#death upon the penis man

[hislittlesparklejumpropequeen]

I never blamed you for loving me the way you did.

Lestat De Lioncourt x reader

Summary; Lestat De Lioncourt had a wife once. And a beautiful life. Until he lost everything. Warnings; fail marriage, blood and injuries, vampire sex, character deaths, suicide, self-hatred, penis in vagina sex, creampie, sex as a coping mechanism, child loss, grief and mourning, ANGST, hurt no comfort, BISEXUAL Lestat de Lioncourt

Word count: 11,181

(Pre-canon)

Lestat had spent decades on this planet. He had known thousands of people, been to hundreds of cities, lain with both women and men. He had fallen in love, once upon a time. And he had known loneliness. He knew it even before he was turned into this vile creature. When he had to spend his days in his cold bed as a little human child. As his father and brothers torture toy, his mother’s suffocating burden, when had to spend days in Satan’s dungeon with the dead and the undead, waiting for his final day see his god for the first and last time. The nights he prayed to God to spare his life and how his prayers turned to pleadings for his death. He begged it to be quick and painless. He wanted his mother’s comfort that he never knew. He wanted to go back to church and attend the sunday service with the people of his small town. He wanted to hold cross one more time and feel the love of Christ in his bones.

He thought about God and Jesus and his mother when Magnus nearly ripped his neck open with his sharp fangs one night. He drank so much that Lestat thought he saw a bright light in the corner of his eye. He felt his soul slip away from his body and the lightness wash over him. It was a comfort that he never felt in his entire life before. Not when he used to lay beside that tree on the hill and exchange glances with the pretty looking shepherd boy as the warm breeze danced with his own blonde curls. Not when he fell asleep with that beautiful daughter of the baker by the river, naked, arms wrapped around one another, his head on her chest, listening to her heart beats.

He had tasted blood for the first time when Magnus pressed his bleeding wrist to his lips. Lestat started to drink. He had no idea why he was drinking. It was an instinctual command coming from his body, from his very existence. He felt life come back to him. But not his soul, it was gone. He felt his flesh harden like rocks and the colour drain away from his rosey cheeks of humanity. He felt Magnus’s blood flow trough his veins, fast and burning. He felt the warmth in his chest. His fingertips hurt with the sharp nails that grew in seconds. His eyes were sore and when he opened them again, the bright colours made him dizzy. He could hear everything and everyone. He could feel everything at once. He wanted to die. He wanted to beg Magnus to stop playing with him and let him die peacefully. And he was alone one more time when Magnus died in the flames, in front of his eyes. He smelled his burning rotten flesh. Dying like him disgusted Lestat.

Over time his yearning for God’s love turned into grudge. He wondered why God let him turn into this blood thirsty monster. Yes, that was what he was. A monster trough and trough. And no one would dare to love a monster like him. Even tho the monster would love anyone in the purest way possible if he was given chance.

And he did. Lestat loved Nicolas. As much as he could at least. Nicki was a troubled man since the first moment Lestat laid his eyes on him. He thought that being with him and having countless adventures could change him and plant seeds of happiness into soul. But it didn’t. He hesitated turning him into a vampire when Nicki was begging him to do so. He could sense the consequences of doing it. But spending centuries with the man he loved convinced Lestat. Nicki sinked into his dark thoughts more. His violin played with sadness and sorrow more than ever. Lestat felt his darkness in himself. He could not hear but see Nicki’s feelings in is empty looking eyes. He felt the guilt filling his heart as his first love was turning into someone he didn’t know. Armand’s presence wasn’t helping at all.

Lestat never thought about being loyal to his spouses when the world was full of fruits in different shapes and colours and tastes. There was so much to explore in his infinite life time. Armand was a capturing thing. With his eyes looking into his soul and reading him like an open book. Armand was offering so many things to Lestat that no one ever could. He yearned for the care and affection from Armand. He wanted to drink from him, lay with him and taught by him how to survive, live with the nature of a vampire. But being with Armand in front of the eyes of Nicki pushed the poor boy into madness more and more every passing day. Lestat was hungry but not for the destruction of the ones he loved.

