic #paige x azzi #paige bueckers x azzi fudd

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angelwonie · 1 year ago

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ME AND THE DEVIL || coriolanus snow

PAIRING: coriolanus x fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 10.1k

GENRE(S): smut, fluff, slowburn, enemies to lovers, angst (if you squint)

SUMMARY: Coriolanus Snow is a difficult man to please. And yet you have overtaken his mind—you, the only person in the academy who seems to have no interest in him. But he is also a persuasive man, and he usually gets what he wants. There's only one problem: falling in love wasn't a part of the plan.

WARNINGS: SMUT [unprotected sex, oral (fem receiving), fingering, degradation, praise, overstimulation, manhandling, edging, crying, breeding kink, brat taming?, coryo is mean but down bad], canon-typical violence, mentions of blood and guns, morally gray coriolanus

It started with a change of seats.

In the academy, students were assigned a study partner meant to last throughout the year. The partners were to sit together in the lecture rooms, write each assignment together and support the other in weakness. The goal of this premise was to keep all students attentive and growing—the academy hardly accepted laziness and not at all incompetence. In the top class which consisted of, as the name suggests, the academy’s finest students, the hunger for success stood stronger, and tolerance for failure—lower. Therefore study partners were as close to a lifeline as a student could come.

Coriolanus had no problem with that. Working with others, as vexing as it could be, brought on more pros than cons, especially when he was allowed to take the lead. And if anything went wrong, he was free to blame someone else for the outcome—though Highbottom never really believed him.

The Problem, which currently he referred to with a capital P in his mind, had begun when Dr. Gaul suddenly announced a change in the seating arrangement.

It came as a shock to everyone and frankly, turned the whole orderly system on its head. Livia was moved away to sit with Festus; Gaius with a clearly disdainful Arachne; and he—with you, a girl just recently having joined the top class and taken the spot of a guy who had moved down in ranks.

Originally, you had seated yourself next to Sejanus, in the only empty seat in the room. When Dr. Gaul walked into the room, they all stood. She told them not to bother sitting again and began reading the names of what was to become new partnerships.

Coriolanus could hear Clemensia letting out a groan of frustration upon her name being read out alongside Sejanus’. He bit the inside of his cheek to stop his smile from spreading at the misfortune he had evaded.

But it didn’t last long, this state of contentment, because soon his own name was read aloud—with yours.

Your face, as he noticed upon looking in your direction, had no distinctive emotion written across it. Your brows were ever so slightly raised, the corners of your mouth straight. You spared a single glance in his direction—glimmering eyes meeting his blue ones—then, without much reaction, strolled towards the seat which Clemensia had yet to vacate.

“I think you’re in my seat.”

It was the first time he heard your voice. It was far from gentle, but not exactly rough; clear, but not exactly loud. You were standing with your back straight, your bag at your side.

The sound brought Clemensia’s attention to your figure for a solid second before she turned to Coriolanus, brows furrowed.

“This is so stupid. Why would she separate us when she knows how well we work together?”

He didn’t have time to answer before you took a step closer, this time letting your lips spread in a smile. It revealed your teeth, but no cordiality. “You’re still in my seat. You can question the authority of our teachers another time, right?”

Clemensia, a little stunned, stood unmoving until Dr. Gaul shouted at her from the other side of the room. She took her things and with a last look of disbelief cast Coriolanus’ way, moved towards her own designated seat.

You placed your bag by the desk and sat down, legs crossed at the knees. Coriolanus did the same, although his eyes drifted to his right just a little. You looked a bit like a Greek statue, with your posture and expression so much like his own.

Dr. Gaul clapped her hands anew. “Well, what are you waiting for? Introduce yourselves!”

Coriolanus cleared his throat and you turned to him, a somewhat bored look in your eyes.

“Coriolanus Snow,” he said, extending a hand.

You didn’t take his hand. “I know who you are.”

You didn’t speak to him any more that day. Or the day after that. Or the next.

All he had was your name and the (maybe feigned) looks of boredom you seldom sent him. And a growing annoyance which came about each time he politely told you good morning and you replied in a dull tone.

Nobody knew much about you, which resulted in what students do best when met with lack of information—they make up their own. Livia Cardew claimed you were from district 1. Clemensia whispered to Coriolanus about how your place in the academy was most certainly bought by your parents. Festus Creed was utterly convinced your arrival was a test to see how long they would last alongside a girl who showed no interest in anyone and yet walked with her head high.

But the only rumor which held any truth to it at all was Arachne’s hesitant scoff about how she knew you before.

Livia immediately picked up on the statement and leaned forward in her chair. “You did? So she isn’t from district one?”

“No. But she might as well have been.” Arachne looked to the rest of them for a dramatic effect. “She’s a total bitch, anyway. That’s all there is to say.”

That ended the discussion.

One day, perhaps a week after you and Coriolanus had become study partners, you walked into the academy wearing the tiniest skirt he had ever seen. It was the academy’s uniform, only altered to be shorter and tighter, framing your hips perfectly and ending just about halfway of your thigh.

Coriolanus heard Clemensia scoff from where she stood by his side.

“Attention seeker.”

“Is that even allowed?” Festus asked, though it was unclear whether he meant vandalizing the academy uniform or how otherworldly your legs looked in the skirt.

Whichever it was, the answer was probably no.

On a daily basis, you were already pretty. He knew it and he was well aware the other boys also knew it from the way they eyed you like hawks when you weren’t looking. And, let’s be honest, you were never looking at any of them. So there was a whole lot of staring which Coriolanus caught every time, while you remained either oblivious or too stubborn to acknowledge the attention.

Now, he thought, you must be aware of it—at the very least.

He, personally, was painfully aware of it. Like an embarrassing Victorian man whose mouth waters at the sight of a woman’s ankles, he felt his pants were suddenly too tight. It was in a state of panic that he adjusted himself, clearing his throat. His hand squeezed the desk he was leaning against as he mumbled an incoherent reply that was just enough for Festus and Clemmie to continue their conversation without his input.

From over Clemensia’s shoulder, he could see Volumnia Gaul and Casca Highbottom strolling into the room.

“Dr. Gaul’s here,” he said, pointing with his jaw.

“Oh, right.”

The two of them walked away and Coriolanus closed his eyes, rubbing his nose bridge.

Once he opened them again, he was met with your frame approaching—and he almost jolted in surprise. Your hair was hanging loosely down your shoulders, pinned back on one side to reveal golden earrings. You took a step in his direction and he wondered what for—the distance between you was close to nothing.

“Move.”

Taken aback, he fought the urge to look around and see if anyone else had heard. But no, you were too far and class was almost starting; everyone was busy with themselves.

“Sorry?” he asked with a strained smile.

You sighed, looking vaguely annoyed. “You’re blocking my way.”

He grit his teeth, moving aside. You sauntered past him and into your seat, which he only now realized he had been standing in front of. Your skirt flowed behind you; when you bent down to place your bag on the ground he almost caught a glimpse of your panties. Almost. But what he saw was enough to fill him with rage that didn’t subside for the rest of the lesson—along with his boner.

“I personally think she’s nice,” Sejanus offered when Coriolanus mentioned your poor behavior towards him during lunch. Of course, he said nothing of his dick hardening—oversharing wasn’t his forte.

“Well, you don’t sit with her.”

“I did. And she was nice to me.”

He sent Sejanus a death glare which worked effectively to shut him up.

Coriolanus didn’t really care about your demeanor. It didn’t mess with his work—when you had to be cooperative, you were. And outside of class, Clemensia was more than happy to cling to his arm like a koala. The same went for Sejanus. What bothered him was that look—of disdain, boredom—the lazy way in which you displayed your distaste, like he wasn’t even worth an effort to hate. Because you didn’t hate him.

You just… didn’t care.

You terrified him. You made him see red. You made him react physically, for God’s sake. And he had spoken to you all of twice. How pathetic was that? Enough to stay forever in his thoughts, that much was certain. He was never going to say a word about this to anyone.

But worst of all was this: you liked Sejanus.

Whenever he saw you talking to anyone, it was either your friends from your old class or him. Sejanus Plinth, from district two, with nothing but irritating opinions and a fortune to offer. He saw you laugh at his half-developed jokes, look at him in total focus while he spoke.

One day, about a month after it all, when Highbottom showed no signs of letting them switch seats ever again, he decided to ask you about it. Dr. Gaul was currently strolling about the lecture room, monologuing, which gave him enough time to lean to the side, towards you.

“Seems like you and Sejanus have gotten quite close,” he said, loud enough for only you to hear.

If you registered his words, you made no signs of it. His eyes trailed lower, to your tiny, tiny skirt and the plushness of your thighs which he was free to look at but not allowed to touch. He clenched his jaw and tried again.

“What is it you want? His money?”

At this, your head whipped in his direction. His cool, blue eyes bore into yours and he could see anger, clear like black on a white piece of paper, in your gaze. Your shoulders were tense, lips barely parted. But this only lasted a brief moment—a glitch in your composure—before you straightened your back and grit your teeth into a feigned smile.

“And you? What do you want from him?”

He opened his mouth to answer, but was cut off by Dr. Gaul’s piercing voice.

“Miss L/N and Mr. Snow! Perhaps the two of you will answer my question since you’re so deep in discussion.” The woman looked at the two of you sternly. “What is the point of the hunger games?”

You looked at Coriolanus, who seemed perfectly content in his seat. He had no intention of answering. Bastard. You folded your hands into fists and stood up. Everyone was looking, but only Coriolanus’ gaze made your heart thump against your chest. It felt as if you had something to prove.

“To keep the districts at bay.” With a glance towards Sejanus, you bit the inside of your cheek. “In a highly unethical way, of course. It hardly takes killing twenty-three children to prove a point.”

“District children. Remember that,” said Dr. Gaul. “You may sit.”

You obeyed, suppressing a sigh of relief.

At least it was relief until you felt a hot breath on the side of your neck, paired with Coriolanus whispering, “Liar.”

You looked at him, seemingly unphased, and let out a soft scoff. “If you didn’t like my answer, you should have said something instead.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it, just that it was a lie. Don’t worry, though, I don’t think Sejanus can tell.”

Your jaw tightened indiscernibly. The boy whose curls were falling into his forehead gave a smirk, eyes trailing to where Sejanus was sitting and then back again. You just looked at him, unwavering.

“You know nothing about me.”

“And you know nothing about me,” he said, lips spreading to reveal his teeth. “Now we’re both liars.”

***

On the third of the month, the Plinths threw a party.

It was a large gathering, consisting mainly of the academy’s students and their immediate family. The occasion was unclear—unofficially, it was said the Plinths wanted to scout the students to see who was fit to win the Plinth prize. But it was just rumors. Officially, it was a celebration of the academy’s fiftieth anniversary.

After all it had endured—the rebellion, the war, Coriolanus Snow—a party seemed in order.

On the topic of Snow—you were terribly irritated by the way his words were swarming around your head like bees. Somehow, you had managed to remember his voice down to every shiver and for whatever reason, your brain wouldn’t let go of it. Even as your mother, with her eyes fixated on the mirror, smoothed out the length of your silky dress and asked if you liked it. Even as the two of you left the apartment. Even as you exited the car and walked up the steps to the academy’s ballroom.

“Nervous?” your mother asked.

“No.”

She pushed the doors open.

Coriolanus had showed up to the party in a fitted, dark suit along with his grandma’am right on time. Upon his arrival, he had scouted Sejanus somewhere in a corner with his overbearing parents, while Clemensia stood with Livia and her sister. You were nowhere to be seen as far as his eye could reach. His grandma’am dragged him around the room in search of conversation partners and somehow ended up deepening into a discussion with Mr. Plinth, leaving her grandson to fend for himself with Sejanus by his side. The farce lasted for about half an hour; he felt himself growing weary.

Then, you came in.

Fashionably late, as always, with your mother at your side, you strolled in like the entire party was thrown in your honor. And truly—he might’ve believed you if you said so, with the way your strapless dress sat around your curves.

In his peripheral vision, he could glimpse Sejanus swallowing hard. Coriolanus fought the urge to outright laugh at the ludicrous hope swimming in the eyes of his ‘friend’. He was reaching too high. Way too high.

“Y/N! What a relief, you’re here!”

It was the voice of Strabo Plinth that made you turn your head in the direction of their little clique. A smile spread over your face, but disappeared as soon as your gaze landed on Coriolanus. He watched carefully as you approached with your mother, the pearls on your neck glistening in the overhead light. Sejanus was still staring like a fool; Coriolanus felt his blood turn the slightest bit warmer, the tips of his fingers tingling.

“Mr. Plinth, Sejanus.” You sent the two of them a sweet smile, then cast a look at Coriolanus with your lips pulled tight. “Coriolanus.”

He nodded at you. “Sweetheart.”

You didn’t comment on his choice of word, but he could see your jaw tightening and your chest fluttering, pressing against the restraints of your dress.

Thankfully, it seemed nobody else had heard—Mr. Plinth was too busy gushing over yours and Sejanus’ friendship to notice anything else. Coriolanus’ shoulder bumped into yours and you shuddered. The conversation dragged on until Mr. Plinth was beckoned over by another group of people who looked like politicians, and wandered off with a cranky Sejanus in tow.

Left alone with Coriolanus and his grandmother, you began to plot your and your mother’s escape.

“Look, mom, there’s Livia. We should go say hi.”

You had taken less than five steps before Dr. Gaul’s voice reached your ears.

“Not so fast, miss L/N,” she said, a menacing smile on her face. She waved you and your mother over to where she was standing—right between Snow and his grandmother. “Surely your mother wants to meet the only gentleman whose grades are as good as her daughter’s.”

Your mother took the bait immediately, forcing you to follow her back to where you wanted so deeply to escape. “Oh, gosh, really? Coriolanus Snow, is it?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He bowed his head, sending your mother one of his disgustingly gorgeous smiles.

“Now, Coriolanus and Y/N are my best students.” Dr. Gaul, more enthusiastic than you had ever seen her, pulled you and Coriolanus to either side of her, squeezing your shoulders. “And study partners, too. They work so well together. How about the two of you go for a dance?”

“Oh, I don’t dance—”

“Yes, Y/N,” your mother obliviously interrupted, “don’t let those five-year dancing lessons go to waste.”

Your face formed into a half-smile, half-frown. “Right.”

Coriolanus sent you a triumphant smile as he stuck out an arm for you to take. You hesitantly snaked yours through it, heart hammering as he led you onto the dance floor.

The song playing was irritatingly slow, and Dr. Gaul’s smile too wide for all this to be a coincidence, but you decided to let it slide—it wasn’t like you really had a choice. Coriolanus positioned you in front of him. From over his shoulder, you could spot Sejanus, to whom you mouthed a silent plea for help, but the boy proved useless when all he did was send you a smile and a shrug.

Coriolanus placed his hands on your waist appropriately and you hesitantly placed your own atop his broad shoulders. Although you made sure not to touch him more than you had to, the hardness of his muscles was prominent against your fingertips.

The distance between you vexed Coriolanus to no end—especially when he had seen you in a skimpy, tiny black dress all pressed up against Sejanus at Arachne’s birthday party. His fingers harshly tugged at your waist and he smiled in satisfaction at the way your body pliantly molded into him. A gasp threatened to escape you, but you held it back, instead swallowing quietly.

It turned out both of you were excellent dancers. Coriolanus sensed exactly when you were to make an unexpected move and was always able to maneuver you however he wanted.

Finally, you decided to speak—a five-minute song danced in silence would last an eternity. “Clemensia’s staring daggers into my back. Am I in danger?”

The blonde smiled. “Not at all.”

“How come?”

“I’ll protect you.”

You smiled incredulously, shaking your head. “I hope you have a knife underneath your blazer, then, because she looks dangerous.”

“I could snap her neck in half with one hand.”

The way he said it—no hesitation and total seriousness—made you choke on the laughter that was supposed to come out, replacing it with a burning sensation somewhere in the depths of your stomach. His hand, on the small of your back, fiddled gently with the lacing of your dress, then lazily moved back to your waist.

You cleared your throat. “I heard your father was a great man.”

“Yes.”

“I’ve also heard he was a terrible person.” You tilted your head to the side, putting on a curious expression. “So, which one is it?”

“Are the two mutually exclusive?”

At that, you laughed. Real laughter, with your head tipped back—laughter he had never heard before, not even when you were around Sejanus. Something swelled proudly inside his chest.

“Only you could say something so bizarre. But no, I suppose they’re not.”

He swayed his hips along with yours, then brought your hand up, signaling he wanted for you to spin. Whilst he swirled you around, you felt the tips of his fingers against your cheekbone, tucking something behind your ear. Once you were in front of him again, you brought your hand to touch the soft surface that felt like a flower.

“What is that?”

He raised one corner of his mouth. “A rose.”

“And why, pray tell, are you giving me a rose?”

He swirled you again, this time his fingers grabbing at the flesh between your clavicle and throat, pulling you against him. You felt his very fingertips, cold and soft, against your muscle, his hot breath against your left ear.

“To mark my territory.”

With that, he swirled you back and resumed the ordinary dance, with a deadpan expression and shining eyes, emitting an unidentifiable emotion.

Your cheek trembled, although you tried to hide it by tightening your jaw. “It’s picked from your garden, then, I suppose.”

“Grandma’am’s.”

“Really?”

Before you could do anything, he leaned forwards so the tip of your nose grazed his pulse. You stood stunned, taking a breath and being met with the strong smell of roses. You caught a glimpse of his collarbones, peeking out from underneath the two buttons he had undone in his shirt. He drew back before you could think to push him away, lips spreading into a smile.

“Those are also from our garden,” he murmured.

“Coriolanus…”

He liked the way you said his name this time.

Not arrogantly or carelessly, but like it was the most important thing in the world; a bar of gold in your hands. And the shiver in your voice—the thought it must’ve been the most delightful thing he had ever heard. He wanted— no, he deserved to hear it again, but it would have to wait. You were looking up at him the way he yearned you would, like he was impossible to ignore.

“Hmm?”

You smiled a strained smile, chest heaving. “The song has ended. I believe I should go dance with somebody else.”

Without awaiting a response, you released yourself from his grip and turned your back on him. He stood in somewhat of a silent shock.

And he felt it again, this immense anger because how dare you wrap your arms around Sejanus and convince him to a dance, when he’s standing right here, ready to rip anyone’s throat open to feel your body against him again.

After your dance with Sejanus, you scurried off to the bathroom, silently inspecting the rose sitting neatly in your hair above your ear. It was a piercing red, matching perfectly with your dress. You sighed into the mirror, rolling your eyes.

The rest of the evening was spent drinking champagne—too much of it, definitely, but who was counting the glasses which you picked up and later discarded?

