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chxnsgirl · 29 days ago

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방찬 ─── christmas love

⋆｡ ˚༘ ♫ christmas love - stray kids

♡ pairing ៸៸ idol!chan x fem!reader genre ៸៸ fluff ៸៸ cw ៸៸ none ♡ synopsis ៸៸ you and chan have been friends for a while. this holiday, he chooses to spend it with you. [ semi - proofread ] [ 3.3k words ]

you were incredibly nervous. it wasn’t your first time spending time alone with chris–you had been alone together plenty of times. but tonight seemed different. the way he asked you.. his demeanor was off, but not necessarily in a bad way. he seemed.. nervous. bashful.. you have always had a little crush on him since you started your job working as an intern at jyp. you started a little less than a year ago. thinking back, it was insanity. you started this internship being somewhat aware of stray kids, and now you’re spending the night at chris and jeongin’s dorm on a holiday. it started out with you being starstruck and in awe of them, now you’re best friends with the leader.

the idea came to chris when he was working a couple weeks ago. he was up late at the studio, working on songs for an upcoming album, when he just couldn’t seem to stop thinking about you. it was about 3am, which he would have thought you’d be asleep. so instead of calling you, he decided to send you a text. you were up, but you weren’t exactly doing anything productive. you were laying on your bed, watching crash landing on you on your laptop. you weren’t surprised that chris was awake, but you were surprised that he decided to text you.

you two texted until around 6am, and finally, christopher had the courage to call you and ask if you wanted to spend the holiday together. he figured since he didn’t have time to go back to australia, and you didn’t have time to go all the way back home to your family either, that the two of you might as well have a ‘friendsmas’. that part didn't exactly catch you off guard, the part that did was when he asked you if you wanted to spend the night christmas eve. you had been to the dorm a few times, even when it was him, changbin, han, and hyunjin living together, but he was always more private and reserved about his personal space. you had only actually been in his room once, and that was the first time you had gone to the dorms.

you were painfully unaware of how chris truly felt about you. you were the only female friend he allowed at the dorms–and lord knows he has plenty of them. he trusted you. you had seen him at his most vulnerable moments; from stress-induced breakdowns in the studio to his depressive episodes. on top of that, you took such good care of the rest of the members. the day he realized he had feelings for you was when he overheard you consoling jeongin when he wasn’t feeling confident in his voice. you were just so caring and genuine. it was impossible for him not to catch feelings eventually.

that’s why he needed to make this night perfect. he had everything planned out. the plan was to take you to see seouls christmas lights. since you had only been in the country for less than a year, you had just missed them when you arrived in the spring. after you two walked around, you’d go back to his place. he picked out a ton of your & his favorite snacks to munch on throughout the night. he even got matching onesies to surprise you with, yours being a reindeer onesie and his being an elf.

he was so excited and so nervous. and you didn't even know it. he didn’t even know how you felt about him either; which made everyone around you get frustrated at times, especially changbin, who was the member you were the second-closest to. you’d never say anything to him directly or initiate anything, in fear of ruining the amazing friendship you two have together. everything was perfect, why change that?

you and chris had finally gotten back to the apartment after walking down a long sidewalk in seoul, marveling at the christmas lights and goofing around. truth be told, the outing ended early because chris noticed that you hadn’t worn your gloves, which resulted in your hands turning bright pink from the chill. it was oddly cute how concerned he was about your warmth, so you didn’t complain much.

while sliding your boots off, you took in the apartment chris and jeongin shared. it looked the same as it usually did, except there was a white christmas tree in the living room decorated with black and silver ornaments. it was gorgeous, and you wanted to get a better look at it. chris hung your coat next to his before chuckling at your expression. “you like the tree?” he walked with you to the living room as you stared up at it. “it’s so pretty. did you two do this?”

“ah, just me. jeongin was busy with his friends the day i put it up. i thought the white and black fit the vibe of our place more, y’know?” he looked up at the tree as well, satisfied with how pretty it turned out. “it really does.” you smiled up at him, nudging his arm after. “so what do you have planned for us to do here?”

you stared at the onesies for a moment, chewing on your bottom lip. “you got these just for tonight?” you asked, looking up at him. he stumbled on his words. “uh, well.. yeah?” he cleared his throat after in an attempt to hide his slight embarrassment. “i thought it’d be funny to wear them while watching our favorite christmas movies and making cookies.” his ears turned a dark shade of red as he looked down at you, awaiting your approval, almost seeking it out from any part of your facial expression or body language. your lips curled into a smile as you lifted up the reindeer onesie. “where do i change?”

he let out a small sigh of relief as well as a chuckle at your acceptance, and gestured to the hallway. “you can use the bathroom. second door on your left.”

while sitting on the couch in your onesie, you heard light shuffling coming from the hallway. you perked up and there he was, waddling out in his onesie, ears dark red and a goofy, shy smile on his face. his onesie came with an elf hat, which was horribly cute on him. you couldn’t help but giggle at his appearance. “you look.. adorable.” you gestured to the onesie he was wearing. “oh, yeah? adorable hm?” he chuckled as he stood before you, hands on his hips. “stand up, lemme see yours.”

you did just that, even giving him a little twirl and a slight shake of your bum to show off the tail on the back. he let out his squeaky giggle, clutching his stomach. “ah! i forgot it has a tail.. oh my god.” he let out a string of a few more laughs before finally calming down. “it’s actually really comfy.” you laughed, running your hands on the sleeves. “it looks like it.” he stepped forward and felt your sleeve as well, the material being plush and extremely soft and warm. “oh, you didn’t put your hood on.” he stepped even closer, using both hands to pull the hood of your onesie over your head, making the limp antlers flop around as you moved. he smiled down at you as you stared up at him, admiring how attractive he was—even in a cringey elf onesie.

“i think you’ve got me beat.” he smiled even wider. “what do you mean?” you adjusted the hoodie so you could see him better. “i mean, you definitely look more adorable.” he laughed and pulled his phone out of the onesie pocket. “we should take pictures.”

a deep blush ran across your face at his words. maybe he was joking around, maybe he wasnt. your brain couldn’t help but romanticize things like this because, well.. despite the uncertancies gnawing at your mind about him and how he felt about you, you still had hope deep down. secretly wishing he was subtly flirting with you.

after a while of being lazy, catching up with chris, and warming up in front of the electric fireplace, you and chris finally decided to get up and make some christmas cookies. “nothing better than making christmas cookies at 10 p.m., right?” he chuckled, setting the ingredients you needed on the counter. “10’s nothing for you, is it?” you teased, rinsing your hands off in the sink after washing them. you couldn’t help but grin at him, noticing how comfortable he looked in the kitchen, like he belonged there.

chris grinned back and raised a brow. “nah, 10’s light work for me.” he gave you a wink as he pulled open a cabinet and grabbed the cookie cutters, giving you a quick glance as he set them on the counter. his movements were casual, but there was something in the air that made it feel like more than just a simple cookie-making session. you stepped closer, trying to ignore the sudden flutter in your chest as you peered at the ingredients he’d set out. “guess that’s a good thing,” you said. “i'm afraid your insomnia is contagious.”

chris chuckled softly, his voice low. “insomnia.. contagious.. are you hearing yourself?” he teased, tapping a spoon on the counter. he took a step closer, just enough that you could feel his presence, his warmth. “i think you're just making up an excuse to cover up the fact you're so eager to stay up with me.” you met his gaze, biting back a smile as you thought of the many times you'd tried to play it cool in front of him. “you think you know everything, huh?”

“maybe just a little,” he said, his tone playful but with a hint of something more serious behind it. he reached for the flour, brushing past you again as he leaned into the cabinet. the brush of his arm against yours was almost accidental, but the small contact made your heart beat faster. “so,” you began, trying to distract yourself from the slight tension that was building between you, “what’s the secret to making the perfect cookie?” chris looked up at you, eyes twinkling. “the secret is... not telling you,” he said, a grin tugging at his lips. “you’ll have to figure it out yourself.”

“oh, i see how it is,” you replied with a mock pout. “no hints, huh?” chris shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "oh please, you act as if you've been baking all your life." you looked up at him through your eyelashes, a sly grin on your face. he tongued his cheek and nodded, finally looking back down at his hands while they were working. "you see, what you dont know is that i actually bake as a hobby." he said sarcastically, raising his brows and masking his comedic sentence with a semi-serious tone. "oh, is that so?" you handed him the measuring cup, not wanting to be totally useless during this cookie-making endeavor. "mhm. i even bake more than lix, if you can believe that."

you choked back a laugh, pressing your lips together. his lip twitched into the tiniest grin when he heard. "what? don't believe me?"

"no." you snorted, leaning on the counter, your elbow resting on the edge. "but ill take this as a chance to judge your baking skills." he lightly tapped the measuring cup on the bowl and chuckled. he reached for the bag of brown sugar, his face dangerously close to yours once again. "i'll take that as a challenge."

you felt your breath catch in your throat as you tried to keep your cool. he began measuring out the brown sugar, but his movements were slower now, more deliberate. he was playing, testing you, you realized. the air felt thick, and even though you were focused on the cookies, it was hard not to notice how close he was, caught in some quiet game neither of you were willing to admit.

“can i ask you something?” you asked, trying to shift the conversation onto something that didn't make the tension skyrocket. he let out a soft hum, nodding his head as he glanced at you. “sure.” you watched him, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “what made you wanna spend the holiday with me? like.. just me?” your heart dropped as soon as the words left your lips. chris’s stomach whirled as well, trying to think of a way to answer. “well.. neither of us have family here for the holidays.” he began, stirring the ingredients together in the bowl, working carefully. “and, i like being around you.” he added.

your heart fluttered at his words, but you masked it with a small nod. “i like being around you too. sometimes.” you teased him, nudging his arm lightly. he breathed out a laugh, rolling his eyes. “uh huh.”

a beat of silence passed before he spoke up again. “i dunno, i guess it’s like.. being around you helps me stay calm. i noticed my stresses from work and schedules aren’t as heavy on my mind when you’re around. and.. honestly, this holiday i probably would’ve been working if you said no.” his voice was softer now, and he was avoiding your gaze. “well. how could i pass this up? watching you bake cookies in an elf onesie? i feel like i hit the lottery.”

“tch, thanks.” his voice was sarcastically monotone as he tapped the spoon on the edge of the mixing bowl.

“all jokes aside, i’m glad i can be that for you. you deserve rest as much as anyone else. no matter how much you try to tell yourself otherwise.” you nudge him, a small, fond smile on your face.

he didn’t say anything in response, he just smiled shyly, his ears never lightening from their favored shade of pink.

after indulging in one too many christmas cookies and watching a terribly long christmas movie, you were splayed out on the couch under one of chris’s plush blankets, so warm and so cozy. the ending credits rolled as you both sat there, and chris snuck a glance at you, smiling to himself at how cute you looked bundled up like a little burrito. you looked so comfortable, so sleepy.. but selfishly he didn't want the night to end so soon.

the ending credits began to roll for the movie, and he grabbed the remote and began to sing along to the song ‘all i want for christmas is you’, standing up and walking around the coffee table toward you, the burrito on his couch. your lips curled into a wide smile as you watched him approach you, singing the lyrics of the song beautifully. you sat up, and he reached his hand out to yours, waiting for you to take it. you raised a brow as you looked at him, and he raised one as well, not moving away until you finally took it. with a sigh, you took his hand and stood up, and he began to dance with you.

you felt out of place, dancing with chris in his living room, wearing a damn reindeer onesie, but the unease went away when he started twirling you around, making you squeal and his voice break from laughing at you. you couldn’t help but laugh, spinning in chris's arms as he twirled you around. his laughter was contagious, filling the room with warmth and making the silly moment feel surprisingly intimate. the twinkle in his eyes as he grinned at you made your heart race a little faster, the proximity between you both now feeling like a little more than just two friends having fun.

as he pulled you back into him after your spin, your body naturally pressed against his, and for a moment, you both just stood there, caught in the quiet rhythm of the music. his hand on your back felt like a steady anchor, and his other hand gently cupped yours as if he never wanted to let go. without thinking, you both moved closer, the space between you shrinking until it was just the two of you, swaying softly.

you swallowed, suddenly aware of how close his face was to yours. his breath was warm on your skin, his scent—something familiar and comforting—filling your senses. the laughter from earlier had faded, and in its place was a soft tension, an unspoken understanding hanging in the air. "is it weird that i don’t want this night to end?" chris whispered, his voice low and vulnerable, his thumb gently brushing over your hand. his words hit you like a soft wave, and before you could even process them, you felt the same way. the night had felt too perfect, too... easy.

you slowly lifted your eyes to meet his, your breath catching as you saw that same soft expression mirrored in his gaze. he wasn’t just looking at you like a friend anymore, not with that look in his eyes, the one that made you wonder if he was thinking the same thing you were. "yeah," you murmured, your voice quieter than you expected. "me neither."

for a second, neither of you moved. you were both standing there, your heart thundering in your chest as the music played on, filling the silence between you. you could feel the heat from his body, his hand still holding yours with a tenderness that felt like it was testing something—something that had been building all night. chris’s gaze dropped to your lips, and you knew. he wanted to kiss you. the realization made your pulse quicken. you could feel the magnetic pull between you two, and despite the uncertainty that gnawed at the edges of your mind, you couldn’t seem to pull away.

he leaned in slowly, and your breath hitched, your body tensing instinctively. but he paused, just inches from your lips, and in that moment, you saw a flicker of hesitation in his eyes. “is this… okay?” he whispered, his voice barely audible above the music, the question soft but heavy with meaning.

you barely processed the words before you found yourself nodding, your own lips parting slightly as you tilted your head up toward him. “yeah,” you whispered back. “it’s okay.”

and then, finally, he closed the distance.

his lips were warm and gentle against yours, hesitant at first, like he was savoring the moment. it was soft, slow, as though he was afraid it might break if it went too fast. but when your lips moved against his, the world seemed to fade away, and all that mattered was the warmth between you, the sweetness of the kiss, and the overwhelming feeling that you were exactly where you were meant to be. chris’s hand moved from your back to cup your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek, deepening the kiss ever so slightly. you responded without thinking, your arms wrapping around his neck as you kissed him back, the sensation of his lips sending sparks through you.

the kiss deepened, and suddenly you couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt so alive, so present. everything else—the christmas cookies, the movie, the silly onesie you were still wearing—melted into the background. it was just the two of you, wrapped up in a world that felt warm and right and full of possibility.

when you finally pulled away, your breaths were heavy, your faces still inches apart, your foreheads resting together as you both tried to catch your breath. a shy smile tugged at the corners of chris's lips as he looked at you, and you couldn't help but smile back, the joy and nervous energy mixing into something you hadn’t expected.

“that was…” he trailed off, his voice a little breathless.

“yeah,” you agreed, not quite sure what to say either. but in that moment, words felt unnecessary. you both already knew.

and when chris pulled you back into his arms, resting his chin on top of your head, you finally allowed yourself to relax. the night wasn’t over yet.

please do not copy my work. see pinned for guidelines and requests.

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lincolndjarin · 1 year ago

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Not So Secret Santa

javier peña x fem!reader

this is a part of the @pedrostories gift exchange!!

summary : you get the only person you didn't want for your offices secret santa.

warnings/tags : 18+ mdni, enemies/friends to lovers, canon divergence, steve is your boss/close friend, reader and javier have a complicated relationship, reader is insecure, brief mentions of alcohol, porn with plot, smut, light angst, javier and reader fight physically but it's very light with no actual injury, masturbation, semi-public sex, p in v, idk how to properly tag this but javi likes boobs in this so he touches boobs, unprotected sex (don't do this, wrap it this holiday season), use of a makeshift gag, rough yet very loving sex because it's christmas and christmas magic means i can write what i want.

tldr : you and javi have sex in his office and you put his tie in his mouth to shut him up.

word count : 4.4k

✦ : merry christmas @taro-666 !!! i'm your secret santa !!! i hope you're well this holiday season and i hope you enjoy this fic !! i haven't written much peña, despite how much i love him so i hope i did him justice and i hope you have a wonderful holiday <3 <3 (also sorry this is a little late (20 minuetes left before midnight so we're good). i was out with family all day and was only just now able to get to my laptop, i promise i didn't forget about you lmao)

no use of y/n, reader has hair and painted nails & javier sort of half picks her up at one point, nothing else is described besides clothing.

lovely dividers by @saradika-graphics

“Please, Steve, I’ll give you a week's pay.” You lean across his desk, genuine desperation in your voice after an hour of begging.

“Not gonna happen.” He doesn’t even bother looking up from his computer.

“A month.” Your voice is starting to pitch up, something similar to anguish in your tone. Your offer finally gets a reaction out of him as his eyes widen, head tilting up.

“Jesus, you can’t be serious.” He’s examining your expression, trying to determine the sincerity of your claim.

“My entire Christmas bonus.”

“Okay, stop.” He sighs, giving you a sympathetic look. “We’re not allowed to switch.”

“When did you become such a stickler for the rules?” You cross your arms in front of your chest.

“It’s just a secret Santa. He’s our friend, whether you like it or not, you two are close and this shouldn’t be this big of a deal, now go, please, I need to finish up here so I can leave at a reasonable hour.” He loosens his tie as you sigh.

“It’s not just a secret Santa, Steve. It’s an opportunity for him to tell me that I once again didn’t do something right. No matter what I get him, it isn’t going to be good enough.” Even as you’re saying it you can see that he isn’t going to change his mind about this.

“He’s a dick to everybody. That’s inevitable, it just means he’s comfortable with you.” He’s already turning back to his work.

“Please, Steve.”

“No.”

You glare down at him, giving him your angriest look as his gaze tilts back up to meet yours.

When it’s clear that he isn’t going to switch you turn and leave, slamming his office door in the process.

“Don’t forget, I need you here early to help set up for the party!” His muffled voice seeps out into the hall as you walk away.

Once you’re out in your car and far away from prying eyes you unfold the damned slip of paper you’d drawn earlier today.

Javier P.

Of course, you got stuck with fucking Peña, a nickname you’d given him a few months ago. He absolutely hates it but the entire time you’ve worked for the DEA he’s gone out of his way to bother you. Sure, he’s your “friend”, in a strange, complicated way. But he still drives you up the wall with his constant need to one up you and the way he’s constantly making passes at women around the office.

And it’s not like you have any problems with him sleeping around, lord knows you’ve had a fair amount of one night stands, but he just has to hit on every woman you work with.

Every single woman, except you.

You’d never admit it of course but a part of you will always be self conscious about that fact. It doesn’t help that Javier absolutely adores bothering you at every possible moment. He loves nothing more than to pester, annoy, and mock you, spending nearly half his day leaning over your desk despite the million complaints you’ve sent Steve about his persistent partner.

He’ll sit on your desk, doing an endless amount of things to cause you distress. Like crowding you with his cigarette smell and vanilla cologne as he tells you you’re filling papers wrong, or telling you what colors to paint your nails, or solving your cases before you can even get to them, or teasing you about your shitty car. Today he wouldn’t stop bothering you about your weekend plans like he doesn’t already know exactly where you’ll be.

“Are you doing anything this weekend?” He’d asked with that devastating smirk and eyebrow raise combo.

“I have to go buy my secret Santa gift, just like everyone else.” You’d turned away, avoiding eye contact as he scoffed.

“What about Saturday?” He continued to pry, you wanted nothing more than to shove his perfect ass off your desk.

“The Christmas party, Javi. Just like everyone else.” You had sighed, squeezing the bridge of your nose as Emilia had walked past your desk. Javier immediately forgot your entire conversation as he turned to her.

“I love your nails.” He’d pushed his hair out of his face, holding his hand out to take hers, getting a closer look at the well manicured designs.

You had tuned out after that. Not wanting to be involved in the exchange as you went back to typing. Acutely aware of your own nails.

Red chipped paint.

You couldn’t help but wonder what it must be like to be the object of his affection.

It wouldn’t matter if he did hit on you, you would probably reject him anyway.

Probably.

It doesn’t matter, it’s never gonna happen so why let it bother you?

With a sigh you toss the paper into your cup holder, reaching to turn on the radio, maybe some Christmas music will make you feel better. Of course nothing happens as you turn up the volume knob but it makes you want to scream regardless.

Stupid fucking Peña.

Stupid broken radio, stupid shitty car.

“Fuck.” You mumble under your breath as you shift into drive.

Before you know it you’re back in your car in the DEA office parking lot, this time a few things are different though.

You’re dressed nicer, trading your slacks in for a skirt and your dress shirt for a sweater. And of course you now have a small wrapped box in your lap.

Since you had yesterday off for the holiday you spent your Friday at the mall, searching for a gift for Javier. Eventually you had settled on three little things; Nicotine gum, mostly because you’ll get more work done if he isn’t constantly dragging you outside for his smoke breaks. He complains too much about going alone and it’s always been easier not to argue, now he can stay at your desk with his gum. Beard oil, the fancy stuff he always insists on using in his mustache. You’d bought him the wrong kind last year for his birthday and you still haven’t heard the end of it. And a lighter, you had to beg the shop owner to make an exception and do a same day engraving of his birthday.

Jesus.

You know way too much about him.

You arrived two hours early as requested by Steve to help him set up. With the wrapped box tucked under your arm you anxiously tap the patterned wrapping paper with your freshly manicured nails.

“You should paint your nails green, I love green.” He had said through a drag of his cigarette.

Why did you let that idiot's opinions influence this decision? You feel foolish. The green chrome polish shimmering in the street lights in the parking lot as you step into the building. You had extra time while you were waiting for the engraving and you just couldn’t help yourself when the salon was just a few stores away. The image of Javier holding your hand and examining your painted nails while telling you how nice they looked was just too tempting. Maybe he’d even ask if you did it just for him, and you could drag him into a closet at the party, the exact situation you watched unfold last year. Except in that scenario you weren’t the lucky lady he’d run off with that night.

There’s no time to be thinking like that.

You shake off whatever filth you were imagining as you look around the hectic mess of garland and glitter.

Steve is already stressing, setting up tables as you set your gift under the tree before getting to work. The office is already mostly decorated but with his new position as supervisor Steve is insistent that everything be perfect his first Christmas in charge. So you plate food, and you mix drinks exactly as he wants them, and you hold the ladder steady when he insists on putting more lights up. When you’ve got about a half an hour before guests start arriving you’re finishing up and last minute touches, the two of you crowded around a drink tower.

The tension from your conversation yesterday seems to have fizzled out as you become engrossed in your work, when you’ve both finished he gives you an appreciative look.

“Thank you, seriously, it means a lot.” You help him adjust his tie as he straightens out his shirt.

“Anytime, although I’m surprised you didn’t just ask Javier.” You pat his shoulder as you finish, brushing a stray blonde hair out of his eyes.

He laughs, a nervous chuckle that makes you raise an eyebrow but when you open your mouth to comment on it he lets out a relieved sigh as the first of your coworkers arrive.

More people show up than you could have expected.

You stay near Steve for most of the beginning until he gets dragged away by one of the higher ups who had made an appearance, leaving you alone to sip your drink against the back wall. You hum along to a Christmas song that plays loud enough to drown out any conversation you might eavesdrop on to entertain yourself in his absence, your eyes scan the crowds as you try to match up the people you work with with their spouses.

You’re getting ready to find another group to talk to when you catch a glimpse of him standing against the opposite wall, talking to Bonnie, the woman who works in the cubicle next to yours.

Fucking Peña. Dressed in a stupidly tight green dress shirt.

You should leave them alone, especially if he’s trying to make a move on her. But you can’t help it as you make your way around the room towards them, a vague sense of jealousy settling in your stomach.

String lights twinkle across the ceiling of the office, creating a warm ambience throughout the space, just as you’re about to tap him on the shoulder you overhear their conversation.

“I had to beg Steve to switch with me, took an hour of convincing and a week's paycheck but it’ll be worth it to see the look on her face.” His back is to you as he leans in closer to Bonnie.

He’s probably talking about one of the other women from the office. Steve probably had someone Javier was trying to impress and that’s why Steve didn’t want to trade with you, he had already promised his pick to Javier.

Whatever, you can’t be too bothered about that. It does make you want to return to your spot on the other side of the room but you don’t get the chance to as the music is turned down rather suddenly.

One of the secretaries, Benjamin, stands on a chair, making an announcement that it’s time to do the secret Santa. You manage to twist through the crowds so Javier never sees you, finding his gift and bringing it to where he now stands, simultaneously keeping an eye out for your own gift.

You hand him the box, watching the way his face lights up.

“You picked me?” He grins as you nod, carefully peeling back the wrapping paper as you feel a tap on your shoulder. Benjamin waits behind you, leaning in to whisper while you watch Javier open his gift.

“It was short notice so we didn’t have time to get you a back up gift but your secret Santa told us at the last minute that he forgot to get you something, he promised to bring in something after New Years, I’m so sorry.” You feel a little disappointed as he murmurs but it isn’t that big of a deal, it’s a busy time of year and people can forget things.

“No worries, do you know who it was? I’d like to at least tell them it’s fine.” You turn away from Javier as he smiles at the nicotine gum, Benjamin's eyes flicker from your face to Javier’s before he gives you a sympathetic look, walking away.

Javier traded for your name?

As your head tilts to look at him now you can see the smirk he’s now sporting.

“ …but it’ll be worth it to see the look on her face.”

Javier had made a conscious effort to get your name just so he could not get you something.

Huh.

That doesn’t feel great. The look he gets to see on your face is betrayal and then just sadness. You don’t really care what the reason for his decision is, you turn and walk away from him regardless. If he tries to say something to you it’s drowned out by the music that starts once again.

Why are you so upset over some stupid joke? If it had been anyone else you wouldn’t have cared, you’d have brushed it off as a harmless accident but this wasn’t an accident.

Maybe he didn’t really think of you as a friend.

Maybe all of the teasing and one-upmanship really was from a place of animosity and you were just too blind and too infatuated to see it. You want to cry but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction so you sift through the bowl of keys, searching for the Star Wars keychain attached to your lanyard but you can’t find it. The combination of the blaring Christmas songs with the frustration you’re currently feeling only makes you more emotional.

You don’t want to go to the bathrooms where you might run into someone and you can’t go to Steve’s office because he might be talking to his supervisor, so you go to the only place you know there won’t be people.

Javier’s office.

You walk as quickly as you can, slipping inside as you slam the door shut behind you, clicking the lock in place before turning around, resting against the door as you feel tears spilling from your eyes. It isn’t until he clears his throat that your head snaps up.

Today is just not your day.

Did he know you’d come here? How the hell did he beat you here? He’s fidgeting with the lighter you bought him, watching it light and go out as he sits with your keys in his other hand.

Your face feels hot as you take in the sight of him.

“Give me my keys.” You hold your hand out, wiping your eyes with the other as you wait. Of course he doesn’t hand them over, that would be too easy and today is insisting on being difficult.

“I really liked your gift. Seriously, this is… outrageously thoughtful.” He murmurs, seemingly unaware of your mood until he takes a closer look at you, his expression shifting as he realizes your eyes are rimmed with red. “Why are you so upset? What happened?” He slides open a drawer, tossing your keys into his desk while you consider calling a cab.

What a foolish question.

How could he possibly not know?

“I want to leave, I’m sick of this party.” You turn to leave, maybe Steve can drive you home.

“Come on, the parties barely started.” He’s on his feet, he doesn’t try to corner you, if anything he sets himself against the wall.

“And I want to leave.” When you reach for the doorknob he grabs your wrist, holding it as he stares at you, a look of impatience crosses his face.

“Don’t tell me you’re mad about the secret Santa.” His brows furrow.

“This isn’t about a stupid secret Santa.”

“It sure seems like it is.” He’s still holding your wrist, why is he still holding your wrist?

This isn’t about the secret Santa. It’s a lot more than that, and after ages of keeping your thoughts to yourself in front of him you just let it out.

“This is about the fact that you don’t even care about me enough to make any sort of effort. I know you deliberately chose me, you specifically chose to do this to me and I don’t care that it’s just a stupid prank. It still- It’s still a shitty thing to do.” Your voice starts cracking half way through and you can feel your eyes welling up again but it doesn’t matter anymore, you were wrong, the two of you aren’t friends.