He left Paris with his mother. He had left Nicki and Armand and the theatre. Only to receive the news of Nicki’s death. He fell onto his knees when they sent his violin to him. He touched the places where Nicki’s fingertips traced over. And he played it for the last time to feel his lover again. It didn’t matter if he was feeling Nicki’s love, rage or sadness. He only wanted a piece of him. His lips trembled when he played his favourite melody. The melody Nicki would play for Lestat after the moments they spent in each others arms, tasted one another and explore the corners of pleasure. He remembered that fearless little boy that he met with back in the day, when they were both humans. He remembered the shy glances of Nicki when he was looking at Lestat’s eyes, lips and every detail on his face. He remembered the moments they danced together and his mother would sing for them. He remembered their last happy moments. Tears of blood flowed down his cheeks and stained his white shirt.

He was alone again when his mother left him. He felt unlovable. Even his own mother couldn’t stand his presence. How could anyone in this world would love a man like him? By that time he had forgotten how it felt like being close to god and feel his love. He knew that God left him when he was turned into a seed of devil. He wanted to scream and shout and tell God that he never had a chance to choose. If he could he would choose God over everyone and everything without a second thought. Therefore Lestat knew believing in something higher and more powerful than you was a great comfort and happiness a man could ever have.

He traveled for years after his mother left him. He wondered around the countries, saw humans kill one another, cheat on one another, trick one another and destroy one another. He saw that it was not only him that was hungry for something he couldn’t name. Then his bright greyish blue eyes found the figure of a little human being in the crowd, dancing with a beautiful smile on her face. His eyes watched you for the whole dance. He heard your fast breaths, how they go trough your delicate nose and reach to your lungs that were still fresh and youthful compared to his rotten body. He saw the drops of sweat sliding trough your temple, your hair damp and the braid crown that was about to fall off. He heard your laugh, full of life and joy. He saw your skirts fly off as you tap your feet on the floor with your human strength. Your dance made him smile. His smile widened as you kept dancing and laughing. He felt like he never saw something or someone more alive. He felt a warmth in his chest. So different from the one felt when he first drank Magnus’s blood. It was type of warmth he felt when he was still human, when he had fears of a human and desires of a human.

He took you into his arms as you were still dancing. The dance floor was crowded as you felt his hands on you. You turned around and saw the most beautiful pair of eyes that you ever saw in your entire life. It felt natural to be in his arms, to be close to him and smiling at him. Lestat looked into your eyes as both of you danced trough the song. You didn’t want this song to ever finish. His body was pressed against yours and it felt like you were the only ones in the dance floor, in the world. He felt your gentle hands on his arms, going to his shoulders. It felt tingly and he realised how much he missed this human feeling. He laughed when you accidentally stepped on his feet and his laugh sounded more beautiful than thousand melodies that you ever heard. Which musician could ever write a song that sounded like his joy? Who could ever be the inspiration and make any musician to write it?

You watched his blonde long curls shine under the colourful lights. The thought of running your fingers trough his curls sent shivers down your spine. Lestat shook slightly when he heard your thoughts. You didn’t think about laying with him right away or take advantage of things that he might offer you. You only wanted to caress his hair. Something his mother never did. He closed his eyes and leaned down to your neck. The flavour of your blood filled his nostrils in seconds. He felt dizzy and wrapped his arms tighter around you. You felt his lips ghost over your skin and you had to hold onto him.

“Wait for me, ma cherie.” He whispered and you opened your eyes. Your arms were on the air, hugging no one. You felt coldness wash over your burning cheeks.

“Wait for me.” You heard his voice again. You turned around but he was no where to be seen. Your hands held your long skirts and put the strands of hair behind your ear. People around you kept dancing as you walked out of the dance floor with shaky legs.

Lestat watched you for the rest of the night from far afar. You didn’t dance again or laugh. You sat down, sipped on your drink, answered question when they were referring to you and looked for him with curious eyes. He felt sense of pride in his heart. Not because a mortal girl was mesmerised by him but because it was you that was mesmerised by him. You were not his prey of the night. He could fill that place with someone anytime, anyone could be his meal tonight. No, you were meant to be alive, and you were meant to be by his side.