Coriolanus, of course, but he was much too embarrassed to say anything and much too agitated and proud to even consider asking Sejanus to look after you. No, he’d rather see you pass out drunk than have Plinth take care of you—he could do that himself. But he didn’t. Not that day, anyway. He left the party somewhat early, assisting his grandma’am down the stairs although she claimed she didn’t need his help.

“What has gotten into you today? You’re too eager to help and you’re looking around like a lost district child.”

“I’m not, grandma’am. Get into the car.”

But before he could follow in her footsteps, he heard laughter—the same laughter he had heard for the first time just an hour earlier.

He turned automatically, without much thought, and felt rage well up in him as he saw you and Sejanus leaving the hall shoulder-to-shoulder, your respective parents in tow. You were clearly drunk, your steps unsteady.

Sejanus said something to you, apparently something you found funny, because you slapped his shoulder and laughed again. Unfortunately for you, the heels you were wearing weren’t exactly wasted-proof and gave out from underneath you when you moved your ankle to the side.

It took the slip of a second for you to tumble down the remaining four steps of the stairs, and another two for Coriolanus to catch you, his arms knitting tightly around your waist.

“Coriolanus,” you mumbled, at a loss for anything better to say.

“Are you okay? Does it hurt?”

You shook your head, but he went out of his way to sit you down on the stairs and inspect your ankle anyway.

“Stupid girl,” he said, landing a barely discernible slap to the side of your thigh as he stood, having concluded you were alright. “Why drink more than you can handle?”

“I have a habit of getting in over my head.”

He looked down at you, the disheveled hair and still present rose which you hadn’t taken out yet, and smiled. Slowly, Sejanus and the rest of them descended down the stairs and Coriolanus turned to get in the car. But first, he sent you a smirk over his shoulder.

***

Dr. Gaul’s experiments were always interesting.

In the best cases, they were innovative and in the worst—fatal. None of the academy’s top class knew which one this one would turn out to be when they followed Highbottom into the laboratory.

“What if she kills us?” Livia, who wasn’t particularly fond of you but neither did she feel a particular distaste for you, whispered.

“She won’t,” you whispered back. “We have the president’s son in our class.”

“Right.”

The lot of you walked inside, scattered randomly until Gaul reminded everyone to stick to their partners. You heard Clemensia let out a prolonged sigh upon Coriolanus escaping her grip and approaching you instead.

He smiled self-importantly. “Y/N.”

“Snow.”

The smile faded marginally.

Dr. Gaul ushered everyone closer. A servant dragged off the thick, two-meter long piece of fabric covering what at first sight looked like an aquarium, but later revealed to be a cylinder of rainbow-colored snakes. Someone gasped.

You furrowed your brows and took a glance at Coriolanus, who in turn looked back at you. You were quick to avoid his gaze, but not quick enough for him to miss it.

Dr. Gaul sent you a half-enthusiastic, half-manic smile. “Now, everyone give me something of yours. Come on, I don’t have all day.”

Coriolanus moved first, which you didn’t mind until he grabbed hold of you and pulled you along.

“What are you doing?”

“What, are you scared?”

His eyes twinkled and you tore away from his grip. But it was too late; the two of you were standing right in front of the open snake habitat. You swallowed hard.

He reached into his pocket and fished out a pencil—golden and engraved with his last name—before handing it to Dr. Gaul. You followed suit, albeit hesitantly, and handed her an embroidered handkerchief.

The rest of the class did the same. Dr. Gaul received all the items, stacked them and instructed everyone to sit. Then she gathered it all into one big pile and threw it into the cage. Immediately, the snakes swarmed around the items, licking and slithering.

“These snakes,” Dr. Gaul said, “are lethal only when met with a taste they don’t know. Meaning right now, when they’ve touched your things, they are harmless. Come say hi.”

Nobody, including you, moved a muscle.

Obviously, everyone was busy figuring out why this was even an experiment if they were harmless—from what Dr. Gaul said it sounded more like a visit to the zoo. Next to you, Coriolanus furrowed his brows and stared the cage down with his icy eyes, inspecting.

“No volunteers?” Dr. Gaul sighed. “How about Y/N and Coriolanus?”

You froze, looking at Coriolanus with wide eyes. “You first.”

He tilted his head. “Ask nicely.”

Forcing a smile, you swallowed your pride.

“Please.”

He stood from the seat and you forced yourself to disregard his grin and the way his uniform strained around his back muscles.

Just then, as your eyes followed his steps, you saw something by Dr. Gaul’s feet, something shimmering in gold. You squinted at the object. It was barely visible, currently hidden in Coriolanu’s shadow. Coriolanus walked up to the cage and the overhead light fell onto the object, revealing what looked like something engraved. The letter S. The letter N. The letter…

“Coryo, wait!” You shot up from your seat. Coriolanus looked at you in bewilderment as you grabbed his wrist roughly. “You can’t touch them. Your pen isn’t in there.”

“What?” His gaze dropped to the golden pen at your feet.

You looked at his face, as if to make certain he was whole, then at his wrist in between your shaky fingers. How embarrassing, the way your body had grown so hot and how tragic, the way you had made a scene. You wondered what Coriolanus was thinking, with his mouth parted and eyes on you.

Dr. Gaul clapping her hands together brought you back to reality. “Quite impressive, miss Y/N. I must admit, your reaction time was even faster than predicted.”

You turned to her in disbelief and maybe a bit of anger. “You did it on purpose? Why?”

“Why, to see if you were willing to save Mr. Snow here.”

“That’s absurd, I would have done it for anyone!” Your face grew hot as you ripped your hand away from Coryo’s wrist, as though burned by his skin. “And what if I hadn’t noticed?”

“Then I would have known I made a mistake letting you into the top class. Regard this as a little test, if you will.” She sauntered happily over to you, where she stopped to whisper in your ear: “And for your information, miss Y/N, yesterday these snakes got familiar with mr. Snow through an assignment. I would never put him in danger, so calm your heart.”

Dr. Gaul proclaimed the class dismissed and left—left you to stand in utter shock for at least ten seconds. Then, before any words could escape Coriolanus’ mouth, you followed in her footsteps, practically running out of the room.

After this incident, you avoided him.

He noticed immediately, the lack of you in the hallways when he walked through them and the tenseness of your expression in class. Every time you showed up in those tiny skirts and paid him no mind, he resisted the urge to throw you over his shoulder. You had to be put in your place, certainly so—with the way you were messing with his head. A threat, but he chose to look past that, just this once. What he couldn’t look past were your plush thighs, pretty lips and addicting aura.

Once, after school had finished, he cornered you in an empty classroom in which you were rummaging through your bag, clearly searching for something.

“Looking for this?”

You jolted back, looking at him over your shoulder and at the kays dangling from his fingers. As your face grew hot, you turned your back to him again, suddenly not so keen on finding the keys.

“They must have fallen out of my bag,” you mumbled.

He inched closer, until his chest was against your back and he could drop the keys into your bag. They rattled—the only sound in the room spare for your breathing.

He craned his neck to mumble against your earlobe, “How come you’re avoiding me, my sweet?”

You turned again.

“I’m not avoiding you.” You huffed at him, raising your head high. “Why would I avoid you? I simply don’t care for your presence.”

The side of his lips twitched. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I have class. I need to go,” you said, before realizing in terror that you’d both just had the last lesson of the day—of which he was fully aware. “I mean…”

He took a step and you went silent. His hand cupped your jaw harshly, pointer finger and thumb on each respective side of it. He pulled you closer by his grip.

“I thought I told you not to lie,” he said, squeezing your cheeks. “Did it not register in that pretty head of yours?”

Your lower lip trembled deliciously, eyes tinted with a hint of fear. “Coriolanus…”

“Call me Coryo. Like you did that day with the snakes.”

There was a change in your expression: widened eyes turning normal again, lips curving into a soft smile as you pried his hand off. He let you, god knows why. Maybe because everything turned uncalculated when he was around you or maybe because he wanted you to listen to what he said.

But you just said, “I’ll call you that when you earn it.”

His blood boiled.

“I don’t think you’re in a position to make demands, sweetheart.”

“Sejanus is waiting for me outside, Coriolanus,” you said, putting your hand on his shoulder teasingly. “I don’t want to keep him waiting.”

He grit his teeth. “Do you think this is a game?”

“I don’t know,” you said. “Is it?”

He held his outburst enough for you to leave—then, he punched the nearest surface and let out a loud groan. A threat, definitely. A dangerous one. But he’d tear it out of you—these sensations similar to his that he knew you felt.

And how could you be of real danger to him when he was just as much of a threat to you?

***

When Dr. Gaul and Casca Highbottom announced an ‘educational school trip to district eight’, everyone thought they were joking.

They were, in fact, not. They took the train for almost ten hours—by the end of it, everyone was weary and irritable. Dr. Gaul told everyone to pay special attention and care to their partners and make sure they were safe, and despite the tiring trip, Coriolanus took on his task with the utmost importance.

“What are you doing?” you asked him as he, for the third time, slung his arm around you to pull you away from passing wagons.

“Protecting you, like Dr. Gaul told us to.”

You snorted a laugh. “I’m sure she didn’t mean from horses.”

“Horses can be dangerous.”

You just rolled your eyes. His arm stayed draped around your shoulders for the rest of the walk. When you arrived at the inn, Coriolanus leaned close to you abruptly and placed a kiss on your cheek. Before you got the chance to even think of protesting, he was gone.

The next day all of you were to join Highbottom in his speech in front of the district people.

It was a simple stage made of wood—the people stood spread out on a small square in front. There were almost too many to fit.

You, as students, were not supposed to do anything in particular other than stand there and look pretty. Coriolanus made the effort to assure you you were splendid at it already, his fingers fanning over your waist. It sent shivers down your spine, and he smiled in self-satisfaction. You cursed him for his perceptiveness as the two of you walked onto stage.

Coriolanus was far from relaxed as his eyes scanned the crowd. You just had to wear that godforsaken skirt in front of a bunch of starved men. If he could, he’d tear all their eyes out. Starting with that brown-haired asshole in the first row. As Higbottom began his speech, Coriolanus walked up to you and stood purposefully a bit in front, as though to cover you.

“Is it not impractical to wear a skirt today?” he asked, sending you a pointed look.

“It’s quite warm,” you replied, blinking up at him. “Do you not like it? I wore it for you.”

He clenched his jaw, heart swelling in pride. Of course he liked it—a little too much to be considered appropriate—but not for everyone to see. He leaned down almost indiscernibly, but you felt his hot breath fan your lips.

“When I’m president, nobody is going to see you in that skirt except for me.”

You grinned. “When you’re president? What exactly is the extent of your ambition, Mr. Snow?”

“You are.”

His pupils were expanded, fingers snaking to hold you by the waist. If anyone noticed, he didn’t know, but it didn’t really matter anyway. His fingers found their way under your uniform and he observed attentively as your eyes widened, teeth sinking into your lower lip when he caressed your bare side.

“Okay, everyone, let’s go,” Highbottom said, signaling his speech was finished.

Coriolanus let go of you. The lot of you moved, surrounded by peacekeepers until you reached the truck ramp. You walked first, carefully placing your steps.

But you only managed to take three of them before something—someone, to be precise—pulled your leg to the side and you fell.

Your brain barely registered the pain of your bare knee hitting the ramp before you were no longer on the ramp, but the ground. An ache spread along your side. Coriolanus shouted your name as he jumped down from the ramp, despite Highbottom’s screams at him to stay but.

The man who had pulled you down, who Coriolanus recognized as the hungry-eyed man from the first row, pulled out a knife from his pocket. He lounged just as you froze, unmoving spare for the trembling of your lips. Coriolanus grabbed him and pushed him down; but not before he had managed to sink the knife into your calf. He heard you scream.��

“Help her!” he roared at the peacekeepers, who had their weapons raised at the man who was trying to get up from the ground, but weren’t firing.

Coriolanus, enraged, ripped out the gun from one of the peacekeepers’ hands. He heard some words of protest but ignored them entirely as he pulled the trigger. And again. And again. And again. Until the man was more holes than flesh.

“Help her, for fuck’s sake!” he roared again; this time they listened and gathered around you.

He spared only a glance at your bleeding figure, then turned to the rest of District eight’s crowd—the part of it that hadn’t thought to flee the scene—and fired again. He heard Sejanus shouting, he heard Highbottom shouting, he heard Dr. Gaul shouting, and the peacekeepers gathered around him like flies, but he listened to none of them. He fired and fired until the magazine was empty and someone tore the weapon out of his hands.

“Coriolanus,” you whispered.

Only now did he fully look at you, at the cut in your leg and at your frightened face. He ran over, relieved nobody tried to stop him, and kneeled next to you along with a clearly useless peacekeeper. There was blood on his white shirt, but not on his fingers when he ran them over your thigh gently. It didn’t look like a deep cut, but it was bleeding a lot.

“It’s okay, Y/N, you hear me? Listen to me!” He grabbed your tear-stained face with one hand and turned it so you were looking into his eyes. “You’re gonna be okay. Don’t close your eyes.”

When you didn’t reply, he shook you a little bit. “You’re alright, okay?”

“Okay, Coryo,” you said meekly.

He nodded and tore a piece off his shirt to wrap it below your knee. He was angry, unbelievably so, and felt if he didn’t look at your face now and then he might kill all of them: the peacekeepers, his fellow students, Highbottom. He bore a hatred for them all. But you were the priority; you needed saving.

He heard you whimper, using one hand to hold at his shoulder.

“Why did you…”

He cut you off. “Don’t talk. I’m gonna fix this. You’re okay. Keep your eyes open.”

You obeyed for as long as you could, for as long as it took for the medics to arrive and carry you away; then, you let yourself drift off.

***

When you first woke up, you were met with Coriolanus’ perceptive eyes staring back at you.

“Coryo?” you asked.

“How do you feel? Does it hurt?”

You wanted to answer, but your mouth felt as if it were made of lead. Coriolanus shouted for the nurses to bring you water, yet before he had even turned his head to you again, you were fast asleep. He sighed.

***

The cut wasn’t deep.

That’s what the doctors from district eight said, their heads hung low in shame. You were alone upon waking this time, spare for the nurse they had left to take care of you.

“Coriolanus,” you said. “Where is he?”

“He just left to get some rest, ma’am. We sent him away for an hour fifteen minutes ago. He’d been sitting here all night.”

“I want to see him.”

“It would be unwise to deny him his sl—”

You stood up and walked out, much to the nurses’ dismay.

After a ride to the inn in which all of you were staying, you walked into the hallway that you knew belonged to the boys.

You had no idea where Coriolanus’ room was, but thankfully you met Sejanus just as he was leaving his room.

His eyes lit up as he saw you. “Y/N! You’re okay, thank god. I was so wor—”

“Where is Coryo?”

He stopped, smile falling the littlest bit. “Last room to the left.”

You smiled and patted his shoulder. “Thanks.”

You knocked on the door three times and stood silent, waiting. After half a minute, you heard his voice—husky and deep—telling you to come in.

He was standing by the window, looking out at the desolate district eight. The back of his new shirt was just barely holding out the strain his muscles created as he crossed his arms.

You cleared your throat. “Coriolanus.”

Clearly not expecting it to be you, Coriolanus turned on his heel, sporting a smile as he saw your face. You had changed clothes—another tiny skirt and shirt adorned your body. You were walking without difficulty, just like the doctors had foreseen, perhaps even more confidently, with your head high.

He expected you throw yourself into his arms, or maybe pull his hair and kiss him, but he absolutely didn’t expect you to cross your arms over your chest and ask him:

“Have you lost your mind?”

“Sorry?” he asked, frowning.

You took a step back, biting the inside of your cheek. “What have you done? What have you done, Coriolanus?”

He looked into your eyes in search of disgust, terrified, but found only worry. You were worried for him. Not them, not that man, not your reputation and the rumors—you were worried for him.

His gaze flicked down to your bare legs, no scar left from the incident, and then up to where your stop was squeezing your tits together. Did you come in here to scold or seduce him? He really could not tell.

He took a step in your direction, reveling in the way your resolve was starting to fade, lower lip trembling. “I was protecting you.”

“You didn’t have to kill him! You didn’t have to kill them all like animals!”

At this, something switched. He snorted, almost mockingly. Against your will, you felt your panties getting sticky when he walked closer and closer, until he had you backed against the wall. One of his hands rested next to your head while the other he ran over your cheek, stopping to cup your jaw.

“You don’t think he would have aimed higher if he’d gotten the chance? You don’t think you’d be dead if it weren’t for me?” His hot breath landed on your lips and you swallowed. He dragged his finger along your lower lip and you opened your mouth obediently, making his lips curve into a smile. “Now be a good girl and say thank you.”

Your legs rubbed against one another subtly. “Thank you, Coryo.”

“For what?” He slapped the inside of your thigh, making you jolt.

“For protecting me.”

His fingers crawled up your thigh to soothe the place he had slapped, rubbing small circles against your sensitive skin. It was embarrassing, how damp your panties were and how you had to press your lips together in order to avoid letting a whimper slip. The poor lighting cast shadows on his face, blonde curls falling just above his eyes.

He was devouring you even though he’d barely touched you.

“You’re trembling,” he said, eyes twinkling.

“It’s the cut.”

He tsked, shaking his head in faux disappointment. “Liars don’t get rewards, sweetheart. I thought I’d made that clear.”

He saw your nipples straining against the thin fabric of your shirt and tightened his jaw. You were here to seduce him, definitely. His desperate little girl. Funny how you had such a dirty mouth until his hands were on you—then, you seemed to go entirely limp and thoughtless. One of his hands snaked to the back of your head, the other stayed touching your thigh—too far away from the place you wanted it to be.

“Kiss me,” you pleaded, standing on your tiptoes to reach him, but he just pulled you down by your hair.

“No. Not until you beg me for it.”

You scoffed shakily, reclaiming the very remnants of your dignity. “I won’t beg you for a kiss.”

He pressed his chest against your sensitive tits, pulling at your hair so your noses were touching.

“Don’t I deserve it after everything I’ve done for you?”

“I didn’t ask you to do it.”

“But you liked it,” he remarked, sliding his warm hand up your shirt, until he could fiddle with the hem of your panties. His fingers tapped against your clothed pussy only once, making you jolt, before returning to the spot between your hip and leg. “You liked having someone kill for you. Just as you like when I touch you and when I care for your attention.”

“I don’t—”

“I think you’ve had a little too much being a brat, though. Now it’s my turn.” He slapped your pussy through the fabric and this time, you didn’t manage to hold back a whimper. “Beg. Me.”

“Please,” you whispered, face hot.

“What was that?” He pretended not to hear, leaning down even more. You wanted to punch him for his self-importance, for his cruelty, but it was what you craved, too—you’d take everything he gave you, although you’d never say it out loud.

“Please kiss me.”