“So this is about the secret Santa.”

Of course he wouldn’t get it.

“You’re an idiot.” You finally pull your wrist from him.

You aren’t sure what else to do so you shove him, his back hitting the wall with a soft thud as you push past him to get to his desk, hoping to grab your keys but he catches your waist first.

“Can you stop being so stubborn for five seconds and just let me explain myself?” You can tell his patience is wearing thin, his voice is strained as he pulls you back against him, caging you against his chest with his arms.

“Fuck Javi- let me go-” You try to kick his knees but he anticipates it, shifting his legs to avoid you.

“Just wait- listen to me.” He swings you around a bit as he tries to still you, you can feel his breath hitching, the buttons of his shirt digging into your back. The two of you thrash around for another moment until you freeze, feeling something poking your hip. When he realizes why you stopped putting up a fight he lets you go in an instant. “Shit- I-I’m sorry.” He stammers as you turn around towards him, eyes wide.

You never thought you’d see Javier Peña flustered yet here he is. When you take a step back his cheeks are burning red, his fingers twitch nervously at his side, and as much as you try to ignore it, his pants are tighter than usual. (And considering how tight they usually are this is quite a feat.) He won’t look you in the eye.

“It- It’s fine, Javi.” You adjust the hem of your skirt, trying to fix your hair. You just can’t catch a break today. “It was an accident, there was a lot of- of friction and it happens. I think I should just go.” You stutter a bit trying to find the right words. This entire evening has been catastrophic, and you’re more than ready to call it a night.

“It’s not an accident.” He mumbles, finally looking at you, not bothering with subtlety as he adjusts himself. “You should probably go.”

If it’s not an accident you don’t want to go.

You want to stay and keep making accidents, starting with rushing forward into him, taking his face in your hands and kissing him. Which is exactly what you do. At first he doesn’t react and you worry you read the situation wrong but when you pull away, just an inch, his hands envelop you.

Hips, waist, back, shoulders, hair. He’s everywhere, all consuming as his teeth graze your lips, in an instant your backside hits his desk.

When he finally does remove his lips from yours his are slick and a tiny bit swollen, his pupils swallow his irises whole.

“I loved your gift, I wasn’t joking, it’s perfect and the last thing I want is for you to think that I don’t care about you. Of course we’re friends, you-” As he rambles on you ball up the end of his tie, unceremoniously shoving it between his teeth.

“Talk later, this now.” You grab the bottom of your sweater, pulling it up over your head, watching his jaw tense at the sight of your chest, his hands playing with the strap of your bra as you hop up onto his desk. Hiking your skirt up, he slots himself between your legs, your own fingers push your panties to the side as he reaches behind you, easily twisting the clasp of your bra to release it, tossing it to the side as his enormous palms engulf your breasts.

You dip your fingers into the wetness between your legs, briefly taking a moment to wonder how you found yourself here. Just moments ago you were ready to leave and consider your friendship with Javier over, yet now you’re spread out on his desk, on display for him as you sink your fingers into your eager cunt.

You don’t get to linger on the thought for long because he groans into the fabric of his tie and you’re pulled back into the moment.

Jesus you’re soaked.

You have no trouble pushing two slick digits into yourself. You can feel the outline of him against your thigh and you know that you need to warm yourself up to take him. He’s too engrossed in your tits to do it right now and you’ve waited too long for this, you don’t want to wait, you just want to have him.

He’s tender at first, squeezing and softly tracing the outline of your areola until he seemingly can’t control himself any longer and he pinches, rolling your nipples between his thumb and pointer finger as your whine. Back arching of the oak of his desk as you curl your own fingers. Even through the tie his moans are still somehow louder than yours, you’re briefly worried about someone hearing as you let out a whimper while he tweaks your nipple but the music’s so loud at the party you can hear Mariah Carey from here.

You don’t stop for a second, putting your focus on reaching the peak that you find yourself already getting startlingly close to. You can feel yourself pulsing as you pick up the pace, reveling in the way his eyes devour the very sight of you. You’re agonizingly close when he grabs your wrist, removing your fingers carefully as you try and resist, wanting to finish what you started, you’re about to whine when he begins unzipping his pants. You can feel your pussy clenching at the very sight of him, of course he isn’t wearing any underwear under his dress pants so the second his zipper is fully down his cock springs free.

Javier fucking Peña has a gorgeous cock.

Standing stiff and proud without either one of you even having to touch it. Pretty and pink on the tip, already leaking down the shaft. And heavy, as he takes it in his hand, his other hand gripping your waist as lines himself at your entrance. He takes a moment, eyes scanning your face, silently asking for permission.

You can’t nod fast enough but the second that you do he slides into you.

You could never conjure up something this good in your fantasies. The way he fills you, stretching you open as he whimpers into the fabric of his tie, you like that he listened, that he kept it in his mouth this long. His strokes are needy and fast, like he’s been waiting for this for so long and now he can’t help but be ravenous. You were already painfully close before he filled you with his perfect cock, it takes only a few minutes for you to be right back there. His fingers dig into your waist so hard that you’re certain he’ll leave marks as he slams in and out of you, pulling out almost entirely with every thrust.

You’re vaguely aware of the sound of his trinkets rolling off his desk and onto the floor.

“Javi, Javi, Javi.” Between gasps you chant his name, the sound encouraging him as he pushes in deep, his pelvis grinding against your clit until you see stars. Your cunt clenching around him as your orgasm is ripped out of you. Messy and loud and blurry, he fucks you through it. You’re so blissed out you can barely focus on the persistent pounding into you until you manage to come back to your senses and his hands leave your waist, instead intertwining with your fingers as his hips twitch forward and you feel him hastily pull out of you.

He spits his tie out, opting to instead bite your shoulder as he comes, the groan that leaves his throat is obscene. Raspy and filthy as he collapses down on top of you, the two of you sweating and gasping amongst the paperwork and pens now scattered across his desk.

Did that really just happen?

He manages to collect himself first, leaning back and tucking himself into his pants before quickly tending to you. He grabs a few tissues, wiping your stomach where the product of your activities lay, before redressing you, slipping the flats that had slipped off, back onto your feet, pulling your skirt back down to cover you as he slides your panties back into place, and retrieving your bra and sweater, lifting you into a sitting position as he redresses you, kissing your cheeks, nose, and forehead the entire time.

“All good?” He whispers, gentler than you’ve ever heard him as you nod, grinning.

“Good enough to make me forgive you for not getting me a present.” You reach into his drawer, grabbing your keys before sliding off of his desk.

“Maybe this was your present.” He tilts his head, kissing you again, smiling all the while.

“That was the perfect gift then.” Probably the best you’ve ever gotten.

“Are you gonna stay for the rest of the party?” He takes your hands in his, his thumbs absentmindedly rubbing circles into your skin.

“I think I need to go to bed after that.” You laugh as you jingle your keys, turning towards the door as he catches your lips in another kiss.

It makes your heart flutter. The continued affection makes you think this isn’t a one time thing. You want more. You want conversations about feelings, and to talk about what just happened, you want to feel him inside you again, and the look in his eyes tells you that you’re going to get all of that. But right now you’re tired, so the rest can wait.

“Can I walk you to your car?” You nod as he murmurs.

He doesn’t let go of your hand, walking you out of the building towards your car, opening the door for you and giving you one last kiss with a promise that he’d call you tomorrow, before you watched him walk back into the building.

Your phone buzzes as you turn your key in the ignition, the sound of Wham! fills the car, Last Christmas playing softly. You take your phone out of your pocket, checking the text notification from Javier.

[ i forgot to tell you how pretty your nails are. merry christmas hermosa ]

Your head turns up in surprise as you realize your radio is working. A new radio system is installed in the center of your dashboard, with a little green bow taped to the top, and a paper tag with Javi’s familiar messy handwriting.

from : your secret fucking santa

a/n : happy holidays everyone!!

#pedrostoriesgift23 #lincolndjarin #taro-666 <3 #javier pena smut #javier peña #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena narcos #javier pena x reader #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal

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qwimblenorrisstan · 6 months ago

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Dawn Daydreams | Azriel x Peregryn!Reader

Summary: While visiting Dawn Court with his High Lord and Lady for political relations, Azriel finds himself falling for you, Thesan’s sister, from a distance, only for the bond to snap in the middle of the High Lord’s meeting.

Word Count: ~2.4k

Warnings: Mentions of passing out, mentions of sex, mating bond, nothing bad

Minors, do not interact!

A/N: I feel like this isn’t my best work but it might just be imposter’s syndrome attacking me, thanks to anon who requested this, hope you enjoy<3

Requests are open!

Azriel had seen you before, at the High Lord’s meetings, always right by Thesan’s side when his mate wasn’t there. You were his sister, and also the best messenger in all of Prythian because of your lightweight and swift speed, even for a Peregryn you were fast.

He’d never thought much of you further than that, his shadows simply whispering of your potential working for the Court or in an alliance, or of the rumors surrounding you.

That was until today, one of the annual High Lord meetings after the war, to sort everything back out, held at Dawn Court. No one would want to use Under the Mountain as a meeting place anymore, so it only makes sense that it was held here.

He saw you, in pants and what was just a training bra but covering a bit more, sparring with a lightweight blade against some of the males in Dawn. Your speed was unmatched, and you were surprisingly muscular for how tiny you also were.

When the male you’d been sparring against was on the floor, you finally turned and noticed the High Lord and Lady of Night Court, flanked by the General on the left and Spymaster on the right and offered a grin and a little wave. Rhys let out a huff of laughter, and Feyre smiled, waving back. You’d always been friendly with them, even when political alliances were tight.

“Distracted, brother?”

Cassian asked with a smirk, enjoying his minutes of freedom before having to deal with all the insufferable High Lords, the only ones that were awful were Beron and Tamlin when in a bad mood.

Azriel gave him a withering look.

“No.”

He lied, though his brother saw straight through it.

“Pftt, you’re totally in love.”

Cassian said with what resembled a giggling laugh, clearly amused at the usually stoic shadowsinger falling head over heels for a High Lord’s sister. A light flush crept onto his cheeks. Before he opened his mouth to speak, another citizen, also watching the female train, spoke, probably overhearing them.

“You don’t have a chance with that one, she’s got males and females begging for even a glance their way.”

The older Fae spoke, his voice a bit raspy as if parched. He shook his head, before walking away. Azriel noticeably slouched a bit, Feyre seemed to notice and gave him a little nudge with her elbow.

“You aren’t just any other male, I’m sure she’d love you.”

Her soft voice tried to reassure him, at which Rhys smirked, glancing over at his Spymaster.

“Oh, she’d love him all right.”

He said, not giving any other explanation of what that was supposed to mean, before strolling into the Dawn Court Palace, Rhys smug as usual, Cassian and Azriel mostly neutral, and Feyre amused.

*********************************************************

Even after all these years, you still couldn’t get used to how long these meetings dragged on. It ruffled your feathers, quite literally.

After finishing up your training, you’d hauled ass and gotten cleaned up, changed into some acceptable pants and a loose button-up shirt. You had long ago given up adorning the itchy, scratchy dresses that hurt your wings or made them uncomfortable, at this point, the fitted shirts you had were better, and you didn’t give a damn about what the other High Lords had to say.

You took your set to the left of your brother, mind already wandering off as the Lords began arguing and fighting over any and everything. You felt something nudge against your foot, snapping you out of your thoughts as you glanced down, eyes widening as you saw shadows, living shadows swirling at your feet, before quickly retracting.

You followed them all the way up to their owner, who was glancing at you.

The shadowsinger.

You’d heard rumors of him, though most of which you ignored, as rumors weren’t always true. His scarred hands remained at his side as he sat, leathery wings with what looked like scars running down them at his back, tucking neatly. His dark hazel eyes observed you, and you were a bit comforted that you weren’t the only one paying not enough attention to the meeting, but then again, he was staring at you.

It didn’t help that he was hot, either.

As soon as that thought ran through your mind, a warmth bloomed in your chest like a brick to the face, eyes widening just like his as you felt it weave a connection, unbreakable and eternal, between the two of you. A mating bond. Right here, right now, in front of all of the other High Lords and their Lady’s.

Don’t make a scene, don’t make a scene, don’t —

Your brother cast you a concerned glance, soft worry in his eyes as his hand brushed yours, the touch only further making you think of the Spymaster, how his touch might feel on your-

No. You were not going to go there.

You gave a barely perceptible nod, head swimming. You needed to touch him, needed to be closer and feel him so badly it felt like torture to stay in your chair. You couldn’t take your eyes off of him, biting your tongue to keep from saying anything.

You managed to rip your eyes off, settling on Beron and Eris. The thought of that horrible pair should’ve been enough to conjure up so much disgust you couldn’t focus on the shadowy figure cloaked in Night.

But it wasn’t, and your head was spinning, you were nauseous, and —

*********************************************************

Azriel watched with strained breathing as you passed out, collapsing from your chair onto the floor, wings draping over your form.

It took every ounce of self-control he’d built up over the centuries to stop himself from helping you, fixing you, and making sure you were alright. Thesan was already picking you up as the other High Lords watched, most in curiosity or slight boredom.

Rhys noticed his rigid body, and with a glance at Cassian, both of the Illyrian warriors were fully aware of their brother’s stress. It didn’t take Rhys long before Azriel felt a mental brush against his mind, and he lowered his shields just enough to shoot one message to him.

‘She’s my mate.’

He could feel Rhys’ surprise and concern before he pulled away, his brother’s eyes narrowing, Cassian and Feyre’s face betraying a bit of shock before snapping back to normal as he must’ve shared the news.

Azriel’s shadows couldn’t stop swirling beneath his chair and on his skin, some even darting after Thesan to make sure the female was okay.

‘They’re taking our mate to a healer. She isn’t harmed.’

They whispered to him.

‘What is her name?’

He silently asked the shadows. A moment of pause, before they whispered back, equally infatuated as him with the female.

‘Y/N.’

*********************************************************

You woke in the healer’s room, as she lived in the Palace alongside you and your brother in case any medical issues arose. You heard the low voice of Rhysand talking with your brother. They must’ve cut the meeting short.

Your attention was immediately pivoted to the quiet figure sitting at your side, dark and beautiful as he’d been sitting in the chair earlier. His eyes were full of concern and affection, though the latter probably influenced because of the bond.

“Hi,”

You managed, smiling weakly. Passing out was tiring work, apparently. He tried a smile back, though it looked forced. You hadn’t ever seen him with any other expression than his stoic look.

“Hi.”

He spoke back, softly, as if afraid you would shatter if he spoke too loudly. The feathers of your wings were puffed up, and he seemed to notice. A sign of your slight embarrassment at the situation. His hand rose from his lap, and he glanced down at your hand, hesitating and starting to fall away.

You didn’t let him, your soft hand enclosing around his calloused, scarred ones, thumb rubbing gently over all the ridges in his hands. He seemed surprisingly emotional at the gesture, swallowing.

“Are you…alright?”

He asked, concern evident in his tone as he examined your body, making you a bit flustered despite him being completely respectful. If you were in his position, you weren’t sure you’d be able to do the same.

“Yes, I’m fine.”

You answered, moving to sit up, your body aching as you did so, sore from training. At the slightest sign of distress, his hand slid from your grip and moved to your back, his shadows gently easing you to sit up, helping you. You sighed at the feeling of his hands on your skin, the relief it gave your body, and the craving for more.

“Thanks.”

You mumbled, your hand snatching his again, embarrassingly quick as soon as it was back within reach. His gaze softened as he felt it, shadows slithering onto the bed and hesitantly touching you, their whispered touches cold against your skin.

“How do you feel about…everything?”

He then asked with a hint of anxiety in those dark eyes. You knew what he was talking about. The bond. You thought before replying.

“I think you’re a good male. If it doesn’t cause any political problems I wouldn’t mind getting to know you.”

You answered honestly, anxiously watching him. The soft smile that then graced his lips, genuine, made your heart melt.

“I feel the same about you.”

He confirmed, just as Thesan and Rhysand walked into the room. Your brother looked concerned, but happy for you because of your little smile. Rhys looked smug as usual but seemed pleased to find the both of you bonding. The two had probably been listening in on you. The bastards.

“Well, I take it you two have gotten along well?”

Rhys drawled, at which after sharing a glance, the both of you nodded. Both of the High Lords seemed relieved at that. Azriel had a gleam in his eye, determined to see you again, to spend time with you, as he looked at his brother. He would beg on his knees if it meant he got to see his mate.

“Would anyone object to our feathered messenger visiting Velaris?”

He then asked, violet eyes examining you, your brother also watching you.

“I..wouldn’t mind.”

Azriel’s rigid body relaxed instantly at those words. You were willing to spend time in his home, with him. You shifted to sit up, and he was immediately at attention again, helping you every step of the way with a painfully concerned look that both Thesan and Rhysand noticed.

“I’ll go pack. Can he stay?”

You asked, giving a pleading glance to both of the High Lords. Rhysand gave a little shrug, and your brother nodded, just happy to see you happy. Not to mention the alliance it would make between Dawn and Night Court.

He followed you to your room, hands twitching at their sides as the shadows eagerly followed as well. You could’ve sworn they were speaking, in little tiny whispers you could hear but couldn’t quite make out.

His eyes scanned everything, your jumbled room full of a variety of things, mementos, pictures, a few weapons, letters…the list went on. As you reached up on your closet to grab a bag to shove a few things in, standing on your toes, he spoke.

“Here,”

He said quietly, easily grabbing the bag and handing it to you. It was then that you noticed the height difference between the two of you, not to mention the general size difference. Sure, you trained and had a few muscles on you, but he was somehow both lean and muscular, a mix that complimented him beyond well.

You smiled as you took it from his hands.

And you began packing.

*********************************************************

The next few months were filled with you being introduced to his family, and slowly moving into the House of Wind. You moved into a room right across from Azriel’s, even though after getting adjusted to each other, you were sleeping together more often than not.

Not to mention the training he began giving you. Peregryn’s and Illyrian’s had very different training styles and methods, which you learned extremely quickly.

He began learning more about you, of your little habits like the way your feathers puffed up when you were embarrassed or aroused, or how you would wrinkle your nose in disgust at bad smells, or how sensitive your ears were….the list went on. You began picking up things about him as well, and the both of you slowly began opening up to each other.

He told you of how he got his scars, of his brothers and biological family, you told him of your biological family, their kind behavior contrasting his bio family’s awfulness.

When the time came to accept the bond…it had been a whole mess.

Rhys had offered to let you stay in the cabin in Illyria, something you had gladly accepted. You had been in for a shock once the frenzy had begun. Sure, you’d had sex before, but you’d never known just how many times someone could have sex in a row, or all the different positions and options there were…you felt more like a student sometimes with Az.

After nearly two weeks, it finally dwindled to a close, with both you and him lying together in a sweaty embrace.

“That was…a lot.”

You murmured to him, voice hoarse from screaming and moaning throughout the mornings and nights.

He chuckled against your skin, pulling you closer to his warm chest. His scarred hands were around your waist, one leathery wing draped over your body, brushing against your soft, sensitive feathers, ones he had stimulated so much that even the tiny touch made you squirm now.

“I know, but I quite enjoyed it.”

He murmured back, the smirk on his lips evident in his tone. A smirk you’d come to love. You smiled back, shifting up to look him in the eye, kissing him on the forehead, one he closed his eyes at while you did it, savoring it, before peering back at you with a sleepy gaze.

“We should really sleep, you know.”

You suggested, now yawning as you thought about it. His shadows tightened around you in a possessive and protective embrace, as they always did while you slept. He yawned after seeing you yawn, nuzzling his head into yours.

“Mm..goodnight, angel.”

He said, tone more noticeably tired now that you’d called him out on it. Your eyes began to drift as you mumbled back.

“G’night, Az.”

#acotar fandom #acotar fanfiction #writers on tumblr #acotar x reader #azriel #azriel acotar #azriel x reader #acotar fluff #azriel fluff #azriel smut #azriel x peregryn!reader #dawn court #thesan #thesan’s sister

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visionsofmagic · 1 year ago

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watching them as they train. ⭒ mk1

—✦requsted by anon.∗ imagine watching liu kang, kenshi, bi han, kuai liang, and tomas working out. you can’t help but ogle them. their muscles straining visibly, they are panting, sweat is rolling off them, THEN feeling them up. how do the guys feel about this?

╰┈➤ tags: spicy, sfw, pet names, sweating, watching, flirting, tattoo, gn!reader, use of y/n, no specific use of gender, boyfriend dynamic, fluff, ‘s all I suppose. ✩ wc: 2.3k ✩ rose’s notes: offf, this one was so spicy to write and I like how I imagined this entirely while reading your request, lol, love ya & thanks for this hot request! hope you all will like, enjoy. [also, changed the aesthetic of requests post, hope this one is prettier. muah!]

✩ liu kang.

being the god of fire, protector of the earthrealm, and having a decent power in his system, he needs to train his muscles, physical strength, and power as well as he does with his mindset. watching him sitting down on the carpet, eyes closed, hands connected while being inside his mind to power it up as if he’s not the most powerful soul in the entire timeline is the thing you do as a habit now, so, it’s not surprising when you find yourself sitting on one of the benches on the training area as he trains alone – no one else, just you and him.

it’s different than watching his peaceful closed eyes, a little smirk on his face from time to time as he knows you’re there to take a sight of his meditation – because he gladly allows you to. it’s different even within the air – it’s too hot to handle and the wind doesn’t help at all because how he has no particular sleeve on his upper part, wearing just pants as he trains with his sharp movements.

muscles getting tighter, sweat running from his neck to his exposed chest, professionalism is as clear as the sun’s rays and you can’t stop thinking about how easily he will use his skillful hands on your body – he’s making you weak by only training and you know that he acknowledges his effects on you, making his training session sharper and more powerful than it is needed as he turns his back, arms move fast, making his back’s muscles go visible to your eyes.

mouth getting wet on its own, your eyes travel from his sweaty hair to his sharp jaw, arms with visible veins, white tattoos covering his arms and a part of his chest beautifully, sweat flowing from there until they reach his abdomen, making you gulp in excitement.

is it wrong to fantasize about a god? you can’t answer, and you don’t care about it either – well, at least, your instincts don’t care because without calculating its outcomes, your legs move on their own as you get up, slowly approaching him. with each step you can hear his deep breaths, and can see his sweats shine under the light of the sun.

he stops at his movements when he feels you near, chest rising up and down still. standing in front of him with warm breaths hitting his hot chest, you can’t help but touch his arms’ tattoos full of sweat – slowly enough to get a warning from his parted lips. “y/n –“

“yes, my lord?”

you can see his eyes narrowing, mind studying the situation and knowing that you will not stop, not after both of your hands happen to be on his chest, rubbing his muscles from time to time and earning another warning from him as he grips your wrists – fingers still playing with his arm muscles, getting wet, “you should stop, I need to train for one more hour, pretty.”

“train with me,” you say, putting a kiss on his exposed chest before turning over, knowing the god of fire, the man of determination, can’t resist your open invitation, and agreeing.

“you will be the death of me, my love,” he says, picking you up in bridal style as he goes to his room – to train with you of course, much hotter this time.

✩ kenshi.

to get back his sword from johnny, and be worthy of his clan once again, kenshi tries his best – so hard to accomplish his aims – he needs to be strong, he knows it, and the knowledge pushes him to train over and over again until he can beat everyone who crosses his way and avoiding him to reach his destination.

and there’s one more reason behind it – having you as his audience. his beloved lover who likes to watch him get a good view of his exposed body, half-naked, showing his muscles off even though he will deny it. he can have his orange training clothes to wear but in that way, he won’t be able to see your parted lips that you bite and lick occasionally, eyes shining as they travel on his body shamelessly, hands move rapidly because of not knowing where to put them because your mind is not working entirely when he winks at you whenever he changes the way he trains – legs, arms, back muscles – doesn’t matter as long as you get heat rushing on your body which he knows so well.

“liked what you see, love?” he will ask, smiling down at you when he takes a break, chest rising up and down as he stands on his foot, hovering over you, teasing because it’s so fun to play with your cute mind.

“u-huh,” you say, looking at his chest and waist covered with sweat rather than his eyes directed at you, “like it so much –“ you add, and to his surprise, you put your hands on his waist, pulling him closer to you as you sit on the bench still, and eyes turning up to find him, “are you doing it for me to like it?” you tease back as your hands move from his waist to his abdomen, feeling his six packs tighten under your fingertips. “cute.”

“not as cute as you, prettiest.”

then, he will make sure you put your hands on his body whenever he takes breaks until he is done with training and takes you into his room, admiring your body the way you do to his. after all, he is such a pleaser that he needs to return the favor.

✩ bi han.

for being the grandmaster of the lin kuei clan, the man who seeks great power, bi han trains a lot – he needs to, he has to.

he never gets exhausted by training with his potent stamina and determination to become the best – the strongest to bring great accomplishments to his clan. also, he never gets tired of having you beside him as he trains after he tells you to watch him closely to see what a true and good training session will look like – well, half truth half lie because it’s not the only reason why he keeps taking you into the area, having you sit down on the carpet, on your knees and watch him – it’s all because of you though, you were the first one who requested to do it and from the way you look at him, his body and mostly muscles with parted pretty lips, he can’t bring himself to train alone when he can your pretty face lighten up with desire of him as he does it.

knowing he does it on purpose, you sit down on the carpet calmly – as much as you can anyway, watching him having only his pants on, ice appearing on his hands until it reaches his elbows, the temperature getting colder but you don’t – it only gets warmer for you when your eyes travel on his torso, chest, shoulders, arms – full of muscles and sweat, getting tighter from time to time with the impact of his hard training. oh, you think, he truly deserves the title of grandmaster.

thighs clenching together, hands getting between your legs, eyes sparkling, and lips getting licked, you know bi han laughs menacingly inside his mind whenever he takes a look at your messy situation – he definitely does it on purpose, doesn’t he?

your question is answered when he cleans his sweat with a towel before sitting in front of you on his knees, hands positioned on his lap, raising an eyebrow he asks, “did you learn anything from my training, y/n?”

nodding, you challenge him by saying, “yeah, I learned how your muscles move so beautifully, sir.”

he chuckles deeply, and letting you do what you wanted to do before, taking you by the wrist, he puts your hand down on his shoulders, “now learn how they feel under your touch, doll. it’s what your hands carve after all.”

instead of saying anything, you use your hand movements as an answer – massaging his rigid muscles on the shoulders, moving from his chest from there until they find his abdomen, full of thick packs, showing his masculinity off so perfectly that you put a kiss on his exposed body, earning a low growl from the man.

“if you keep doing that, I will use your body as my training tool, princess.”

he sounds deep and hot – you’re being a brat. “then, do it.” and he does it in a way you can never imagine before experiencing it.

✩ kuai liang.

he doesn’t mind having your company when he finds alone time to train his abilities to make them reach the highest point; on the contrary, he finds it amusing how you even bring snacks with you as if his training session is a scene coming out of your favorite show – you admit it though, he’s your favorite show to watch because how it cannot be when he has sightworthy attractive and cute features, especially in the training area in which he has nothing on the half of his body – yes, you see it every day and night yet it’s far more different when it comes to seeing him training with his tools to strength himself up.

watching him jumping, crouching, using his knives with long ropes you happen to have on your wrist a night ago, your hand stop in mid-air, not being able to eat a snack because of how your mouth keeps getting wet – the hotness coming from him and hitting you on the face heavily isn’t related to his ability, no, it’s only coming thanks to being so damn attractive right now; all sweaty, breathing heavily and rapidly, movements perfect, gaze he gives to you breathtaking.

“what is it princess?” he will ask, a knowing smile on his face, taking a bottle of water to drink as he sits down beside you, radiating two different kinds of warmness to your body, “I am the one who trains and you seem to be the one with no steady breath.”

his teasing stops when you can’t help yourself and touch the scorpion tattoo on his thick and big arm, moving from there to his shoulder slowly. chuckling, you say as your hands travel on his wet chest and abdomen playfully, “who has no steady breath now handsome?”