His hands left you entirely before they cupped either of your cheeks. Your heart hammered in excitement watching Coryo’s eyes feeding on the sight of you. He lowered his head slowly, connecting your lips so softly you almost didn’t feel it. You tried to grab his collar and bring him closer, but then he just pulled away and sent you a pointed look which made you retract your hands.

Then, he kissed you again—this time pressing harder against you, making your eyes flutter shut. His fingers held you softly, as though you could break any moment, but his lips enveloped yours like he had been waiting for the opportunity for years.

You opened your mouth immediately as he licked at your lower lip and he hummed in appreciation. His fingers tilted your head as he slipped his tongue inside. He was hot against your own tongue, swirling and exploring, not letting you breathe out anything except small, timid whimpers. He smelled like roses, tasted like them too.

Your hands wandered to his broad shoulders, then down his clothed chest, his solid muscles against your fingertips. They flexed underneath your touch, a throaty groan of Coryo’s disappearing in your conjoined mouths. Your mouth watered at merely the thought of seeing them bare, seeing him.

Coriolanus pulled away only when he had to take a breath—angry at this humane obstacle in his way but soothed upon seeing your swollen, parted lips.

“You’re nothing without me,” he rasped out, trapping your jaw between his thumb and pointer. “Say it back.”

You looked at him through hazy eyes. “I’m nothing without you.”

He pushed you against the wall, lips against your jawline. He sucked a mark into your neck and you mewled out his name, tangling your fingers in his hair. His tongue ran over your throat, then swirled around your collarbones as he pressed wet kisses to them and your stomach.

Once he reached the waistband of your skirt, he dropped to his knees, looking up. You felt something turn in your stomach; the heat between your legs intensified tenfold.

His fingers hooked under the waistband of your panties and pulled them down your legs languidly. Once gone from your body, he picked them up and dangled them in front of your face. You tried snatching them from him, but he just stuffed them into the pocket of his pants.

“For later,” he said, smiling. “To remind me what a desperate little girl you are.”

“I’m not—”

He cut you off by bunching your skirt up around your hips. The cold air made you shiver lightly, but his eyes set on the most intimate part of you like he was about to eat you didn’t really help, either.

Before you could look away from embarrassment, he dragged his nose through your slick folds. You let out a choked gasp as he came in contact with your clit. His hands slid up to your upper thighs, squeezing and prying them apart so you weren’t in the way for him to take his time. And he did take his time—painfully so.

After almost five minutes of aimless fingers trailing over your cunt but never touching for too long and never on your clit, you let out a loud whine, legs fighting against his grip to close. To no avail, of course—Coryo was much stronger than you and very intent on keeping you in place.

“Be patient,” he murmured into your heat. His eyes flicked up as a warning and you instantly stilled.

His tongue finally touched you in the form of small kitten licks on your clit that made your breath ragged and fists tighten. He saw you tightening around nothing, heard you whining pathetically for more and mercifully let his tongue enter your warmth. You clenched around him immediately.

He pulled his mouth off of you momentarily to look up at your pretty face twisted in clear rapture.

“Enjoying yourself, sweetheart?”

When you didn’t answer, he brought down his hand to swat at your clit disapprovingly. You squirmed at the contact, slick practically dripping out of your cunt. His eyes met yours and you quivered, suddenly afraid he’d stop.

“Yes,” you whimpered. “So much.”

As a reward, he pushed two fingers into your pussy, watching as you gasped for air, furrowing your brows. He scissored them a little bit, then dipped his thumb into the arousal coating your cunt and let it rub small circles into your already puffy clit.

Your legs felt weak already and he must have sensed this, because he grabbed your thigh and positioned it on his shoulder. This way, he could curl his fingers enough to hit the spot which made you whimper so loudly it was shameful.

Soon, his thumb was replaced with his mouth that sucked your tiny clit into his mouth.

He heard you moan his name and felt his pants tighten significantly. Part of him hoped everyone could hear the noises you were making, while another part of him felt the urge to murder anyone who dared even overhear these sounds that were innately his possession.

From his position, he could see your tits brushing against your thin shirt and cursed himself for not being in a spot that would allow him to play with them. He’d have to settle for playing with your cute little cunt.

Your legs started shaking when he added another finger to pump in and out of your dripping hole.

“Oh, fuck,” you moaned, hips bucking into his face. “Feels so good, Coryo, thank you.”

A guttural moan of his vibrated through your body and you cried out his name. A warm coil began tightening in your lower stomach. It was clear you were close—from the way your whimpers had grown unabashed and squeaky, the way you clenched around his long fingers, the way your hips stuttered against his tongue.

“Oh my god, Coryo, I’m so close— Can I come?”

So polite, he thought. Shame you only acted like this when his tongue was flicking at your clit.

His eyes glimmered as he looked up at you. “Only if you ask nicely.”

“Please, please, let me come, please, Coryo.” You let out a broken moan as his teeth grazed your clit. “Please.”

Your legs spasmed around his head as you felt it close, so close, and your eyes fell shut in pleasure.

But then it was ripped from you, this bliss, as Coriolanus pulled out his fingers and retracted his tongue, leaving you empty and stunned. You stared at him, lips parted, and at the self-satisfied smile adorning his features.

“What, you really thought I’d let you come when you’ve been acting like a brat?” He licked his fingers and something throbbed between your legs. “Stupid girl.”

He stood up, turning his back on you. You couldn’t see it, of course, but he was silently counting the seconds it took for you to protest against the treatment. Finally, you retrieved your consciousness in full and pushed yourself off the wall.

“Wait, Coryo,” you pleaded, grabbing his arm. “Please. I’m sorry.”

He turned, raising his brows. “You’re sorry?”

“Yes. I’m so sorry. I’m gonna be a good girl now, I promise.” Your lower lip quivered; he saw the promise of tears welling up in your eyes. “I’m gonna make it up to you, okay?”

At this, you sank to your knees—a sight which made his adam’s apple bob. But he was getting impatient; his cock was aching painfully and when you looked at him with eyes widened and teary like this, he was willing to give you anything in the world.

“Get up,” he demanded.

You did as told, thighs trembling slightly, and his hands cupped your cheeks. Coriolanus led you to the bed in the middle of the room, hovering above you with his forearms on either side of your face. His hardened cock rubbed uncomfortably against the fabric of his pants. He laid it against your plush thigh for relief, but all he got was a slutty mewl from you and more precum leaking from his tip.

“Sejanus is next door, you know. You don’t mind?”

“No.” You shook your head eagerly. “I don’t care. Just want your cock.”

The side of his mouth lifted as his hands slipped under your shirt. You gasped as his fingers found your nipples and pinched them, tantalizing your poor clit to start throbbing harder. He pulled the skimpy shirt over your head and threw it away somewhere, letting out an audible groan at the sight of you. Next to go was your skirt.

He stayed staring at you for some time before he suddenly landed a slap to your cunt, making you jolt with a whimper. Then, he leaned to press open mouthed kisses against your throat, sucking the skin that covered your pulse into his mouth.

His lips grazed your jaw. “You want him to hear, then? Is that it?”

“N-no,” you whispered shakily, feeling the tips of his fingers teasing your perky nipples. “No, Coryo, just want you.”

“Say it again.”

“I want you, Coryo, only you. I’m yours.”

Coriolanus let your fingers slip under his shirt, letting out a shaky breath as you traced his abdominal muscles. He helped you pull it over his head, then he pulled down his pants and briefs as well. You watched hazily at his cock free from its restraints, certain if he’d tease you anymore you would start drooling for real.

Thankfully, he wasn’t in the mood for teasing—he slapped his dick against your clit once, twice, watching you squirm, then positioned himself at your entrance.

Your foreheads touched as he pushed inside agonizingly slowly.

“I’m yours, too,” he whispered against your mouth.

He was decently thick and longer than average—even lying still in your cunt, he reached places your fingers couldn’t dream of. Your eyes had a hard time staying open in facing the fullness which came with having him inside, but he was having none of it.

“Look at me when I fuck you,” he said.

“But you’re not even fucking me.”

You felt his cock pulse inside you before his hands roughly grabbed your thighs and pushed them up against your chest. This newfound angle was overwhelming in itself—when he additionally began thrusting his cock in and out of your cunt, you saw stars. You let out small noises, but he paid them no mind, leaning forward to have a good look at your face.

“Who knew the academy’s best student was such a fucking slut?” he tilted his head, ignoring your nails clawing at his biceps. “Guess words aren’t enough, hmm? I need to fuck that arrogance out of my sweet girl?”

You didn’t reply; he didn’t expect you to. His cock found that spot that made your toes curl faster than you could have expected. When he hit it for the first time, you let out a whimper close to a shriek in volume. Instead of slowing down, he just went harder, his hips slapping against yours in the otherwise silent room. He thought Sejanus probably was able to hear it all.

It was easy for him to slip his thumb between your parted lips; even easier to coax you with a gentle slap to your slack jaw to suck on it. Your mouth wrapped around it and he groaned, pushing your thighs further against your tits. He saw your eyes glossing over, felt your poorly suppressed moans against his finger.

And god, you were so compliant to his touch, so perfect.

“Spread your legs,” Coryo said, moving his hands away.

You obeyed to your best ability, practically letting your thighs fall limply at your sides. He spread them further and sank deep into your dripping pussy. Your slick had made a mess of the sheets below, creating a small puddle in the white material.

His fingers grabbed both of your wrists and placed them on your lower stomach. One of his hands kept them in place while the other played with your sensitive nipples, twisting them until a couple tears escaped your eyes.

“Don’t move your hands.”

When you nodded weakly, both his hands grabbed your waist, guiding you back and forth to meet his relentless thrusts. He could see the vague outline of his cock in your stomach, your tits bouncing deliciously before him with each abusing rut into your cunt.

“Good girl,” he mumbled, lightly tapping at your clit.

Your walls sucked him in like it was all you were made for, fluttering around his cock and leaving a creamy ring at the base of it. He wanted to fill you up—not only with his cock, but with his cum, wanted to watch it leak out onto this bed, wanted to hear you beg him to stop. Him, only him. He wanted you forever.

Coryo leaned down to connect his lips to yours, teeth napping at your lower lip. You were whimpering, mewling his name, and he tightened his grip on your waist. He pushed you further down on his cock, again and again.

“How does being the first lady of Panem sound, huh?”

You just nodded, tears streaming down your cheeks in reaction to his cock bullying the gummy spot in your cunt.

“Yeah? You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he asked, rubbing tight circles into your clit. “I’d give you everything you want. You hear me, sweetheart? Everything.”

His hips rutted into you so roughly your vision was hazy, but clear enough to grab at his sturdy shoulders. You had disobeyed what he said, but it seemed he was unaware, chasing his own high.

His cock was thrusting into the right spot repeatedly, fingers maneuvering your clit so that you almost screamed, slick practically gushing out of your hole.

“Fuck,” you whined out, feeling your pussy pulsating. “Coryo, I’m—”

“Yeah, I know. Come for me, sweetheart.”

You let go and so did he—seed spilling into your cunt as you clenched around him. You sobbed his name and in an attempt to soothe you, he planted kisses along your collarbones. He let you ride out your orgasm against his hand before he pulled out.

Vaguely, you could see his cum spilling out of you and onto the sheets.

Before you could even make an attempt at calming down your heart rate, he stuck two of his fingers into you again.

“Too much,” you whimpered, but he paid you no mind, stuffing his cum back into your swollen cunt. Too tired to move, you let him do it, only mewling his name softly from time to time.

Once he was done, he licked his fingers clean and smiled alluringly. You scooted closer to kiss him—he tasted of you and him combined. His hands cupped your face as you both lay down, facing one another.

“You’re nothing without me, either,” you said, running your finger down his exposed chest. “Mr. President.”

His grin widened. “That’s right, sweetheart.”

TAGLIST: @peterpan-neverfails @urfavevirgoo @sayyysss @hwajin @hoshiseon @atrwriting

also big thank you to kathy, kiza and lex for being my enablers! ilyy

#coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x reader #tom blyth smut #tom blyth x reader

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daisymbin · 14 days ago

Note

Can I request #15 from the second chance list with Vernon? Except, it’s the reader saying it to him?

of course!!!

full prompt list!

check out my masterlist! // hansol's m.list

second chance prompt #15: "you deserved someone better than me."

"you deserved someone better than me."

the words lingered in hansol’s mind, repeating like a broken record. it had been two weeks since you said them, two weeks since you disappeared without giving him the chance to respond. two weeks of unanswered calls and ignored texts.

and now, there you were, sitting at a dimly lit bar, nursing a drink. hansol had spotted you from across the room, his heart sinking when he noticed the man leaning too close, his hand brushing against your arm as you tried to pull away.

hansol didn’t think—he just moved.

in seconds, he was beside you, sliding his arm around your waist and pulling you against him. the warmth of his body made you freeze.

“she’s got a boyfriend,” hansol said, his voice steady, almost threatening. “so why don’t you back off?”

the man’s eyes darted between the two of you before he held up his hands in mock surrender. “relax, man. didn’t know she was taken.”

as soon as the man walked away, you shoved hansol’s arm off of you, spinning around to face him. “what the hell are you doing here?”

“you think i’m just going to let him bother you like that?” hansol snapped, his eyes searching yours. “what was i supposed to do? stand back and watch?”

“i didn’t ask for your help,” you shot back, stepping away from him.

the hurt in his eyes was immediate, but he didn’t let you pull too far. his hand shot out, gripping your wrist firmly but not harshly. “don’t,” he said quietly. “don’t walk away from me. not again.”

you froze at his words, your heart pounding in your chest. “sol, please...”

“no,” he interrupted, his voice cracking slightly. “i’m not letting this go. you ghosted me. you didn’t even give me a chance to talk, to understand why you left.”

you tugged at your wrist, but his grip remained firm. “i told you why. i’m not good enough for you. you deserve someone—”

“stop,” he cut you off, his tone sharper now. “stop saying that. do you have any idea how much it hurt to hear you say that and then just leave?”

your throat tightened, guilt washing over you. “hansol, i was trying to make it easier for you. i didn’t want you to—”

“to what?” he demanded. “to fight for you? to tell you how wrong you were?”

his words stunned you into silence.

“you think you’re not enough, but you never gave me the chance to tell you how much you mean to me,” hansol continued, his grip on your wrist loosening slightly. “you didn’t even let me fight for us.”

your vision blurred as tears welled up in your eyes. “i didn’t want you to waste your time on me.”

“waste my time?” hansol repeated, his voice softer now but filled with disbelief. “you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. do you know how hard it’s been these past two weeks? not knowing if you’re okay, not knowing if you...”

he trailed off, his free hand running through his hair in frustration. “you didn’t even give me a choice. you just decided i deserved better and left.”

your shoulders sagged, and you finally let the tears fall. “i thought i was doing the right thing,” you whispered.

“you weren’t,” hansol said, his tone firm but not unkind. “the right thing would’ve been staying. the right thing would’ve been letting me love you, flaws and all, because that’s what you do when you care about someone.”

you looked up at him, your heart breaking at the sight of his pained expression. “i’m sorry,” you said, your voice trembling. “i thought... i thought i was protecting you.”

“protecting me from what?” he asked, stepping closer. his free hand cupped your cheek, wiping away a tear with his thumb. “from being happy? from being with the person i love?”

your breath hitched at his words, and for the first time, you let yourself really look at him—at the hurt, the longing, and the love that still lingered in his eyes.

“i thought you’d be better off without me,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

“well, you thought wrong,” hansol replied, his tone softening as his thumb brushed against your skin. “because these past two weeks? they’ve been hell. and if that’s what life without you is like, then i don’t want it.”

you closed your eyes, tears spilling down your cheeks as his words sank in. “i’m sorry,” you repeated, your voice breaking.

“then come back to me,” hansol said, his forehead resting against yours. “don’t run anymore. just... let me love you.”

his words were your undoing. with a shaky breath, you nodded, your hands reaching up to clutch at his shirt.

“okay,” you whispered, your voice trembling but full of resolve.

“okay?” hansol repeated, his lips curving into a small, hopeful smile.

you nodded again, and before you could second-guess yourself, he pulled you into a hug, his arms wrapping around you like they never wanted to let go.

“don’t ever do that again,” he murmured against your hair. “don’t leave me like that.”

“i won’t,” you promised, your voice muffled against his chest.

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logansdoll · 5 months ago

Text

ivy, l. howlett (2)

you try to get to know your mystery man a little better... but big brother is always watching.

CW: canon typical violence, gore, guns, mutation, profanity, innuendos, mature themes, mentions of sex, y/n is very poison ivy-esque, jean grey exists but is not present, etc.

"I think you'll be comfortable here," you assured, turning on the bedside light as you tossed a few spare blankets on the foot of Logan's bed.

"Where is your room?" he asked, innocently, his hands resting behind his back.

You raised a brow, but brushed off your slight surprise, turning on another lamp.

"Down the hall," you answered, honestly. "But I spend most of my time in the greenhouse."

He let out a soft chuckle, glancing at you out the corner of his eye as he opened the closet doors, inspecting it.

"Is that your gift? You got a green thumb?" he taunted, turning to face you.

"I'm a chlorokinetic," you corrected, unamused. "I can control plants."

"Really? What kinds of plants?" he gasped, falsely.

Instantly, the fern in the corner of the room extended and slammed the closet door shut, Logan watching with intrigue as it slowly receded back into the pot.

"I also have some communicative ability," you walked over to his bedside, sitting down on the edge and mindlessly adjusting the pillows. "It varies based on the species, but the professor is teaching me to develop it."

"I'm sure he is," he nodded, slowly stalking closer until he stood right before you, forcing you to look up at him.

God, your eyes...

The intensity of their warm brown sent a tender buzz through his chest.

"So say what that fern thinks about me."

"I'd rather not," you smirked, resting your hands on the bed as you leaned back. "He's not the nicest, and I'd hate for your feelings to be hurt."

"C'mon," he egged, his voice lowering to a deep whisper, sending shivers down your spine. "You afraid he might like me more than you?"

"I doubt it."

He raised a brow, silently asking again—and the look likely would've left you weak in the knees if you were standing.

With a playful sigh, you caved, turning to Ferdinand to hear what he had to say, letting out a quiet snicker at his colorful language before turning back to Logan.

"You look like dive-bar frequenting lumberjack, with a weird ass haircut and a shitty beard," you relayed, verbatim. "He's still going, of course, but I think you get the gist."

For the first time since you met him, Logan let out a genuine laugh, tickled by the gusto of the houseplant.

"That's—" "Ahem," a familiar voice cleared his throat, forcing you both to turn your attention to the door.

'Shit.'

"Scott," you greeted with a sigh, slowly standing up from the bed.

You didn't need telepathy to figure out he was a little more than pissed...

You'd gone against a direct order, and were caught in the act.

'Rookie mistake...'

Turning back to the lumberjack, you glanced at him with a knowing look, giving him a soft pat on the shoulder, "Good night, Logan," you wished, stepping past him and exiting the room.

Though not without giving Scott a sharp, sideways glare.

But he paid it no mind, instead focusing his attention on the stranger in the room.

"You gonna tell me to stay away from your girl?" Logan cocked brow.

"My girl is away on business," Scott corrected, resting his arms behind his back.

"Hmm. Well, then, I guess you've got nothing to worry about, do ya, Cyclops?" Logan smirked, strolling toward the man.

"Yeah, it must just burn you up that a boy like me saved your life, huh?"

Logan's amusement died fast, along with his playful expression.

But Scott pressed right on, pleased to see he struck a nerve, and hoping to strike another.

"She is entirely out of your league," he stated, seriously. "So do yourself a favor and don't even bother."

And with that he shut the door, leaving Logan to steam on the other side.

'Don't even bother, my ass...'

Scott might've been right about you being out of his league—you were a gorgeous, intelligent woman with a sense of humor, who probably wouldn't give him the time of day in any other instance—but Logan liked a challenge.

And he'd be damned if he let some pretty boy tell him who he could and couldn't pursue.

"You went against a direct order—" "We were just talking, Scott," you rolled your eyes, watering Monique, your huge Monstera Deliciosa.

She was nestled nicely in the corner—perfect for indirect natural light—blending seamlessly with the countless array of other plants.

In fact, your room looked more akin to a forest than anything, green seeming to sprout from every nook and cranny, even the canopy of your bed covered in ivy and varying species of flowers.

"It looked a little more than that from where I was standing."

"Even if we weren't, that's none of your business," you scoffed, moving on to the palms. "You're not my keeper."

"But I am your leader," he corrected, firmly. "When I tell you something, I expect you to listen. Logan is bad news, and I'm not gonna let you get roped up in his mess."

"He's a chronic amnesiac with an attitude problem," you turned to him, incredulously, crossing your arms over your chest. "I assure you, I can handle him."

"It's not a matter of handling. I don't want him trying anything with you."

You and Scott, along with Ororo and Jean, had known each other since you were kids under the professor's tutelage, and with you as the youngest of the group—though not much younger than them—Scott assumed the role of an older brother.

And throughout your childhood, especially in your teens, he chased away any boy that seemed to take even the slightest liking to you.

A habit he held on to well into your twenties, and a habit that you appreciated just about as much as you did back then.

Which was not at all.

"Scott, with all due respect, I am a grown woman. And this beat the boys away routine you got going on is getting seriously old," you warned, seriously.

"I don't want to see you get hurt," he pressed on, not letting up, "And trust me, I know guys like Logan, and they only bring pain and heartbreak."

"That is exactly what you said about that boy from Louisiana," you pointed an accusatory finger at him. "I think his name was Rodney or Rudy or something..."

"'Cause he was exactly the same!" Scott scoffed, disbelieving of your inability to see the patterns. "I hate to break it to ya, (n/n), but you have terrible taste in men."

"Excuse me?!"

But before you could fire back with a retort, a roar suddenly echoed throughout the house, along with a scream of terror.

Instinctively, you reached out to all the plants in the house, finding its source almost instantly.

"Logan," you realized, eyes wide as you raced out of the room, Scott right behind you.

Running out into the hall, you looked both ways, freshly awakened kids sticking their heads out their rooms to see the commotion.

"Somebody help!" Logan shouted, voice laced with panic.

You didn't have time to worry about them.

Quickly, you sprinted down the hall, the two of you barging into his room, only to find Rogue standing there, touching his cheek and seemingly draining his life force.

It looked like he'd stabbed her with his claws, and she was taking his power to close the wound.

'Holy shit...'

Scott cut on the lights just as Ororo joined you, the girl finally letting Logan go, the poor man dropping to the ground like dead weight, seizing.

"It was an accident," Rogue turned to Ororo, guiltily, before running out the room.

You swiftly moved to Logan's side, dropping to your knees to help, "Scott, grab me a pillow," you ordered, leaving no room for argument.

He quickly moved to grab one, you using your powers to grow Ferdinand much larger and stronger, before wrapping his fronds around Logan's body to act as restraints.

'This should keep him front hurting himself.'

"Pillow," Scott nodded, handing it to you.

You took it gratefully, carefully lifting Logan's head and placing it down on top.

"He'll have to ride it out. But with his healing factor I'm not too worried," you assured, brushing a loose strand of hair out his face.

With that out the way, Ororo turned to the crowd of children gathered at the door, scolding.

"Off to bed. All of you. There's nothing to see here," she ushered them away, exiting the room.

Now just you and Scott, you let out a sigh, standing up and running a hand through your hair.

You could practically feel Scott's I told you so look burning through his glasses.

"Shut up."

"I told you... bad news."

#wolverine x reader #wolverine #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett #james howlett #james howlett x reader #mcu #mcu x reader #x men x reader #x men

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luveline · 10 months ago

Note

need need NEED more hop x reader w el they are the CUTEST

“So she’s coming?” El asks.

Hopper pushes a glass of orange juice in her direction. “Mm-hm.”

“And she wants to see me.”

“Yeah, kid, she wants to see you.”

Eleven’s hair curls just under her ears. Hopper hadn’t suspected her hair would be curly once it began to grow, but it waves gently, and tighter the longer it becomes. He doesn’t know how to take care of it. He only just taught her how to use shampoo and conditioner without leaving all the suds in.

She scratches it. “What are you looking at?”

“Nothing.” He ruffles her hair. “Eat your breakfast. You can get changed when you’re done. You need me to help you find something?”

“No. I like choosing.”

Hopper knows. She isn’t good at matching yet, but she’ll get there.

She eats her breakfast too quickly, doesn’t drink her juice, and doesn’t put her plate in the sink before she goes, but Hopper doesn’t bother getting mad. He’s trying to be less moody. He’s also trying to be understanding; she’s learning to be a normal kid. Most normal kids are slobs.

“Can we have dessert?” El shouts from her room.

“You can have a snack later.”

“Please?”

“You can have some chips once you get dressed. Are you still hungry, or–?”

“Snacks,” she says, turning on her radio.

Hopper nods, laughing to himself when there’s a knock at the door. He’s been waiting to see you all weekend, and he walks to the door with a terrible smugness about him to let you in.

“Hello,” he says, wedging the creaky frame open with his shoe.

“Hi, handsome.” You look up into his eyes, fresh-faced like you’ve had a good scrub and dressed for a day in the house in cuffless sweatpants and a hoodie he thinks might be his. “Wow, nice shirt, hotshot. What is that? The Hawkins Police Department fun run of eighty two? That’s vintage.”

He leans down to kiss you hello.

“Oh, hi,” you flirt.

You’re confident when you know you’re loved, he’s found. Still the homespun woman he knew you to be, but affectionate once you’re comfortable. He smiles into your mouth and pulls you tight to his chest, lifting you off of your feet for a millisecond before placing you back down.

“Where’s my girl?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says.

“El?” you call. You slide around him to find her but turn back, “Did you ask her about the hugging?”

“She says it’s fine.”

“Like, she wants to?”

It had been a strange conversation. Hopper is used to telling El things, or being told things by her. He didn’t ask her what she likes for breakfast, he just kept guessing until he found the right stuff. She never asked him if she could sit in his side during movies, she just inched closer until he put his arm around her.

“She wants to,” Hopper says. She’d seemed perturbed by the question, sure, but it ended with her happy little smile through a handful of popcorn.

“El?” you call again.

“Kid! Your best friend is here!” Hopper shouts.

Thunder from her bedroom, a door swung open and slapping the wall. “Y/N?” she asks, the skirt of her dress swinging as she pauses in the doorway.

You smile and step forward. You’re tentative but excited all the same, laughing as you wrap your arms around her shoulders, and pat her back. “Hi, beautiful.”

“Where have you been? It’s two weeks.”

“Yeah? I didn’t mean to not see you for so long, I’m sorry.”

“Hop says you have lots to do.”

“There’s a leak in my bathroom,” you take her by the shoulders. “Aw, this is nice. When’d you get this? It’s light and summery.”

“Hop… from a catalogue.”

You raise your brows at him, grinning. “That’s nice. How many did you get?”

“We got five.”

“Five! From the catalogue!” You hold her hand. “Hop must really like you, huh? Who can blame him?”

El looks down at your joined hands. Hopper feels his skeptic heart softening. “He likes you, too.”

“But do we like him?” you joke, letting go of her hand to put your arm behind her back instead. You give Hopper a look.

“What?” he asks.

“I was thinking we’d go out for milkshakes?”

Hopper bites his tongue. El has a birth certificate now, she’s his daughter, she can’t be taken, but going out with her into the world draws stares and derision alike. People can tell she’s abnormal, and he can’t stand that. She doesn’t deserve to be gawked at for talking a little slowly, or messing with stuff she doesn’t understand.

But he doesn’t want her feeling punished for those things either.

“Get your jacket, El.” She beams, rushing for her room. “She’s gonna love the jukebox,” Hopper says.

You meander back into his arms, kissing his stubbly cheek. He pretends to nudge you away.

#jim hopper x y/n #jim hopper x reader #jim hopper #jim hopper imagine #jim hopper x you #jim hopper x fem!reader #dad!jim hopper #dad!jim hopper x reader #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #stranger things #jim hopper fanfiction #jim hopper fandom #jim hopper fanfic #jim hopper fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #jim hopper fluff

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cressidagrey · 4 months ago

Text

Looked to the Sky - Chapter 12

Summary:

Eira Archeron was neither a Valkyrie, nor a Seer, nor the High Lady of the Night Court. She was, however, Azriel‘s mate with her own mysterious, untrained powers.

Also known as: Azriel tries to court his mate the human way.

Warnings:

THIS IS THE LIGHTNING IN A BOTTLE SEQUEL! SO READ THAT FIRST IF YOU WANNA READ THIS ONE OTHERWISE THIS MAKES NO SENSE!

Elain Bashing, Low Self Esteem, Burns, Discussion of suicidal thoughts (If this triggers you, PLEASE don't read it), Discussion of very "human" ideas of modesty, and without @k-godling this would have never happened.

(super pretty dividers by @tsunami-of-tears)

“I can hear your fucking thoughts, even though I am not a daemati, so talk to me, Az,” Cassian grumbled.

Azriel turned his head, ceasing to stare at the ceiling as he had been doing for hours.

He couldn't get Eira's words out of his head. He hated the images her words had conjured up in his head — his sweet mate sitting in her bathing chamber, rocking back and forth, holding herself as tight as she could, trying to block everything out.

His mate, who had wanted to die.

The very thought was enough to make him want to break something, to find something to punch and claw at until his knuckles bled and his skin lay in tattered scraps. Until his rage and agony burned the images out of his mind, until he wasn't so sick to his stomach that he was half-convinced he was going to physically get ill.

"Stop thinking," Cassian said, still watching him with a grim expression that mirrored his own thoughts.

Azriel didn't bother answering him. Right now, he didn't even want to be here in this room. He didn't want to lie on this bed, staring at the ceiling, when he could be with his Eira.

His sweet, sweet mate, who would have hurled herself off a balcony or cut off her ears because it had all just...been too much.

Even the mere thought made his stomach lurch as if he was going to be sick. Gods, she had wanted to die, and he hadn't noticed. He hadn't known.

He had walked around, blissfully oblivious, thinking that she was better, that she was settling into life here as a High Fae, when she…

She hadn't told him, she hadn't said a damn thing, and he should have known from the start, should've known that she wasn't okay.

He should have paid more attention, should've pushed harder when she seemed upset, and instead, he'd just...he had just left her to struggle on her own when he should have...he should have...

She hadn't told him, she hadn't said a damn thing, and he should have known from the start, should've known that she wasn't okay.

“Talk to me, Az. Please."

He closed his eyes, trying to stop himself from thinking, and he could still see her, sitting in her bathing chamber, rocking back and forth, humming so she wouldn't have to listen, and he didn't even know for how long she had been doing that right under his nose, how much pain she had been in and how he had just let her...

"I should have known," he said quietly, the confession almost ripped out of him.

Cassian just listened.

"She's my mate. I should have known how she was feeling."

Cassian didn't say anything this time. He just watched him silently for a moment, the concerned look on his face still there.

"And how were you supposed to know?" he said finally. "If she didn't want you to know? If she didn't want to tell you?" Cassian sighed. "I didn't know how bad Nesta was feeling either. Is this about her sparks show when Eira talked to Elain?" he asked her.

Azriel grimaced.

"No," he said firmly. "I just...I couldn't get Eira's comment about stuffing cotton wool into her ears out of my brain. So I asked her," he admitted quietly. "She was...she was doing really badly for a bit," he admitted weakly. It was an understatement.

She had almost hurt herself, had wanted to kill herself instead of dealing with all of this, and he should have known. He should have-

"How can I have been so blind and stupid?" he grumbled more quietly.

"You're not stupid," Cassian retorted instantly. "And you're certainly not blind."

Azriel let out a scoff.

"Then how did I not notice?" he demanded. "How did I not notice that my own mate was...?"

"You're not stupid," Cassian said.

"Yes I am," Azriel snapped back. "I am stupid and a bastard, for not noticing, for not seeing how she felt," he said angrily.

Cassian let out a sharp huff at his words, watching him with an almost frustrated expression.

"None of us saw," Cassian snapped.

The door opened.

"I can hear you arguing," Rhys grumbled as he made his way across the room and flopped down on the bed.

"What's with Feyre?" Cassian asked with some bemusement.

"Feyre decided she would rather have a sleepover with Nesta and Eira," Rhys said with a long-suffering sigh.

Azriel couldn't help the brief hint of a smile at Rhys's words.

"Are you upset that she deserted you?" he asked dryly.

Rhys shot him a weak glare at his words. "I would like my mate to sleep in my bed, yes," he grumbled.

"You sound like a lovesick whelp," Cassian commented, and Rhys muttered something in response, that sounded strangely like oh, like you are any better.

Azriel made a low scoffing sound, a faint, but genuine smile touching his lips.

It vanished again a moment later, as the thoughts about Eira came rushing back.

"I don't understand how I didn't see," he muttered under his breath, more to himself than anyone else. "I am such an idiot."

He could feel their gazes turning towards him again, but he didn't bother looking up, still staring at the ceiling, as he clenched his fist around the now-crumpled bedsheets.

"I just...I should have known," he said again. "We are mates. How could I have been so damn blind?"

"How could I have been so blind either?" Cassian asked. "Neither of Feyre, nor Nesta, nor Eira like to burden other people with their problems. Neither of us are mind readers...well other than Rhys."

Rhys let out a low scoff but didn't disagree.

Cassian had a point, but that didn't make Azriel feel any better.

"I still feel like a bastard for not seeing," he muttered.

It was his job to observe. It was literally his entire shtick. How could he not have seen that his own mate was suffering.

"Is it about the cotton wool comment?" Rhys asked quietly.

Azriel let out another huff, this time out of annoyance.

"Yes, it's about the damn cotton wool," he said harshly. "I just can't get the image out of my head. My mate, sitting in her bathing chamber, holding herself like a damn child while she rocks back and forth, listening to herself hum and trying to block everything out."

"She was pulling on her ears at the same time," Rhys said, his voice dark. "I saw a piece of it when I...accidentally went into her mind. She pulled at her ears because they were too long and too pointy and not hers. And then she bit her mouth bloody. It was... bad."

Azriel grimaced at those words, that image conjured up again, in even more detail this time.

He still couldn't quite get a grip on what he was feeling, with each moment that passed. He felt sick to his stomach, enraged, like he wanted to find something to punch, wanted to rip apart with his bare hands. He felt helpless and useless, like he had failed his mate, failed to protect her.

"She said she wanted to throw herself off a goddamn balcony," he said quietly.

Rhys grimaced, and even Cassian's expression darkened.

"She was that bad..." he said quietly. "...How did...how did we not notice?"

"Because she didn't want us to notice," Cassian pointed out.

"I should've still noticed," Azriel snapped back. "I could have...I should have known that she was struggling."

There was a long moment of absolute silence, all of them just staring at the ceiling, probably running through the same thoughts as he did.

Then Rhys let out a sigh, closing his eyes as he spoke.

"How are we so damn incompetent sometimes?"

"Beats the hell out of me," Cassian said. "All three of us are supposed to be at least halfway competent, and you know, not total assholes. We should have known. We should have picked up the goddamn clues."

"And we didn't," Azriel said, his words coming out as a low growl that was almost lost in his chest. "And instead of...of helping her, of being there, she...she dealt with it all on her own, and we just stood around, blundering about like idiots."

His words were met with another moment of silence before Cassian let out a long sigh. "She is alright now, though, right?" he pointed out.

"She's not having thoughts of throwing herself off a damn balcony or cutting her ears off anymore," Azriel said gruffly. "So things have improved at least somewhat. Which I am very, very thankful for."

"So we know that at least," Rhys grumbled. "She's not having those thoughts anymore, at least not right now...although I certainly don’t like that it took her wanting to cut her ears off or throw herself off a balcony to get to this point."

Azriel let out another huff of annoyance.

"I just..." he began and took a deep breath. "It shouldn't have had to get so bad to begin with. We should have seen her struggling, damn it."

"Which we didn't," Cassian said again.

Another moment of silence, where they just laid around the bed, all of them staring at the ceiling, their thoughts going in the same circles. Azriel didn't know if it was a comfort, knowing that the others were feeling almost the same thing he was feeling, or if it was just making everything even worse, the knowledge that there were three of them — three strong, powerful males — and they had still all been so damn blind.

"How's your hand?" Rhys asked him suddenly

Azriel blinked.

"My hand?" he repeated dully, "It's fine," he grumbled. "I don't even feel it. Eira feels horrible though."

"Of course she does," Rhys agreed. "First her powers manifested and burnt a couple of Darkbringers to a crisp...and now her powers hurt you. Her mate." Rhys sighed. "I wish she would see the lightning as something beautiful and not something she must be afraid of," he muttered.

"She will," Azriel said firmly. "One day. She just...she just needs time. It's all still so fresh to her."

He had the feeling it was going to be a very long time before his mate would fully accept her own powers. "She needs to get used to them," he said quietly. "She needs to get used to the fact that she has powers to begin with. Just the idea...it's a lot for her."

"Understatement," Cassian grumbled under his breath. "Especially when you spent 3 years being treated like you were utterly useless like we did."

Azriel winced internally at the words.

It was their fault. They had done that.

The silence that fell after that statement was so deafening, that Azriel swore he could hear it.

They had done that. Eira's self-worth...or lack thereof, her feelings of uselessness and weakness...it was all their fault. And knowing that...knowing how damn useless and shitty they had been, knowing everything his mate had gone through, knowing just how much Eira had struggled, all while they had just blundered about like total idiots, it was a hard pill to swallow.

"How are you feeling about Elain now?" Cassian wondered.

Azriel stiffened slightly at the question.

He...he didn't really know.