“oh?” he holds your wrist, pulling you closer, hot breath hitting your neck when he puts a kiss on there, “when I am finished with the train, you even won’t be able to have a brain to remember how to breathe, pretty.”

✩ tomas.

“what now?” he will ask firstly, trying to find a few excuses to tell after you sit on the ground, smiling widely and telling him you want to watch him as he trains – because, ugh, he knows he will get all shy and missing a few steps, or doing his sessions incorrectly with the effects of having your piercing eyes on him, studying him, literally seeing every move and it makes him a bit nervous because being the cute little boyfriend, tomas wants to be as perfect as he can be in front of you – no one else’s, except his brothers.

his desire to impress you in every way, the situation as possible gives him a bit of sadness when he shows some weakness as he does exercises, you behind him, sitting and watching – oh, he sucks, isn’t he – he will think until the moment he realizes that you don’t watch him train – well, you do, but not with the way he excepts.

your eyes scanning his arm muscles, back, thighs, and hands as if he’s a piece of art with thick and sharp features he has – he can see how you bite your lip from time to time, smiling face is long gone, replaced by the expression of passion and tomas can’t decide which one makes him happier; to realize his not-so-perfect training isn’t understood by you or to witness your greedy gazes as you keep your eyes on him, clearly liking what you see.

being addicted to pleasing you, tomas smiles at himself and without hesitation, he takes his tight sleeveless top off of his body, showing his body underneath it – getting proud when you begin to lick your lips, thighs getting clenched with pure instincts.

even at his shiest moment, he teases you by standing between your legs, holding you by the chin, and making you look into his shining eyes with joy, “you’re quite an admirer, my love, aren’t you?” he asks, leaving you dumb for a moment before you come into your senses, smiling as your palms position on his exposed chest, playing.

it’s his turn to be dumb at the sudden action, “after what I am watching is the most beautiful sight in all realms, of course.” your hands are shameless as they flow on his top, admiring it as a true admirer.

“then let me put on a show only for you, my goddess.”

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whimsijoy · 1 month ago

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you lay in steve harrington’s lap when you’re crying

wc: ~1k

a/n: when bjork said “this is my first gig. in IRELAND!!!” i felt that cause first time finishing a fic (drabble) for steve. my man my man my man! please feel free to send some requests or constructive criticism. i am Lorde yayayya

—

“Hey.”

“Hi.” You croak out, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you linger in your doorway. You poorly hide a yawn before ushering Steve into the house, gathering him up into your arms.

You’re pleasantly surprised when he hugs you right back. You’ve been having a tough time in general lately. On top of school, work, and all the other miscellaneous things that like to pile on top of them, you’ve efficiently deemed yourself exhausted.

So what better way to combat that than by spending a night in with your boyfriend, even if you feel an ever present lump in your throat?

“Hey, Honey.” He says softly as you breathe deeply into his chest. If you felt like being dramatic, then you would allow yourself to go limp in his arms. You’d let him drag you around the house like a rock on a string if it meant just being around him.

You don’t know how long you stay hugging each other like that, but it’s enough to prompt Steve to ask — “How’s the sleeping been going?” — To which you only melt further.

He takes that as answer enough. He rubs the breadth of your shoulder blades with a firm and loving hand that makes heat pool behind your eyes. You take a deep inhale in, press your head further into the juncture of his neck and squeeze what you fear might be the life out of him.

“Did you want to go back to sleep?” He asks, hoping it didn’t sound too awkward coming from his mouth. He fears that he’s incapable of comforting someone, or showing that he’s in love with them correctly. But, when you’re holding on to him, entrusting him enough to be gentle with you, he knows he’s doing something right.

You nod into the neckline of his sweater before finally pulling away. You help him shed his coat and hang it up on the hook, and before you know it he’s out of his shoes and has a hand on the small of your back.

You tread through the floorplan of your apartment before making it into your bedroom. You crawl back into bed slowly, and wait for Steve to follow suit. Once he’s changed out of his jeans, he slinks under the covers and beside you.

He maneuvers one arm under you, then your shirt, and rubs softly at your skin. Nothing sexual, like a very slow metronome going from side to side. His other arm slinks over your own until his large hands are pushing the hair that’s fallen into your face away, and over the shell of your ear.

He strokes your hairline with all the care and love that he can muster (which is a lot). You lean further into his chest, and he doesn’t stop when he feels your body tense up and shake slightly. Well, maybe he does. He doesn’t like to see you cry. Or see you upset, really.

“Hey, honey, honey, what’s wrong?” He whispers out as he adjusts his position to see you better. He takes his hand out that was stroking your tummy and props himself up to look at your face. “I know you’re tired, but you can’t let this eat you alive.” He whispers softly, gathering you up into his arms.

“Come on, come on.” He whispers softly as he sits the both of you up. Your guy’s legs are a tangle as he hugs you as tightly as you did in the doorway. “Talk to me, baby, what’s gnawing at you?”

You finally look up at him through tears and sniffle. “I’m just really stressed.” You whisper, your jaw and head aching with the force of trying to hold your tears back. “I think if I— if I talk about it I'll cry harder.” You say, your voice raising in pitch as you try your best to still be intelligible despite the tears on your face and the lump in your throat.

“Okay,” Steve says while nodding, his brown eyes seeming darker in this lighting. He nods his head minutely and rubs your shoulder as he looks down at you. His dark, feathery hair is falling into his eyes as he keeps up the constant nodding motion. “Okay.” He says quieter this time. “You’ll be okay.” He whispers as he hugs you tighter to his chest.

After some time, your body gives up on trying to stay upright. You shift your body to lay down while Steve stays sitting up. Steve encourages your temple to meet the curve of his thigh before going back to petting your forehead. He catches any tears that don’t need to fall, and murmurs sweet assurances to you while his hands roam your upper body lovingly.

After an even more considerable amount of time, you finally calm down and get back to a regular breathing pattern. You and Steve get ready for bed slowly, helping each other out. He makes sure to let you know you’re loved with different whispers about how,

“You’re my gorgeous girl,”

And how;

“Even though I hate when you’re upset, you’re a very pretty crier. That doesn’t mean that you should cry, Well— you should ‘cause, you know, it’s healthy— but—” all while scrubbing your back.

Once the two of you are done, he dresses you, then you dress him. You tuck the other in and vice versa, and when he sees you smile at his theatrics, he only smiles wider. He spoons himself over you and keeps up with the loving touches. Before you know it, you’re back asleep and so is he. This is how it was meant to be.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #stranger things steve #stranger things #joe keery

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save-the-villainous-cat · 2 months ago

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“You’re awfully cheerful.” The villain leaned back on the hero’s couch and cocked their head. There was only a hint of a smirk but the hero didn’t need more than that to determine their nemesis’ mood.

It was all about the subtle movements.

A twitching eyebrow. A look at their own shoes. A breath taken in a little too quickly.

The hero knew the villain - knew every little detail about their behaviour, knew what they were feeling. Feelings were one thing, facts on the other hand…the hero didn’t know what their nemesis was planning, nor what their next move was. They could tell when the villain was angry, disappointed, amused. But why…?

Nevertheless, the hero smiled and lounged in their armchair, making themselves as comfortable as possible in their own home.

“I’m trying this new thing…having a positive mindset and all. You know, not taking everything so serious.”

“Someone blew up your car today,” the villain pointed out. They stared at the bottle of wine the hero had opened an hour ago. Half finished. “You must be quite upset.”

“I’m kind of grateful, actually.”

“Grateful?” The villain raised a brow and the hero tilted their head. It must have looked rather confident. Cocky, almost. Whether it was the little bit of alcohol or the situation in general - the hero did feel a bit cocky.

“Yeah, I mean. I’m glad I wasn’t in the car when it exploded. That’s a reason to celebrate.”

“Someone knows you’re involved with me,” the villain said.

“We don’t know that for sure,” the hero answered.

“Evidence suggests it, though.”

The hero whistled, impressed. Their eyes widened and something inside them wanted this to be their fault.

“What else is the evidence suggesting, Detective?” The hero let their eyebrows wiggle and took a sip of the wine. They liked to think that not only the villain was changing the hero but that the hero was also influencing their nemesis.

Detective. The villain was definitely smart enough to be one and, Lord, the hero would have loved to see that brilliant mind work on cases with them.

The hero smiled to themselves. Fantasising about the villain being their partner wasn’t new. But it was entertaining. Over and over again.

“That you’re not careful enough.”

“Hm?”

“You got into a fight again. Your knuckles are bruised. Someone blew up your car today. And all you do is sit here and drink,” the villain said. A twitching eyebrow. “You’ll get yourself killed.”

“Aww, are you worried about me?” The hero’s eyes narrowed. “Scared your favourite hero will end up dead?”

The villain’s face didn’t change and at first, they didn’t say anything.

So, the hero observed them carefully.

Their relationship was at a point that suggested they were either hooking up or just really good friends. For the neighbours, it was normal to let the villain in. And for the hero, it was normal to visit the villain in their lair.

Quite risky. Quite rewarding, too.

Exchanging information was crucial to the both of them.

Additionally, the hero kind of liked them.

“I would get you a bodyguard but as of right now, I can’t guarantee that whoever wanted to kill you today isn’t one of my men.” A look at the ground and the hero had to frown. “I’ll take care of that, obviously.”

“You want to hire a bodyguard? For me?” the hero asked. They chuckled into their wineglass.

“No, I won’t hire anyone. I’ll be your bodyguard.”

“Huh?!” The hero’s grip around the glass tightened.

“You’re irreplaceable as informant and in case you die, all your secrets which means all my secrets are very likely to see the light of day. The files on your computer won’t stay hidden forever. I’d like to avoid that.”

“I think I can take care of myself.” The hero looked at the wine. Did that mean the villain wanted to move into this apartment?

The hero blushed softly.

More reasons for the neighbours to gossip about a possible relationship. Jeez.

“I don’t think so,” the villain said. “I haven’t threatened you in weeks, so don’t make me do it. I won’t debate this. I need you alive and I don’t trust anyone enough to do this job right now. I’ll take the couch.”

“I don’t get a say in this?” the hero asked. They laughed at the absurdity.

“No.” The villain’s voice was stern now.

“Hm.” Slowly, the hero finished the glass and set it down on the little table between them and the villain. “Maybe it’ll be fun to watch you follow me around like a dog.”

A blush.

“Call it whatever you want.”

And that’s how the both of them became roommates.

#writing snippet #heroxvillain prompt #heroxvillain snippet #heroes and villains #hero #villain #hero x villain #heroxvillain

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buckyshoneybunny · 1 month ago

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Friendsgiving

College!Quarterback!Bucky Barnes + Curvy!College!Reader

Summery- You and Bucky explore your new relationship while you and the gang celebrate Thanksgiving.

W.C.- 4221

Warnings- Smut, oral (fem), fingering, unprotected sex

A/N- I am so so sorry this is late. I’ve been stressed and I didn’t know how I wanted to do this. But I keep it sweet with no drama, for now anyway, the next one will have lots of drama lol. I do hope you enjoy this. Home For Christmas will be long since it’s going to have a lot in it. But that one and the one for new years might be late and I apologize in advance for that. Anyway enjoy and see you next time my loves! (The picture of the kitchen is mine) (not proofread)

Taglist- @calwitch @winterslove1917 @hi172826

Masterlist Series Masterlist

“He’s doing it again,” Sam snickers.

“Doing what?” Steve hums.

“Looking at her with those love sick puppy eyes.”

Steve looks up from where he was fiddling with the lights for the back patio to see you and Bucky cuddled on the couch. Bucky had a small smile on his face as he watched you ramble on about this new book you were reading.

“Give him a break, he’s happy.” Steve set the lights back in the box. Since you and Bucky had started dating the guys had been coming over more often, spending the nights too. You didn’t mind though; you had the room and if anything, it felt nice to have a full house. It made it feel more like home in a way.

Sam looks back over to you and Bucky. He smirks, knowing damn good and well Bucky has no idea what you’re saying. He's too captivated by the way you look and the joy on your face to pay attention to the plot of your book.

You and Bucky had been together almost two weeks now, when you had told the others they seemed happy and relieved. No more tip toeing around and no more arguing.

You had laughed as a grumpy Steve handed $20 to a very happy Sam. Bucky grumbled and smacked Sam’s arm. Steve had bet Bucky would be the one to confess while Sam bet you would be the one to break first.

Now even though you haven’t been together long, you were enjoying seeing this new side of Bucky. You were learning new things about him and seeing the side of him he didn’t even show Steve.

You found out his favorite books were The Hobbit and Lord of The Rings. He loved to watch older movies; he was a big nerd when it came to anything space or scientific related. And what surprised you the most was he knew the answer to just about every history question you could think of.

Bucky was also learning new things about you. How you procrastinated until the last second and somehow whatever you were working on always came out amazing. How good you were at drawing; how creative your mind was when it came to writing stories. He just about fell out of his chair when you told him you knew how to change the oil and tires on a car.

You both were taking it one step at a time, exploring the unfamiliar grounds of this new relationship.

Steve and Sam walk over and join you on the couch. Steve sits next to you while Sam sits next to him.

“You know he has absolutely no idea what you’re saying, right?” Sam chuckles. Steve elbows him.

“Yes, he does, right Bucky? Bucky?” You wave a hand in front of his face. “James,” you sigh.

Bucky blinks his eyes, refocusing them. “Hmm?”

“Seriously Bucky?” You scoff a laugh.

“I’m sorry, princess. You're just so cute when you’re excited,” he smiles.

You blush and hide your face while Steve and Nat coo. Sam and Yelena make gagging faces, those two like two peas in a pod.

“Since Thanksgiving is in a couple of days shouldn’t we go food shopping tomorrow?” Steve asks.

“Me and you can go after we get back from the fall festival tomorrow,” you answer.

“Fall festival?” Sam asks, disinterest clear in his voice.

“Yeah,” Natasha nods. “We’re going to the Barton farm; they’re having a fall festival.”

“I thought we already went to a festival there?” Sam groans.

“We did, but that was for Halloween. They have three festivals every year, one for Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas.”

“Well, have fun, cause I’m sitting this out.”

“You’re going,” Yelena says sternly.

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Please?” Yelena sticks her bottom lip out in a pout and gives him her puppy eyes.

“Fine,” Sam grumbles. He rolls his eyes when everyone laughs. It had been Yelena’s idea to go, there was a certain someone she wanted to see.

A little while later you and Bucky lay in your bed rewatching a show you’ve seen a thousand times on your computer. You were just starting to doze off when he speaks up.

“You didn’t go to the Halloween festival,” he says softly. His bushy eyebrows set in a frown.

“What?” You yawn, blinking your eyes repeatedly and doing your best to keep them open.

“The Halloween festival, you didn’t go.” Bucky closes the laptop and sets it on the nightstand.

“No, I didn’t,” you sigh and snuggle into Bucky’s side. That same stuffed dog squished between you both.

“Why? Was it because of me?” He whispers.

You let out a small laugh. “No, I didn’t feel good that night, nor did I want to get dragged to the haunted house. I hate scary things.”

“Oh, okay.” Bucky pulls you impossibly closer. “Goodnight princess,” he kisses your forehead.

“Goodnight Bucky.”

The next morning the six of you get ready for the festival. You and Bucky are the last ones to be ready, Bucky having gotten a little handsy while you were in the shower together.

You wore snug blue jeans that hugged your thighs and ass. A silk tank top-one that accented your curves and made Bucky’s mouth water-under a long-sleeved shirt. You then stole one of Bucky’s jackets to wear, claiming it would keep you warmer, it went down to about mid-thigh on you. Bucky helped you put your boots on and laced them. You slid on some gloves while Bucky wrapped a scarf around your neck and slid beanie on your head.

Though you were covered up, Bucky’s mouth still watered at the sight of you. He didn’t understand how someone could look so adorable yet sexy at the same time.

Bucky, Steve, and Sam all wore jeans, a long-sleeved shirt, and jackets. You practically had to force Bucky to wear gloves and a hat. And while he looked like a three-course meal you’d never understand how he could wear so little layers in this freezing weather. Some people just don’t get cold.

Steve, Natasha, and Yelena took Steve’s car while you, Bucky, and Sam took Bucky’s car. Once you got there you pulled Natasha aside.

“You know you’re gonna have to help her, right?” You say quietly, watching Yelena fix her outfit.

“Don’t worry, babes. I’ve already got a plan,” Natasha smirks. You can see the sparkle of mischief in her eyes.

You arch a brow. “And what kind of plan would that be?”

“All you need to know is by the end of the day, Kate and Lena will be a couple.” You laugh and shake your head.

Natasha links her arm with Yelena’s and drags her off in the direction of the face painting station, the one Kate Bishop was currently working. Sam tags along, eager to see what mischief plan Nat has.

You and Bucky walk hand in hand through the festival, Steve on the other side of you. The three of you making your way to where they keep their homemade goodies.

“If Nat’s plan goes well, Sam will be the only single person left in the group,” You wonder aloud.

“Hmph,” Bucky hums. He couldn’t care less.

“We should set him up,” You suggest.

“You know, Sam has had his eye on someone for a while now,” Steve speaks up.

“Who?” You ask a little to excitingly.

Steve chuckles. “Lila Taylor? Lina Taylor, something like that.”

“Leila Taylor?”

“Yeah that.”

“Wait, isn’t she on the college’s reporter team?”

Steve nods. “Yeah, she also supports a lot of activist movements and stuff.”

“Oh cool,” You smile. “I’ll circle back with the girls to come up with a plan and then coordinate with you.”

“Hold up,” Bucky interjects. “You really think it’s a good idea to go snooping around in Sam’s love life?”

“Hey! It’s not snooping,” You argue. “It’s more like giving him a little nudge in the right direction.”

“Well, whatever it is, I want nothing to do with it. Cause if this blows up, it won’t be pretty.” You just roll your eyes.

You and Steve pick out some jams and spices to use in Thanksgiving dinner before heading off to the face painting booth. There's not much of a line so you wait, looking for Nat, Yelena, Sam, and Kate. When it’s you guys’ turn, you walk up to see Cassie Lang running the station.

“Hey Cassie,” You smile. “Where’s Kate and Lena?”

She points behind her. “Back behind the station.”

“Good for them,” You laugh. You get a bunny painted on your face, Bucky gets a cat, and Steve gets a dog.

You thank Cassie and Steve heads off to find Nat and Sam, telling you to meet up at the hayride line. Bucky keeps his arm around your shoulders as you walk. You relax and lean into him, letting him guide you.

It almost doesn’t feel real, being here with him. It's almost like a dream come true; one you never knew you had. You cherish the feeling of being in his arms, the comfort and warmth it brings.

You, Bucky, Sam, Steve, and Nat meet up by the hayrides. Even Yelena and Kate tag along too. While you wait you make small talk and get to know Kate a bit. You learn that she’s mastered in archery and is taking an engineer course. You could see Yelena relax a little when she seen how well Kate got along with everyone.

During the hayride, Bucky’s gaze kept drifting back to you. His heart fluttered as he watched you, the way your eyes shine in the sunlight. How your nose scrunched just like his when you laugh and smile.

He wrapped his arm around you and pulled you closer. He buried his nose in your hair, closing his eyes as your peach scented shampoo filled his nose.

From the moment he met you, something told him you were different. That feeling was just pushed back and blinded by a false sense of hate. One thing he knew for sure, even if this was just the start of the relationship, was that something was different.

None of his previous relationships had ever felt this, what’s the word? Special. He just wishes you and him would have come to terms sooner. But later is better than never.

You guys spend most of the rest of the day doing various activities. Just laughing and having fun, spending time with one another. A lot of people argue over what family is, whether it’s being blood related. Or just knowing someone for a long time, always being there for them and having their back.

Whichever it may be, you knew this was the family that you would ever need. And while your heart does ache for the family you grew up with, you’d never felt more loved than you do with this family. Right here, right now.

Before it got too late you guys called it quits. You and Steve headed to the store while the others headed home. You giggled at the sad puppy eyes Yelena had when she had to say goodbye to Kate.

You and Steve browse the aisles, grabbing ingredients and checking them off the list. You're almost done when you pass the area they keep the turkeys, except, they’re out.

“Crap, Y/n,” Steve sighs. He looks at the empty display that was once filled with Turkeys of all sizes. “What are we going to do?”

You grin. “You know how they say women are smarter than men?” You snicker.

“Yeah, but what does that have to do with the fact we won’t have a turkey for thanksgiving?”

“Me and Nat picked one up last week, Steve,” you laugh.

“Oh”

“Oh!” You gasp. “So, I have a request to make,” you bite your lip.

“What’s that?”

“So, you’re cooking the turkey this year, right?” Steve nods and you continue. “Well, I was wondering if maybe we could smoke the turkey on the grill?”

Steve pauses, considering the idea. “That actually doesn’t sound too bad,” he hums.

“Right? I mean, any other dish we cook on the grill tastes amazing, so why not try it with the turkey?”

“Yeah,” he nods. “I think that’s a good idea. So that’s what we’ll do then.”

Once you have everything, you pay and pile everything in the trunk of the car and head home. Sam and Bucky help bring the groceries inside when you get home, you and Nat put them away.

Since everyone was tired from the fun filled day and no one wanting to cook and clean the already prepped kitchen. You guys just decided to order some pizza. The TV is playing some cooking show, one that was actually decent.

Sam and Yelena sat on the floor between the coffee table and couch, munching on the pizza. You and Bucky sat on one end of the couch, squeezed together under one blanket. Steve and Nat sat at the other end, hogging the bigger blanket.

“So, what all are we having tomorrow?” Sam asks around a mouth full of pizza. Natasha nudges Sam’s shoulder with her foot, playfully scolding him about not talking with a mouth full of food.

“Well, we’re gonna have turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, gravy, Nat will make her mac & cheese,” you list the dishes out. “Probably some corn too.”

“What about homemade bread?” Yelena asks.

“Absolutely,” you smile.

“You make homemade bread?” Bucky asks, surprised. You nod. “Since when?”

“Since I was like, 15 or 16?” You shrug. He hums and pulls you closer.

“Oh, by the way, I invited Kate to come over after. If that’s okay?” Yelena says.

You nod. “That’s fine, I invited Wanda.”

“I invited Clint, too,” Nat adds.

You, Bucky, Steve, and Nat head to bed early since you have to get an early start on cooking tomorrow.

The alarm on your phone goes off at five in the morning, jolting you awake. Bucky groans and shuts the alarm off, tightening his arms around your waist.

“I gotta get up, baby,” you whisper. You card your fingers through his hair.

He buries his face in your neck. “No,” he mumbles, voice muffled.

You smile softly. “Yes.” When he doesn’t let you go, you pinch his shoulder.

Bucky grumbles and let's go. “You’re mean,” he pouts.

You press a quick kiss to his lips. “Here,” you hand him your stuffed dog. “Fido will keep you company.” Bucky smacks the dog away, making you gasp.

“How dare you!” You pick him up and coddle him to your chest. “It’s okay, I got you.” You kiss its head.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Are you really talking to a stuffed animal?” He asks in that deep, sexy morning voice of his.

You hug the dog closer to your chest. “Don’t listen to him, he’s a big meanie,” you mumble against its fur. Bucky raises a brow. “You up set him, now you have to give him a kiss.”

“I’m not kissing a stuffed animal, Y/n,” he huffs.

“What’s that? He has to give you cuddles?” Bucky shakes his head. “Now, James,” you say, trying and failing to sound stern.

He rolls his eyes again but takes the stuffed dog. He cuddles the dog and gives it a kiss. “Happy now?” You can see the hint of a smile on his face. You nod.

You quickly use the bathroom, brush your teeth and pull your hair back. You quietly head back to your bedroom to grab your phone and meds. You have to cover your mouth with your head to keep from laughing.

Bucky had already fallen back to sleep, but he was holding you stuff dog like it was his lifeline. You figured he’d chuck it once you left, but he didn’t. You snap a picture and head downstairs. You see Steve in the kitchen and a lump under a blanket on the couch. Sam.

“Morning Steve,” you say quietly.

“Morning Y/n,” he whispers with a smile.

“Look at this,” you giggle. You show Steve the picture of Bucky to which he laughs. You hear Sam grumble something about being quiet.

“You should have gone to bed sooner,” you snicker. Sam stuck his arm out from under the blanket, flipping you off.

You get started on the bread while Steve fires up the grill. You both work in harmony to get things started and prepped.

Around 8, Sam decided to give up on trying to sleep in. He made himself a bowl of cereal and plopped on the couch to watch some cartoons. By 8:30, Bucky had sauntered down the stairs and immediately plastered himself to your back.

“Morning princess,” he mumbles into your neck. He presses a kiss there.

“Morning Bucky,” you smile.

After about five minutes of him hanging on you, you make him get off. He pouts but lets you go, grabbing a bowl of cereal and joining Sam on the couch to watch cartoons.

By 9, Nat and Yelena had come down. Yelena joining the boys and Nat helping out in the kitchen. At 11, you and Nat force the three stooges to get ready and clean up. Slowly but surely, you, Nat, and Steve get ready.

Bucky and Yelena keep up on dishes, so you aren’t running the dishwasher ten different times today. Bucky washes them while Yelena dries and puts them away. You and Yelena set the table, Bucky and Sam had cleaned up the living room by then. And finally, by 1, the table was being filled with food.

Steve had cooked the turkey and while that was cooking, he did the gravy, mashed potatoes, and stuffing. Nat cooked her homemade mac & cheese and some corn. You had cooked the homemade rolls that, in Sam’s words, were to die for. You had also made some fudge and a pumpkin pie.

Finally, once everyone sat down, Steve and Nat on one side, you and Bucky on the other, Sam at one end, Yelena at the other. The wine was poured and Steve said grace. Steve cut the turkey and everyone filled up their plates with food.

While you ate, Bucky rested his hand on your thigh. After a while it started to slide up, his pinky toying with the hem of the long-sleeved dress you wore. He didn’t move it much more than that, just wanting to tease you.

By the time everyone finished, Kate, Wanda, and Clint had shown up. They were just in time for dessert. You and Kate had fudge while everyone else had pie. After a little more pie and wine, everyone moved to the living room to hang out, leaving you and Steve to clean up the mess.

You put the food away and loaded the first load of dishes in the dishwasher. Steve threw napkins and various things away, sweeping the crumbs up and taking the trash out. Steve went to join the others while you finished wiping the counters.

When you finished you headed to the living room, pausing in the archway. Steve and Nat were cuddled on the couch under a blanket, watching a Christmas movie. Clint, Kate, and Wanda were playing some board game. Yelena and Sam were building a Castle out of Legos.

You smiled. This was your family. This was your home.

Your smile widened when you felt two arms wrap around your waist.

“Hey,” you say, your voice soft.

“You did a good job on the bread and pie,” Bucky says. He starts to kiss your neck. You tilt your head and relax against him.

“Thanks,” you bite your lip. “Since everyone is preoccupied, what do you wanna do?”

He hums and slides his hands to your waist, spinning you around. “I think I want some dessert.” You can hear the lust in his voice.

“Didn’t you already have dessert?” You giggle, knowing full well that’s not what he’s talking about.

“Not that kind of dessert princess, this one’s more...sweet.” He runs his nose up your neck to nibble on your ear.

“I don’t know, that pie was pretty sweet.”

He huffs and tosses you over his shoulder, making you giggle. You playfully grope his ass as he walks, he really did have a nice ass. He kicks your bedroom door shut with his foot and tosses you on the bed.

Bucky kneels on the bed between your thighs, pushing the loose skirt of you dress up around your waist. He spreads your legs and rips your panties, growl coming from him when he sees you’re already wet.

“You have got to stop ripping my panties! I’m gonna run out soon.” Your laugh turns into a gasp when he runs his thumb over your clit.

“Sorry princess,” he mumbles absentmindedly, eyes focused on your pussy.

“No, you’re not.”