Part of him wanted to strangle her, because of everything she had said, everything she had said about his mate.

"I think the worst part...the worst part is the betrayal of it," Azriel said quietly. "She did it to get revenge. Because I turned her down."

Cassian grumbled under his breath at that, and Rhys let out a low scoff of agreement.

"She basically just hurt your mate as revenge for you turning her down," Cassian said, disgust clear in his voice.

Rhys grimaced. "I am sorry, Az," he apologised and Azriel knew why he apologised. Because without Rhys’ order, he wouldn't have stopped....he would have kept pursuing Elain.

Azriel closed his eyes for a moment, forcing a deep breath into his lungs, and trying to push down the anger that rose up at the memory.

"It's not your fault, though," he said quietly. "It's Elain's." That...that was a hard truth.

It was not Rhys's fault. He had no way of knowing this would happen.

All the blame lay with Elain.

"Elain's and her alone," Azriel said, and let out a long, slow breath.

It didn't make him hate Elain any less, though, that was for damn sure.

"I can tell how furious you are," Rhys said dryly, and Azriel let out a low snort.

"That obvious?" he grumbled.

"Oh, you're not exactly subtle," Rhys said dryly. "You're practically grinding your teeth."

"I feel like grinding Elain's face into the floor too," Azriel said lowly and very, very darkly. "And I don't even think that will make me feel any better."

"Let's talk about something nicer," Cassian said quickly. "How's that courting going?"

Azriel blinked at the change in topic, Cassian's question taking a couple of seconds to register.

"Uh...fine," he said after a moment. "Good."

He tried to think about their walks in Velaris, about picnics in the back garden…and not about the image of his mate sitting rocking back and forth in her bathing chamber, pulling at her new, pointed ears and biting her own mouth bloody.

"You sound certain," Cassian teased him and he rolled his eyes.

"I am pretty sure I keep messing it all up because if we actually were human we wouldn't even be allowed in the same room as each other without a chaperone," he said drily. Alone the thought about marrying another person, of spending the rest of his life with them, when he didn’t even have a private conversation with them once…was utterly foreign to him.

But then, maybe it shouldn’t be. Some Illyrian customs were not any better at all. Just more violent.

Rhys let out a low chuckle before he said amused.

“I am sure you made up for that with the sheer amount of birthday presents you gave her,” Rhys quipped with some amusement.

"That were the shadows," he protested weakly.

She deserved them, the shadows said evenly, not bothering to defend themselves. And the next thing you need to do is find a House and a Ring, Master.

Azriel choked on his own spit.

"What was that, Shadowsinger?" Rhys asked dryly, and Azriel grimaced.

"Nothing," he said quickly and tried to keep his face a neutral as possible. "My shadows are just chatting, that's all."

Cassian and Rhys exchanged a long look before Rhys spoke again. "Your shadows are 'chatting' about what, exactly?" Rhys asked, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly now.

Azriel cursed silently under his breath.

"About nothing important," he lied and tried to sound as relaxed as possible, all the while silently praying to any God listening, that Cassian or Rhys would drop it.

They didn’t.

They just looked expectantly at him.

Azriel cursed silently under his breath.

"A House and a Ring," he grumbled. He could hear some of the shadows laughing.

Another long, dead silence fell, and Azriel squeezed his eyes shut again, knowing all too well that his friends were about to make fun of him ruthlessly.

"A House and a ring," Rhys repeated faintly.

Cassian let out a snort of laughter.

"Oh, shut up," Azriel grumbled, refusing to open his eyes again, knowing he would probably see Rhys and Cassian rolling around on the bed with laughter.

"Oh, no, we will absolutely not shut up," Rhys said, and Azriel could hear the smile in his voice. "Because you're thinking of marriage already, aren't you?"

"The books said that 6 months from courtship to a wedding was not unusual," Azriel defended himself.

That earned another loud burst of laughter from Cassian, and Rhys took in a deep breath before he replied, his voice still filled with stifled laughter.

"Oh, yes, six months sounds completely reasonable," Rhys promised him earnestly.

There was another long moment of silence, where Azriel could feel the smirk on Rhys's face without even opening his eyes before Rhys spoke again. "But you are aware that you need to actually propose first, right?"

"Apparently I need the house for that," Azriel said drily. "I am supposed to show that I can provide a place where we can live after the wedding."

"Yes, of course," Rhys said, the very picture of false agreement. "How could I ever suggest otherwise?”

Despite his best efforts, Azriel couldn't hold back a low growl at the amusement in Rhys's voice. Cassian just laughed.

"I need to admit though, humans do it very...interestingly. They apparently don't even have a private conversation for 6 months before, before they ask the female to marry them and then immediately share a bed for the first time." Rhys said with a snort. "Though I guess it's not much different than what Keir wanted to do to Mor."

Another growl tore itself out of Azriel's throat at that reminder.

"Don't," he ground out, "don't even mention that old bastard's name in my presence," he warned, anger bubbling up inside him at the memory of what Keir had done. Not even to just Mor, but to Eira as well.

"Though there is one thing you need to think about," Cassian said drily. "Everything Eira was taught about relationships and sex was the human way."

That managed to make Azriel go still all over, an uncomfortable sensation spreading through his entire chest, while a dark, cold feeling settled in his stomach.

And to make things even worse, Rhys continued with the same dry and far, far too gleeful tone, "Meaning that she willlikely expect you to wait for marriage."

He swallowed. "Then we wait," he said sharply. "I am not going to force her."

"No, of course you won't," Cassian said, suddenly a lot more serious. "We know you would never do that. But Eira probably has some...ideas of how a marriage would work. She seems to be the one of her sisters that still…clings to that the most. She was raised to be a wife, Azriel. She’ll think that your word is law.”

Despite still keeping his eyes closed, Azriel winced at those words. He had already thought about that. He had thought of that fact very heavily.

It was reminding him far too much of Illyria for his peace of mind, to be honest. The idea that he has a male was supposed to have any kind of power over his wife, that she was chattel for him to rule over…It was making him nauseous.

He...he didn't like it at all. Eira thought that he would demand things from her...order her into things... but the idea made him want to punch something.

"Well, she won't think that," Rhys suddenly said, his voice sounding a lot more serious than before.

Azriel slowly opened his eyes at that and glanced at his friend, only to find Rhys's expression had hardened and was looking more...determined than amused.

"She will quickly learn that you will never order her to do anything," Rhys said firmly, and Cassian nodded in agreement.

Azriel just stared for a moment, his chest feeling a lot looser than before and his heart suddenly beating a lot faster.

Cassian and Rhys...they believed it wholeheartedly.

They didn't even doubt one second that he would never demand anything from his mate, from his sweet, gentle, quiet mate, who had been raised to listen and obey.

"You're our brother," Cassian said then, and Azriel's eyes suddenly shot to him. "We've known you for five centuries, and we know that you would rather cut off your own wings than demand anything of Eira."

Rhys nodded.

"We don't doubt for a second that you would never, ever, order her to do anything,"

A wave of gratefulness and grateful love for his brothers washed over Azriel all at once.

They understood.

They knew him. Knew that he would never order his mate to do a damn thing. Knew that the very idea of ordering her was more than enough to make him feel physically ill.

"So about that house..."

Azriel let out a huff at that question.

"I'm working on it," he said but was cut off by another snigger from Cassian.

***

"Scoot over," Feyre demanded in a whisper as she crawled into the bed next to her.

"I thought you would stay with Rhys?" Eira asked, but did as her youngest sister requested, careful not to bother a sleeping Nesta.

There was still light in the room, courtesy of the faelight, neither of them felt comfortable in a pitch-black room since the cauldron.

Feyre just grumbled something unintelligible under her breath at that as she settled in next to her sister, pressing up against Eira.

Eira smiled a little and shuffled on the bed, gently wrapping her arms around Feyre when the latter snuggled close, burying her face against her neck.

"Nyx seems to think that Ra Ra gives the best cuddles. I need some of those," she said, making Eira giggle.

"Of course he does," Eira said, pulling her sister even closer. "Ra Ra is an excellent cuddler."

Feyre bit back the laughter so as not to wake Nesta and caught Eira's hand in hers. "How are you feeling?"

Eira just hummed, trying to figure out the best way to answer that question and finding it far more complicated than it should be.

"I feel...." she started, letting out a long breath as she thought about it. "I feel...I feel better. Still hurt. I don't think that will go away any time soon...but...better."

Feyre nodded slowly as if she had expected the answer.

"I can understand that," Feyre said, playing with her hand and then froze. "Eira, did you make a bargain?"

Eira blinked at the question, a pit opening in her stomach.

"A...a bargain?" she echoed numbly, and Feyre raised an eyebrow at her.

"Yes. A bargain," Feyre said, and tugged her hand up, so Eira could see Right there wrapped around the ring finger of her left hand, right where a wedding ring would sit, was a thin black band. Just that it wasn't a band. It was a bargain marking.

Eira stared at it numbly, and for a second, she just stared at it, feeling like she couldn't get any air into her lungs.

The bargain marking was wrapped around her finger, and the only person it could have come from was...

Azriel.

Her mate. That...that was her mate's bargain marking wrapped around her finger.

"Eira...?"

Some part of her was suddenly very glad that Feyre was there with her, because her sister's voice was the only thing that was keeping her at all grounded, and it took several long, shaky, breaths before she could force words out of her suddenly very tight throat.

"Y-yes, I...I made a b-bargain," Eira whispered.

"Accidentally, wasn't it?" Nesta said suddenly turning around. "You two can never manage to be quiet," she mumbled with a yawn. "What are the terms?"

"Yes, accidentally," Eira admitted, and Nesta nodded.

"Thought so," she said dryly, her voice only slightly slurred with sleep. "And the terms?"

Eira swallowed again.

"That I would come to him if I...whenever I have a bad day. The same goes for him."

That seemed to get the attention of both of her younger sisters, Feyre tensing against her and even Nesta's eyes grew a little wider.

"That's...a very loose bargain," Feyre said slowly, and Eira nodded.

"It...it was," she said, "It wasn't on purpose. It was just...just a promise."

"What exactly does it mean when you have a bad day?" Nesta asked her evenly.

Eira opened her mouth to answer but suddenly found that she really, really didn’t want to tell her sisters about the complete breakdown she had had earlier.

"Just.." she mumbled after a moment. "Bad."

Nesta's gaze sharpened.

"What does that mean, bad?" she demanded, the tone leaving no room for arguing.

Eira swallowed again, the fear of the consequences if she told her sisters suddenly growing inside of her.

"T-tired. Like everything is too much." she said, her voice breaking just a little bit as the memory of how much she had cried suddenly crashed down on her, "Or-or I...remember things. Like...like the war," she managed. "And I...I don't feel good. I feel...I feel like I did...after the cauldron. Everything is overwhelming. Everything hurts. I just want it all to stop."

Feyre's arms tightened around her, and Nesta's eyes grew very, very sharp.

"Do you...do you ever...try to hurt yourself?" Nesta asked softly, not quite managing to keep the concern out of her voice.

Eira's eyes widened at that, and she swallowed, shaking her head violently.

"Not...Not anymore," she whispered.

The concern in Nesta's eyes only grew, and she let out a small, shaky breath. "But you...you did?" she asked softly.

Eira just nodded silently, her voice having gone too weak to even speak. "Afte the cauldron...I...used to...sometimes I bit my mouth bloody. Not on purpose!" she assured her sisters. "I just...If I didn't, I was going to be too loud. And I pulled on my hair and my ears but it wasn't..."

A long, long moment of heavy, tension-filled silence fell as Eira spoke, and she bit her lip to keep herself from crying again.

Until Feyre suddenly spoke again, her voice very, very low and very angry.

"How often? How often are your bad days?"

"Not...not often," Eira mumbled, closing her eyes again, because she could literally feel the anger emanating off of Feyre, her normally gentle sister holding onto her tight with a grip that bordered on pain. "And it's really not that bad," she tried to assure them both. "Really. I...I..It's gotten better. The shadows keep me company now when I have nightmares and then it's not..."

"How. Often?" Feyre demanded, her tone leaving no room for arguing. Eira had never, ever, heard her sister use that tone of voice.

"I don't know," she whispered, the words falling out of her mouth seemingly on their own. "A couple of times a month? It used to be more. After the war, it was nearly every day."

A sharp, sharp intake of breath came from Feyre, who pressed closer to her as if trying to keep her from disappearing.

"You...You never told us," Feyre breathed out, and it was clear how hard it was for her not to just...break down and cry. "Why...why didn't you come to us?" Feyre questioned gently, and Eira closed her eyes, feeling herself tearing up at the broken tone in Feyre's voice.

And that...that just made it worse. Her sisters...they were her sisters. She was supposed to tell them when things were bad when she had a bad day. She was supposed to tell them.

"I...I didn't want to worry you," she whispered, and Feyre let out a shaky breath.

"It's our job to worry about you, you idiot," Feyre whispered, pulling her closer and wrapping her arms around her tightly. "You're supposed to tell us," Feyre muttered against her shoulder. "You're supposed to come and find us and we're supposed to hug you and comfort you."

A soft huff came from Nesta, and suddenly one of her hands gently stroked over her hair.

"Next time you have a bad day," Nesta said, tone leaving no room for arguing, "You tell us. Do you understand?"

"I am pretty sure I am supposed to tell Azriel," she protested weakly.

"You can tell him along with us," Feyre said firmly, gently tugging on her hair. "No keeping secrets from your family."

"Absolutely no keeping secrets from us," Nesta agreed. "If we find out you've had a bad day and haven't told us, I'll drag you to training with me."

Eira huffed out a weak chuckle at that because that was a very real threat if Nesta said it. There was no doubt in her mind that her sister would actually make her train with her until she dropped.

"You didn't come to us either," she told Nesta weakly.

"It doesn't matter," Nesta simply said, and her lips tugged into a small smile. "We're changing that now."

"We are," Feyre agreed, and her arms tightened around Eira again. "No more shutting us out. We're sisters. We deal with things together."

Eira let out a shaky breath, and a couple of tears fell down her cheeks as both Feyre and Nesta drew their bodies closer, enveloping her in their arms.

For a long, long moment, the three of them just lay there, soaking in each other's presence and Eira felt herself feeling...safe. Safe and loved.

"There better not be any more secrets," Feyre whispered after they had just laid there for a while, and Eira huffed out a small, dry chuckle.

"I don't have any more secrets," she mumbled, and Nesta let out a low scoff.

"Liar," Nesta told her, but there was no heat behind her words.

"I don't," Eira protested and felt Feyre's hands tighten around her.

"Don't worry," Feyre whispered soothingly, "if you don't have any now, you'll probably have more later," she said with a small smirk, and Eira groaned.

"That's not reassuring," she muttered, making Feyre laugh.

"Ah, but I imagine you'll have some secrets with Azriel eventually," Nesta teased her.

Eira's mouth dropped open at that, and her eyes went wide as a blush started up her cheeks. "I-I- you-"

Feyre snickered but was immediately interrupted by Nesta, who continued to speak, her tone as dry as a desert.

"Please, I don't need to a Seer to know that you two will be hiding quite a few things from us eventually," she said, and Eira suddenly wanted to bury her face against a pillow and die.

"Nesta," Eira protested weakly, but her sister just continued, and this time Feyre had clearly lost the fight against not laughing at her.

"Probably quite a few things at night," Nesta mused, and a strangled squeak came from Eira's mouth as Feyre cackled and her blush turned hotter.

"Can we...can we not...talk about this?" Eira protested, shoving her flushed face into a pillow. "Please?" she mumbled against it.

"Oh, come on," Feyre protested, "Don’t be such a prude about it! It's completely normal!"

Between a married couple! Not between…Not in a courtship!

Not…

"And I won't have my sister have anything but exceptional treatment from a male," Feyre said with a twinkling in her eyes.

“I-I-" Eiran tried to say something at that but found that her tongue had completely failed her. Exceptional treatment from a male...that was...what even meant that?

She hid her flaming face into the pillow again.

"Is he a good kisser?" Nesta asked, sounding curious. "Have you kissed?"

"I'm not answering that," Eira said firmly, her voice sounding very muffled as she kept her face pressed against the pillow. Feyre let out a soft snort.

"Oh, she's definitely kissed him," she said with a snicker as Eira made another protesting sound against the pillow.

"Has it been multiple times?" Nesta inquired, the words sending a jolt of something down Eira's spine, and Feyre let out another snicker.

"At least two," Feyre told her.

Eira made another strangled sound into the pillow because her sisters were not having this conversation. She was not having this conversation. This couldn't be happening.

“And have you done anything else?” Feyre asked her, her voice sounding amused, and Eira's head jerked up from the pillow almost comically fast.

"W-what?! N-no, of course not," she sputtered, her eyes wide and the blush on her cheeks very, very red.

"We aren't in the human lands," Feyre said with a shrug. "If two want more...well, then that's something that's between the two of you."

Maybe that was like it was in Prythian...but it wasn't ...it wasn't what Eira had...what Eira had...She had always been....she had always...Some things belonged in the marriage bed.

Some things were supposed to be between a wife and her husband.

"We-" Eira protested, sputtering for words again and trying to say something, anything, to distract them from the path this conversation was going, but found her brain entirely empty.

She had been taught...

"I...I-" she tried again, but her tongue would not make it past the lump forming in her throat. There were rules. There were rules for this.

"We aren't married," she whispered. They weren't married.

Those words went through her like thunder, making her swallow heavily. If they hadn't been married...well it meant that...it meant that everything that she had been taught growing up was...

That they were...they were allowed to...to do more than...

A shudder went through her at the implications of that realization, and Feyre's eyes were on her carefully, quietly studying her expression.

She had always been taught...she had been taught that everything that could be done with a man belonged in the marriage bed. That it was...impure to...to want to do such things.

"You don't have to do anything," Feyre told her quickly. "Azriel would never force you, you know that, right?"

"Yeah," Eira mumbled, and it came out more weakly than she would have liked. Because she did know that. She knew that, logically.

But a small part of her...a small part of her that had grown up being taught these things was...was terrified.

"What are you worried about?" Nesta asked her suddenly, and Eira's head jerked to her.

"W-what?" she stuttered again, and Nesta raised an eyebrow at her. "You clearly have something on your mind," she said evenly. "Something that has you terrified. What are you worried about?"

"I...I..." Eira mumbled, and her face burned red again. There was no way in hell she was telling them that. "It's nothing," she mumbled, but neither of her sisters looked convinced.

"Liar," Nesta said bluntly, and Eira flinched.

"That's not true, I'm-" she protested weakly, but her voice cut out when Nesta frowned at her. Oh, Gods "I'm...I'm just...worried that....I want...I don't-...What if he doesn't want me like that?" she suddenly stuttered and pressed her face again into the pillow.

There was a beat of stunned silence after she spoke, and suddenly Feyre snorted.