“No, I’m not,” he agrees with a smirk. He leans down, laying on his stomach between your legs, kissing and nipping the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

He makes his way up one thigh before switching to the other, causing you to huff. He presses one last kiss to your thigh before hovering his lips over your pussy. He blows on your pussy, causing you to shudder. He chuckles and runs his tongue through your folds up to your clit.

You gasp and thread your fingers through his hair. He eats you out like a man starved, like this is his first meal in days. He sucks on your clit, making your hips buck. He throws his metal arm over your hips to keep them still.

He runs his tongue down to your slit, sucking up your juices. He starts to fuck you with his tongue, he thrusts it in and out. His two-day old stubble rubs against the skin around your pussy, making you close your thighs around his head.

He brings two fingers to your entrance, thrusting them in and curling them in that way that has you seeing stars. He adds a third one, fucking you with his fingers, his mouth back to sucking on your clit.

He moans against your pussy, the vibrations running through you and bringing you that much closer to the edge. Your fingers tighten in his hair. With one last curl of his fingers, you cum, moaning his name.

He helps you ride it out, lapping up your juices. He gives your clit one last kiss before sitting up. He pulls your dress over your head and throws it behind him, he flings your bra in the same direction.

He pulls his shirt over his head and you run your hands over his abs. You don’t think you’d ever get tired of seeing this man naked. Once his pants are off, he covers you with his body, lips latching onto one of your nipples, his metal hand squeezing and pinching the other one.

You reach down and grab his cock, stroking him a couple of times and making his hips buck. You run his tip through your folds and line him up.

“Ready princess?” He pants. You nod.

He slowly pushes in, burying himself all the way in with one thrust. He laces his fingers with yours and pins your hands above your head. You wrap your legs around his waist.

When you give him the okay, he pulls out and thrusts back in, starting a slow pace. He buries his face in your neck, sucking and biting, leaving his mark on you.

His pace starts to pick up, your moans and whimpers like music to his ears. Soon enough he’s pounding you into the bed. Skin slapping against skin fills the room, the air smelling of sex. You bite your lip to keep from moaning too loud, knowing your friends are still right downstairs.

“Let them hear,” he pants into your neck. “Let them hear I good I can fuck you.” he angles his hips to hit that special spot, making you cry out. “There you go,” he grins.

Each thrust hits that spot, bringing you closer and closer. The patch of hair above his cock rubs against your clit, adding to your pleasure. Bucky can feel you squeezing him, he knows your close.

“Come on, princess, cum for me. Be a good girl and cum.” That all you need, the band in your stomach snapping and stars blurring your vision. Your back arches and you moan his name, probably a little too loud.

Bucky fucks you through it before his thrust grow sloppy and he’s cumming inside you with a groan of your name on his lips.

He collapses on top of you, panting and still feeling the after effects of his orgasm. You rub his back and run your fingers through his hair as you both catch your breath. He makes a contented sound and nuzzles his face into your chest.

After a few moments of silence his phone vibrates on the nightstand, indicating a text message.

He carefully pulls out and rolls over to grab his phone. He makes a ‘hmm’ sound before setting it down and pulling you back into his arms, spooning you from behind, ready for a nap.

“Who was that?” You ask softly.

“My mom,” he mumbles into your hair.

“Oh..is everything okay?”

“She wants us to come home for Christmas.”

#honeybunnywrites #bucky #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky fanfic #marvel #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x curvy!reader #bucky barnes x plus size reader #sebastian stan #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader smut #bucky smut #bucky fluff #bucky imagine #bucky x female reader

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acourtofwhatthefuck · 1 year ago

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Practice On Me — Finale — Azriel x Reader

Summary: The grand Illyrian ball is here. Reader is more than ready to return to Windhaven and Azriel, but daddy Fin throws a huge spanner in the works. Life as they know it is about to change.

Note — I’ve tried to tag everyone who’s asked but there are some people that it simply won’t let me tag 🥲

Word Count: 10.6k (oop, sorry 😅)

Warnings: There’s a looot to unpack here. Depictions of violence and gore. Some light smut. 18+!

This place is cold and unforgiving.

The air in your lungs is constricted before you’ve even stepped through the giant gates. They call it the Hewn City due to its entirety being hewn from cold, hard rock.

But you get the feeling these walls are more than that. You can feel the horror in the cracks, the loneliness that screams behind its surface.

You don’t know how Mor has survived so long here. You’re already itching to get out.

A warm hand splays across your back, and you turn to face Fin. It’s not the first time he drinks you in so hungrily, but you could be forgiven for thinking so, by the way his eyes heat all over again. He glances quickly at your lips, and in this empty meeting room that he’s stolen you away to, you’re not at all sure that he isn’t bold enough to act on that hunger.

“Focus, High Lord.” You murmur, brushing the lapel of his tailored jacket. “You’ve an audience waiting for you.”

Somewhat of an infantile groan leaves him — one you’re not sure he’d share with many others. He dips down and allows his forehead to drop against your shoulder, slowly breathing in your scent.

“And if I said fuck the audience,” he murmurs, “and decided to stay here to dip under this gown and ravish you? What then?”

“Then I wager your subjects would be mighty displeased that you brought them here for nothing.”

“I could make you moan,” his nose nudges your neck, “loud enough to give them a show.”

“Later.” You promise falsely, and the lie is sour on your tongue. You step back and straighten yourself out. “You have a duty to attend to.”

The way his eyes sweep you tells you that you are the only duty he wishes to attend to. But he relents with a sigh and inclines his head.

“I do.” He admits. “And I will have to play my role out there. I’ll be mostly unavailable for the duration of this ball, so…I want you to go and have fun. Just don’t stray too far. I’ve organised the evening’s entertainment with you in mind, and I want you by my side when you see it.”

For a beat, you can only blink at him. You’re…touched, that he would do that for you. And your mind immediately starts swirling with possibilities of what that entertainment might be. Perhaps a show of professional dancers or a theatrical performance.

You study him, attempting to glean information merely from the expression on that granite-hewn face. “It’s Starfall.” You remind him. “Is that not the evening’s entertainment?”

He merely smiles. “I’ll send for you when it’s time.” He leans down, coasting his lips over one cheek and then the other. “Enjoy yourself.”

Without another word, he turns. Rolls his shoulders and slips into his High Lord roll. But before he can take a step towards the door, you're grabbing his hand.

“Fin—” You blurt, and he stops. You swallow as you stare up at him. “Just…please don’t let Tathaln Baralas ruin the camps.”

His gaze searches your face. You can’t get a read on his expression.

But then the corners of his lips curve up, and he’s squeezing your hand.

“I won’t let Tathaln become a problem.” He says, and then repeats, “enjoy yourself.”

The way he prises his hand from yours has an air of finality that stops you from pushing any further. You want to ask — beg, if you have to — for his reassurance. But he strides to the door, sleek black shoes clipping against the marble floor.

And left alone, you think you may have done all you possibly can do. That the rest is out of your hands.

So you attempt to shake off your relentless anxiety, and you go to find your friends.

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Weaving through the mammoth structure and the sea of Illyrians that fill it, you’ve already witnessed three fights and two couples damn near fucking in nothing more hidden than the alcoves carved into the walls. Pretty tame for your people, but alas, the night is young.

There are so many pairs of wings. There is such a thick air of arrogance and ego and brutishness. You’re not quite sure where you fit in here, but before you can find a refreshment that will dull that feeling, strong arms are wrapping around your waist and yanking you backwards.

You scream, and no one around you bats an eyelash. You thrash and buck, but the attempt is met with—

Deep, smooth laughter that you know so, so well.

You relax in the offender’s hold immediately, and their arms loosen enough for you to twist in them.

You glare up at Cassian and send a punch to his bicep. “Asshole.”

“Ow!” He chokes on another laugh, and then he’s grinning brilliantly, white teeth gleaming in the fae light. “Hello, Sweetpea. I’ve missed you.”

Fuck, you’ve missed him too. And that’s all it takes for you to throw your arms around him and squeeze.

He smells like Cass. That rugged scent of his that is such a comfort. And the way he hugs you back, firm yet gentle, warm and loving and present, tells you that any previous anger he had towards you is a thing of the past.

“Windhaven is fucking boring without you.” He pulls back, holding you at arms length — and blinks. “Holy gods, look at you.”

“Look at you.” Your eyes rove over him, from his tailored, maroon-coloured suit to his brushed, slicked-back hair. His wings are squeaky clean and flared proudly. He’s stunning. Breathtaking.

He cracks another Cassian grin. “Who knew we could brush up so well, hey, Sweetpea? You’re absolutely gorgeous. I’ll be the envy of all these Illyrian males, knowing I fucked you—”

“Cassian.” You land another hit to his bicep. “Don’t ruin the moment.”

“Sorry, sorry. I’ve actually been sent to collect you. A certain someone is waiting for you on a patio. I’ll give you a clue — he, too, has fucked you—”

With a roll of your eyes, albeit a fond one, you’re breezing past him with a feeling of…need. To see Azriel. To have him ground you in a place and circumstance of such unfamiliarity. You need that comfort.

Cass follows promptly, slinging an arm around your shoulder — not just because he’s missed you, but because the leering eyes of hundreds of Illyrian males follow your every step. Those gazes seem to drink in your dress bead by little bead. They’re hungry for sex and for violence.

“Out here.” Your friend steers you down a hallway, untouched by not only guests, but also the horrific brilliance of the rest of this place. This is an area that most aren’t supposed to see, with chipped concrete floors and peeling walls. It’s so cold, so ugly and uninviting, that you can’t imagine why Azriel would summon you here, of all places.

But then a door appears at the end of the winding hall, open just enough for a sliver of moonlight to touch the threshold. The fresh air has goosebumps spreading over your skin.

“He wanted some private time with you. Rhys and I said we’d keep watch.” Cass studies you and huffs a deep, dramatic sigh. “I’m trying really hard not to feel left out right now.”

“I’m sure you don’t really want to be the third wheel—”

“Sure I do. I’ve told Az that he wouldn’t even know I’m there, but no, he wants you all to himself. Selfish bastard.” He reaches out, pulling the door open wider for you. And then he calls, “I hope you heard that, fucker!”

Strong footsteps emerge from argent moonlight, and Azriel’s voice is a lilting shiver across your skin. “You know I heard it, you idiot.” He says. “You…”

His words trail off as he takes you in, and suddenly you don’t know what to do with your hands, your face, with any part of you.

His stare holds the weight of a very ancient love, so much older than the both of you. It somehow translates that you had his heart in a previous life, when you were different people entirely, and you’ll still have it in the next, when your souls begin anew.

He swallows, loud enough that you all hear it. And his voice is husky as he says, “There are no words worthy of you.”

And you’re hit with a strange urge to cry. Mostly because you feel exactly the same way about him.

He is…exquisite. He’s slicked his hair back, and that alone is a huge thing for him — to openly show each and every curve and line of his face, with no strands to hide behind. The curtain of his thick, dark lashes only accentuates the honey of his eyes and the gold of his skin.

And the suit he’s donned for the evening — that same maroon colour that Cass is wearing. You wonder if Rhys, wherever he is, is wearing the same. Whether the trio look as breathtaking together as you expect them to.

“No words.” Az repeats, shaking his head. “The Mother herself must have sent you to me.”

Cassian smirks and rests an elbow atop of your head, regardless of your perfected hair. “I said the same.”

You quirk an eyebrow. “No, you didn’t.”

“Well, I said something similar.”

“It wasn’t even close to that.”

“Be grateful of my winning charm—”

“Cassian.” Az cuts him off. “Why don’t you go and find Rhys?”

Cass lets out an infantile whine. “But he’s having private time with Zakai.”

“And I’d like to have some private time with Y/N, so. Run along.”

Your friend offers a great, dramatic huff that makes you grin, but he removes his arm from your head and turns.

“This whole coupling up thing is boring!” He calls, retreating down the hall.

And then it’s just you and Azriel.

Your love. Your heart.

You turn back to him with a coy smile, reaching up to fix your hair.

“Let me.” Az murmurs, and he steps closer, his fingers sinking into the strands of your hair. Up close, you drink him down even more, greedy and insatiable. You want to know every expression, every thought.

“There are no words worthy of you, either.” You whisper, and his eyes drop down from your hair to meet yours. “You’re a vision, Az.”

He studies you for a moment. And though his hands leave the strands, they lower only to cup your face. His thumb strokes your cheek.

“What I am,” he murmurs, “is yours.”

Your eyes shutter, and you drop your forehead against his. Every last bit of trouble and turmoil you’ve experienced has been worth it to hear those words. You want them to mark your skin.

You push up onto the tips of your toes, slanting your mouth over Azriel’s. He wastes no time in sliding his hands to your waist and hauling you close to him.

You kiss him like doing so here isn’t risky. Like you have the freedom to kiss him whenever and however you both want, and there are no outer forces getting in the way. You long for the day when that will be the case. When you can love, and love proudly.

Perhaps that luxury isn’t too far out of reach.

Az seems to think so, too, as he pulls away just enough to rest his forehead against yours once more, and he says, breathlessly, “Things are going to change — after tonight. I can feel it.”

You study him, searching for deeper meaning. And as though they can sense your anxiety, his shadows snake around your ankles in a soothing caress. “A good change, I hope.”

“Whatever it is, we’ll face it together. Me and you. I’m yours.”

You peck him once, twice. “And I am yours.”

Those words alone are enough to make heat blaze in his eyes. With adoration making way for passion, lust, he allows his gaze to rake over you, and he swipes his tongue over his bottom lip.

“So fucking gorgeous.” His voice is guttural. “If we didn’t have to attend this ball right now, I would—”

The door flies open behind you, and Az looks more than ready to throttle Cassian as he prances back into sight and announces, “Found Rhys!”

“And we brought booze.” Rhys swiftly follows with a smirk. “Raided personally, by me, from my asshole father’s stash.”

Sure enough, his suit matches the other two. And seeing the three of them together like that, looking so beautiful, so proper, so…matured—

A lump forms in your throat that you force down. You furiously blink away the tears that sting your eyes.

Because it hits you, just then, how much you’ve missed this — the four of you, just being together, like old times. You were always such a strong unit, always driven by your love for one another, and the dysfunctional, unconventional, beautiful family you became. It’s been a long while since you looked upon these three males without burdening thoughts always remaining a step away. You miss the ease. You miss the love.

But here it is, right in front of you, just like it always will be. And in that moment, nothing else matters but your little unit. Just you, Azriel, Cassian and Rhysand.

As you shake out of your thoughts, you realise Rhys is staring at you just as intensely. Strong emotion swims in his eyes.

“…What?” You ask, smoothing your hands over your dress.

“You just…look incredible.” He smiles softly. “Every single star that soars above our heads tonight will have nothing on you.”

Just as you think you’re about to get choked up all over again, Cassian smirks and declares, “I said the same.”

You scowl, reaching out to swat him. “No, you did not. Just accept you’re bad at compliments and move on.”

“I’m a master at compliments, thank you very much.”

Az slides an arm around your waist and quirks an eyebrow. “You took Sacha for a drink and complimented her by saying you look like you bathed. You’re hardly a poet, Cass.”

It’s Cassian’s turn to scowl then. “Well, what I may lack in poetry, I make up for in the bedroom. As Y/N clearly knows.”

A snarl rips from Azriel’s throat. “Watch yourself.”

Rhys rolls his eyes and smacks Cassian upside the head. “Don’t wind him up, dickhead.”

“Who are you calling dickhead?”

“I’m calling you dickhead, dickhead.”

The bickering becomes background noise as you prise the bottle from Rhys’s hand and take a generous swig — none of which he even notices, as he and Cass continue taking swipes at each other.

And as the liquid burns your throat, you meet Azriel’s gaze. Both of you grin. He takes the bottle from you.

In that moment, all you feel is happiness. Beautiful familiarity. Rhys and Cassian tearing chunks out of each other while you and Azriel watch and laugh from the sidelines. It makes your heart feel heavy with such warmth that it may just burst.

You do not need lavishness or luxury. Your life is nothing special, but you do not want for anything.

Just this. Only this.

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“Who knew so many Illyrians could dance?”

Rhysand’s steps are swift and flawless. It’s situations like these — ones of strict propriety and, dare you say, class — that you’re reminded he’s only half-Illyrian. The other males around you may be trying their hand at dancing, but Rhys flows through each number with barely a thought.

You smile up at him, secure in his hold. A dance floor full of Illyrians is a temperamental and, quite frankly, stupid idea. Anyone who gets too close to another’s wings is asking for a punch. Or five.

But so far, it’s been surprisingly uneventful. And you might even begin to relax and enjoy yourself — if not for the images you keep glimpsing in your periphery.

Every now and then, a flash of bright red will pass you by as Kaeda is spun from one set of burly arms to another. Her dress is the same shade as her hair. It’s alarming. Makes you think of blood.

And even more alarming, perhaps, is the pair of eyes that follow you from the dais. Fin spares only cursory glances to the rest of his guests, from where he sits on his throne in pensive silence, but his eyes linger heavily on you. Hungry, flaming eyes that follow your every move. And standing at his side — Tathaln Baralas.

The Lord of Fenlaros is even bigger than you remember. In a tailored suit, he looks…all wrong. That kind of finery will never work with him. He’s rugged, and cold, and something tells you that while Fenlaros is considerably more civilised than the majority of Illyrian camps, Tathaln Baralas feels most at home with the bare necessities. Luxury is nothing but a fly buzzing in his ear.

But he will tolerate that fly, you know — can tell, precisely from the way his dark, frightening eyes watch the room with more intensity than any single person should harbour. And that intensity is directed solely at one person. Azriel.

Tathaln watches the shadowsinger as though he’s weighing up whether he can kidnap him from this event and force him to Fenlaros. It makes your stomach turn.

“You seem on edge tonight.” Rhys’s deep gaze studies you. His hand presses firmer against the small of your back. “I won’t let anything happen to you, don’t worry.”

You’re not sure if he’s referring to his father, or to Kaeda, or to her father. Or even just to the evening in general. But you squeeze his hand, all the same.

“You’re the best.” You tell him. “And you should be dancing with Zakai.”

His eyes glimmer with his signature charm. “Oh, I will. But I always intended to save the first dance for my best girl.”

The sentiment is so…Rhysand, so comforting, that you almost — almost — start to think that everything will be alright.

But he spins you under his arm, and it’s like being spun straight back into reality. Because as you turn, that gaze from up on the dais meets yours again.

And this time, it’s not just hungry — but possessive.

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You dance and dance until your feet feel like they might fall off. Although, you’re not sure how much of that can be attributed to Cassian stepping on them throughout his uncoordinated prancing.

But the more the night wears on, the more your stomach churns with deep, unrelenting anxiety. You feel sick. Like a shadow of doom is looming over your shoulder and waiting to pull you into its thrall. By the time Cassian hands you over to Azriel, you’re not entirely sure that you won’t be sick.

Az studies your face with clear concern on his own — concern that doesn’t make his steps falter. He’s a natural dancer, taught and honed by Roza. Almost as good as Rhys. He moves as swift as flying, but his expression doesn’t hold the same ease.

“What is it?” He asks, and his thumb sweeps a stroke over your hip. “You don’t look well.”

So badly, you want to lean into his touch. But…not now — not with Fin watching. You dare a quick glance at the dais, and sure enough, his eyes stalk you. They follow everywhere Azriel touches your body. Strangely, the hunger in them intensifies. The hickory shade of them has darkened until it’s almost a stark black. He licks his lips and watches Azriel’s fingers caress you through your dress.

“I’m just…ready for this night to be over. You know all this luxury isn’t my thing.”

His hands press firmer against your skin. “I must say, as much as I’m loving this dress, I’m equally excited to rip it off—”

“May I?”

Two seconds. You look away for two seconds, and Fin is suddenly off the dais and behind you. The guests around you all watch with curious eyes.

Azriel pauses, his lingering touch letting you know just how reluctant he is to let you go.

But ultimately, he is wise. And ultimately, he concedes.

“Of course, High Lord.” He inclines his head. “She’s your special guest, after all.”

“Yes.” Fin’s eyes don’t stray from you. “She is.”

You know it’s deliberate — the way he makes sure everyone is watching as he scoops you into his arms with a small lift off the ground. And then he begins dancing, and everyone else resumes.

As you follow his steps, you allow yourself the chance to look at him. Look at him, and wonder if he’ll hate you after all this is over. You…you don’t want him to hate you. That complicates things, but gods above, it’s true.

He swipes his tongue over his bottom lip, and you may as well be the only two people in the room as he murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear, “When you look at me like that, Y/N, it makes me think I’m not such a bad male as most would think.”

“You’re not.” You respond almost immediately, and you mean it. “I think it’d surprise you to know how highly you’re regarded. Everyone in this room who is looking upon you—”

You yelp as he suddenly dips you, his lips at your ear.

“Everyone in this room,” he says, “is looking at you. And rightfully so. You’re a masterpiece — my masterpiece.”

The compliment — the possessiveness — all seems extreme. But then, you think everything about Fin might be a bit extreme. He doesn’t do anything by halves. The blush that dusts your cheeks seems to please him.

“You like it, don’t you?” His voice is like gravel. “That not a single male in here can take their eyes off you. You are the envy of every female. Stripped of wings, but not of raw, natural beauty.”

He straightens you out before you can reply, and your head spins — with the sudden movement, and with the whiplash of the comment. It both pleases you and reminds you how exposed your back is — the trauma that everyone can see.

“Charming as ever.” You swallow, hope the smile on your face is convincing. “I don’t quite know what to say.”

“Words are not necessary — not tonight.” The song you’re dancing to fades to an end, and he steadies you gently on your feet. His gaze sweeps you again, and he remarks, “The stars will begin their journeys soon.”

In the strange headiness of the evening, you almost forgot that this is, essentially, two events wrapped up in one. Starfall, and Fin’s lavish ball. Perhaps seeing those stars will bring you some semblance of peace — make you feel less lost than you do right now, as they travel somewhere unbeknownst to you, and perhaps unbeknownst to themselves, also.

“Will you be joining us outside to watch them?” You ask.

A strange smile curves his lips. “Indeed I will. It’s a magnificent sight to behold.” He steps back, bowing to press a kiss to the backs of your fingers. And then he straightens up. Retreats.

“However,” he says, “I do believe the entertainment I’ve arranged for you may just outshine those stars this year.”

He saunters away, back to his dais. And as he lowers himself into his throne, he meets your gaze.

That same old thirst in them is unquenchable.

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The males are treating the stardust like it’s the snow that so often coats your respective camps.

The first specks of it showering down on you were surprising, beautiful. But in true Illyrian fashion, what started as a cordial gathering to observe the soaring, luminous beings, has been reduced to little more than a drunken bust up.

You don’t know which camp launched the first clump of glimmering dust at another, but that was all it took for chaos to break out. The fray jostles you away from your friends until you can no longer feel Azriel pressed to your side or hear Cassian’s constant chattering. Try as you might to locate them, it’s impossible to see past giant, burly males with alarming wingspans. It’s a sea of dark hair and tan skin.

You push and push your way through, looking for a small exit through the gathered bodies. Your gown is trampled on, and you’re shoved this way and that, taking a few handfuls of stardust to your face and neck and arms. The feel of it is a cold contrast against your hot skin.

Just as you spot an opening to squeeze through, a male is careening into you and taking you down with him. It stuns you so much that you forget to brace yourself for impact. You’re about to tear your skin open against the sharp ground—

But huge, warm hands from behind catch you beneath your arms and keep you upright. Set you on your feet.

You turn, smacking straight into a broad expanse of chest. And a little higher up — long hair and wicked eyes. A taunting grin. Too-sharp teeth.

Tathaln Baralas seems to command the area around him so much that the fighting moves away from you both. A fact that makes him so incredibly smug.

“You’re welcome.” He sounds as rough and rugged as the mountain rock.

You clear your throat and incline your head in reluctant thanks. You’re not too keen on the idea of lingering for a chat with him.

But before you can so much as turn, his hand is fastening around your wrist. It’s not a tight grip, and yet it’s a warning — that it could become tighter if you tried to move.

“I’d like to go and find my friends—”

“I’ve been wracking my brain trying to work out why the High Lord is so taken by you.” He angles his head, and his eyes travel down, a smirk toying with his lips. “Besides a magnificent pair of tits, of course.”

Gritting your teeth, you attempt to rip your arm away. “You do him a disservice by thinking him so shallow—”

“Does Rhysand know you’re fucking his father?”

“You’re mistaken, my lord, and I’ll thank you to let go of me.”

“My daughter’s warning was clearly of no use. Perhaps I’ll be able to drive the message in harder. Whatever you’re planning—”

“There you are.” Out of seemingly nowhere, Rhysand’s voice saves the day. “I’ve been looking for you.”

The most minuscule, tiny beat passes — but Tathaln Baralas is no damn fool. With such blatant reluctance, he lets go of your wrist and takes a step back.

Rhys presses himself against your side, slinging an arm around your shoulders. He stares at Tathaln as he says, “My father wants everybody rounded up. It’s time for the entertainment he has planned.”

It’s a cloaked order, and you can see how much the Lord of Fenlaros wants to grit his teeth against it. But again — no damn fool.

“I’ll help gather everyone up.” He relents, and then he turns and pushes through fighting males as though they’re not there.

Rhys turns to you, concerned eyes taking you in. “Are you alright?”

“I will be.” You respond vaguely, linking your arm with his. “When this is all over, I will be.”

Little does he know, it’s not only the ball that you’re referring to.

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Like petulant children, the bustling males don’t want to go back under the mountain for the remainder of the ball. They want to stay outside and frolic in the fallen stardust and maybe fight or fuck in it, too.

But somehow, Fin commands their return. And the silence with which they now all stare up at the dais has you wondering if there’s anybody he can’t get to obey him.

Roza, probably. The thought brings a smile to your face.

Gods, you’d love to be with Roza right now, Spending quiet, quality time together. Blocking out the world in its entirety. You’re glad, so heavily pregnant as she is, that she’s not here tonight — but still, you can’t help wishing she was—

A loud clap sounds through the room, jolting you from your thoughts. You force your eyes into focus once more, and though you’re buried a few rows back, Fin finds your gaze immediately. He smiles.

“I wanted to thank each and every one of you for coming here tonight.” He addresses the room. “I understand that Illyrians have a way of life that you like to keep loyal to, and that integrating with other camps is not normally a done thing. I appreciate you keeping your minds open and straying from your traditions to honour this event.”

The crowd stirs and murmurs, and every person packed within it must be wondering why Tathaln Baralas is the only camp lord up on that dais with the High Lord while the others all congregate on the floor, common as muck. They are not privy to the things that you are. You have a horrible feeling that that is all about to change.

“While there have been a few…hiccups, this evening, I have mostly been impressed by how well you were able to interact.” Fin goes on. “That is exactly what this little experiment was intended for. Because that’s what this ball was — an experiment. I address each and every Illyrian when I say this: change is coming.”

No.

Your stomach bottoms out. Hands turn clammy in an instant.

Surely…surely he hasn’t just ignored everything you’ve said. Surely this hasn’t all been for nothing.

“You may recognise the male behind me.” He’s not looking at you now. His eyes skim the room, but they don’t stray in your direction. “Tathaln Baralas — Lord of the Fenlaros camp.”

At that, a small burst of cheers breaks out from one section of the room. Fenlarions, you can only assume. You’re too panicked to care.

Tathaln takes a step forward, not quite in line with Fin, but almost. He seems to be fighting back a smirk. And as you feel another heavy set of eyes on you, you look to your left — to a few steps down, where Kaeda stands. She eyes you with what must be triumph in her eyes, and she doesn’t bother to hide her smirk.

This…this has all gone very, very wrong. You’ve fucked up — failed. Perhaps even doomed the lives of countless people. Fin may have poured sweet sentiments into your ear and boosted your confidence, but you so clearly weren’t enough. Weren’t enough to appeal yourself to him, and weren’t enough to save Illyria as you know it.

You’re not at all certain that you aren’t going to faint. Whatever is about to be said or done, you don’t want to be here for it. You want to gather up Azriel and Cassian and Rhys and get the fuck out of there, far away from this, from him. You look frantically around for them, but you’ve lost them again. Can’t even glimpse the backs of their heads.

“A short while ago, the Lord of Fenlaros came to me with a suggestion. A proposition.” Fin slides his hands into his pockets; a strangely arrogant gesture that tells you just how at ease he is. “But before I tell you all about that, I would like to speak to you about somebody else. Another one of your own who I have recently had the delight of spending my time with. Getting to know.”

It takes a delayed moment for you to realise he’s staring at you once more.

Staring firmly, unflinchingly at you.

He extends a hand in your direction, and everybody — every single fucking person around you — turns to get a look, also.

“Sweet Y/N,” He cocks his head. Smiles. “Would you join me up here, please?”

You falter on the spot, forgetting entirely how to move. Every pair of eyes…the attention…it’s all too much. Everyone is looking at you. Everyone can see you, your scars.

“Y/N.” Fin repeats. “This is for you, after all.”

Someone shoves you in the back, and snickers titter around you, the sounds swimming from one ear to the other. On shaking legs, you slip between bodies. Bodies with faces attached that won’t stop looking at you, staring at you, wondering why you, of all people, have caught the High Lord’s attention. A lowly Illyrian female without any wings.

Numb from head to toe, you climb up onto the dais. Fin takes your trembling hand. Pulls you to his side.

Only then do you find Azriel, Cassian and Rhys in the crowd. All staring up at you with alarmed, horrified expressions. They can sense something very terrible is about to go down, too.

“For all of you who haven’t had the pleasure of meeting her — this is Y/N.” Fin speaks loudly, clearly, his tone clipped. “She hails from the Windhaven camp. She is Illyrian in her own right. She has a brain wise beyond her twenty years, and a heart of solid gold. She cares for Illyrians — for all of you. Cares for your futures.” A very, very potent pause. His expression changes — darkens. He purses his lips. “But you all do not care for her, do you?”

Silence. Nobody knows where this is going. There’s a slight movement in the crowd, and out of the corner of your eye, you see your friends pushing closer to the front.

“You cannot claim to care about her — about your own females — when you are willing to do this.”

So quickly, Fin’s hands are gripping your arms, and he’s wrenching you around on the spot. Forcing your back to them. Forcing them to swallow down the sight of your ruined back.

But your scars poking through the sheer fabric is not enough for him, it would seem. Those hands of his, gentle at times and dangerous at others, skate over your shoulders. Stop at the top of your back, where you hate so profoundly to be touched.

And he rips the fabric open like he’s cleaving air.

The cold air hits your exposed back, and surprised murmurs ripple through the room. Each and every one of them will have seen clipped wings before — but not this. Not the brutal hacking you were subjected to.

On instinct, you’re fighting against Fin, trying to turn, trying to hide. He holds you steady.

“Her own father did this to her.” He announces. “As so many of you intend to do to your own daughters, no doubt. Look at her. Look at how she suffered, and believe me when I say, again, change is coming.”

“Father.” Rhysand’s voice reaches you from behind, severe, outraged. “Stop this.”

It surprises you that Fin immediately turns you back around. But you are under no illusion that he’s listened to his son’s plea. He simply isn’t finished.

There is not one part of you that isn’t shaking. You stare firmly at your feet, refusing to meet any of the gazes pinned on you. Some may be pitying. Most will be delighted.

“I understand that Y/N may not appreciate what I just did. And rightfully so.” With a theatrical wave of his hand, the rip at the back of your dress is mended. But the damage is already done. “She has a right to those feelings. A thing I believe you Illyrian males do not understand. That your females feel. That they can rightfully be hurt, and they can rightfully want to be avenged. Y/N?”

You know he’s addressing you, asking you to look at him. But you can’t move. You can’t…can’t stop shaking. Can’t stop feeling like you want to throw up.

“Y/N.” He repeats, softer this time. “Look at me please.”

You pause.

And then you do.

You turn, and you look at him with an expression that will never promise forgiveness.

To his credit, he studies your face. It’s like he’s searching for an answer as to whether his little stunt was irredeemable. His eyes swallow your expression, and a moment passes between you. One that doesn’t include everybody else in this room.

You imagine you look hateful. You imagine you are sneering, and clenching your jaw, and allowing him to see that you will not stand for such disrespect from anybody, including him.

And he…he looks upon you like he wants the rest of the room to disappear. Like he wants nothing more than to steal you into his arms and spirit you away, far away from this.

You take a small step back.

“I got you a gift.” He says, too quietly. Extends a hand again.

You feel yourself shaking your head. You cannot speak. But this does not deter him. He retracts his hand and murmurs to somebody — somebody you can’t see around the roaring in your head — “The box, please.”

As blurred movement stirs in front of you, you angle yourself towards the crowd — towards your friends. You search their terrified faces without seeing them, and you know that they are just as powerless as you are. Even Rhysand. That throwing themselves in the mix may just make the situation worse.

And you don’t even know what the situation is. All you know is that your heart is thudding and your ears are screaming. All you know is that you feel…betrayed…by Fin making a spectacle of you like this. That your body and mind are having such violent reactions because your vulnerabilities, insecurities, may just be the evening’s entertainment that you’re supposed to somehow enjoy—

“Y/N.”

Your eyes snap back to the High Lord, and a tear escapes the corner of it. You pretend it doesn’t exist, even if Fin’s gaze tracks it and softens.

“For you.” He holds a box out to you.

For a moment, you weigh up the likelihood that you could just dart off the stage and make a run for it. Find somewhere to hide and cry. But as your hands extend outwards without you telling them to, you know it’s no use. You’re seeing this through, however reluctantly.

Your trembles are violent as you take the box into your hands — and almost drop it. It’s heavier than you’re expecting. Fin smiles.

Every single person in that room watches you slide the lid off the box.

Every single person in that room watches you peer inside — and drop it. Stagger back.

“What the fuck is this?” You choke. “What have you done?!”

There are murmurs, people angling to get a look, as Fin casually strolls over to that box. As he reaches in.

As he lifts your father’s severed head by his hair and holds it up like it’s a fucking show and tell. And grins at it.

Steeled Illyrian warriors who have been bred for violence scatter back, curses and noises rolling off their tongues.

“Allow this to be a lesson to each and every one of you.” Fin speaks loudly, entirely unperturbed by the head dangling from his fingertips. “That while your camps are overseen by your camp lords, I am still your High Lord, and I am always watching, and listening, and waiting to act, if necessary. This male wronged somebody I care for. The only fitting punishment was this.”

Without a care, he drops your father’s head back into the box and kicks it away. You stumble back, back, toppling off the dais. Somebody catches you.

“I am your High Lord.” Fin repeats, seemingly unaware of the panic roiling in his audience. “I do not take kindly to being used or manipulated. I do not take kindly to somebody presuming to tell me what I should or shouldn’t do with my court. And Illyria is part of my court — no matter how much you try to distance yourselves. You are under my jurisdiction. What happens to you is my call to make.”

For a split second, you can only hear certain words; used, manipulated, presuming to tell me what I should or shouldn’t do. You think he’s addressing solely you, but he isn’t.

People are moving around you. Arms wrap around you. It takes a moment for you to register that it’s Azriel. That he’s tucking you between himself and Cassian and Rhys. They’re shielding you.

Fin is now pacing the dais, hands behind his back. “The Lord of Fenlaros spent months concocting –and perfecting — a self-serving scheme that he then presented to me, as though he has the authority to do so.” He stops, turning to Tathaln — a very pale Tathaln. “And while I agree there would be some benefits to what you proposed, your methods have pissed me off. And I don’t like being pissed off.”

Tathaln squares his massive shoulders. Steps forward. “I—”

“What gives you the right to delegate your daughter and sons to rival camps to do your bidding, without bringing your case to me first? I should have been your first port of call. I should have decided how this plan of yours should play out. Yet you schemed behind my back and tried to build power and gain favour in case I disagreed to your plan. So you could then build a cause against me.”

“My Lord, I assure you, that is not—”

“Yes — your Lord.” He reiterates.

And then quick as a flash, he’s drawing a sword.

Quick as a flash, it slices through the air and hacks Tathaln Baralas’s head clean off his neck.

It drops to the dais with a wet-sounding thwack. The rest of his body crumples to the floor.

You can’t breathe, or think, or hear. Can only stare at Tathaln’s open, glazed eyes, peering off into nothing. There are gasps and curses and panic. Hands claw at you. You can’t move.

And then a high-pitched, wailing scream rents the air, like nothing else you’ve ever heard. So loud, it snaps you out of your shock.

You turn, despite the hands that hold you firm and still. Through tear-blurred eyes, you glimpse Kaeda on her knees. Her beautiful face is screwed with despair. She stares at her father’s head, and she wails.

“Change is, indeed, upon us.” Fin says calmly, as though a river of blood is not pooling at his feet. “But it will be dealt by my hands, and my hands only.” He sheathes his blade once more. “This ball is over. You can all leave.”

Sliding his hands into his pockets, he strolls off the dais, tracking blood with each step. He disappears through a door without looking back.

And then chaos is erupting. Kaeda is still screaming. People are scrambling to book it out of there. You turn back to Tathaln’s head. Turn to your father’s, still in that box. You think you might be sick—

“Y/N.” Hands grasp your face tightly. Azriel is staring into your eyes, pleading with you to stare back. “We need to get out of here, okay? We’re getting out of here.”

You open your mouth, and a strangled noise escapes you. “I…I can’t…move.”

“You can. You can. Come.” His arms band around you. And though he holds you strong, you can feel that he’s shaken, too. “We’re leaving before the High Lord comes back. I’m getting you out of here. Hold onto me.”

You have no choice other than to comply. But your grip is as weak as you are. You can’t stop yourself fucking shaking.

You don’t hear the words that Azriel speaks to Cassian and Rhys. All you can hear is Kaeda’s screaming. All you can do is stare over Azriel’s shoulder at your father’s lifeless face. That face didn’t once look upon you with love in twenty years. Now, it certainly never will.

You keep on looking until Azriel spirits you both out of there, and the coppery tang of blood follows you all the way back to Windhaven.

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“Please try to drink some of that.”

Azriel perches before you, his eyes fixed upon the steaming cup between your hands. You can’t remember how long ago he handed it to you, or how long ago you made it back to Roza’s cottage, or how long ago you watched Fin cleave Tathaln’s head from his body.

The fire is roaring, and more than one blanket is draped around you, but you can’t get any warmth to seep into your bones. You shiver from head to toe.

“It’ll warm you up.” Az reaches out, pressing a hand to your cheek. “I added a drop of whiskey to take the edge off.”

“I need more than a drop.” Cassian’s voice comes from behind the sofa, where he’s been pacing pretty much since he entered. “What the fuck was that? Your father is insane, Rhys.”

Rhys hasn’t breathed a word — that you’re aware of, anyway. Just sat in the armchair and stared into space.

But his eyes shutter now, and he murmurs, “I know.”

“Absolutely insane.” Cass repeats. The pacing continues, up and down and up and down. “I didn’t realise you’d gotten so close to him, Y/N.”

As if you need reminding.

Fin had made it clear that in some fucked up way, everything he did tonight was for you. He’d slaughtered two people for you. You’d wanted to stop Tathaln, but not like that…never like that.

A tear rolls down your cheek, and you hear Azriel utter a quiet warning to Cass. Cass stops his pacing.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” He says, softer. “I just…didn’t realise there was so much going on while you were in Velaris.”

“I was trying to help.” You whisper. “I didn’t mean for…I didn’t mean—”

“None of what happened tonight was your fault.” Azriel moves to your side. He pulls you close against him, arms soothingly wrapping around you. “Don’t you dare start thinking that. The High Lord does what he wants.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of. What if he’s coming for me next? I was scheming, too.”

Az growls quietly. “He can try. He won’t get close.”

“My father doesn’t want you dead.” Rhys rests his head back against the chair. He doesn’t open his eyes, and you’re wondering if he’s replaying the picture of bloodshed as much as you are. “If he did, he would have killed you there and then, alongside Kaeda’s father and…yours.”

Cassian spits on the ground. “And may your father never know a shred of peace.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, allowing yourself to slump fully against Az’s body, be supported by it. You’re not sure you can hold yourself up right now.

And it’s not that you disagree with Cass’s statement…you’re just not sure what to feel right now.

You hated your father. Despised him. But—

But that kill was supposed to be yours.

Fin had taken that from you in some fucked up display of…of affection, you supposed. Maybe even of ownership.

“He may not want me dead,” you whisper, “but I don’t think he’s finished with me. He’s surely not going to let me come back to Windhaven as if nothing happened. And what of Roza and the babe? Are they safe with him?”

Rhys gives a slow, meditative shake of his head. He’s exhausted. You’re all exhausted. The smell of blood clings to you. “I checked in with her. Despite what he did, they’re always safe with him. As for everything else…I don’t know what he intends.”

“Change is coming.” Finally, Cassian sits down. “That’s what he said. Over and over again.”

You don’t want change. Not the kind that Fin is probably thinking. You don’t want extravagance or luxury. You just want…this.

This little cottage. Your friends. Your love. Your simple, quiet life.

It feels like it hangs in the balance more than ever.

Eyes open, you’re staring at everything you may just lose. But the second you squeeze them shut, you see such thick, alarming red. Hear the thwack of Tathaln’s head falling. Hear the carnal scream that rips from Kaeda’s throat.

Your heartbeat picks up, and tears prick in your eyes — but Azriel’s arms tighten around you.

“Easy.” He murmurs, pressing a kiss to your head. “I’m right here. All three of us are.”

You know he can’t possibly be as calm as he’s making out. But he’s doing it for you — staying strong for you.

“You should try to sleep, my love.” He murmurs into your hair. “We all should.”

You focus on his warmth, his scent, but the tears keep coming. “I’m not sure I can.”

“Try.” He kisses you again. “For me.”

All you can manage is a relenting nod. And that’s all it takes for him to slide down and pull you with him. He holds you so tightly, as though he’s terrified of letting go. He bundles you against him, wraps a blanket around you both. It can’t be comfortable for him, his wings, but he lays there like it is.

A soft snoring from the armchair tells you that Rhys has already succumbed to exhaustion. You bunch your fingers in the front of Az’s shirt and force your eyes to close, even despite the horrors that await you behind them.

But after a while, you’re aware of the sound of Cassian traipsing to the kitchen. Reaching for the bottle of whiskey that sits mostly drained on the side.

And you realise that in Azriel’s arms, you’d started to drift off, too.

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You wake with a gasping start.

It’s pitch black in the room, besides the dying embers of the fire. Their muted orange glow illuminates the space enough for you to glimpse Rhys, still fast asleep in the chair. Cassian is sprawled out and dozing on the floor.

Any one of you could have stowed away upstairs in the privacy of a bedroom, but…you need each other right now. Each other’s comfort.

You don’t know what the time is; the middle of the night, judging by how dark it is. But there’s a lot of noise and foot traffic that’s carried past the house. You assume it must be Illyrians who have attempted to drown the night’s events in alcohol and are now skulking home.

You try to block it all out. Roll over. But as arms tighten around you and pull you flush against a warm body, you glance up to find Azriel awake, already staring at you.

You stare back.

That’s all you do for a while. Just…stare. Drink each other in. He is so beautiful. So brilliant. Your friend, lover and so much more.

“Hi.” He eventually whispers.

You scan his face. Murmur back, “Hi.”

“You should be sleeping.”

“So should you.”

A small shake of his head. Strands of hair fall from where they were earlier slicked back. The grandeur of the ball seems like eons ago, now.

“I can’t.” He says. “I’m worried about you.”

It’s rare…for him to lay vulnerable thoughts and feelings out like that. You study him again. And you want to reassure him, tell him you’re doing okay — but you’re not. Not right now. And don’t you owe him honesty in return?

“I’m scared.” You admit. Keeping your voice hushed doesn’t stop it from cracking.

Azriel leans down, dropping his forehead against yours. His hand rests at the small of your back, rubbing soothing circles.

After a moment, he asks, “What went on in Velaris?”

You don’t know what to say. It was so easy, in the City of Starlight, to pretend to be someone else. Someone that Fin would desire and eventually trust. So easy to follow a plan unflinchingly.

But back in the frozen grips of Windhaven, you do not feel like that person. You do not know her.

“You said you were scheming.” Az presses. “What went on?”

“I told you…I was trying to convince Fin to reject Tathaln’s idea—”

“Convince him how?”

You swallow. Because you hate the truth. Back in the ordinariness of your Illyrian environment, your behaviour seems so, so bad.

“Did he touch you,” Az breathes.

“No.” You immediately shake your head. “I made him want me. I made him want me so badly that he would trust me and listen to me. I never wanted him to kill for me. And I never wanted him. Every single second I spent there, I just wanted to come back to you—”

His lips fold over yours, and he breathes deep and slow. You waste no time in kissing him back. That kiss is truth, and it’s love.

“Only you, Az.” You whisper as you pull away. “I’ve only ever wanted you.”

But he’s not done with you. His mouth is on yours again, and he promises into it, “I’ve only ever wanted you, too.”

Not merely wanted, but needed. And you need each other now. It doesn’t matter at all that you’re not alone in the room — that Cass and Rhys are sleeping mere footsteps away.

Your hands are on each other, grasping at each other, and your bodies come together. It’s unhurried and quiet. Azriel’s eyes don’t leave yours once, from the second he slides into you and you both gasp onto each other’s mouths.

Every slow thrust is one of love. Every one of them is a promise.

“Whatever happens,” he pants quietly, pleasure straining his voice, “whatever happens, we’ll face it together.”

“Together.” You vow. A tear escapes the corner of your eye, and Azriel leans in to kiss it away.

He holds you as both your climax and his build together. He holds you as you bury into his shoulder to stop you from crying out. He holds you as you clench around his cock and he spills every last drop into you.

And he holds you as you catch your breaths and press your foreheads together, exhaustion beckoning you once more. He’s held you through so much, and he’ll continue to do so to whatever end.

Only when your eyelids are threatening to close does he brush his mouth against yours once more. And he says again, “We’ll face it together.”

There’s a stirring behind you. Cassian rolls over. Croaks out, “Can you quit fucking?”

And then he snores and he’s back to sleep, the fire warming his wings.

You and Az stare at each other and pause. And despite it all — everything that’s happened tonight — you both break into laughter. It vibrates through his chest and into you, the feeling pleasant, reassuring.

He kisses your forehead, a smile still ghosting his lips.

It stays there as he drifts to sleep.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

“What the fuck is that?”

Your groggy eyes wrench open and squint at the weak daylight that filters through the cottage. Both Rhys and Cass have bolted upright. Az, too, is jerked awake.

A thumping lands on the front door, urgent, panicked. Anxiety floods your gut.

“I’m coming, fucking hell.” Rhysand clambers to his feet. He’s dishevelled and uncoordinated as he clambers to the door and rips it open.

“Rhys,” Zakai pants from the other side. “What the fuck is your father playing at?”

“What—”

It’s then that the sound hits you all. The sound of authoritative voices calling out. Of people shouting — arguing — back.

Rhys follows Zakai out of the door. You, Azriel and Cassian share a glance before the three of you are also following.

And what you find outside is…chaos.

The sight of Illyrians fighting is nothing new, but males are being ripped from their houses. Children and wives watch, tears staining their cheeks. Paper and clothes and belongings litter the ground as if they’ve been stolen and discarded. The sky is shadowed by the temporary night of soaring Illyrians

Your wide eyes swivel to a roof a few cottages down — where a male stands upon its tiles, his voice bellowing out. He’s leather-clad and puffed up by his own importance — one of Devlon’s cronies, you think.

He seems unperturbed by the pushback on the ground — the gathering, angered males, as he addresses anyone and everyone around him.

“If I call your name, you’re coming with me! You pack the bare necessities — we leave for Steelshore in thirty minutes!” He announces. “Rahu Sepheron, Venia Char, Falkon Galos, Telarion Krin—”

“He’s lost his damn mind.” Rhys grits his teeth, shaking his head.

“He’s actually doing it.” Ice shoots through your veins, nothing to do with the brisk spring morning. “The High Lord is actually splitting everyone up.”

“Zakai Athalar—”

“Fuck this.” Rhys grabs Zakai’s hand, turning to you, Az, Cassian. “Everyone get back inside. None of us are doing anything or going anywhere until I’ve spoken to my father.”

You don’t hesitate to turn on your feet and pull Azriel with you. You want nothing more than to hole yourself up inside the cottage and pretend that none of this is happening. That anxiety and panic isn’t turning your stomach—

But the second you step foot inside, you’re halting in the doorway so suddenly that Cassian smacks into you from behind.

Fin sits at the table, cleaning his nails with a dagger.

He drinks in the sight of you greedily. Glances down at yours and Azriel’s joined hands. Smiles.

“Do you want to tell me what the fuck you’re playing at?” Rhys pushes past you, storming over. “What the hell is all this?”

“This?” Fin sits back. “This, Rhysand, is the reality of war.”

His son grits his teeth. Clenches his fists. “What.”

“War is upon us. Days, weeks, months away. People will have to fight and people will have to die. It is my duty as High Lord to take necessary action to ensure we come out victorious. If I have to sever some relationships for that outcome, then so be it.”

Cassian barrels forward, nothing but anger given flesh. “And what is this supposed necessary action? Tearing families apart?”

Even he, with his quick temper and loose tongue, would never normally address the High Lord in such a way. But Cassian cares. He’s passionate about what’s right.

And what Fin is doing is not right.

But Fin vaguely smiles and picks an invisible piece of dirt from his jacket. “If need be, Cassian, yes.” He says. “I’m delegating Illyrians where they will serve me best in this war. That includes your cosy little unit here.”

“If we are truly at war,” Azriel says quietly, dangerously, “now is not the time to play games.”

“Who’s playing games, shadowsinger?” Fin shrugs. “Not me.”

You don’t think it’s accidental, the way the High Lord’s eyes slide to you in that moment. You look away, refuse to hold his gaze. You could swear he chuckles quietly as he stands up and tucks his chair in.

“So here’s how it’s going to be.” He rests his forearms atop of the chair. “Rhysand — you will be commanding a legion in Camp Theriel.” He glances — barely — at Zakai. “I do believe your lover has already received a summons to leave for Camp Steelshore, so he should probably run along, lest he gets left behind.”

“Father—”

“Cassian.” He interrupts. “You will remain here, in Windhaven — as a common foot soldier in this war.”

“A foot soldier?” Cass spits. “That’s beneath my rank and you know it. You’re only doing this because you’re threatened by Az, Rhys and I being together. How powerful we are. Everyone knows that.”

Fin simply tsks. “Watch yourself, foot soldier. You don’t want to slip further down the ranks, now, do you—”

“Fin.” Finally, you find your voice. You step forward, despite Azriel trying to yank you back. You stare pleadingly at the High Lord.

He turns to you. His eyes sweep your face. His expression seems to go somewhat…quiet.

You had begun to respect this male in some roundabout way. You don’t think you’d ever have fully trusted him, but…there was an understanding, for a time. An allegiance of sorts.

You’d seen a side to him that so few did. And though it’s nowhere to be seen now…you have to believe that it’s still under there somewhere. You have to.

“Please don’t do this.” You whisper, your eyes filling with tears. “Please. This is our home. Our family.”

At the first sight of a tear rolling down your face, Fin swallows — hard. He clenches his fists at his sides like he’s fighting the urge to reach out and wipe it away.

It seems like so, so long that he stares at you. So long that he seems to be fighting something internally.

So long that a small glimmer of hope ignites in you that perhaps he cares enough to listen.

But then his eyes are shuttering, and he’s looking away. He says, stiffly, “We all have to make sacrifices in war.”

“Fin—”

“Rhysand will go to Camp Theriel. Cassian will stay here.” His eyes open again. He looks from you, to Azriel, back to you. “You and the shadowsinger are coming to Velaris with me.”

“What?!”

“You’d better say your goodbyes.” He squares his shoulders, not looking at you at all, now. “It’ll be a very, very long time before you all see each other again. If you see each other again.”

You open your mouth — to say what, you don’t know.

But Fin disappears before your eyes, leaving you — your family — alone.

What sounds far, far away is Cassian’s outraged ranting. Rhysand cursing his father. Zakai trying to talk to him, calm him down.

You and Azriel are the only two who don’t say a thing. Just stand there in silence.

Because you know you can curse all you like. You can shout and throw things and damn Fin to a miserable existence. It may bring you some temporary reprieve.

But it will not change a thing.

Fin is your High Lord. His mind is made up. This is just the next round in his game.

Your family is being cleaved apart. You stand in that cottage where you all slept in each other’s company — not realising it might be the last time, ever.

Your head roars and your tears keep on coming. But you can do nothing but stare at Azriel. He stares at you, too.

You and the shadowsinger are coming to Velaris with me.

It makes you sick to your stomach. Probably makes Azriel sick to his stomach, also.

But your locked, silent, crestfallen gazes communicate one sacred promise to each other.

Whatever happens, we’ll face it together.

Authors note: Oooooof how are we all feeling? Good? Bad? Sad? Mad? Tempted to commit arson?

I just wanted to say thank you so much for coming on this journey with me. What started out as a fun little smut piece turned into a whole story I didn’t even know I had in me, but I’ve enjoyed every bit of it — especially hearing from all of you. Your likes, reblogs, comments and asks have meant the world to me through this. Thank you so much for the wonderful responses 🫶🏻

For anyone who didn’t see my answer to an ask regarding this last part — I understand it might not be the ending everyone wanted or expected, but I felt there was still so much potential in the story that I wanted to leave it open to — perhaps — write a sequel at some point. I have so many ideas, and I’m totally willing to talk about it and answer any questions about it you have any!

Thank you, again, for all the support, darlings. And I truly hope you enjoyed Practice On Me. 💕

pom tags: @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @sirenpearldust @queercodedcharacter @azriels-shadowsinger @ruler-of-hades @demi03 @magicaldragonlady @abrielletargaryen @ralsieq @v3lv3tf0x @achase2002 @feyretopia @hayrunnwr @don’t-feed-the-hipsters @brekkershadowsinger @piceous21 @bloodicka @acourtofinkandpapyrus @riri-is-a-girlie @siriusement @4valyries @socmono @azriels-mate123 @acourtofbatboydreams @katherinearcheron @nesemi @lupinswolfsbanes @dreaming-unafraid @dxnniiix @cyrygher @liddyr03 @lmllsl @nightless @teenageeggscissorslawyer @brighterthanlonelythoughts @blitz-fall @maybefoxysouls @mschanand1erbong @juiceboxreads @bangtanbecks @florencemtrash @hyemishii @obixix @thenovarose @meshellexplosionmurder @angzlxna @lissy31xoxo-blog @supernatural99 @positivewitch @art3-m1ss @milfhunter-pdx @bbuckysbeardd @coralseacourt @towhateverend87 @sspookz @bird-on-the-wire33 @morrie-rose @megwan @catscanteleport @sevikas-whore @thickthighs-sadeyes @hihelloitsbooktimeppl

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iwanty0uu · 9 months ago

Note

How would aot boys react to reader saying she want a break and goes to sleep on the couch

Ony :

- “Baby girl what’s the matter?” He asked as he wrapped his hands around you, nuzzling into your warm body on his bed, his dark features enhanced by the blue light of your phone. You didn’t respond which earned a poke in the hip from him. “ You dont wanna talk t’me? What i do?” You hummed in response, scrolling through his following and his liked posts, all the girls that you felt looked better than you.. the insecurity started to get to your head. “Hey Ony..I think we should take a..you know..brea-” You heard the bed creak beneath you as he straightened himself up. “Y/n.. don’t play with me. You not deadass. How you finna be upset with me and not tell me what I did so we could fix it?” He said, his tone changing in frustration and confusion, but internally, he was afraid.. “Ony I dont wanna agrue nd I can tell Im just gonna make this worse.. I’ll sleep on the couch for tonight” You mumbled softly. “Like hell you will, the fuck. You gon talk to me whether u like it or not and if i gotta read your notes app to figure out who or what the fuck got in my baby’s head I will.” He grabbed your face peppering it with butterfly kisses.