"Oh, you have no idea how much that male wants you," she said, a wicked grin on her lips.

"He would kill to have you," Nesta agreed, and Eira could practically hear the smirk in her voice "But only when you're ready, of course"

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x oc #azriel x reader #azriel fanfiction #azriel fanfic #Azriel x Archeron!Reader #the prophecy #Looked to the sky

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healinghyunjin · 7 months ago

Text

Blossom

Pairing: Kim Seungmin x Reader (fem)

Genre: crack, smut, fluff; historical!AU, magic!AU, fuck-or-die(ish)!AU, enemies(ish)-to-lovers!AU, 18+

Word Count: 6.5k

Warnings: swearing, explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, outdated sexual norms/attitudes, public sex.

Author’s Note: After another ~long~ hiatus... I'm back! The premise of this fic is heavily inspired by a super old, now deleted AO3 fic I once read for a now dead fandom (showing my age here for you children lol). I love navigating these forced interaction scenarios - so please let me know your thoughts! Feedback and reblogs are love as always - and I now have a Ko-Fi that I would really appreciate contributions to as well (linked in my Bio)! Thank you for your support~

Summary: But what this ritual required of you, the High Sorceress, was not just some spellwork or incantations - no, this ritual involved you losing your virginity. To your King - to Seungmin. On the High Table. In front of the entirety of the royal court.

You were sure you looked like a thundercloud - dark skirts swirling, white sparks crackling from your fingertips - as you stalked through the castle towards the royal chambers.

“Milady!” Changbin chased after you, your long-suffering knight trying his best to head you off. “His Majesty is in a council meeting right now,” he huffed out. “Maybe we can seek an audience another time?”

“I don’t ‘seek audiences’ from His Majesty, Bin,” the title grating in your mouth. “I talk to Kim Seungmin when I want to talk to Kim Seungmin - especially when he wants to pretend like I don’t exist.”

You were laying it on a bit thick. But you were the High Sorceress. You had no insignificant amount of pride yourself, and nothing made your temper flare like Seungmin outmaneuvering you - exactly like he’d just done.

You arrived at the heavy wrought iron doors of Seungmin’s private chambers and, with a swish of your palm, sent the doors flying open, almost rattling off their hinges. A tableful of lords turned around to gawk at you - but you only had eyes for the man at the head of the table. He leaned back in his chair, watching you stalk into the room with a barely concealed grin. “And there she is.” The faint note of humor in Seungmin’s voice made you want to wring his neck.

“Your Majesty,” you greeted in the frostiest voice you could muster up.

Seungmin smirked. “You only use my proper title when you’re fit to rip my throat out, Lady Sorceress.”

You ignored the barb. “We have an urgent matter to discuss, my lord.”

One of the old, stodgy lords piped up in a reedy, disapproving voice. “What can take precedence over matters of council and state, Sorceress?”

“Matters of national security, Lord Park.” Seungmin rose to his feet, making everyone else jump up to theirs as well. “Council is adjourned, my lords.”

You held your head high as the councilmen streamed out of the room around you, some barely bothering to disguise their resentment. Seungmin sauntered his way around the table, coming to stand right in front of you. You scowled as you inevitably had to tilt your head back just to look into his amused face.

“You’ve been avoiding me, my witch.”

“I wasn’t avoiding you,” you snapped back, cringing at how petulant you sounded even to your own ears.

Of course you’d been avoiding him. Ever since he’d slapped those scrolls down on your worktable a week ago now, you hadn’t been able to think about him without flushing, let alone be in the same room as him. It would be for the good of the people, he’d announced crisply, looking so tall and prim and regal as he towered over you sitting on your little garden stool. I’m sure you won’t see any harm in it. You’d scanned through the parchment, ignoring the scribe’s careful translations to parse the ancient runes yourself. It outlined an ancient magical ritual to replenish the barrier wards for your nation if they ever fell - which they had. But what this ritual required of you, the High Sorceress, was not just some spellwork or incantations - no, this ritual involved you losing your virginity. To your King - to Seungmin. On the High Table. In front of the entirety of the royal court.

Seungmin snapped you out of your thoughts with a brief “Ahem,” quirking a skeptical eyebrow at you. “I haven’t seen you in a week. Every time I’ve gone to your rooms since the day I gave you those scrolls, you’re conveniently ‘not there,’ and that poor fool,” he flicked a thumb over to point at Changbin, “is stuck trying - and failing - to make excuses for you.”

You shot a glare over at Changbin - he didn’t look sufficiently embarrassed of himself, but you would deal with that later. “Well, I’m here now, my lord. And I’d appreciate it if you could tell me how you unilaterally decided to add ‘Publicly Deflowering the High Witch’ to your agenda for this evening?”

You’d hoped to embarrass Seungmin, browbeat him - like you’d clearly done to Changbin, judging from the choking sound that came from next to you. But you’d underestimated your enemy.

Seungmin sighed, clasping his arms behind his back. “Because we don’t have a choice in the matter, my dear witch. If you’d allowed me the chance to actually talk to you this week, I could have convinced you of that, and you'd have had time to prepare yourself. But - you didn’t, and so, I had to force your hand.” You shuffled uncomfortably under his piercing stare as he continued. “I know you translated the runes yourself - you know just as well as I do that this ritual needs to be done soon. Now, if we don’t want the Eastern Army taking advantage and invading us as soon as they muster up the forces. But unlike you, my lady - I don’t have the luxury to pretend like this problem will go away if I ignore it.”

And that was exactly what you hated most about Kim Seungmin. He was smart and logical to a fault - enough so that he’d trained himself to not let pesky emotions get in the way of doing what needed to be done. You on the other hand… the less said the better on that front.

Before you could snark something back at him or even just bristle up, Seungmin stepped away from you, rubbing his hands together. “Now that that’s been settled, I’m sure you have no more objections. Anyways, you have a busy afternoon ahead of you, Lady Sorceress. I’ve sent several maids to your chambers to help ready you for this evening - I’m sure you remember how exact the runes were in terms of preparation.” Seungmin wasn’t even bothering to hide his grin as he dismissed you with a wave of his hand, striding out of the room.

That patronizing bastard. You briefly contemplated throwing a fireball at his laughing back - but being executed for treason wasn’t exactly the way you intended to go out.

With a deep, soul-weary sigh, you turned on your heel to leave, resigning yourself to your fate.

Of course, if you knew exactly how the rest of your afternoon was going to be spent, you might just have thrown that fireball at Seungmin and gotten it over with.

After that useless showdown, Changbin frogmarched you back to your rooms, handing you off to an actually intimidating keeper - Chaeryeong, your personal maid. But, to your even greater chagrin, she wasn’t alone. As promised, an army of maids descended on you, all charged with different vicious tasks - stripping your skin bare and smooth with hot sugar paste; kneading various herbal, floral unguents into your skin before dunking you into cold and hot baths; brushing your hair out until it fairly gleamed in the fading sunlight. By the time you were passed off to Chaeryeong for her final inspection, you almost didn’t recognize yourself in the mirror.

Chaeryeong clicked her tongue approvingly as she walked around you, tightening the laces on your virginal white chemise. “You finally look presentable, milady.”

You bristled. “Are you saying I usually don’t?”

“Last week I had to pull a twig out of your hair before sending you down to supper. There isn’t a single dress of yours that doesn’t have mudstains, milady, and you think a splash of cold water every morning or two is enough to care for your skin.” Chaeryeong looked scandalized.

You rolled your eyes. “Well, I’m glad one of us is satisfied with this situation.”

“You’re not?”

“Why in the name of the Goddess would I be?”

“Sleeping with a man who’s young, tall, handsome, powerful, wealthy,” Chaeryeong giggled as she counted off each word on her fingers, “isn’t the worst thing in the world, milady.” She flicked you a mischievous glance as she smoothly slid to stand behind you. “Especially when the man in question has a major soft spot for you.”

You scoffed. “Kim Seungmin doesn’t have a soft spot for me, Chae. He can't even be in the same room as me without snarking at me - and I can't remember the last time he actually said anything nice to me.”

Chaeryeong’s fingers stilled in your hair as she stared you down in the mirror. “You really believe that, don’t you?” You arched an eyebrow at her in response. She let out a deep sigh. “For such a brilliant witch… you really can be dense.” She shook her head before reaching over to grab flowers to weave into your hair. “I hope you realize - the one thing standing between him and war is you. Most men - especially a King - would have just tossed you onto that table and had their way with you. And maybe they would have begged your forgiveness and understanding afterwards - maybe, if they were worried about you cursing them into oblivion. No one else would have spent a whole week waiting to try and convince you into doing this willingly.”

You opened your mouth to snap something back in your defense... and realized you had nothing to say.

“See,” Chaeryeong murmured softly. “Sometimes it feels like you’re… willfully blind to His Majesty’s kindness towards you. He’s always treated you with respect - and made sure you’re treated with respect. I wouldn’t take that for granted, my lady - or ignore what’s behind that mask he puts up all the time.”

As she put the final touches on your hair, you couldn’t help but reflect on Chaeryeong’s words. You had extraordinary freedom and liberties as the High Sorceress…but no, that wasn’t exactly right. You were given extraordinary freedom and liberties as the High Sorceress - by your King. If it wasn’t for his unwavering support for you - against the Council, against any and all reactionary forces - you wouldn't hold any of the power you did. Sure, he riled you up, jerked you around a bit - and you still hated just how easily he could outwit you. But you were being childish to fixate on that - to lose sight of the forest for the trees.

“And here’s the final touch.” Chaeryeong sidled up to you with a long scrap of silk in her hands - your blindfold. “You’re not allowed to see His Majesty until the ritual starts.” Her quick fingers made short work of fastening it around your head - and being the jerk that she was, she put it on properly tight, making sure you couldn’t see a thing. “Maybe that’ll teach you to let yourself lean on him for once,” she mused, before pulling you up out of your chair with none too gentle hands.

Chaeryeong, as always, was right. You were completely unmoored by the loss of your sight, limiting your magical abilities too. You were forced to rely completely, like a baby, on Chaeryeong to guide you through the halls to the oldest wing of the castle - and you only realized that you were in front of Seungmin when the two of you came to a sudden halt, a reverent “Your Majesty” coming from her lips.

This was it.

Chaeryeong subtly pulled you down into a curtsy, pinching you in the back to make sure you stayed low as she stepped away from your side. From the sound of her sharp footsteps receding down the hall and the lack of any other noise around you, you presumed she’d left - and you were now alone with your King.

“You may rise.” Seungmin’s amused drawl sounded from somewhere high above your head. Disoriented by your imposed blindness, you stumbled a little as you stood up - but you were caught by warm hands encircling your arms, steadying you on your feet. “How low the high have fallen, hmm?” Such a tease, you thought. But the gentle tone of his voice, the circles his thumbs were rubbing into your arms… he was helping ground you, to put you more at ease - which only made you feel more guilty.

“My lord,” you started softly - earning a harsh inhale in surprise from Seungmin. “I… I owe you an apology. My behavior earlier today - for this entire week - has been immature and not fitting for a ranking member of your court. Forgive me for my negligence.” You made to dip into a curtsy again - but Seungmin’s grip on your arms tightened, keeping you from lowering yourself.

There was a heartbeat of silence before Seungmin responded, his voice more tender than you’d ever heard it. “I don’t know what prompted this… change, but - you don’t need to apologize. I knew we both knew this is what must be done, and I knew we were going to eventually do it - but that doesn’t make it any easier for you. You didn’t want this with me, and I know that.”

Why did that last statement sound a false note in your heart? You ignored it in favor of speaking out. “But I’ve spent the past week shirking my duty. You had to force me back in line.”

“And that is my responsibility as King, my sorceress. No harm done.” You could tell that he was leaning down closer to you, his voice loud and clear in your ear. “And remember - neither this kingdom nor I will ever forget this sacrifice.”

There was an oddly charged moment of silence after that statement - which was abruptly broken by the sensation of the ground suddenly falling away from under you. You gasped as surprisingly sturdy arms lifted you up until you were cradled against a lean, hard chest. “Seungmo!” You squeaked, the childhood nickname slipping past your lips. “S-since when were you strong enough to do this?”

There was a pause - you were positive that Seungmin had rolled his eyes at you. “Just because I don’t have bulging biceps like that bodyguard of yours doesn’t mean that I’m a weakling, witch.”

“Well, it won’t be good to kick things off with you tripping over your feet carrying me in,” you muttered sulkily.

You couldn’t hold back a shiver as Seungmin tsked, his warm breath ghosting across the sensitive shell of your ear. “Such disrespect for your king? Bold, given that you’re at my mercy for the next hour.”

“Next hour? That ego of yours is still clearly giant.”

Seungmin let out a husky laugh. “It’s not the size of my ego you should be worried about right now, sweet.” You thumped a useless fist against his chest - even as your core involuntarily clenched and slickened.

There was a ear-ringingly loud blast of trumpets, followed by the creak of the gates to the ancient hall being pushed open. The murmurs and chatter of the crowd awaiting your arrival fell silent, an almost eerie hush settling in as Seungmin strode into the hall. Even with the enormous fire spluttering away in the ancient hearth, the room was always chilly; gooseflesh pimpled your arms, and you almost automatically burrowed closer into Seungmin’s neck for warmth - at least, that’s what you told yourself. The sharp raps of Seungmin’s footsteps against the flagstones came to a halt, and you were securely sat onto a hard surface - the High Table. Your sacrificial altar, you mused to yourself cynically.

You jumped a little as you felt gentle fingers clasp your hands, giving you a firm squeeze. Those warm fingertips then ghosted across your cheeks, twining through your hair as they searched for the knot of your blindfold. Your heart was bounding in your chest, blood roaring in your ears as Seungmin leaned into you, that familiar, titilatingly musky scent of his flooding your senses as he worked to unravel the tight knot, until the blindfold finally came free.

You blinked your eyes open to mellow, golden light - and the sight of Seungmin standing over you, watching you carefully with a small, soft smile. The great hall was awash with candlelight, long tapering candles and sticks of smoking perfume burning all around you, throwing the faces of the crowd of onlookers beyond you into shadow - but bathing Seungmin in glorious, warm light. He looked impeccably regal as he stood above you in his smart black leather doublet and swan white shirtsleeves, his royal purple ermine-edged cloak clasped around his throat. His hair was up, brushed off his forehead, and the gold of his royal circlet shone out bright against the ink black of his hair - but the brightest of all were his eyes, warm and deep brown, steady and clear as he - your King, you truly felt down to your bones for the first time - held your gaze.

Taking a deep breath, you let yourself fall back, the ancient stone of the table icy against your spine. While you couldn’t see any of the spectators surrounding you and Seungmin - the vaulted ceiling of the great hall the only thing in your line of sight - it felt like you could sense their gaze prickling across your skin, weighing you down. But before you could let your mind wander too far, Seungmin was there, leaning over you with those broad, square shoulders, blocking your sight of anything but him. You felt your cheeks flame as his hand came up to cup your face, and your heart skipped a beat as he pressed a petal soft kiss to your forehead, breathily whispering into your skin. “It will be good, my sweet. Trust me.”

Maybe Chaeryeong was onto something… You searched his eyes, finding so much affection and reassurance beaming back at you that you blinked your own shut - before giving him a brief nod.

He let his lips drag over to your temple, then down to your cheek, leaving open mouthed kisses in his wake as his lips trailed lower and lower, down your jawline, down your neck - and lower. Your mind reeled, your hands fisting the flimsy material of your gown. This was supposed to be brief and impersonal - you’d even readied a lubrication charm in preparation for the inevitable. But you should have known that Seungmin wouldn’t just do an adequate job like that. You were fighting for your life to stay silent as he added his teeth into the mix, working the thin, sensitive skin of your throat until you felt the sickly sweet pain of a bruise forming. His hand slid down from your cheek so he could softly thumb at the mark - his mark - marring your skin, and when he pressed down just right on the bruise, you whimpered - and watched as his eyes darkened to black.

From there, he was insatiable. Your hands flew up to his shoulders at the swipe of his tongue against your hardening nipple; they desperately slid to clutch at his hair when he took it whole into his mouth, the wet heat tantalizing even through the cotton of your chemise. He palmed your neglected breast hard, the soft flesh spilling through his fingers. A whine finally tore itself free from your throat, and Seungmin snapped his head up to look at you, lips twisting into a triumphant smirk. “I thought you weren’t going to enjoy this, Lady Sorceress.” His fingers came up to tweak your nipple - hard - as he mouthed carelessly at your other breast, his eyes watching you hungrily as you writhed under his touch. The pleasure carried you away on a hazy cloud of lust, into the dreamland of dangerous possibilities. What would it feel like to have this dumb chemise out of the way, so his fingers and lips could traipse your naked skin? What would it feel like to have the heat of his bare skin pressed up against yours - the weight and friction of his hard chest crushing into your sensitive breasts?

Your attention was yanked back into the land of the living at sudden, discordant noise: gasps and murmurs, you quickly realized, rippling through your audience - for your King was dropping to a knee at your feet, hands sliding with promise up your legs under your chemise. You shot up onto your elbows, staring down at him in horror. “Your Majesty,” you hissed. “This is wanton.”

Seungmin arched an eyebrow. “I’d rather be wanton than have you in pain at my hands.” You felt a traitorous flutter in your chest. “And most importantly - when you have the kingdom’s most powerful woman laid out in front of you... you worship her.”

Those large, long-fingered hands of his found purchase in the soft skin of your inner thighs, forcing them spread and keeping them spread with that hidden strength of his. He let out a small groan at the sight of your swollen folds, dragging a single, deliberate fingertip down the length of your slit. At the very first touch of his soft lips to your sensitive bundle of nerves, you choked out a moan - and startled as the candles around you all simultaneously popped. From between your legs, Seungmin laughed darkly. “Looks like I won’t need to ask you whether I’ve done a good job,” he said, the sensation of his breath and lips against your core making you squirm with stimulation. His hands slid up to your hips, anchoring you in place as he lapped languidly at your cunt, tongue flicking in and out of your aching entrance, nose rubbing up against your swollen little pearl.

There was no chance in hell you could stay quiet any more. As a moaning keen spilled forth from your lips, your eyes flicked up to the shadowy figures in the crowd watching you. You’d thought they would be judgmental - critical, gossipy, as people always were in situations like this. Instead… there wasn’t a face you could make out that wasn’t flushed, expression glazed over. Seungmin slid his arms under your legs, yanking you down the table until the base of your spine rested on the very edge of the table, your core putty under his mouth as he supported your weight - and you watched as some woman in the crowd whimpered, biting her lip in response.

Your head lolled back onto the table, and you started shuddering in Seungmin’s hands.