• “We’ll figure it out together girl”…

Armin :

Armin was very observant, so when he noticed your distance, he panicked and it bothered him for days. “Love?” He asked from the living room, slowly entering making sure not to invade your space. You looked up in response turning your phone off to give your boyfriend your full attention. “ I got your text.. about, you sleeping on the couch tonight and stuff, n I don’t know if this is because mood swings or if its something that I did or if its something that you’re upset with me about not saying that I have to be the center of your life and emotions and everything because I know that you work really hard in school and-” He paused abruptly collecting his thoughts. He averted his eyes from your now concerned gaze. You never knew it would affect him this much. “What I’m trying to say is.. I got you chic-fil-a and a new blanket to make you feel better.. and hopefully we can watch a movie and talk about it?

• “I’ll give you your space but I’m only a call from our bedroom away okay?”…

Connie :

The ping of the basketballs in the gym echoed in your ears. You watched as your boyfriend got a little too friendly with his personal trainer who you weren’t jealous of, but you simply weren’t fond of her. Who would want their man getting touched up on by a girl for lord knows how long.. but Connie assured you that the only reason she’s here is because his usual trainer broke his arm and in three weeks, he’ll be healed enough to get back in action.He wanted to ask if you wanted to join him for the day but your energy was low so he let you be.. All was well until you were facing the window in the car, being less talkative than usual. The sun retired for the day and the sky was dark, “I’m gonna sleep on the couch tonight”… “ No ur not..”… “You cant tell me what to do..”…. “ k .”

11:04 pm

You felt a sudden jerk, which made you open your eyes skightly, and a pair of hazel eyes met yours.“Hope you got all the space you needed girly..you wont see her training me again tomorrow, she was annoying anyways..”

• His plump lips met your temple as you nustled into his neck, “night”…

Jean :

You never knew when to stop playin. You set up your phone in the kitchen to record your boyfriend’s to your little “prank”.

8:15 pm- jean comes home

8:30- jean showers after greeting you

9:25- jean lays on couch

9:28- “Jean baby.. I’m gonna sleep here tonight..I need some space..”

9:30- “Back in my day, when the women needed space, they’d sleep with the oxen and mules..so”

You stared blankly at his unfunny joke, walking into the kitchen keeping deadpan eye contact, revealing your phone. “It was a prank fucking old ass man.”

• “Oh aii…”

HOPE YA LIKED IT- 𝓵𝓮𝓵𝓮 <3

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 4 months ago

Text

The Dark Lord (Part One)

Summary: The reader gets caught stealing from the infamous Dark Lord Winchester. Instead of killing her though, he offers her a job for some reason...

Pairing: Dark Lord!Dean x employee!reader

Word Count: 2,500ish

Warnings: language, briefly mentioned torture/killing

A/N: Think of this as a slightly magical AU set in the present day. I might pick this up again if there seems to be interest in more!...

________

“I don’t care what the hell you do to me, I’m not-” You cut yourself off when a blonde woman in her thirties and sky high heels held out a cup of hot coffee. “Is that…espresso?”

“It’s a roasted blend from Guatemala, boss is big on it lately. He’s so boring and never let’s me give him anything but straight black but I like to serve all our guests something nice.” She set the cup in your hand, an artisanal drawing of a W set in the center. “It has notes of hazelnut and caramel.”

“Thank you?” you said, her eyes lighting up. “Is this…poisoned?”

Her face fell so fast you felt awful for the way tears prickled her eyes. “Everyone always asks that. It’s just nice coffee.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, taking a sip and smiling. “It’s lovely.”

“Thanks,” she mumbled, turning to leave the dark room you were sat in.

“It really is good coffee.” She perked up a little, nodding once. “It’s just…I couldn’t help but ask.”

You held up your chained hands, the woman giving a sad smile. “Dark Lord Winchester is really the sweetest man I’ve ever met. I have no idea why everyone that he has come in his office thinks he’s going to kill them.”

“He kills people all the time…over nothing…” you said. She laughed and your stomach dropped.

“Oh no, Lord Winchester doesn’t do that! I’ve never seen him kill a soul that didn’t deserve it. Well, maybe a few but I seriously doubt he’ll kill you! He doesn’t tend to kill women as often, just a little torture. I’m sure you’ll be fine!” You withered into your seat when she left.

At least you had good coffee before your demise.

You jumped when the door crashed open, hot coffee spilling over yourself. It dripped down your shirt and soaked into your jeans, your skin stinging when a blur passed your periphery. You swallowed thickly as a man in a black bomber jacket, dark gray t shirt and black jeans walked in front of you. He crossed his muscular arms as he leaned back against the desk, peering down at you.

He looked like he wanted to kill you. Or fuck you. Or both.

“Hi, Dark Lord Winchester,” you squeaked out. He bent at his hips, leaning down, watching you slump down even further. “Oh fuck, just kill me now.”

“Not yet,” he hummed, straightening with a hard set jaw. He looked down his nose at you, making you feel like an ant under his mighty six foot one muscular frame. “My security caught you stealing from one of my warehouses. I’m told it was a prescription drug.”

“Yes, Lord Winchester,” you said quietly. You looked at your wet clothes, waiting for him to drag you down to his dungeon and rip you apart.

Instead a cell phone was tossed in your lap. You scrunched up your face and gazed up at him, Lord Winchester still staring you down.

“Uh, is this my last call or something?” you asked. He breathed deeply, looking over your head.

“Two options. Option one. I will kill you for stealing from me.”

“I’d like to hear option two,” you said quickly, Lord Winchester glaring at you.

“Option two. You work for me. I need an assistant and perhaps I’ll find you valuable enough to keep you alive long term.”

“Option two,” you said, nodding your head. He stood up straight and hummed.

“I thought so. You’re dismissed,” he said. You glanced down at your cuffs, Lord Winchester ignoring you. He walked around behind his desk and sat, glancing at his computer. “Do not make me ask again.”

You scurried out of the chair, grasping the empty mug in one hand, cellphone in the other.

“Y/L/N.” You froze, back to him. Fuck, he’d changed his mind. He was just toying with you. He was going to- “Get up to speed this afternoon. I expect you here to start eight am sharp.”

“Yes, Lord Winchester.” Quickly you left, pulling the door shut behind you. You let out a sigh, your overly friendly coffee bearing companion rushing around the corner with a smile. “I told you he wouldn’t kill you! Boss made me promise not to tell. I’m Donna by the way. Deputy Head of Security. I volunteered to be your new hire buddy!”

You blinked slowly at the blonde, tilting your head, her eyes drifting downward in alarm. “Oh no, you’ve burned yourself! Let’s get you out of those cuffs, to the infirmary and into a fresh change of clothes. Lord Winchester wants to go through all of your HR paperwork today and a brief tour before sending you home.”

“I uh,” you put a hand against your head, shaking it out. “Why did he give me a job and not kill me?”

“He must like you. Normally he kills people or tortures them or makes them pay him back with hefty interest. Oh!” She pulled out a thin envelope from her back pocket, handing it to you. “This is your offer letter. It’s not really an offer, more of you have to accept or you die sort of thing but he wanted to make sure you got this.”

You felt like you were in a strange dream as you tore it open, slowly walking by Donna’s side down a hallway. “So Michael is our staff doctor. He’ll check your arms-”

You nearly fell when you’d read the salary on the offer letter. Donna caught your waist, alarm written all over her face. “Oh my god. I’m calling for-”

You shoved the paper in her face, taping the bolded line. “Is this a joke? He’s paying me this much?”

Donna laughed, urging you to walk forward again.

“Six figures? Six figures?!” you screeched, Donna shaking her head. “What-”

“Working for Lord Winchester is lucrative but…there’s an expectation of discretion. I mean, he is the Dark Lord of the land. It’s not the sort of job you want to slack off at.”

“Wonderful.”

It was late, well into the evening, when you’d finished with your tour. You were in the lobby of Lord Winchester’s fortress, rubbing your eyes. Michael had given you a pair of scrubs to change into while your stained clothes were sent to the launder. Thankfully he’d deemed your skin only irritated from the hot coffee, not burned. Most of the day had been in HR, Donna sitting in to help guide you through your options.

Options like free healthcare. A pension. On-site housing. As his assistant, or “Personal Executive to The Dark Lord” as your title in the payroll system stated, you were expected to live in the fortress and move in this weekend. All covered and utilities paid for by the company.

A chef that cooked all your meals, if you were so inclined. Shuttle services to and from school in town with a tutor available after school to help with homework. A grand library for kids to study in and for the adults to further their own educational studies if they chose. There was even an inter-company softball league that got quite competitive.

Dark Lord Winchester on paper was the best fucking boss in the world.

A throat cleared behind you, making you jump and drop the stack of papers in your hands. You spun around, Dark Lord Winchester standing there.

“Sorry, sir,” you said, kneeling down, attempting to pick up the papers as quickly as possible. To your surprise, he dropped to one knee, leaning his body and grabbing a folder that had your company credit card inside. He held it out to you, deep green eyes watching you as you hesitated to take it.

“If you’re going to work for me, you can’t be scared shitless all the time.” You snatched the folder, his eyes raising briefly before he stood tall. He held out a hand, your own eyes wide. “This is where you put your hand in mine and I help you stand up.”

You swallowed, doing as told, his strong arm effortlessly pulling you up.

“Look at that. You touched me and didn’t turn to dust,” he chuckled. You only stared, Lord Winchester looking over your head. “Let me make something clear to you. I treat my employees extremely well. In return, I expect their best work and their loyalty. If you show up to work and do a good job, there is no reason to fear me.”

“How do I know I’m doing a good job?” you whispered. He looked down to you, pursing his lips.

“You’re the damn Executive Assistant to The Dark Lord. You ask a question, you do it with confidence. Ask correctly and I’ll answer.”

“How will I know I’m doing my job well?” you said, holding his gaze this time.

“Any woman that would risk stealing from the Dark Lord, knowing very well what I do to thieves, to get medicine for their kid brother? That is the kind of woman that I know will do spectacular in this job.”

You parted your lips, Dark Lord Winchester glancing at them before looking away. “How do you-”

“I know lots of things.” He checked the dark rolex on his wrist, frowning. “It’s late. I’ll drive you home myself. Wait on the front steps.”

You watched him go down a different hallway, your head going a million miles an hour.

What the fuck was happening?

You stepped outside and five minutes later, an older black Impala, very nicely taken care of, pulled up, Dark Lord Winchester behind the wheel. You slid in the passenger seat, a wonderful aroma in the air. He drove you home in silence save for the soft rock music playing through the speakers.

Your face burned when he drove that beautiful car through your less than glamorous neighborhood and as soon as he pulled to a stop in front of your very small rental, you were getting out.

“Y/L/N,” he chided. You stopped halfway, Lord Winchester reaching into the backseat and pulling over the back a large white bag. “For you and your brother. Dinner and his medication for a few months. Michael will be able to refill it when it’s up and can schedule a physical with him to check if his treatment needs to alter. Please apologize to your brother from me. He’s likely frightened being alone judging by the way every light is on inside.”

You shook your head, your lip tugging up. He narrowed his eyes as your smirk grew. “What is that look for?”

“Dark Lord Winchester my ass. You’re a good person, aren’t you?” He scoffed. “Nah, I’m starting to see this for what it is. Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone you’re nice deep down.”

“I’m not nice,” he growled. You took the bag from his hand, softening your smile. “Do not think I’m kind.”

“Oh, of course not,” you said, holding up the bag. You got out, closing the door behind you. But you bent down, leaning into the open window. “Thank you. He…his asthma’s been getting worse lately. This will really help us. All of it will help.”

He was quiet, looking out at the dark road. “A car will pick you up at 7:30. Movers will come by Saturday morning to pack up your things.”

“Goodnight, Lord Winchester,” you said, stepping back.

“It’s Dean,” he said, revving the engine, making your heart race. He took off, your chest still thumping when you went inside.

“Kyle! I’m home with dinner!” You called. Kyle came rushing out of the hallway, a blanket pulled over his head. “I’m so sorry I’m late, buddy. Did you get scared?”

“No,” said the twelve year old, doing an awful job of hiding his relief. “What’s for dinner?”

“I’m not sure. Why don’t you find out for us?” You handed him the bag, Kyle rushing back to the kitchen with it. “How was school?”

“Fine.�� He said nothing more as you entered, pleasantly surprised to find a balanced dinner of chicken, vegetables and some sweet potatoes inside. “Is this take out?”

“No. I uh, got a new job today,” you said, opening the box that had his medicine inside. “Hey. Got you a refill.”

“What’s your new job?” he asked, taking a plate from you and scooting into his spot at the small two seater table.

“I uh…work for Dark Lord Winchester. We’re, uh, moving on Saturday to live at the fortress. You’ll have your own room and there’s some other kids that live there too for you to play with. He uh, actually wanted me to tell you how sorry he was for keeping me late tonight.”

“Really? Cool.” You rolled your eyes. “Does he actually wear a skull mask and a black cloak?”

“No,” you laughed. “He looks very normal. Maybe you’ll get to meet him someday.”

“Cool,” he said again, frowning when you pointed at his untouched vegetables. “Y/N-“

“Eat them or Dark Lord Winchester won’t be happy…” you chided, Kyle shrinking down into his seat, reluctantly taking a bite, a flash of surprise on his face.

“These are way better than when you make them!” He started to scarf down the brussels sprouts as you sighed.

“I’m not dead and you’re eating veggies for once. I’ll take that as a win for today.”

The Next Morning

“Good morning, Lord Winchester,” you said as you rose from your desk outside his office on the far end of the second floor, dressed in skinny jeans, a bright yellow sleeveless blouse and an oversized blazer. Dean looked you up and down, his eyebrows raising. “HR said the dress code-“

“If I wanted everyone to wear suits, I’d have everyone wear them. Your outfit is fine. You’re probably not going to wear heels with the running around you’ll do,” he said, entering his office, waving for you to follow after. His legs looked long in the dark denim that clung to his thighs. He wore a white long sleeve Henley shirt with a navy button up over top, sleeves rolled up his forearms. “If you would stop staring at me could we get started?”

Your face flushed as you sat in the chair opposite his desk, Dean sitting with a groan and greedily sucking down a cup of coffee.

“So your job is to make my life easier,” he said, opening his laptop, frowning at it. “I get a lot of…requests from my department heads. I need you to be a buffer between me and them for the day to day. I also need you to handle pop ups and act as a sounding board for myself.”

“HR went over the expectations with me,” you said, Dean grunting as he drank more coffee again.

“Great. I need you to start with brainstorming ideas for how to rescue my brother from Crowley. We’ll meet after lunch to discuss.”

“King of The Dark Lands Crowley?” Dean hummed. “Isn’t he…”

“A demon? Oh yeah,” he said, giving you a barely there smile. “Shouldn’t be a problem for a little thief like you.”

________

A/N: Read Part two here!

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comfortless · 9 months ago

Note

Hello! This is the Frankenstein anon back with more praise and another prompt that you might like. Again you are amazing and everyone you come out with stuff, I weep for joy! Please continue what you are doing because it is absolute art✨

Okay onto the prompt. So lately tiktok has been putting onto this telenova drama called Hilda Furcão which is pretty much this priest and prostitute fall in love but due to societal pressures, cannot be together. The YEARNING in this show is amazing and I can’t help but think of Priest Konig in this situation. Imagine he falls in love with reader who works at a brothel but because he’s a churchly man, he’s fighting demons in his head (and down yonder) cuz he YEARNS for her but the lord says no🥴

Please keep doing what you’re doing and I’m constantly cheering you on with your work! ❤️

In the Arms of Flowers

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. pining, lots of talk of religion/silly metaphors, fluff, ridiculous attempts at courtship from both, dark (if you squint), implied cyber stalking, violence/murder, minor character death, some angst, sexual violence (not done by König), König becomes horribly obsessed and reader is fine with it, virgin!König-> oral (both receiving) piv smut.

wc: 11k.

There’s a garden in the churchyard, one that’s always been, even before his vows were taken and the cassock was pulled around his shoulders.

It’s the very place that the arching den window in the clergy house faces out towards, and the very place that an angel descends from Heaven to stalk through night after night.

Even when the thunder clamors and rolls to light up the sky above, the pretty thing is there, kneeling amongst the blooming lilies. A listless sort of purity swallows over her, bathes her in the white of petals and the bright illumination of each bolt of lightning above, arcs a halo over her head like a proper mirage.

The whole town knows these doors remain open, but never does she even look toward the church or the home of holy men at all: only the flowers. The lilies and carnations seemed to be her favorite to haunt, weaving through the petals as they sway for her in breezes like whispers from the pouting lips of cherubim.

He’s prayed for this lost soul many times already; clutched the rosary between his fingers and whispered to the Lord to protect her, to heal whatever aches, to bring her wandering feet into the chapel one of these days. But as most lilies, this one’s beauty is gone away by mid-morning.

Tonight, he wills himself to bring her in for prayer and refuge from the coming rain. Its been a long time coming, and regrettably he’s hesitated at every other opportunity. Nothing’s changed, the scene was so commonplace even the others have commented on it prior.

Maybe he hallucinates her holiness; the halo has become made up of fallen petals now as they arch over the crown of her head where she’s found sprawled out amongst them. She raises herself to sit upright, dusts the dirt from her knees and offers a wary glance with each step he takes until his soles halt in soil that would soon be mire.

“I’m sorry. I’ll leave,” the angel breathes out with her eyes darting from his collar down to rest at the expanse of short blades of grass between them. “I don’t mean to cause you any trouble.”

She doesn’t meet the concern in his eyes, and König is no stranger to sin. To the shame and grief that he’s absolved from far worse than her in the stuffy wooden confessional.

“You’re welcome to stay.” A silent prayer rests there in his breath — please stay, though even he wasn’t certain as to why there’s a demand stirring in the pit of his stomach for this woman clad in a dirtied white dress.

She smiles then, gazes right up at him in such a way that immediately sparks something misplaced, something tucked away beneath studying scripture and kneeling before the wooden altar. A sin of the flesh, a heated poker jabbing at both his heart and his loins.

“No, I’m okay,” she assures with a slight dip of her head, already taking steps back to dart away, back to whichever gilded little nest of baubles and starlight she took flight from. “I was just heading home.”

And that’s it. He doesn’t plead for her to come inside, the offer has been laid out already. It’s not his job to force a belief that one doesn’t want, only lend a kindness and a cushioned pew, advice for the lost and a choir for bleating lambs.

He bids her goodbye and walks back to the clergy house, ignoring the strange looks of his peers as they all prepare to bed down after a nightly prayer. It’s rare to smile here, when sacred words are passed from the wrinkled, cracked lips of his seniors. But König does smile, the grin is as bright as the seconds of white lighting up the sky in intervals as he silently thanks God for such a sweet vision amidst such darkness.

The fixation does not falter for the following three nights. She doesn’t return to the churchyard to whisper secrets to the blooms, but the angel weighs on his mind so heavily that König finds himself convinced that she must have been his calling, a soul that he would assuredly save.

His sermons now lack their passion. The parishioners come to him with weighty hearts and misery in their eyes, but bless him all the same, even when he’s distant. Away with the fairies, some would say. He can’t help but wonder when one such service rolls to a closing prayer if whoever conjured such words had also been in the presence of a seraph.

“Do you need prayer?,” one of his fellow priests asks as the flock trickles out, worry clear in the wrinkles laden beneath this eyes and the way his lips draw down before pressing thin. “You don’t seem to be sleeping well.”

And König regrets the words he speaks next, when he describes the woman from the flowers in detail greater than necessary: how her eyes seemed so soft, her smile fragile, and her body language more docile than that of even a lamb. He mentions the dirty dress, the way she seemed to be trying to escape something yet refused the shelter he offered.

The other priest nods and sighs, his eyes squeezing shut in thought, and though König has not feared a scolding since he abandoned home nearly two decades prior, the way the ordinarily calm priest seems so frustrated by this sends a swell of fluttering anxiety beneath his ribcage.

“The woman you describe is a temptress,” his elder explains coldly. His sharp, dark eyes rest on König’s face as though the disparity in their height does not exist at all. “Best to let her be, she does not want our help. Leave it alone.”

“Ja. Verstanden.”

The warning is enough to dull the buzzing in his chest, the mush that’s been made up of his head until he sees her again.

The bakery in town regularly makes donations of pastries and thick loaves of bread for church goingson. It isn’t regular that he’s been asked to pick them up; the eldest of the priests usually does so, some blood relation to the owners that König has never cared enough to ask about. The old man never did well in the summer months, though, far too frail now to bear the heat snaking over his pale skin and leaving burns.

With the mistake of rambling onward about this perturbing fascination still grating at his mind, he doesn’t hesitate to volunteer, to take the old truck and step away from the stained glass and crucifixes for a brief outing. A moment of respite.

There’s a complimentary mug of coffee presented across the expanse of the counter when the cashier greets him with a smile so broad it seems faked.

König’s fingers twitch when he grasps at the handle; the uncertainty was something he had sworn he would outgrow one day with God’s healing, but it never seemed to stray far from him. It rests over the back of his neck like a feeding vampire when he takes his first sip, one that burns his tongue and stings at his eyes when he notices the woman seated at a table in the corner.

It’s her: temptation and fate packaged up in a loose fitting sweater that covers the pulse in her neck and a short skirt.

She holds her phone, not the mug stationed before her, staring down at the thing with the most somber expression he’s ever seen on a lady before. She taps her thumbs at the screen, talking to someone, but there’s a loneliness in her expression apparent like the rust on the old truck parked outside.

Poor little thing.

She glances up when his staring is detected, confusion stripped bare upon her with a pinched brow and a slack jaw. Then, follows realization and she offers the same smile she did that night, some seventy or so hours prior.

“Morning, Father.”

There’s not a fractal within König that wants to make the sweet spirit uncomfortable, but each step he takes towards her table seems to make her shoulders tense. She knows that he knows, sees that sympathetic look in his eye and hates it.

Maybe even hates him for the divinity he wears in the sable cloth pulled over his shoulders.

That doesn’t stop his approach.

König sits across from her with shaking hands and a forced smile like the one the cashier wears, drops his mug onto the table and offers her his hand. Fingers bending to graze the palm as though beckoning a frightened animal when it’s he who feels most afraid.

The angel merely eyes him cautiously for a moment before she takes the cup into both of her hands and gives him a fragile huff, dismissing his attempt to pray for her soul. Again. Yet, the sting he feels is not from a lack of a starved savior complex being satisfied, only… that he has yet to touch her somehow. That sudden thought stifles him in full.

But angels are nothing if not merciful and loving; she picks up on his dejection and speaks again in his place.

“How are the carnations?”

“Hm?”

“The flowers in the garden… the red ones,” she elaborates with a soft laugh, hides it behind the rim of her cup when it’s raised for her to take a sip. Her mouth looks soft, compelling, and he’s staring again. “I like them the most.”

He knows he should stop this, that what’s become of an innocent meeting has left him feeling anything but. There’s a howling chasm in place of the heart of a worthy devotee. She’s nothing like the women who frequent the church — the only other women he sees. Brighter at best and alluring at the worst.

“I thought the lilies were your favorite…” It’s unsuited for a priest and a man so tall and broad to sound so breakable, but his voice only comes in an hurried breath, embarrassed and small.

She shakes her head, tousles her hair in the process. “I like all of them. The ones at your church grow prettiest.”

“I see…”

The woman gives him an expectant look, as if prompting him to speak more, before her phone chimes and the air seems to shift from tentative yet sweet to something vast and cold. She doesn’t seem eager to be interrupted in such a way, either; her expression falls from that subtle playfulness to something akin to a regretful acceptance.

She stands from her seat abruptly and takes a step towards the door. “I have something I need to take care of.”

God gives and takes away.

“I can bring you some,” he offers, winding in the too-small wooden chair to face her. Too late to reel in the flirtatious nature of such an offering, too late to bite his tongue and remember the vows he had taken. The burden upon his heart seems far more pressing than any words from an old book. “Carnations and lilies… some of the others, too.”

The woman almost seems shy when she glances over her shoulder and offers him the most imperceptible nod. “Yeah, sure… I’ll see you around.”

His angel leaves him to rot in thought at that lonely table, in this tiny bakery. He does not think to repent for the way his temperature and pulse spiked in her presence, for the way he takes her empty cup and stuffs it into one of the boxes of baked goods to collect later.

Riding back to the church is dreadful, because she’s already fastened to his heart like a ribbon on a pretty bouquet. He’ll ask the sisters from the cloister to clip flowers for him, tie them up in a lace that will leave her face warmed and lips pouting.

When the people in the church have their fill of sweets and bread, König tells a lie, maybe several.

He claims he doesn’t know why that innocuous porcelain thing is resting where food once had, doesn’t know why the baker would have stuffed that in there too. He takes it to his room and claims that he would return it come morning.

The bed has always felt far too small for him alone, but he pictures her there with him, sat upon his lap when he brings the cup up to his lips with his eyes closed.

It’s cold and hard, difficult to imagine it to be a kiss at all, but he pretends her lips are upon him, eager and willing. It takes only rolling his tongue back to flick over itself, envisioning it being her own, for him to feel his trousers grow too tight. He doesn’t touch himself. He can’t bear the thought of it, not with the cross staring down at him from the far wall.

And finally, regret comes.

Shame, too, because König is aware he’s become a bit of a creep; enchanting himself with second hand kisses whilst his angel takes another man to bed. A man undeserving, but… he could be. He was deserving enough to become a holy man, surely she could see he was worthy of her as well.

The bed is too small even when he curls into himself and pulls the blanket up passed his eyes. Sleep is too skittish to come for him, even when he prays in a whisper to be absolved of his lust.

The dreams are only filled with images of an angel trapped in a rose bush, the thorns sinking into her wings until blood is drawn, but still she smiles. She reaches toward him with shaky limbs, whispers something so dreadfully mournful he knows to his very soul that she is his purpose alone.

It’s what wakes him in a fit, compels him to venture out through the yard with a heart set on seeking guidance. There are moonbeams above and animal calls from the surrounding trees. All of God’s creations are in perfect, dreamy harmony.

Why couldn’t he be the same? Always the outsider in one way or another; always the sore thumb rather than the loving green. Desolation is an art, a skill he’s learned to hide back: clenched teeth to still a wrathful tongue and a layer of muscle to guard that wounded thing in his chest.

There is no better peace than the quiet of the church in the late hour. Moonlight through stained glass and empty, antique seats that would make the worldly whip out their phones to snap pictures in a heartbeat. The doors are always open, for the sinners and the devoted alike, though the confessional is rarely touched when there would be no saint awake set on absolving.

Perhaps that’s why he takes to the booth he needs to make himself smaller to fit into: one shoulder and one foot first, then the next set. He’s never cared for it, left it to the better and smaller. The sound just past the thin partition rattles him. It isn’t the creaking of wood below his feet, but something softer. A weak sniffle. A cry from the other side.

“I’ll leave in a moment,” comes a voice, broken from tears and so horribly sad that the usual script entirely fails him. He recognizes the voice, though a bit warbled now. The voice that would make the choir pause, an angel’s sweet tone.

“Wait… no. You can stay. I’m hiding, too.” A breathy laugh comes forced and misplaced. Priest or not, König has never been the best at consoling anyone, let alone one so far above him.

“I’m not hiding,” she tries to sound braver now. He can imagine her chin tilted forward and that sweet smile trying it’s damndest to paint its way across her face. “But… why are you?”

“Don’t know.”

“Who are you?” The crying seems to have ceased entirely for now. Clearly whatever seemed to ail her could be remedied by her own curiosity. A cute, unorthodox little thing.

“König.” It served well enough as a confirmation name when he could not settle on one of the saints. King of them all, one of the other saved men had said in jest. Ironic, now.

“I like your voice, König,” she murmurs, deliberately testing the pronunciation on her tongue in such an alluring way that a small shiver runs its way down his spine.

“Danke… and you?”

God forgive him, he doesn’t even try. Doesn’t try to bring shame or guilt, read her scripture or pray for her soul. He only listens in silence when she tells him her name, beautiful and charming as he had expected it to be. The woman then tells him of her work, of the motel she ventures to at night… the troubles with money and even vaguely, some of the men she suffers through. This had been a bad night. Strange how a singular hour could have broken someone down to such a desperation to open up, to grasp for what small comfort they could receive.