“I guess I was wrong about needing an hour.” With a final kiss to your folds, Seungmin rose to his feet, leisurely wiping his mouth on the back of one hand, the other drifting down to the laces of his trousers. “I didn’t anticipate just how thoroughly you would enjoy my attentions, my witch.” Tease. His eyes danced with mirth as you whined in annoyance. You felt the blunt tip of him dragging through your folds, its weight catching deliciously against the tight ring of your entrance. “I’ll start slow,” he murmured, a hand coming up to brace himself above your head. And from the first breach of his length into your walls, you knew you were in trouble.

“Big,” you gasped out. Seungmin let his free hand run loose over the flesh of your thighs and hips, kneading and caressing and soothing. “Relax for me, sweet - it’ll be easier if you let me in.” His voice was breathy and soft, eyes so warm - daresay loving - as he leaned in over you, covering your body with his. You gave him a small nod, breathing deeply and doing your best to let your body sink into the stone under you. As he carefully, firmly worked the rest of his length into your tight cunt, you couldn’t help but whimper, eyes squeezing shut at the deep, deep stretch of him, your spine arching off the table as your body contorted to accommodate him. “Beautiful,” he murmured, pupils dilated with lust. “Made to take me.”

And as the sting and discomfort started to morph into the burning, insatiable stretch of pleasure, you were inclined to agree with him.

“Let me know when I can move, sweet,” he asked, the flat of his hand rubbing soothing circles into your lower belly. “Please,” you rasped out - and the delightedly vicious grin that curled his lips in response only sent another surge of fire through you. Your limbs ached to twine around him, pulling him down into you, imprisoning him between your legs - but you were determined to maintain some public decorum. Seungmin made the decision for you though, salaciously bold as ever as he leaned forward into you, splaying your legs out wide, knees almost to your chest. He tested the waters with a rapid snap of his hips in and out - and the two of you stared at each other with wide eyes at just how deep it all felt in this position. Seungmin’s hips started rocking back and forth, almost as if on their own volition - almost as if they were enchanted - and your hands desperately scrabbled for purchase on the unyielding stone as he started pounding into you.

Your hips canted up into his, trying to answer his thrusts with your own. And you were clearly doing something right, judging by his drawn out groans. “Mine,” he moaned. As he bore down on you, every thrust ground delicious friction into your bundle of nerves - and Seungmin’s hips were driving into yours at such a punishing pace that you were overwhelmed by stimulation. You were sure the two of you were making an absolute mess, the squelching sounds of him pumping into you only growing louder with every thrust. Just with his lips and nose and tongue, the friction and sensation and pleasure had all already brought you close to the cliff of your peak. You knew it wasn’t going to be much longer now before he dragged you over - but there was something positively strange happening to you. Your pleasure was merely riding the edge of some deeper, powerfully visceral sensation that had you gasping, shivering with every plunging stroke. But Seungmin, your ever-wise, your ever-aware Seungmin, had cottoned onto what was happening to you - and wrapping you tightly up into his arms, he only picked up the pace of his hips. “Let go, sweet,” he eked out. “I’ve got you safe, here - let go, my queen.” And before your mind could even process what he’d just given away, you felt yourself clenching up, eyes squeezing shut and nerves singing in pleasure as you hit your release - the pain of your fingers digging into the broad expanse of his back, the spasms of your tight cunt triggering Seungmin’s release simultaneously, spurts of his hot, thick seed flooding into your core, serving as a balm for your aching walls as he collapsed into your waiting arms.

Before you could let the waves of pleasure carry away your mind with it, however - your eyes shot open at the gasps and shouts coming from around you. Gold - that was all you could see - a golden bubble encasing you and your King. Seungmin lifted his head up from where it was pillowed on your chest, a look of pure wonder on his face as the two of you watched the bubble slowly float and collapse inwards, coalescing into a glowing yellow orb hovering above all of your heads. The hazy whorls of incense and candle smoke in the air took on a bright golden hue - before it all whooshed outwards in a rapid gust of wind, rattling the windows of the hall as the orb and its golden mist exploded out into the sky . You recognized the magic for what it was - the largest, purest barrier charm you’d ever witnessed.

You and Seungmin had pulled it off. A giggle of delight squeezed out of your chest, and you let your gaze snap back down to the man resting on his elbows over you. Seungmin was watching you with a small, mysterious smile, panting slightly as he tried to catch his breath. And as you looked back at him… you felt a wave of emotion wash over you, as powerful as if the ground had literally shifted under your feet. An almost unbearable fondness filled your heart as you beheld him - your King, your protector…your lover.

You had been right about one thing - there would be no going back from this, at least for you. But now you found yourself wondering… why was that such a bad thing?

Ignoring the shuffling footsteps around you as your audience slowly started to disperse, you let your arms wrap around Seungmin, relishing the feeling of his muscles bunching under your touch as he slid his arms in turn around you, helping you to sit upright. His dark eyes were fixed on the place the two of you were joined as he slowly extricated himself from you, the feeling of his sticky seed trickling out from between your legs strange and foreign. That ever intelligent, searching gaze then slowly scanned your body, looking you over head to toe as he tucked himself away in his trousers, before his eyes fluttered shut. Seungmin let out a slow exhale before blinking his eyes open again - and you were startled to see that professional mask of his slide back into place.

“Up you go,” he murmured, arm sliding around your back as he helped you off the table, supporting you as your legs quailed under your weight. With a few deft pulls, he unfastened his cloak, wrapping it around your shoulders instead. You were thankful for the warmth it provided - and the coverage, you realized, as you noticed the servants hovering at a respectful distance from the two of you. “Give me a second,” Seungmin said before turning away to address his valet and knight-at-arms.

One of the maids stepped forward, a fan in her hand to put out the few lingering candles. Before you could even hesitate on what to do, she dipped into a low curtsy, bowing her head - to you. “Your Highness,” she breathed out, an almost reverent look on her face as she glanced back up at you. Awkward with the unfamiliar courtesy, you smiled hesitantly, tilting your head at her in acknowledgement.

How had you misjudged this situation so badly? Part of your hesitation leading up to all of this had been because you’d thought that you’d be made out to be a slag - no better than the King’s kept woman. Why hadn’t you appreciated the power inherent in this? With the spectacular care with which he’d pleasured you, with the demonstration of your magic in front of the whole court, Seungmin had marked you - just as he’d told you with those hungry eyes - out to be the most powerful woman in the kingdom.

You snapped out of your thoughts to see Seungmin making his way back to stand in front of you. You frowned to see that mask of his still in place, a strange awkwardness in his manner as he addressed you. “I can help you back to your rooms now. Or,” he turned to gesture behind him, “one of the servants can take you if you prefer.”

You arched a critical eyebrow at him. “Could we go to your chambers instead?”

His eyes widened for a second, before you watched understanding wash over his face. “Ah yes, that was careless of me - there’s too many stairs to get back to your chambers. You can rest in mine as long as you need.”

Wrapping an arm loosely around you, he let you lean on him as the two of you walked out of the hall. His rooms weren’t too far away, the royal chambers taking up a significant portion of the ancient wing of the castle. But an awkward silence reigned over the two of you, Seungmin stoically looking straight ahead as you limped along beside him.

Something had clearly changed in you - because for once, instead of being the reactive fool you normally were, you saw the situation - and his reaction - for what it actually was. Seungmin was taking his turn to be the awkward overthinker - a role he’d grown out of once he’d become King… except when it came to a few specific things he couldn’t stay purely rational about. The things he cared about the most, the things that mattered most deeply… in this case - you.

You sighed. You’d probably need to gift Chaeryeong a necklace or something after all of this was over.

You bided your time until Seungmin finally shut the two of you into his chambers. He’d turned away to lock the doors behind him - and startled when he turned back around to find you standing right in front of him. As you stared up at him, watching his lips twitch in discomfort… you came to a shocking realization.

“You never kissed me,” you breathed out, even more surprised as you said it. He’d kissed you literally everywhere else - but he hadn’t touched your lips. You gazed up at him with wide eyes. “Why?”

Seungmin shifted uncomfortably. “It felt too…intimate.”

What? “You took my virginity - in public. We unleashed a magical force field together,” you deadpanned, trying to get a laugh out of him - and failing, as Seungmin continued to look at you stoically. “I’d say that’s pretty intimate, my lord.”

He shrugged, hugging his arms around him and hesitating for a second - before bluntly, in Seungmin fashion, getting to the heart of the matter. “The reality is that… freely given sacrifice, prophecy, whatever you want to call it - I took something from you that you didn’t mean for me to have.” It was a testament to Seungmin’s poise that his voice stayed even, his eyes stayed steadily on you as he spoke. “I wanted you to have something - a part of you - you could still give away of your own will.” He sagged heavily into the doorframe, finally breaking eye contact as he trailed off.

Poor baby. Your heart fluttered. “That is… quite thoughtful of you, my lord,” you choked out, taking a small step forward. Then another. And another, inching towards him. “So - that means it’s alright with you for me to do this, right?” Reaching up, you twined your arms around his neck, pulling yourself up onto your tiptoes to press your body into his. His hands reflexively grabbed your waist, steadying you even as his eyes widened in surprise - before fluttering shut as you pressed your lips to his.

His mouth was divine heat - soft, pliable against yours. He gasped as you nipped at his lower lip, and you seized the chance to lick into his mouth, deepening the kiss until your head was whirling, ignorant of where you ended and he began.

When you finally pulled away for air, his lips chased yours for a second before he caught himself. You giggled, beaming up at him. “How low the high have fallen, hmm?”

Seungmin let out a low warm laugh, such fondness in his eyes that you couldn’t help but shy away. “I have much, much lower to fall still, don’t worry,” he murmured as he bent down over you, his hair falling into his eyes as he smiled. In a single, smooth movement, he flipped the two of you around so he had you pinned up against the wall, his body pressed firmly into yours.

You cleared your throat. “Y-you really like having me against hard surfaces, don’t you?”

He shrugged, focus elsewhere as his fingers busied themselves with the laces of your chemise. “Seems like it’s the only way to keep you good for me, witch mine.” You whined as his hand accidentally grazed your sore, tender nipple, the sound making his eyes snap back to yours. A dark, wicked smile curled his lips before he crashed his mouth back onto yours, long fingers working your breast deliberately, possessively. You responded with enthusiasm, tangling your own fingers into his silky hair, until the spell was broken - for you at least - by loud noises from outside his chambers.

You pulled away from his lips with a loud smack. “What’s that?”

“Never mind that,” he rasped out, pulling you in tight against him. “Worry about it later.” Your breath hitched as he nosed his way into your neck, pulling at the loosened neck of your chemise to expose your collarbone for him to feast on.

Steeling yourself, you pushed your hands firmly against his chest. “Seungmo, I want to worry about it now.” He groaned, rolling his eyes, but let you go without a fight, releasing you from his embrace. Turning on your heel, you tugged him along to his balcony. The sounds had seemed to come from the royal gardens, which were sprawled right below Seungmin’s chambers. Pulling your cloak - his cloak - more tightly around you, you stepped out onto the balcony - and froze, as an astounding sight brought the two of you to a standstill.

Wherever you looked - below you, around you - every single plant and tree was in abundant bloom. Regardless of season, of age - fruit and flowers were everywhere, swinging in the breeze, littering the ground. You turned to Seungmin in shock - only to see him looking back at you with loving, wondrous awe. “That’s all you,” he murmured, brushing a fond hand against your cheek. “My powerful, mesmerizing sorceress.”

You flushed. “No, it’s not.” You stepped closer to him, wrapping your arms around his waist. “It’s us.” You tiptoed up to press a kiss into his cheek - and promptly hid into Seungmin’s neck as whoops and cheers rang up to you from the gardens below.

Seungmin laughed, tucking you into his side as he led the two of you back inside. “Well, you know what this means,” he said.

You quirked an eyebrow at him. “What?”

Shooting a dazzling smile your way, he caught you up in his arms once again, the heady sensation already warm and familiar to you - before peremptorily throwing you onto his bed.

“The fate of the flora of this kingdom is in our hands, Lady Sorceress.” He intoned in a faux serious voice - made only the more ridiculous by the sight of him crawling on all fours towards you on the bed. “We have crucial work to do, milady - and we must start posthaste.”

You threw your head back in laughter before wrapping your limbs around him. “Yes, my lord - let’s start immediately.”

Fin.

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moonstruckme · 1 year ago

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I would love if you wrote something with poly!marauders and they just being so protective over reader. Like maybe they’re at a party and one always has to have a hand on her and just like always holding her drink and watching out for her 🥲 maybe reader doesn’t even notice it because it’s so normal until someone else points it out

Thanks for requesting!

cw: alcohol

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 733 words

“Rem,” you nose at your boyfriend’s cheek. “Sip, please?”

Remus pauses his conversation to pass you your cup. You drink out of it for a moment, but the second it’s lowered from your lips he’s reclaiming it, fingers curled over the rim to keep the top safely covered with his palm.

“He’s so paranoid,” you complain to Sirius, who’s got his own hand wrapped around your thigh and is kneading the doughy flesh absentmindedly. “Where do you suppose James has run off to?”

Sirius takes a languid sip of his own drink, eyes skimming over the faces in the room. “M’not sure, darling. Kitchen, maybe? Oi!” He glares at John Leedy in the corner. “Your girlfriend know you’re looking at other tits like that, Leedy?”

John goes scarlet, and Remus looks up to scowl at him too as Sirius stands, offering you a hand.

“C’mon, babe, let’s go find him. Moons, we’re going to find James.” Remus nods, still holding your drink as he resumes chatting with the others.

Sirius slings an arm around your shoulders as you walk, casting noxious looks at John over your shoulder the entire way. In the kitchen, you find James sitting on the counter surrounded by half-empty bottles of alcohol and mixers. He’s deep in conversation with Lily and Mary, but his attention swings to the two of you as soon as you enter, his loose, easy grin brightening.

Mary sees it and turns around to find the source, calling you over. “I feel like I haven’t seen you all night,” she says, hugging you. “Want me to make you a drink?”

You nod eagerly, but James seizes up the booze before Mary can get to it. “No way, heavy-hand,” he teases, holding it out of her reach. “I saw you make your own, it’s at least half rum. I’ve gotcha, sweetheart.” He turns to you with an angelic smile. “What’ll you have?”

You give Mary an apologetic shrug before batting your eyelashes at your boyfriend. “A rum and coke, please.”

“Coming up, pretty girl.”

Mary watches his pour skeptically, and Lily scoffs when he puts down the bottle, reaching for the coke. “Okay, that was maybe a teaspoon of rum,” she says. “Think you guys could let her off her leash long enough to have some fun every once and awhile?”

“She’s having fun,” Sirius argues, gripping you around the hips to lift you onto the counter beside James. He pushes up between your legs, giving you a dazzling smile. “Aren’t you, babydoll?”

Laughter bubbles readily out of your alcohol-lubricated throat, and you clench your thighs around Sirius’ middle, giving him a good squeeze. “Whaddya mean, my leash?” you ask Lily.

“I’m just saying, maybe the reason we haven’t seen you all night is because these ones—” She slaps at Sirius’ hand where it roves the curve of your hip, and he pulls it back with a wounded look. “—won’t keep their hands off you long enough to let you go anywhere.”

“Nobody’s stopping her from going where she pleases,” James says. “We’re just keeping an eye on her, making sure she can have fun without anybody bothering her or giving her alcohol poisoning.” He sticks his tongue at the other two girls as he finishes your drink, giving the cup a good swirl to ensure it’s all mixed up, but when he turns to pass it to you, he’s all sweetness. “You don’t mind, do you lovie?”

You take a sip. It’s syrupy sweet and biteless on your tongue. “No,” you say into James’ warm brown eyes, “I don’t mind.”

“She’s been hypnotized.” Mary throws up her hands, but she’s smiling. “There’s no hope for her now, they’ve got her in their thrall.”

You laugh, and James grins at the sound, leaning down to press the tip of his nose to yours. “You agree with them, hm? You think we’ve got you hypnotized?”

You press your lips to his, a lightning quick kiss that has your teeth clacking together from your mirrored smiles, and a denial is on the tip of your tongue before Sirius’ hand, the one on the opposite side of you from Lily and Mary, slips beneath your leg. His fingers roam wickedly over skin no one can see, nails just barely grazing your soft inner thigh.

You swallow, words lost to you, and Sirius grins.

“I’ll take that for a yes.”

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hellvcifer · 8 months ago

Text

CARING FOR YOU WHEN YOU'RE SICK— ଘ drabbles ┆part 1

ft. pairings :: blitzø, stolas, poly!fizz/ozzie, poly!moxxie/millie // gn!reader wc :: 4.3k note :: i am still trying to flush out this sickness! it's awful but here's some more drabbles. ozzie and fizzy's is so long omg i have fizzmodeus brain rot and got carried away !! warnings :: canon typical language, pet names used instead of y/n (darling, dear, honey, bunny, babe, baby, pumpkin, sweetie), reader throws up, descriptions of throwing up, blitzø using insults as pet names, a little suggestive (blitzø and fizzmodeus)

꒰ BLITZØ ꒱

Moxxie held the phone away from his ear as he heard you trail into another coughing fit. “Can you please just tell him I can’t make it in today?”

“You should really call him yourself.” He paced, worry etched into his brow. Millie glanced at him in concern. “If I tell him you’re sick–”

“Dont!” Your plugged nose filtered your voice. “Don’t tell him I’m sick…”

“What, why?” Moxxie paused, thinking about his boss and what exactly could happen if he were to say something. “Nevermind.” He shook his head. “What exactly am I supposed to tell him?”

“Tell who, what?”

“Gyah!” Moxxie jolted, phone flying out of his hand as he zipped to turn and face his boss. Blitzø entered, eyes scanning the room. “Uh, nothing, Sir!”

“As much as I would love to tear you a new hole and fuck it, Mox, I have more important matters. Like finding out where the fuck my assistant is.” He frowned, realizing you hadn’t shown up yet.

“Oh, uh, right!” Moxxie glanced at Millie, searching for some sort of answer.

“Out!” She spoke up, hands slamming on the table as she stood from her seat. “Told us to let you know! Something about picking up a recent order made for an upcoming client.”

“Fuck yeah!” Blitzø grinned before glaring, “See Mox, that’s how you get shit done. Instead of sitting here on your ass, jerking off.”

“What? But Sir–”

“Anyways!” He strutted past the two and waltzed into his office. “Don’t bother me, I’ve got important shit I’m doing in here!” His words were followed by the slam of the door. Moxxie and Millie shared eye contact before releasing a relieved sigh.

Blitzø immediately walked over to his desk, lounging back in his chair and kicking his feet up. The place felt a bit off without you around. Typically, you two would sneak off into his office to hang out or mess around when you didn’t have any client work.

He opened the drawers and saw the makeshift mini-figures he created of Millie, Moxxie, and you. A huge grin appeared on his lips, tongue sticking out happily. He knows exactly how to pass the time until you get back in the office.