But she came for him.

She must have hoped to see him.

He thanks his god for that.

— — —

“I bought a phone.”

“I see that.” Her fingers graze over the stems of the flowers, cleanly cut by hands more patient and stable than König’s own.

The angel isn’t looking up at him, not this time. There isn’t even a smile on her face when she cradles the bouquet close to her chest, petting over it where she sits upon the motel bed wearing nothing but some strappy, barely-there lingerie. Pure white with pink lace over the cups of her bra where her breasts swell with each shaky intake of breath.

In this week apart, he’s kept the device hidden in a loose pocket and spent many a night scouring the seediest websites looking for a hint of a body that may belong to her in this very area. Only one seemed to match. The messages exchanged were about hours and pricing, establishing a location, and terms he didn’t quite understand. He didn’t harp on the small details, but finding her messages to be so rigid and dry did surprise him. There were no cute hearts or winking emojis, it all felt horribly transactional.

Priests don’t make a lot of money, it all goes back to the church, but he’s thieved enough from the offering bowls to have a night with her alone. As disheartening as the lack of flirtations seemed, he hoped not to squander whatever opportunity this outing proved to be.

The balaclava covering his face wasn’t purchased with the intention of making her nervous, only… shielding himself from curious stares. The whole town knows his face, his name, the words he speaks so resolutely to his flock. Just as well as they know of who she is, what she does.

Even this knitted shield couldn’t hide himself from her, though. The very moment he entered this drab, modestly decorated room with flowers in hand she had only looked further lost.

“You look very pretty,” he tries as he removes the mask and drops it to the floor, kneels just a hair from where her feet dangle from the bed. “I’m glad that I found you.”

“Thank you.”

The flowers are placed on the side table, petals falling down to the thin carpet below. A cascade of red like blood and white like doves feathers. Purity and a wound in one.

The poor thing looks scorned when she does give him a glance then, but she forces herself into a position that stokes a hellish, unnatural flame within him. Her thighs part as her hands rest on the cups of her bra, pushing the thin fabric down to reveal areola, her soft nipples, sights that he had never seen before.

“You shouldn’t even be here, König,” the lady warns when his gaze sweeps over the innocent flesh laid bare before him. The angel isn’t even wet. Her panties are pristine over her womanhood, and it dawns on him that… she wouldn’t risk what he was even for the generous donation he had given.

“I don’t want to ruin you.”

But she should. Crumble him into salt, cast him away with the wind. Should.

She sees something holy in him too… albeit, not in the way that he would like for her to.

He swallows hard as he rises to his feet and sits next to her. The hands that were so accustomed to being joined in prayer find her breasts now with tentative touches, a curious squeeze, until he wills himself to readjust the fabric and conceal her properly.

“Ja, but… I just wanted to visit you.”

“You don’t need to pay me just to see me.”

The tension in the room finally begins to dissolve. Not by much, but when she sighs something that sounds like amusement, the restless throbbing of his heart does begin to settle.

As much as he would like to take her like some beast in rut, lay some claim to her in bursts of white seed, he doesn’t even know where to begin. Each curve of her body looks as though it would feel like a miracle beneath his palm, under his tongue.

It’s just that nothing is going to happen, not here, not now that he’s brought a prostitute flowers and revealed who he was to her. She sees something pitiful, where he only sees someone to love.

He can’t tell her that he dreams of her, that he views her in the same way he views his god. That would only scare her away, lead her to believe he’s a lunatic rather than a man only just now having his first taste of love.

“Then could I see you every night? So that you don’t have to…” His head dips, because no matter how he tries he knows any word he says is foolish.

This isn’t something she’s doing because it is fun for her; it’s a job just like his own. Flesh or words spoken… did it even matter? And yet, König could feel a malicious, gnawing envy at the thought of a bolder man taking his place tomorrow evening. That man wouldn’t hesitate to peel away her pretty lingerie and fuck her, shove his tongue into her mouth while his cock sat between her legs as if it belonged there.

“König,” she sighs next to him, pityingly.

His jaw tenses as his fingers curl into his palms. The hopelessness of it all crashes down around him as though sung out from the loudest of the choir. He hardly notices when she presses her head against his shoulder, only realizes how close she’s come to him when her hand curls over one of his own.

“You’re the strangest man I’ve ever met.” It’s not a compliment but it feels like one when she laughs like that, airy and soft. “The sweetest one, too.”

He smells her perfume from this close, something scented like fruit or maybe maple, sap-sticky and saccharine. All of her flesh feels warm against the plain t-shirt he wears, a warmth he would give anything to dive into, but not without her explicit command. A powerful seraph in the form of one painfully cute, gentle lady. If anyone could see what he saw now, they too would forsake those holy books and eat from her open palm instead.

“I don’t know what to do,” he confesses, a peculiar bitterness hanging on his tongue.

“How about a walk?”

He pulls the balaclava over his face again when they make their way out into the quiet, darkened street. Hand in hand. It’s not from shame, but a necessity, perhaps, because his pale face has only flowered into a lasting pink since laying eyes upon her on that mattress, sprawled out and waiting. The blush only deepens with every squeeze she blesses him with, every hushed word spoken as she tells him about her favorite places.

She’s dressed in the same white dress they had initially met in, now clean of the dirt from flower beds. Somehow even more radiant at this close, too.

The churchyard and the clergy house are nothing in comparison to the way the rest of the town feels when the moon rises. It’s a world all their own, a place where no one looks at her as if she were a simple harlot, but a queen amongst chipping wood and tarmac. There’s even a skip in her step as she walks ahead of him, her hips swaying beneath her skirt. All because there’s no one here but she and her most loyal and only acolyte.

He wills himself out of her grasp when they cross the threshold into the cemetery. The darkness there is enough to pull him back to earth; thoughts of how easily swayed he’s been linger in the back of his mind. The want doesn’t even begin to reel back its claws, but the guilt does sink its pearly fangs in alongside it.

“I get it. You don’t want to be seen with me,” she says a small step away, drawing her hand up to her chest. It’s the saddest she’s ever looked, and he doesn’t have the words to further explain that he has no god damn idea what he’s doing: here, with her, in the midst of something that feels so normal even though it should not.

“Nein! That’s not—“

“You don’t want to touch me. You barely talk…”

Because the words don’t come easy. Because he’s never felt such an overbearing devotion to anyone, anything apart from what he prays to. How could she… this woman that shared in such loneliness with him not see him for what he was, not see him in the way that he sees her?

“You’re misunderstanding.”

“You just want to… to convert me, is that right?,” she hisses, sounding more shaken up than he had ever hoped to hear.

All hesitation had to be swallowed back.

There was no other option. He could feel her slipping away, a pain he wasn’t prepared to face.

God gives and takes away, but König refuses to let go.

His eyes narrow, his breath halts entirely, and he cups her face in his hands as gently as he can. The distance between them feels like miles as he lowers his head to kiss her through the knit barrier. It’s flighty and petrifying on his side… he feels cold sweat wet his brow when the warmth of her pulls through.

She could hit him, spit her curses like a proper witch, and he would only fall to her feet and kiss her heels. But… she does none of those things. Whatever pain was brewing here is ripped away with the night breeze.

Her hands peel away the balaclava, discard it somewhere into the tall grass where it wouldn’t be found, and she grants him his first, proper kiss.

With only the cracked headstones and cemetery angels watching, what once was tentative becomes a full indulgence. König samples from her mouth as though it weeps honey when the gentle peck graduates to a parting of lips. His hands run down the length of her sides as she grasps at his shirt, they pull her in close until her chest meets his own and two pairs of eyelids flutter.

She feels more heavenly than his imagination could have prepared him for, her tongue hotter and her sounds… the soft sighs and shaky murmurs of approval that fill him with both a maddening love and an urge to burn everything away if only it would keep her safe and near.

The world ceases to be entirely, cast down with Lucifer to the sulfur and smoke. Her lips remain parted when they break apart, a haze over her eyes reflecting the veil clouding his own irises.

Was a kiss really forsaking his vows? Was that really such a painful treachery? No… no it shouldn’t be. The issue remains that he can not see her as just some woman. Something as small as this could consume him entirely.

The night is spent with an abundance of those shared kisses when they return to the motel. Tentative touches, too. He’s never held a woman, not in the way he gets to hold her then. She presses tightly to him, her back to his chest with her hand keeping his own in place over her middle. She’s so soft, swans down plush and smooth as silk ribbon.

There is mint lingering on her breath each time she speaks. No talk of her work, only… she confesses how she had feared him so initially, how she worried that a holy man stepping into her life would only be further condemnation: an angel terrified by a devil that does not exist at all.

He knows he’s lost a part of himself here when he tells her he wishes to meet with her again, that if the church is no longer the place she fancies to walk, he’ll meet her amongst the dead again and again when the old clergymen sleep. Those promises he had reserved solely for God turn on themselves now, when he reveres the idol he shares this bed with.

Though her hips press back against his groin when his fingers crawl up to her sternum, and the desire strikes up within him, his cock remains untouched here. He doesn’t whisper a prayer for forgiveness into her hair when he grows hard, just tucks her in closer and smiles where his head rests atop her own.

It’s the closest to bliss he’s ever felt.

— — —

“You weren’t here for morning prayer.” The voice isn’t accusatory, just observant. The nightly prayers were missed too, though a reprieve is granted by way of those remaining unmentioned.

But the guilt does eat at König when he sees the concern in this man’s eyes, splinters at his very soul until he asks in a fragile voice if he can speak to the old priest in the confessional.

Everything here feels much too small and the booth is more or less the same. The wood closes in around him, bathes him in a blackness that even the glow of candlelight within these walls can not reach. The partition separating them does not help bolster courage, it only leaves him feeling more alone.

The clergyman listens in silence as König confesses that he has become weak. He does not mention the lady of the night, but there’s no need to at all: finding himself so captivated with a woman that he considered breaking every promise to the higher power was bad enough. He does not mention how he’s considered pleasuring himself, touching her too… only that they shared a night together embraced, counts the kisses that were exchanged with each digit of his hands.

There’s a pitying sigh from the other side before the man begins a lengthy prayer that König does join him in. With the “Amen” that follows, he’s told only to rid himself of those thoughts, to bury them with fasting and prayer. No more visits with this temptress, remain on the right path. The very, very simple things he must do to receive God’s forgiveness and favor once more.

“You are not a disappointment,” his elder reminds him with a small pat to his cheek and a smile. It’s more fatherly than the sparse affection he received from his own flesh and blood before coming here.

“Danke… thank you,” he breathes when his eyes bear the burden of tears.

God loves him and so do the sainted men.

But to never see her again would be worse than flagellation.

He chokes down the pain with more water when his stomach roars with hunger, hides the broken heart with smiles and prayer. Holy clothes feel heavier now. The money he stole to spend that night with her is returned to the collection pool in a week's time. The smartphone he had purchased is tossed out with the rest of the garbage in the bins. Even the cup is returned to the bakery after being rinsed in the sink.

Still not a part of him feels absolved from this torturous puppet show.

He thinks of her more than he ponders over his fear of Hell itself. God feels like an old memory as the days pass. He counts them in his daybook, an ‘X’ next to the dates he had gone without seeing her. Ten becomes twenty, and it becomes no less agonizing.

The prayers come easier, at least. He joins with his fellow men, kneels with his hands clasped before him, speaks such heartfelt words now that on more than one occasion he’s shared a healing tear or two with the other clergymen.

God is an old friend, yes, but that title is just a placeholder for the one his prayers are truly for. The little angel of the garden, the woman who has given him nothing at all but stole his heart all the same. Was she not the same as God from that aspect?

After a month, he’s finally given the privilege to stand before the altar and preach to the parishioners again. His sermon is directed by the other clergymen, a subtle admission of his own misdeeds as he guides the flock away from the sins of lust, of worldly pleasures that would steer them away from the right path.

Amidst the men and women crowding the pews sits a new face. She wears a hat, looking uncertain and skittish as a bunny amidst a pack of starved hounds beneath its curved brim. Her coat is tugged tightly around her where her hands grip to keep it closed and snug. No one is out to get her, not here, but there’s a purplish bruise on her neck. A sad stare trails up to meet his gaze when he stammers through the words of scripture.

Then, she smiles and his heart only feels full.

The sermon ends clumsily enough, but she waits for him in the center pew. He ensures the others have cleared out before he takes rigid steps toward her, where he sits a foot or so away on the bench; the feigned friendliness is only a front for the rapid beating of his heart and the way the blush upon his face paints up to his ears.

“I waited to walk with you… like you promised we would,” she says in place of a greeting. There’s no chiding in her tone, just curiosity. Gentle, like she’s speaking to a wounded bird, and perhaps that’s what he’s become: some big, ugly vulture. Holy in its love of everything from the sky to the rot down below.

“I’m sorry. I..,” he laments, grasping for an explanation that does not come.

“No, I understand. It’s alright, König.”

He knows he doesn’t deserve the gift of her redemption with how easily he turned away from her, from the blooming of… something. It was best not to use that word anymore.

“I just didn’t want to wait any longer. I missed you,” she huffs when the silence extends between them, breaks up the tension in the air but not what creeps over her own shoulders.

“Your bruise..” He wants to tell her of his sleepless nights, of how he pictures her in place of any old deity upon a throne in heaven, but settles for where his eyes linger on her neck.

No explanation is provided, but she lets him bring his fingers to it, ghost over where the purple melds to yellow in the shape of thick fingerprints. Add wrath to the ever growing list of his sins, because it’s all he feels amidst the envy and love.

His fingers dig into the plain back trousers when they rest upon his lap again, something foreign buzzes beneath his skin. The thought that any man would be brazen enough to lay hands upon his very own angel.. It’s unbelievable, unforgivable. His thoughts spiral so quickly it’s frightening. Timid things can become vicious, too, when backed into corners.

She manages to keep this growing storm in check when she stands and smooths her skirt, and offers to tidy up the church in an act of ‘repentance’.

The chores are simple and the sisters that linger far past service seem grateful to have her here as she takes up the broom and sweeps away at the dusty floor. They chatter away with her, take her hat and rest their hands over her shoulders when the cleaning winds to an end. His angel closes her eyes in prayer, doesn’t so much as open them to send him a knowing glance when they pray for her to find a good husband, someone who deserves such a lovely, godly woman.

She shares a meal with them while König keeps to himself with scripture in hand, mindlessly roving over the words even when his thoughts drift to the night of their first kiss.

He reasons that it’s only natural when she gives him such a display of acceptance too. It only solidifies what he knows already: this woman is no succubus— she has not crawled from the depths of Hell to drag him back with her, she’s only heavensent. An angel with a broken wing or a gaping wound somewhere… something to care for.

She’s encouraged to return by several fond voices. A few of the women even offer to walk her home, the daylight is dying and it’s dangerous for a lone lady out at night. The angel smiles at him then, sharing in the knowledge that she prefers the dark. Not the wicked things, but the peace and the beauty of the moon.

And she returns when he abstains from her.

She confides in him after each sermon that she does long to see him more often, but she likes the way he speaks of Mary Magdalene and the other women in scripture, pokes fun at the lilt to his voice when he notices her amidst the crowd of others. She says she likes him a lot before they part ways in the evenings, but she doesn’t tempt him with pouts or trailing fingers.

He thanks her for respecting his faith each time - despite being the one who crossed several boundaries initially. Though he keeps his hands to himself now, the looks he gives to her are pleading and soft. If she would pull him into a kiss now, he would let her have all of him. They could run away together, from the church, from her clients…

It’s on one of those cloudy Sundays that he does ask her if she’s stopped. He braves the look she gives him when his question comes as a hushed stutter. The comfort between them no longer feels tentative. It’s just there. Ever-present as the sky above.

“Well, you haven’t,” she whispers in response, propping her elbow up on the back of the pew. It’s as if she believes it could be so simple, but it’s not. Not for either of them.

The spiels of Heaven and Hell won’t reach her, so he doesn’t bother with those. She offers him an invitation with her words and the way she remains so open that it’s difficult not to take.

It’s been months since he touched her last and the love has only seemed to have grown. Strange. Perhaps he is as odd as she’s imagined him to be. There have been weddings in this very church, talks of long years of courtship, and even then what those men must have felt for their brides had to have paled in comparison to this. It had to.

“Tell me how to,” he breathes without any underlying thought. Saints don’t question their gods, they only serve them.

“You’re actually considering it…?”

“I might.”

The silence crowds around the bench while her fingers brush over the pages of a hymnal in repetition and his only inch closer to her clothed knee.

“You could meet me at the cemetery tonight… We could talk more there.”

“At night is probably not the best time.”

“Well, we’re friends, aren’t we?”

Friends don’t kiss. Friends don’t feel the way he feels now, or how he’s felt for the past few months. Platonic arrangements don’t require repentance. But, he bites his tongue and tilts his head back, lets it roll off the shoulder when his hand draws back to his lap. Another time.

Not where the Heavenly Father could see, if he were even watching any longer.

“… Tomorrow morning would be better.”

“Then I’ll come get you. Don’t you dare try and get out of it,” she chirps with the wildest glint of mirth alight in her eyes.

Stay.

If the church caught fire now and the rafters came to sink into the earth not a part of him would or could even care as long as she were just here. But he watches her go without a word of opposition, watches her nod toward the sisters standing out in the yard and clasp her hands in front of her, smiling to herself as though the world were made for just the two of them.

It stings during nightly prayer, and it burns when he lies in bed to wait for the morning. There are cicadas singing and footsteps on old wooden boards to remind him that he isn’t entirely alone, the scent of tobacco drifting from his window when another plaster saint hides beyond the veil of night to smoke. He doesn’t sleep, his eyes remain fixed upon the ceiling until the darkness of the room drifts to a dull gray with the sun’s slow rise.

And König does not wait for her to fetch him. Morning prayer dissolves into a mournful cry because there is no part of him that can fathom or interpret any of this. A trial should not feel like a blessing when he’s faced with it. God must be playing the stupidest game imaginable to test him with someone so lovable, so charming. Where the church leaves him feeling filthy with remorse, she purifies him with only a curl of her lips and starlight dancing in her eyes.

None of it is fair.

The guilt must be something obligatory, summoned up like puffs of dust from the floorboards. Worshiping idols is a sin, but it’s not the angel that feels like one, it’s the attention he pays to the cloud in his head that does. That’s the one that should go.

He grits through prayer with the other men, doesn’t chime in with unnecessary words of devotion this time. The coffee burns his tongue when he downs the mug and forgoes breakfast. There are dark rings beneath his eyes when he ventured to the washroom to brush his teeth, and there are whispers in the halls that the young priest must be either coming under a possession or God is preparing him for something. Something big and exciting. He ignores those and the stern glances from the little nuns in their robes, huffs something of a joke about a momentary sabbatical when he lumbers out of the walls of the church.

There are no new bruises this time, but König has the memory of the last ones stuck in his skull. A clear image of four small marks on the side of her neck, another on its opposite. Larger, more pronounced. Five marks from a hand that never belonged there. Kerosene and a match are what the thoughts running rampant in his head would look like to an outsider.

She tells him on the thin picnic blanket that she’s got a new client, that he gives her enough to where she doesn’t have to consider any others now. The man has a much stranger set of interests, ones she hadn’t delved into before him, but she’s merciful enough to withhold the details that would lead König to make the crucifixion seem a gentle affair.

She tells him because she wants him to be proud that it’s only one now. That she’s making some sort of progress for him. None of it is fair, and he knows without asking that she feels more akin to the way that he does than any of the holy men.

And still he can’t help but ask, “Do you love him?”

“Of course not,” comes her immediate response, and there’s a near imperceptible glare there, judging by the fire in her eyes. It’s cute… and he feels the world's ugliest fool for daring to ask for reassurance as though this relationship was any sort of normal. If it were even a relationship at all.

Their hands touch, reaching for the same flaky pastry in the basket she brought along and Heaven’s bells ring out in his ears when her gaze sweeps over him. Everything is sugared dough and right again. She offers him her lap in place of a pillow for his head when the clouds grow thick and gray above, feeds him from her own hand and runs her fingers across his face with the other.

“How did you get the sky in your eyes?,” she asks him, makes him blush so easily his heart stutters within his chest. He feels like a boy in her presence, and in a way, to her, maybe he even is just some inexperienced whelp nipping at her heels.

The angel does not judge, she softly rakes her nails behind his ear and neck until he shivers in her hold. His hair is next, a victim to her comfort as she tousles it between her fingers, strokes him like the smallest of kittens when he feels anything but.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he mutters, raising a hand to brush at her cheek. Warm as he expected, yet softer. There’s nothing wicked here, only a woman. A woman who loves him as he loves her.

“Your eyes are pretty… sad. I love them,” comes the sweet reply that reduces him to nothing but scattered feathers and a howling ache.

Did he even exist before now? Before her? This woman has filled him with such purpose, breathed new life into a stagnant soul. The church was a safe place for a man scorned by the rest of the world, but that blanket felt unnecessary now. He wanted to feel her hands move over him like this, smell the petals in her perfume, hear her voice speak to him, all of it. Forever.

“I think that I lose myself when I’m with you.”

“Does that hurt you?”

“Nein… I’m happier like this.” It’s the closest to a confession he can whisper.

And he returns to her, morning after morning König rushes through paying his dues to God and his men to return to her like this.

When the graveyard is silent and the dew still sticks to the blades of grass, her voice sounds sweeter somehow beneath the glow of the rising sun. The birds sing around them and often she pushes wildflowers into his hair, clasps her hands around his neck and teaches him to kiss.

Her tongue moves with grace, his is only a thing of greed. Each chaste peck is met with a hunger from somewhere so foggy and forgotten it never had a home at all, not before now. The angel needn’t show him where to rest his hands, they pry at every part of her: gentle brushes against her cheek and neck, kneading at her shoulders, further, further until he does finally starve off any lingering thought of what is good or evil to explore the curve of her lower back.

Most of the time words come in afterthought, once lips are wet and plush from this gentle devouring, after she steels herself from running her hands any further down than his stomach. He tells her in truth that he prays to her, not for. Not anymore.

The shadows cast from the aspens keep them tucked far away from sight, from God and his people alike. A temple for two without four walls to close them in. The only place on this earth that he’s ever found himself in perfect solace.

“I want to try something,” she breathes just when he’s prepared himself to leave. The tree at his back, knees parted, where she remains sat across from him. There’s nervousness there, not the fretful way she looks after a long night, nor the way she looked to him upon their first meetings. “Do you trust me?”

“Ja… more than anyone,” he reassures in a soft tone of voice, tipping her chin up with the tips of two fingers to further accentuate it. Her beauty and her uncertainty always strike a chord within him, a fire that never dwindles. When her eyes search his own, his breath catches.

He doesn’t say a word when she peels away the robes from the front of his trousers. Her hands linger on at the waistband for a moment, takes enough time to offer the gentlest peck to the side of his neck before continuing. It’s another first, being exposed to a woman like this when she lowers the band and has him shimmy backward to free his cock from his pants. Soft with shame or embarrassment, a concoction of other things he could not name, but the moment she looks up at him with pure delight he feels himself grow stiff.

“Wow… You’ve got a perfect cock,” she assesses with a laugh, finger running up the length of it as it twitches to life under her touch.

Scheisse.

He strokes her cheek with reverence as she bends down before him, watching him carefully through her eyelashes. Her warm breath drifts over his manhood and he’s already horribly aware that this would not last long. Another lesson, like the kisses, maybe. She could mold him any way that she likes and he would be pleased to play the role of her Adam.

The tongue isn’t what he anticipated. She flattens it against the tip, breathes a laugh when a keening whine is pulled from his throat. To see such an ugly, vulgar thing pressed to the beautiful mouth he’s kissed a dozen times now. It feels wrong. There’s no hesitation when her lips wrap around him. And then all of it— everything is just right. Every moment spent in this hazy, loving glow with her is right. If Hell were to come from this, then let it.

He can’t tear his eyes away from her, can’t bring himself to speak when he feels the way his cock hits the back of her throat, feels her swallow around him and make such a pleased noise as she wraps her fingers around the expanse she can not take.

Its pitiful, the way he must look: mouth agape, eyes lidded and heavy… He brings a hand to her hair, and runs his fingers through it as if she isn’t letting him fuck her mouth, but rather in the midst of something far holier, softer. Sacrilegious or divine. If God we’re watching, let him.

She pulls back a little, an obscene, wet sound in answer when her mouth is drawn back enough to merely press a kiss the tip, puffy lips glossy with drool. “Is this okay…? Not too much?”

“You are so pretty… it feels… just keep going.” His voice no longer possesses any feigned confidence, it begs like a wounded thing, chanting, “Bitte. Please…”

His hips tilt up when she parts her lips again, all trepidation be damned. This is something, something he’s aches for and never had the chance to feel. All of the ache, the longing to be diminished, to unite with the angel who fled Heaven for him. The cock pushes at her open mouth, smears thick beads of precum over her cheek, before she takes him in again with a delighted, muffled sound. Her soft mouth, the tongue that thoroughly laps at his shaft and follows her movements to wrap and suck at the head. Otherworldly, and… unfathomably bittersweet.

Her lips suction around him, the movements of her wrist only increasing, and with the second roll of his hips he feels his stomach begin to tense as pure heat rolls its way through him. A gentle coursing becomes a blinding inferno in mere seconds, and regrettably, instinctively, that hand so gently combing through her hair comes to snare it instead and force her down further.

His soft grunts and low pleading morph to something choked and almost agonized. It’s the purest rapture, a pleasure so absolute his eyes prick as he bows lower to cover over her as she swallows his devotion by mouth. The angel pants breathlessly when she pulls away with saliva and semen still stringing them together, cleansed by his thumb tracing over her lips, replaced so swiftly by his own mouth. The kiss is so chaste it feels misplaced here, but she nuzzles against him in this comedown from ecstasy, doesn’t even chastise how he lasted a mere two minutes.

And he vows, vows in the sweetness of her comfort and love that no one else will ever have this again.

— — —

Abstaining from meals during a fast is a struggle in and of itself; abstaining from her is some long-forgotten circle of Hell.

It’s not avoidance, but a necessity.

To think that his first sexual encounter would provoke days of concern, a wistful daydream about a future he never would have thought to have had otherwise. There was a desperate, starving desire to repent when he first arrived home after that, but nothing that a bottle of communion wine and a cold shower could not wash away. Repentance has lost its merit to him.

And after seven days, he’s perfectly aware of what he must do. To absolve them both from things where atonement seems far from a necessity at all. He folds his holy robes and leaves them on the bed in the room too small, set neatly next to his Bible. The rosary was the one thing that König could not bear to part with. The beads, red and shimmery, were chosen and strung together with him in mind. It’s slipped into the pocket of his jeans after the plain, black t-shirt is pulled over his head.

There’s a hammer in his gloved hand, and he doesn’t recall where he found it. Lying with its head rusted in the churchyard, perhaps half buried beneath the soil. Some of the other clergymen are talented at fixing things, but König’s never been very good with that. His first rosary was broken with a careless slip of his fingers, and he’s shattered more porcelain than he could count on accident.

Even communion wine can be a bit too strong, sometimes. Or maybe that’s only when the bottle’s been entirely downed. He’ll blame one of his betters when the stock is counted and one turns up missing, if they bother to come seek him out again at all.

The motel is dead at this hour, so late into the night. The few normal visitors have already been accounted for with watchful eyes, and the angel waits in one of the rooms on the second floor. He imagines the laces on her lingerie, the healing bruises on her throat, and that sweet expression upon her face. Or maybe that one was reserved solely for him. He prayed… no, he hoped so.

After tonight, there would be no more mercies for him. Or perhaps there would be an abundance, blessings from the vultures and the wolves and the maggots he would feed. New gods that were still far lesser than the angel who suffers men in sheets, but only looks to him with love.