Except, you hadn’t come into the office for the rest of the day. Which okay, sure, you’re probably busy. But, eventually the one day turned into two; and then three; and now four. He stared down at his phone, seeing the last text you sent him five days ago. He really meant to send something, to check up on you. But would you even care if you hadn’t reached out to him first?

His eyes widened, jaw falling slack at the thought. That is until he heard Millie call out your name in an excited tone. He smiled instantly and jumped his desk, nearly ripping the door to his office off the hinges.

“Fucking finally you show up!” He leaned against the frame, a smirk appearing on his face with his brow raised. Until he couldn’t find you. “What the–”

Millie was huddled over Moxxie’s shoulder, looking down at her phone in his hands. Loona was chilling at her desk watching videos on her own phone. “Oh, sorry, Sir. We just got a text… That’s all.”

They got a text? And not him? He gritted his teeth. “Okay, what the fuck do you– I mean. I’m the boss so– Fuck! You know what! They’re fired! See how they get by without a job, that Ass fucker.”

“Uh, Blitzø?” Millie tried to calm him down. “You’re not actually gonna fire–”

“Oh don’t you worry your little head about it, Millie!” He stomped into a pace in front of the white board. “I’ll find out wherever the fuck they’ve been hiding and make sure–”

Loona’s phone went off, interrupting Blitzø’s rampage. Everyone stopped to look at her when she picked it up. “Hey… Yeah… You need more? Already? Yeah that’s fine… I’ll see you soon.” She hung up. The silence in the room caused her eyes to slide over to the others. They all blinked at her.

“Oh no! You’re not going to see anyone missy!” Blitzø wagged his finger at her. She stood up, weight shifting to one side as she jutted her hip out. “Not until we find out where my shit face assistant is hiding!”

“Are you serious?” Loona frowned at him. “They’re at their apartment.”

“What.”

“I’ve been dropping stuff off these past few days while–”

“Oh that sexy dick sucker is gonna fucking pay!” He stormed out, not even hearing the rest of what Loona was going to say. She huffed.

“I’m not dealing with that.” She sat down in her chair again and went back to her phone. As much as she didn’t mind helping you while you recovered, she wasn’t going to try to interfere with the relationship you had with her dad.

You felt your body tense at the loud noise heard from beyond your bedroom. Someone had knocked on your front door. You churned it up to one of your neighbors or someone with the wrong address and slowly closed your eyes once more.

The incessant banging prevented you from falling back to sleep. Now, a familiar voice had tacked on to the noise and caused you to let out a groan.

“Alright Dipshit, I know you’re in there! Open up the fuck up!”

Knowing he’d eventually bust the door off the hinges or break the window, you arose from your sickened bedding and shuffled towards the front door with your blanket. “Go away!” You shouted, followed by a few short coughs. That stopped his thumping.

“Gross, why the fuck do you sound like that?”

“Oh fuck you, Blitzø!” You really had zero patience. The past few days your flu has only been getting worse. Loona tried to help out with the few things she brought over but whatever sickness you had was stubborn as hell.

It was quiet… You encircled your blanket tighter around you as you got closer to the door, looking through the peephole and seeing that he was no longer there. Damn. Guess that worked. Which was odd knowing Blitzø.

“What the shit is this?!” Shouting came from your bedroom, followed by shuffling feet and your door slamming open to reveal the person you thought had left. You narrowed your eyes at him.

“Oh my Satan.” You rolled your eyes and walked over to your couch, feeling yourself become overly hot. “You can’t just break in when I don’t open the door!” You relinquished your blanket while sitting down. “I told you to leave!”

“Yeah right!” He strutted over. “Just tell me the real reason you’re avoiding me!” Your eyes widened.

“What?”

“You may think your sorry ass was gonna get away with this,” He began pacing in front of your couch. “But I’ve got you all figured out.” He gestured wildly with his words.

“Blitzø.”

“Texting with M&M… having my own Loonie visit you… not talking with me at all!”

“Blitzø!”

“You really think it could go on without me–”

“I’m sick you dumbass!” You shouted and spurred a few coughs from you. He paused, slowly turning towards you. He finally took a real good look at your form. Runny nose that was rubbed to dry, bleary eyes, sunken cheeks.

His eyes widened. “You mean… You didn’t just play hooky to avoid me?”

“No!” You shook your head. “Satan no, I would love to be at work right now.”

Blitzø sighed and glanced at your bedroom, seeing the trail of snotty tissues he pushed through to get to your living room. “Well that explains those.”

You tried to smile, though it came off wearily. “Not to mention, I’ve thrown up twice already.” He glanced back at you. “And that’s just today!” It was quiet as he peered at the floor.

He walked over, sitting next to you. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Your eyes met his, seeing them drill into your own with a hidden desire of curiosity and… hurt.

“Because…” You glanced away. “Clients have been slow… And, when I saw the rush of appointments we had this week, I didn’t want anything to mess it up or… Be in the way.” You squeezed your hands around your arms.

You felt something gently encircling your waist before yanking you closer to Blitzø. You peered down to see the tip of his tail. He rested his head against your own, sighing. “Fucking idiot.” He whispered. And although it was an insult, you know that it was from a place of endearment.

You scoffed a laugh before poking him in the chest. “You’ll get sick.” You tried to push him away. He merely brushed your hands away and pulled you closer to him.

“Fuck it, a few days off of work doesn’t sound so bad.”

“Except I’ll be the one that has to take care of your whiny ass when you do get sick.”

He glanced at you. “Damn… your raspy voice is making my dick so hard right now.” He wiggled his eyebrows a few times. “Wanna fuck?” He smirked.

Leaning in, you feel a flutter within your stomach.“Oh~ Blitzø.” You whined, eyes half-lidded. Your cheeks filled with liquid before releasing the contents of your soup from earlier. Chunks flew onto his lap and all over the couch. The horrid taste coated your tongue as leftover bile leaked down your chin.

Blitzø sighed, slowly pushing your heaving face away from his dick. “Yeah I probably deserved that.”

꒰ STOLAS ꒱

The bird prince had just finished preparing himself, placing his crown on and taking one last glance in the mirror. He would be meeting you soon and wanted to look his best considering you both would be spending the whole day together. His phone buzzed and he chirped with excitement. He made quick steps over to his phone with a smile. That is, until he saw your text.

Stolas honey, I can’t make it. I’m so sorry. I think I’ve caught some kind of flu. Can we reschedule?

He felt his brows crease immediately, frown sinking its way onto his lips. “Flu?” He questioned. Well this wasn’t good at all. His fingers immediately began typing.

Hello darling, I’m so sorry to hear that… Perhaps we could be together even while you're sick. A little company while feeling ill always seems to help me. Would you like it if I came over? I could help take care of you while you recover. I don’t mind really, I just want to make sure you have everything you need to feel better. Of course, we don’t have to if you don’t want to

He anxiously awaited a reply, pacing across his room in front of his vanity. Did he come off too needy? Maybe he should have just wished you to feel better and be on his way. But how could he when his loved one is feeling sick? He saw that you read the messages and were currently typing. The bubbles went away a few times and with each passing second, he felt his stomach twist with nerves.

I really want to see you… But I would hate for you to get sick :(

His response back was almost immediate.

No problem at all darling, I promise. A little sickness won’t harm me. I’ll see you in a few <3

After reading his text back, you wearily smiled. As much as you wanted to tell him not to come, in fear of him catching whatever bug you had, you were desperately hoping to see him today. Things had been hectic in both of your schedules so it had been awhile since you two had seen each other. Let alone have time to go out and do activities together.

And of course, Satan was a bitch and chose today of all days to curse you. Or should you say, this entire week he’s been testing your limit. It started out as a small cough and runny nose. It might have gone away faster if you weren’t so stubborn, but that little bit turned into a full blown, body ache and fever.

You laid back down in your bed, placing your phone on your bedside table and sighing. It will be nice to see Stolas, that’s for sure. Having been away from him for so long was taking its toll on you. He really did recharge your draining battery. You closed your eyes, thinking about his caring nature and loving words. Oh to see him will possibly end this sickness instantly.

Stolas pulled his phone out and texted that he had arrived. He grabbed the bags from his car and waved his chauffeur away. The car drove off as he walked up to your door. He knocked a few times, hoping it wouldn’t be much trouble for you to answer. “Darling?” He called out but received no answer. The prince called your cell but again, no answer. He huffed, wondering if you decided on not wanting to see him. Or what if… You were really sick. So sick that you were dying!

Stolas broke in immediately, feet trailing through your place as if he lived there. He found his way into your bedroom, opening the door and seeing you in bed. A long breath escaped his worried lungs, feeling relief when he saw your chest moving in a deep sleep as he walked over.

“Oh, my dear.” He placed a hand on his chest, kneeling down to the side of your bed. Stolas felt an ache grow within his heart as he gazed at your form. Sweaty, shaking, breathless. You appeared tired even as you slept. “My darling, why would you push yourself like this.” He could simply tell that you didn’t get sick today alone, but were most likely not taking care of yourself as you should have been.

His hand reached out, caressing your overly warm forehead before raking his fingers lightly along your scalp. The motion slowly brought you awake, eyes fluttering open to see your lover aside your bed.

“Stolas.” You smiled dreamily before realizing he had arrived. You pushed yourself up. “Oh my goodness, I feel asleep!” Your eyes were wide as your outburst shocked him. Sitting up so quickly, you felt pressure bloom in your head and held it. “Ow…”

“Careful, dear.” He placed a hand on your leg, circling it to soothe you with some comfort. “I’m here now. You don’t have to worry your sick–” He booped your nose. “–little head about anything.” He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I’ll always be here to take care of you.”

꒰ ASMODEUS & FIZZAROLLI ꒱

“Hm?” You felt your blurred vision focus on the jester in front of you, headache making itself even more prominent the more you tried to will it away.

“Agree with my choice for dinner after the show tonight!” He bounced in place, arms motivating his movements.

“Oh, uh… Yeah sure.” You stood up and quickly walked over to your vanity, a shaky hand reaching out for the edge as you sat. Asmodeus and Fizz watched as your behavior was completely different from how you typically were before a night at Ozzie’s.

“Oh Honey~” Oz's sultry voice dug into your skull. “Something the matter?” He asked, cautious of your emotions. You shook your head, a strained smile appearing on your lips.

“Not at all!” Heat rushed over your face, a sweat now brewing from an oncoming fever. “Just nervous for tonight. The new routine and all.” You glanced away.

“Aw, our little Bunny is all shakin’ up?” Ozzie walked over, his finger caressing your chin and tilting your face to look up at him. “That don’t sound right at all~” He smirked, though you could see the underlying worry in his eyes as they dipped at the corners.

Sleek metal arms squeezed around you and brought you into a tight hug. “Don’t worry, Babe! If you forget a step or two, just look at me and I’ll help you out.” He wagged his eyebrows at you, tongue sticking out of his upturned lips.

You let out a nervous laugh, feeling the sweat begin to build up on your forehead. “Yeah, thanks, Fizzy.” He leaned in, cheeks squishing together as you both glanced at yourselves in the mirror. The clammy coating on your skin dug into your mind. You worried he might feel just how warm you were becoming due to your fever. You recoiled quickly. “Uh, I think it’s time!” You grabbed your matching cap n’ bells and placed it on your head.

Fizz was saddened at your reaction, peaking at Oz to see if he felt the weird tension coming off of you. As much as he wanted to push for more, he worried that he would upset you. But he couldn’t just let you go without doing something. “Hey.” Fizz grabbed your shoulders, turning you towards him oh so gently, his voice softening. “Are you really okay?” His eyes dewed as his lips pulled into pout.

Your head tilted to the side, bells jingling as you did. “Yes, yes! Of course!” You released a heavy breath, stomach churning. “I’m fine! Totally fine!” Your voice cracked at the end of your words. You stepped closer to the door, escaping your dear Fizzy’s hold. “I’ll get into position now!” You opened the door, beginning to wave at them with your fingers. “Bruise some knees and make them cum, my lustful babes!”

Finally you were free from the room, air so heavy you felt as if it weighed you down. Breathe. Just breathe. You began climbing the ladder to the catwalk to get into position for the opening act that was supposed to start shortly. Your stomach rolled a few more times with the movement, causing you to clasp a hand around your mouth. You felt the bile raise into your throat with a burp but swallowed it back down. The taste barely coating your tongue.

Don’t. Puke. Just put on the show and everything will be fine. You grasped the stripper pole in front of you, hearing the introductions begin. Your platform would be lowered down anytime now. Your knuckles tightened around the metal. Breathe. You closed your eyes.

A jolt sent a shake through your legs as you felt yourself beginning to descend. Slowly, the glowing eyes of the audience came into view, spotlights on you as the music blared loudly.

“The one! The only!” Fizz spoke into the mic, arm outstretched in your direction. Breathe. Smile. Show time. He screamed your name, you flashed a strained grin and began your routine, singing your solo part.

It was going fine for the first few minutes. Your duet with Fizz and the routine felt as if it was muscle memory. Until he grabbed your hand and began to spin you, a few times too many than what you had practiced. When he had finished, he sprung onto the opposite side of the stage and continued his performance. But you, on the other hand, were left in a dizzying mess.

You stumbled, trying to hold your bearings as much as possible. The flashing spotlights made things worse the more you tried to focus on not throwing up. Unfortunately, that made everything more difficult. The lights centered on you, awaiting your final high-note. Ozzie watched your hunched over form, his faces frowning in concern.

Fizz peered at you, his smile faltering when he noticed your hand clasped over your mouth and the pained expression you displayed. He took a few steps closer but you bolted off stage, exiting fast behind the curtain. The two remaining snapped to look at each other before Asmodeus flashed away in a heartbeat.

Fizzy glanced at the crowd, his worrisome face disappeared to the silly grin he always held. He addressed the situation and transitioned to the next act seamlessly, covering for you as if that whole mishap was supposed to happen. He left the stage quickly while the next performance took over. Making his way in the direction you ran off in, he was able to locate you and Ozzie in the bathroom next to the dressing room. Concern etched onto his face as he saw you.

Oz had shifted to his smaller form, hand caressing your back as your head hovered the toilet bowl. “Ahw, it's okay baby. Let it out.” Sweet velvet tones caressed you in comfort as tears streaked down your face. Fizz’s heels clicked over before he sat down on the other side of you. His metal limbs cool against your heated skin.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I wanted too–” You hiccuped.

“Hey, hey, calm down, babe.” Fizz spoke gently, petting your head as you leaned into him. “You should have told us you weren’t feeling well.”

“Froggy’s right.” Oz added. “The show means nothing if your health is at risk.” He tilted your face to look at him. “You mean everything to us. You come first.” Your eyes watered at his words, lip quivering.

“I-I wanna go home.” You sputtered, a hand reaching out to each of them and squeezing tightly. Fizz leaned his head against yours, tail pulling you closer to him.

“I’ll nurse you better, Baby.” He smiled.

“Sounds like,” You hiccuped, followed by a sniffle. “A fun new roleplay we can try.” You quipped with a smirk.

“And we can wear cute nurse outfits!” Fizzy kicked his feet, tongue blepped at the thought.

Ozzie stood, shifting to his larger form and grabbing you both in his arms, lifting you. “After Bunny is feeling better, okay you two?” He shook his head, though an endearing smile remained as he ducked through the door, ready to take his lovers home and get you on your way to recovery.

꒰ MOXXIE & MILLIE ꒱

“Uh… Babe?”

“Yeah?” Moxxie called from the bathroom, his mouth garbled with the spit from foamy toothpaste.

Millie felt your forehead with the back of her hand, noticing your abnormal body temperature almost immediately. “Our little Pumpkin is burning up right now.”

“What?” He spat the extra fluoride into the sink and ran out into the bedroom. He saw you still in bed, body curled up and face scrunched in pain. “Oh, crumbs.” He quickly got closer, sitting on the mattress and copying his wife’s actions. His brows dipped in concern as he stared down at you, his other hand going to your shoulder and rubbing softly.

“We’ll have to call in.” Millie bit her lip, brows furrowing. “We can’t go to work and leave ‘em here alone.”

“You’re right, Sweetie.” He stood back up. “I’ll call and look for some ibuprofen to help with the fever.”

“I’ll fix up some tea.” Millie leaned over, her lips gently placing a kiss on your clammy forehead before she walked away into the kitchen.

“Wait!” You tried sitting up even though there was an immense amount of pressure in your head. They both looked at you worriedly. “Don’t stay home…” Millie came and sat next to you, her hand rubbing your back as you held your head in discomfort. “I can take care of myself, okay?” You looked at her. “I’ll be fine.”

“Oh, honey.” Her eyes stared at you, taking in every bit of your face. “We know that. And before you were with us, that may have been what you’re used to. But ‘round here we take care of each other.” She leaned in, forehead kissing yours as you both closed your eyes at the contact. Moxxie sighed at the scene, his hands hovering his heart.

He walked closer. “And we’ll always be here.” He kneeled on the bed, scooting closer before kissing your cheek. “We’re taking the day off. No matter what you try to say to convince us not to.” He smiled gently before grabbing his cell and returning to his task from before.

You melted at both of their actions, the care and comfort they offered so endlessly being a new feeling to you. Typically, you’d get sick and fight through it on your own. Sleeping in bed and rotting until it finally flushed itself from your system. But this was a completely different feeling, one that you’re slowly getting used to and relishing in the affection.

Moxxie called your boss and through a shit ton of convincing, he was finally able to get Blitzø to agree and let the three of you have the day off. It was basically the entire staff for I.M.P. that wasn’t going to show up for the day, so obviously he was pissed.

Millie walked in and handed you some tea while Moxxie came over with some medication in his hand. “This should help with your fever.” You were able to take them easily and sipped your tea.

“Need anything else right now, Sweetie?” Millie asked. You shook your head, slowly handing the tea back.

“I kinda wanna just sleep right now.” You muttered, glancing at the covers over your legs.

“Mind if we join you?” She smiled softly, her voice quiet to not make things any worse. “A little cuddle session always makes you and Moxxie feel better.”

“I don’t want you two getting sick.” You glanced between them. “As much as I would love to.”

“Well, technically we already slept together last night.” Moxxie began before crawling under the covers and getting situated on his side of the bed.

“That’s right!” Millie followed his actions, scooting you over so you were in between them. “If we get sick, then we’ll be sick together.” She snuggled right into your side, her tail looping around you and Mox and squeezing tightly. You felt another warm sensation crawl across your skin though this time, it wasn’t due to your fever. You sighed, eyes fluttering shut, feeling your lovers’ arms circle around you.

An odd sound was heard from the ceiling before a hefty lump landed onto the bed. Everyone's eyes shot open to see a familiar person.

“Sir!?” Moxxie called out, voice raised.

“Fuck this shit!” Blitzø got up and stormed out of the bedroom. “I thought yall would be porking it up in a sexy threeway!”

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