And he doesn’t have to wait long, because the demon finds his way here with haste. Does he come here every night looking as proud as he does now? His attire even resonates with death, black with those white details, a costume that seems so fitting for one about to meet the very face he wears.

Killing someone isn’t so easy. Cain murdered his brother with a rock, described in such loose detail that one would think a playful throw led to Abel’s end. But it’s not so, not when the victim is hellbent on living.

The demon is smaller, but strong. He’s been in situations like this before, doesn’t have to spit the words to tell König so. They’re felt with each blow, with the sharp edge of the knife this bastard manages to dig into his side. Just barely, before it’s jerked out of his hand and thrown several paces away. The skittering across the tarmac is enough to chant doom.

There’s blood. More with the first strike of the hammer. It seemed so much easier in thought rather than practice. In his imaginings, the head would split with the first fall like an overripe apple, crumple in and the breath would leave the demon in an instant. Instead, it’s dozens. Blow after blow while the smaller man struggles below him.

A strange catharsis comes over him when his soul grows murky, when his hands are slick and the struggle comes to an abrupt end. The sobering only comes when he’s spent an hour driving down the most forested roads to find a place to dump the body. There’s no tact to it, laying a man to rest in shrubbery and dirt. With a head so collapsed it’s hard to think of this as a man at all. A corpse, something no longer simply human.

König does not pray for him when he rests the hammer in the deceased’s hands. Does not offer it more than a passing thought when he peels away back toward home. The deed is done and he’s free of those horrid burdens tainting his heart, keeping him held back on a short leash to divinity.

Like fate, she’s found out in the garden again after the bloodied shirt and stained gloves are discarded. The wound is patched with what he could find available, a hastily tied strip of gauze covers his side. A week or so at best until the gash would heal into an ugly, jagged scar. It seemed even a bastard devil’s blade couldn't be sharp enough to fell a Goliath when he’s caught by surprise and horny.

He feigns merely emptying the garbage into an outside bin, plays off the sting of the gash with a humble, lumbering gait. She beams up at him through lines of tears running down the sides of her face like small, silver streams beneath the darkened sky above.

He’s not a saint anymore, no… a guardian angel. The archangel Michael with his sword set ablaze and divinity scrawled into every scale of his chest plate. Something holy and glowing, unsullied and beautiful.

Like her.

“You’re crying…”

“Sorry… bad night. Client just ghosted me.”

No. This was good, couldn’t she see that? All the sleepless nights, the prayer and the constant, overwhelming longing. Everything he had suffered for her, and still she only comes to him with the thought of that horrible thing in mind.

“He’s dead.” Maybe it was just the fear of a loss of money. He had enough saved up someplace, and the collection pool would be beneficial enough to pivot them towards a new life. No church. No lonely motel. He had to test it, give her a trial and hope that she did not simply break.

The look that crosses her face is one of confusion… Then comes a strange twist of relief. Her mouth falls slightly agape and her arms squeeze slightly around his middle.

“We just spoke a few hours ago. How…?” Finally, suspicion.

Maybe he’s too drunk on playing God now to care, to realize this isn’t how a good man would have handled things. The only thing that holds any weight, that resonated with him any at all is the thought that he loves her, that he will protect her until his dying breath, pray at her feet and anything else she might ask.

That’s what pulls him to press her down against the bed of the truck, to kiss her with every lesson she’s blessed him with in mind. Tongue and teeth, fire and spit, she accepts all of it. She doesn’t beg him for an answer: she’s seen the worst of men, taken cocks far less deserving. Her hands find his hair as they drift away here, gives the strands a sharp tug to usher him closer, roll her tongue against his own.

The sheer tights she wears beneath her skirt are ripped at the seam between her legs by large hands, panties pushed to the side before she finally presses against the broad chest against her to gain some space. Her breath is shallow, face warmed and hair a mess, still the loveliest thing he’s ever laid his eyes upon.

“Are you afraid?” He tilts his head to the side, curious, as if there were no reason for her deny him of this now after he had just *killed for her*. After he forsook what once was all he knew all for her. He would do it again without question, with no gain at all, but the sting of rejection was not something he could entirely choke back.

But his angel never runs out of mercies, it seems.

“No… just give me a second.”

She slips her hand down between her parted legs, demonstrates for him just how to prepare a woman. He watches, mesmerized, as she circles the bud above her slit, dips her finger downward to spread wetness along her flesh. Dew over petals. A finger slips inside of her, and all at once is shoved aside.

“Let me,” he pleads, already pressing both hands to her inner thighs, tilting her hips upward as his head sinks between them.

“You don’t have to,” she whispers, but grants him his wish with feverish nods that betray her words, allows him to kiss her sex as he shifts himself into a better position.

There’s nothing to go off of but her sounds, the cries of pleasure when his tongue lolls out to lick at the nub where most of her reactions stem from. He mutters against her about her taste, something so ethereal he could not even begin to place. Her scent envelopes him in full, and he’s never felt closer to anything prior. She allows his clumsy licking, moans louder for him when he can’t stifle his own groaning. The pants are too tight around him, and patience is another virtue he finds that he lacks.

She doesn’t reach some fantastical height of pleasure when he presses a finger into her cunt, but her body seems to fit even that like a glove, squeezing around him as he lazily circles her bud with his tongue. She doesn’t come, but she tugs him by the hair to usher him back into another kiss, hands roving down his abdomen to free his manhood from the barriers of fabric. And finally… finally he’s granted entrance to Heaven.

The first thrust leaves him spiraling, lost into a world of silk and honey. And the angel does not give him any time to recover, she writhes beneath him, shifting her hips to pull him in deeper, muffles each whine and groan from his lips with her tongue hungrily lapping over his own.

He’s thought about having a woman many times, but never imagined it could feel this good. To be so complete, every woe or fear cast aside in the act of mindless pleasure.

He doesn’t know where to put his hands, to keep his eyes shut or gaze down at her and cease this assault on his mouth to tell her that he loves her, that she feels like pure fucking paradise and he’s already on the verge of coming undone. He settles for moving, dragging himself in and out of her in slow movements, turning his face away to bite down on her shoulder when the feeling of her walls cinching him like a vise threatens to spur him into finishing on the spot.

“That’s just… god… you’re good at this,” she gasps when a hand is sunk between their bodies, flicking at her clit as he spears her open. Her hands find his back, raking her fingernails down past his shoulder blades. It’s agonizing, trying to fight back the urge to breed her full, watch his come spill out from her perfect cunt until he finds himself hard again. The very thought makes him gasp, grind himself deeper inside of her as her nails dig into his back.

“Mein… this is… you understand…,” he’s babbling, hardly coherent, and she only seems to accept it. The angel chants her agreement amidst the beginning of her rapture.

She cries out for him when she comes, her sex pulsing around him as she shivers that all restraint is immediately lost. She hugs him so tightly, squirms as she hisses a curse into his ear.

It’s a miracle he’s even lasted this long. He halts his pace for a mere second to prop himself up, gaze down at her in absolute reverence before that fire swallows him whole. It’s unceremonious when he comes: a growl and a wail as he buries he face into her neck and pumps every last drop of his seed into her pussy.

He doesn’t want to pull out, doesn’t want to leave such a complete embrace. The world has already ended for him, a long time ago on the very night they met. There’s no need to drag out their ruin with whatever else occurs when she’s out of his grasp.

She strokes over the marks she’s made, gentle, tickling touches of her fingertips and shy giggles when their eyes meet again.

“I thought I would never get to do this with you,” she admits, quiet when her hands drift to cup his jaw instead. “You’re perfect, you know that…?”

He wants to cry, wants to fuck all of his woes away, kneel before her and beg that she find a place where they can never be apart. Steal her away to some cabin up in the Alps, where flowers grow in thick patches on the hillsides, a wild garden of her very own.

“… You should stay with me,” he huffs into her ear, fingers dimpling the flesh of her hips as he tries desperately to force himself closer to her.

“You can’t mean the church,” she giggles. “So where should we go?”

“We can figure that out in the morning, hm?”

#könig x reader #konig x reader

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donutz · 11 months ago

Text

Yandere Catnap x female reader

Request from Wattpad—! Here you go Justlila79☆

A/N|| I barely ever mention that you are a woman in this fanfic, but there is a mention of chests, not sexually, but it does talk about it

—☆You are a human in this

Catnap’s been.. Gone. But still here.

He’s been distant but he’s still there.

You find it terrifying that you always feel like you’re being watched even at home.

You can’t even change without closing the blinds!

You were at home after a long day of working at the daycare, wanting to just lay down. You again, feel like you’re being watched. Let’s just hope nothing happens while you’re sleeping.

You didn’t want to shower, but you want to be clean for the next day and do not appreciate morning showers.

So, you decided to go through the process of showering. Doing your usual routine. Thankfully, you didn’t feel like you were being watched at the moment. Whoever’s watching you is well-mannered.

For some reason, you smiled at that. At least someone knows when to look and not to. Your shower took about 20-30(or more) minutes. The warm water(unless you shower in cold water) doesn’t want to let you go.

Now you get it, when cats lay in the warm sun rays.

But sadly, there’s something called a water bill and getting weirdly wrinkly from water, so you had to get out.

You were soon dressed for bed(if you do, some people don’t sleep with clothes on). Then went to sleep, feelings watched once again(unless you sleep naked, or half naked like a bra and underwear or something).

Catnap has manners y’all.

Soon, it’s the next day. Nothing’s watching you. Not at the moment. You don’t feel those occasional goosebumps run across your skin.

But then you do.

Only because it’s cold. Like I said, nothing’s watching you.

At the moment.

You’re dressed for the day to work at Playtime co. And prepare to deal with screaming, wide smiles, pushes, hugs, what’d you expect at a literal daycare.

You’ll feel ‘that’ again once you get to the workplace. So just be happy you don’t right now.

You arrive at Playtime co, signed in with your id, and went to your ‘station’ you called it.

“Hey coworker!” You have no idea why Dogday didn’t call you by your name.

It’s fine, you’re used to it.

“Hey Dogday..” He was really worried about your well being, but sadly had to deal with kids. No worries! He’ll make time for you! Hopefully.

You were walking to your office, and you’re being watched. For sure.

You’ve caught Catnap creepily looking at you a few times.

“Catnap? Are you there?” Dumb thing to say, but y’know, just gotta make sure Catnap(isn’t) is there!!

The lights were on so you weren’t as scared.

You could see his beady white irises in the dark.

“Jesus there you are!” You ran up to him and gave him the biggest hug.

“I’ve missed just seeing you right in front of me!”

Silence.

“Also are you the one who’s been watching me”?

“...”

“Keep you… away… from others…”

“I can’t Catnap, here—” You picked him up, went to your chair, and settled him on your lap.

You scooted your chair in and started working.

“Did you want my attention? Here, I mean it’s not necessarily my full attention, but you can cuddle up to me or something.”

Catnap was— surprised. He didn’t really expect you to do that, he thought you’d go away and he’d end up having to use his gas.

He can. Right now.

But. He wants to be with you just a little longer.

He can use his gas later.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Thank the lords Catnap was asleep. You didn’t get goosebumps anymore.

You looked down on your lap, but your chest was in the way(unless it wasn’t, not everybody has a big chest) so you move your head to the side(unless you didn’t) and get a view of a sleeping kitty.

You heard a low sound of soft buzzing, and leaned your head in towards Catnap. Is he.. PURRING?!

For some reason you had a video tape recorder, just in case something happens at Playtime co, or when you’re driving home or walking to your car. Soooo, of course! You recorded his purring, for memories.. Also this is the first time Catnap has purred, around you.

You feel as if he knows that you’re recording his purrs. But he’s still letting you. Even if he’s been away, for a while.

Anyways now you’re in a basement.

Away from everyone. Away from the critters, the kids, the workers.

You don’t know why you’re here.

Though. It wasn’t that bad. I mean you can get really bored and lonely down here but Catnap visits you almost every day. You ask him why you’re here but he doesn’t say anything.

Surprisingly you actually get food! From Catnap. Good food. I guess, He knows where you live so he gets food from your house, or from playcare. He wants you alive, he could starve you, but you’re human.

And apparently, humans need food. Yeah sure he gives you water. Sometimes orange juice. You need your vitamin C!

But one day, he took off your cuffs. You were confused, you wanted to go out but decided to stay down here. Where you’re ‘safe’.

The next thing you knew you heard screaming. No, not a child’s screams of joy. It was horrific. Terrifying. You heard screams of kids, teens, adults, you heard so many screams.

You could hear the voice cracks in their pleas and yells. The cut offs of their loud, terrified screams. The splatter of blood. You could hear it all.

Yet you wish you didn’t.

And after… An hour? Catnap came back, but he wasn’t the smaller one that you usually saw. No.

He was taller, on all fours, more skinny and he was heavily breathing.

You could see blood on his fur. In his fur. On his face. And he was just staring at you.

Like a little kid, you walked up to him and hugged his leg. Maybe you went so insane that you didn’t care about the fact Catnap caused those screams.

He picked you up by the collar of your shirt at the back of your neck, and walked out.

Hundreds of dead bodies. On the floor.

He showed you the dead bodies.

Like he was proud.

Though, you didn’t care.

You tried scrambling out of Catnap’s grasp, and somehow did.

“Catnap, can I ride on your back?” You asked.

He lowered his body for you to do just as you said.

You wondered how the critters were doing.

—☆Catnap's so spooky ^_^

#poppy playtime #poppy platime fanfic #poppy playtime x reader #catnap #catnap x reader #x reader #yandere catnap #yandere #yandere poppy playtime #smiling critters #female reader #catnap x female reader #yandere catnap x reader #yandere catnap x female reader

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solbaby7 · 11 months ago

Text

Tough Lover

[part 2 to A Guy Who Takes His Time]

pairing: azriel x burlesque!reader

warnings: not edited, swearing, sexual themes, burlesque themes, can you tell i’m a fiend for a fictional character?

summary: When the guy who takes his time doesn’t want to take things so slow after your latest show.

—

It had been weeks since you’d last seen the handsome inky haired Illyrian with wings so large and shadows so curious, you’d been left reeling by the end of the night. He was polite; a perfect gentleman who’d opened your door and pulled back your chair and ordered you a water to accompany the drink you’d asked for.

Azriel was attentive, that hazel gaze like lasers as he watched you, the way your mouth moved to form words, the way your nose crunched when the liquor was especially strong, the wince when the healing blisters on your feet rubbed against leather. “How long have you been doing that?”

You’re hesitant when you answer, fingers curled around your glass as the lantern crackled gently beside them. The booth was rather comfortable, pushed towards the back of the restaurant for privacy and the large window of walls was quite comforting; the twinkle of stars above shining in the night. “A while. Almost ten years.”

His brows raise slightly, his quirk in to the side a little and the light on tanned skin makes him look godly. It’s unmistakable the muscle beneath a shirt so deep a blue it was nearly black. “And you still enjoy it?”

“I love it.” The smile that grows takes his breath away, the makeup you’d been wearing for the show earlier was mostly wiped off, the bright red lipstick nothing more than a stain and it’s debilitating how badly he wants to lean over the table and kiss you—but that would be too forward and Azriel had promised to take his time. “There’s very little I love more than the feeling I get when I’m on that stage and everyone’s eyes are on me.”

You blush a little at the confession, head dipping down as you nervously sip at your drink—something fruity and strong. One more and the nerves would subside, two and you’d be ruling the conversation just as you did back at the bar. “Is that right?” The breathy tone of his voice isn’t not nearly as tame as he’d been before, leather gloves straining under the clench of his fingers. “Tell me, do you often go out with captivated customers after work?”

“Captivated, are you?” You feed into his flattery, leaning back to playfully show off the classy dip of your neckline, the simple black dress you’d changed into nearly sweeping the spymaster clean off his feet when you’d emerged from the changing rooms. All soft skin and sweet smelling body oils and perfume that sent shimmers across your collarbones. “I find that hard to believe when you’d done your best job keeping your eyes off me earlier.” There’s a pout on blushed lips and you don’t miss the way Azriel’s eyes dart down to them. “You made me come get you myself.”

“Everyone else’s attention wasn’t enough?” A chuckle pulls from his chest, form leaning into his chair and the large wings behind him seem to relax with the movement, even if they do remain high behind him to stay off the floor. You can’t help the way you squirm, teeth biting at the fat of your bottom lip as you struggle for an answer that doesn’t make you seem desperate or too needy. “Answer me.”

It’s a gentle command but you’re surprised by how quickly your body complies, mouth moving before you can stop it. “You were the only one not looking,” You don’t hear the bustle of customers around you, the clicking every so often from the dishwashers in the back and the occasional shout for the busboy; you’re too engrossed in the man before you. “It was like you were just begging for me prove that I was worth whatever generous amount your High Lord forked over for the most expensive booth in the bar.” Azriel can’t be sure if you’ve even noticed how your tone changed, lids going lazy as you relived the experience. “You were the first challenge I’d had in a long while.”

“So, only challenges get to take you to dinner?”

The straw of your drink is caught between your teeth, eyes flirty under thick lashes and the feminine giggle you offer him sends a feeling shooting deep in Azriel’s gut. “No,” The world drawls on your tongue, a manicured hand tracing the rim of your glass. “Just you.”

Azriel seems pleased by the admission, shoulders shifting slightly and his tongue slowly traces along his bottom lip. “I see, I’m just special.”

The tension is undeniable, the thrum of excitement buzzes beneath your skin and the way he’s staring at you was a greater high than a full show dedicated to you alone. “Special enough to let you be the first customer to touch me—let alone keep a souvenir.”

An easy smile formed on his handsome features, strong cheekbones and full lips; slinking shadows kissing at his form, curling around his neck and arms. “You shouldn’t tell me things like that,” Your breath hitches, eyes stuck on his own as the cool caress of his shadows trail up your heel, around your ankle, trailing up, up, up, until they were skimming over the stitching at the hem of your dress. “My brothers say I have a bit of a possessive streak.”

You try not to think about it too hard, throat bobbing when you swallow. “Those were your brothers? That’s one hell of a gene pool.”

“We aren’t related by blood,” He confesses softly, the love for the two showing through whether he’d planned for it to or not. “They’re my chosen family.”

A little noise of understanding pulls from you, eyes fluttering shut a moment and briefly you’re reminding of your own—of Tess and Sean and all the other members of the bar that you’d known for what felt like forever. “The woman who let you wait for me—Tess. She’s that for me; she’s probably the only person who really knows me.”

Azriel doesn’t answer right away, only nods a little as if he too felt the same about his brothers. The waitstaff bristles by, setting down steaming hot plates of rice and potatoes and steamed vegetables. He watches a giddy smile form on your face, the sincere thanks you offer and you’re reaching for your fork when words finally escape him. “I think I’d like to be one of those people too.”

—

That had been two weeks ago and you’d hadn’t seen him since.

You hated how much it affected you.

How every time the bar’s doors chimed, your head whipped over to see if it was him—it never was.

“Curtains!” Tess calls, fingers snapping at Harrison; the sweet guy who'd been filling in for the previous DJ. He'd taken suprisingly well to Tess' mood swings, no longer flinching when her voice all but shrieked in his ear to get back to the booth. Sean has his fingers through your hair, a mascara wand balanced between his lips as another was muttering for you to suck in while she fastened the clasps in your corset. Heels click against the floor but a cool hand is curling around your arm before you can take your mark and the tone Tess takes with you makes your feet tremble in custom shoes. "I don't know what happened between you and," She pauses when your gaze hardens. "I don't know what happened but it has been affecting you out there. Do I need to remind you who owns that stage?"

Such simple words and yet the care behind them pours much needed strength back into your body. The confidence Tess always admired shone through for the first time in two weeks; head high and shoulders back, your posture the picture of perfection when answering with a firm, "No."

"Then go to your mark and do what you do best."

The usual mantra doesn't repeat on a loop in your brain like it usually did. There was no need to worry about presence or engagement or confidence as all of the necessary attributes had branded themselves in your bloodstream, coursing through your veins and fueling the steadily beating heart throbbing against your ribcage. You can barely breathe, the laces cinched tightly at your waist, the cool caress of a necklace being clasped around your neck.

Such doting and still you didn’t feel fulfilled.

Leather and diamonds.

A pouty red lip.

The band and their first few counts. Lights beam and the bustle of customers slows to sipping on strong drinks in tall bar stools or relaxed comfortably in the cheaper booths with bottles chilling on ice.

Sad or not, you never got tired of the looks—the attention and while most nights the glint of adoration for the sweet, sultry words sung under dim lights.

I want a tough lover

yeah, yeah, yeah

A twinkling chime, the thudding bass of the drum; the steady smirk that creeped its way on your mouth when you felt the cool caress of shadows twisting at your ankle.

You ignore it.

It takes every cell in your body to fight the urge to surveil the room for the owner of those shadows but somehow you manage.

A tough lover, yeah

When he kisses me, I get that thrill

Lights trail your every move, illuminating the diamonds clasped to your neck with a taunting glint that screamed “look but don’t touch”.

Two whole weeks you’d spent on this stage feeling like a ghost of yourself and all at once the life floods back in. The allure of such confidence hypnotizes the crowd and you catch even a few of the waitstaff pausing in place, trays of drinks balanced in the palm of their hands as they watched you flounce around stage.

It’s addicting—the attention. Fawning females and drooling males gobbling up smooth skin and pushed up breasts. Devouring the sinful leather bottoms that showed more than they covered and with such obvious sex appeal, you tone down the dancing. No obnoxious moves or overly erotic movements; just grace and confidence.

You can feel Azriel’s eyes burning a hole into your skin when you prance down the stairs, hair unbound and hips swishing from side to side as you strut down a path of your own making. The gathered crowd parts to make room for you, chairs turning and necks craning for a better look—a second whiff at the expensive perfumes and enticing oils that lingered in your wake.

Well, the seven sisters got nothing on him

I’m talkin’ ‘bout a lover who’s fast as the wind

The males in attendance are obvious in their desire, backs pressed firmly to their chairs with legs spread wide. Hands brace at their thighs, aware of your interactiveness with the crowd and present themselves as the perfect playthings—completely at your disposal.

You take one step, sights set on a target—a regular you’d seen time and time again. Always comfortable in a booth but casual, watching with interest but never more than the respectable amount.

A safe pick.

But before your outstretched hand can touch his shoulder, cool darkness wraps around your wrist and swiftly twirls you into the arms of another. He smells just as you remembered at dinner, tucked in that cozy corner with a view. It takes genuine effort not to pay him any mind; to treat him as you would any other customer but the hand that rests on your hip is claiming—burning the brand of him on your flesh for all to see.

Everyone will talk about how he got me fixed

It ain’t voodoo it’s just the twist

Azriel doesn’t move a muscle, expression stony and irises burning when staring down at you through the dimmed lights. You use him like a toy; hands bracing on strong shoulders when you dance around him, throwing a leg over his hip as you continued the routine without a hitch.

The others watch in awe at the fluid grace of multi-tasking. Teasing just enough and stepping away before you’d gotten too caught up in the desire of it all to forget about his sudden disappearance. He never lets you stray too far, quick to reign you back in when you playfully try to grab after another.

No one dares to come any closer and it takes more than a few reassuring glances to the male waitstaff lingering before they continue serving as normal. Azriel keeps you there until the whole song is finished and when you’re walking back on stage for the next set, you’re acutely aware of his presence behind you.

Sean watches you walk past with raised brows, a lace number held limp in his grasp as his eyes shamelessly scan at Azriel’s physique in approval. The girls pause their flouncing, manicured nails curled around mascara wands and smoothing down wrinkles in their outfits. Sparing a side eye and knowing smirks when the shadowsinger follows close behind you to your private dressing room—a perk of being the star of the show.

You’ve just passed the door, sparing a look over your shoulder when Tess shoots out an arm to tug Azriel away. Words are exchanged, things too quiet for you to catch but there’s no question it’s about you judging on the way they keep stealing glimpses.

Patience had never been your strong suit and you’re grateful when Tess wraps it up and saunters off, the sound of her heels fading away into the steady thrum of music. It goes quiet when he closes the door, the lock turning with a click. For a moment, all he does is look at you. Golden eyes raking down the length of you and up again before speaking. “Your friends are very protective of you.”

“I don’t have friends—they’re my family.” It has a bite to them, your words and you try not to feel guilty about it while easing the earrings from your lobes. “It’s instinct to protect things that are yours.” The jewelry is tossed haphazardly onto the vanity and if you were less secure in the way you looked, you would’ve been more embarrassed by your attire compared to his own. “Why are you here?”

Why are you here now?

You can’t bring yourself to fully ask, too afraid of the answer. Not afraid enough to avoid his eyes though, brows furrowed in contempt and under any other situation Azriel would’ve allowed himself to get flustered by the scowl on your painted lips. “I wanted to see you again.”

“Then go back to the front door and buy a ticket. My next show is in an hour and a half.”

“I was gone for—work,” The slightest hint of a grimace cracks at that stony exterior and you hate how it draws you in. “It was unexpected and lasted longer than originally anticipated. There’s was enough time for me to—“ Azriel sighs, seemingly composing himself and your fingers twitch with the urge to cup his cheeks and kiss him square on the mouth to soothe those lines and ease the stress. “You must understand that I wasn’t intentionally avoiding you. Our date…I—“

You’re quick to cut him off, relief flooding every nerve and you dare to take a step closer. “I had a wonderful time.”

“Me too.” He’s touching before you can, his impulses less conflicted than your own but you relish in the warmth of his hand against your cheek, thumb gazing the bottom plush of your mouth. Shadows swarm around your feet, up your legs, ghosting over the swell of your ass before continuing their gentle exploration like a million barely there kisses. “I came back to tell you I’m taking you out when you’re free next.”

“That didn’t sound like you asking.”

Azriel lets out a soft laugh, shadows nudging you in closer until the grip around your waist is just as branding here as it was before the crowd. “Good,” Heat swells in your belly and the snarkiness fades way when he’s looking at you like that. “—because that was me telling you.”

Your breath hitches. He’s so close, the smell of his cologne all consuming coupled with the achingly gentle touches he offers. You can’t help it, the way your eyes glance down at his lips and just when you think you’ve gotten away with it he’s throwing the bait. Inching closer and leaving room incase he’s misread the whole situation. “And what if I decide I want one of those other males instead?” It’s nothing higher than a whisper, barely audible when your body reacted so intensely to him and the hand on your waist pulling you in until you could feel the defined ridges of his body beneath his clothes.

It meant nothing. Just a taunt. Harmless intrigue.

You don’t even expect an answer, not a real one. You weren’t entitled to anything, it had only been a single date—even if it had lasted nearly five hours. “You could,” He traces the length of your neck, across your collarbone, down the delicate curve of your shoulder. “But, you won’t.

“How bold of you to assume so.” You can’t resist any longer, arms raising to curl around his shoulders, nails lazily scratching at the inky hair at the nape of his neck. Azriel leans into the touch, doing little to hide the affects you hands on his body had on him. “What happened to the gentleman who took his time?”

His mouth hovers over your own, nose tickling the apple of your cheeks when he roughly answers. “There’s no place for him tonight. Not after you’ve put on such a show—begging for a tough lover were you, vixen?” Breath hitches, thighs clenching in anticipation when he lifts you up and props you atop the vanity with such ease. Azriel’s voice drops, a low gravely baritone that lingered long after he stopped speaking. “Wish granted.”

Azriel’s kiss is just as claiming as his hands, setting the tone and making his intentions known. ‘Mine’ every drag of his lips against yours screamed, scarred hands finding purchase in your hair to draw you closer—swallowing every moan and knee-buckling whimper. There was no telling how much time had passed with your lips connected; exploring and staking their claim on ever inch of newfound territory until the sharp knocks sounded against the door. A shrill reminder of your upcoming set and the need for a change of costume, hair and makeup.

With a groan you pull away, lips swollen and pupils blown but you find when you look up, Azriel looks similarly disheveled. “I have to go.”

“When are you off?”

“About an hour.”

He nods like it’s final, unable to keep his hands off when you take reluctant steps back towards the door. “I’ll wait for you.” His lips are back on yours, soft and plush; tasting so much like home and safety you nearly miss it. “However long it takes.”

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