For eight long weeks he watched your every step. He watched you wake up every morning, have breakfast with your family, attend your daily lessons, sew with your lady friends, read your books by your window and think about him. He could hear your sweet dreams about him, even when he was in his house. You were waking up everyday, hoping to see him somehow. You thought about telling your mother many times. Maybe she would’ve known about that otherworldly lord that attended the party in the gambling club. He watched you blush like a cherry in summer when one of your mother’s friends pointed out that you were zoning out and getting lost in your thoughts pretty often, just like a young lady in love would do. Your mother laughed it off as you kept your eyes on the floor and your thoughts on Lestat.

He watched you go home that day. Slip away from the heavy layers of your dress, undo your beautifully braided hair and lay on your back on the bed. Your room was lightened by the few candles on your desk and nighstand. He could hear your heart beating fast as you pictured his eyes again and again. Oh how beautiful he was. As if carved by God himself carefully within the image of an angel. You could feel that weird, tingly sensation in your stomach when you remembered his lips on your skin. Lestat smiled softly as you drifted into sleep thinking about him. And he was in your room. He walked to your desk first and looked over the poetry books you were reading, and the some poems you tried to write. A little poet i have hear, Lestat thought.

He walked to your bed. His hands traced over your neck to your chest and lastly to your stomach. His touch was so soft and light, he could feel you hardly. But he could feel your warmth so clearly. He could feel it even with just being in your room. He tried to remember the last time he felt the warmth of humanity in him. Nearly two centuries. He sat on your bed and looked at your sleeping figure. You looked so peaceful. Oh, what he wouldn’t give to sleep for night without all those memories haunting him? He listened to your heart beats for a moment and the way your eyes were moving slightly during your sleep. He leaned over you, to your neck. He inhaled deeply as his lips were close to your skin. For a moment he feared that his cold lips would wake you up but you didn’t open your yes. Your blood made his mouth watery. He was so hungry. For blood yes, but he was hungry for something more. Something that could make him feel alive after two centuries of being dead. Something that would make his heart beat faster with excitement again.

He wondered if God was looking down at two of you in that moment. If he was, would he let Lestat to defile one more of his human children? If yes, why? Wasn’t it both torture for Lestat and them? He had the blood of thousands on his hands. And there was no soap or water in this world that could wash it away from him. He was carrying all his victims within himself. They were in his veins, staining his fangs.

He laid his body on top of yours slowly, gently. His broad shoulders blocked your eyes and his legs trapped you between them. Your eyes opened wide with the pressure on your stomach. First you could only see darkness, then you felt a cold hand against your cheek.

“Don’t be afraid, mon cœur.” He whispered. Your fast breathing calmed in seconds. He looked down at your face and your gaze met with his own. You looked divine under the moonlight, under him. The way your eyes were still half open, in the grasp of sleep. And the way your cheeks were flushed with shyness and excitement. But not fear. His eyes found your lips lastly. Your lips that were slightly open, sucking in little breaths, looking all soft and warm. Lestat felt your hardened tetes peaking trough your nightgown, pressed against his tough chest.

You saw his bright blue eyes go darker with lust and his teeth grow into sharp fangs that only a wild animal would have. You felt his sharp nails digging into your skin and make you bleed. You both hissed as his fingertips got covered with your blood. He snarled just like an animal as the smell of fresh blood surrounded his very being. Your body trembled and you held onto his arms tightly

“Are you going to kill me?” You whispered. You did not feel horror, or rage or sorrow. You were only exited as he held you in his arms. Lestat smiled softly at your question. He pressed his nose against your cheek and inhaled your scent one more time. Your humanly, sweet smell made him dizzy. He felt an unfamiliar sensation down below his stomach.

“No, I will give you life. Better than the one you have.” He said and bite down your neck. First thing you felt was a sharp pain that made your neck go numb. You could not move, rather dare to move. It felt like if you moved, the pain would get worse. Lestat let his body go and laid on top of you fully, giving his whole weight. You opened your legs and welcomed his slender figure. And for the first time in decades, Lestat felt like he was home.

The wound that his fangs made on your neck started to burn when he licked and played with it with his tongue. The tears filled your eyes as Lestat laid his head on your neck. He kept drinking from you, slowly, taking little sips with the tip of his tongue, still breathing in your scent. His arms were wrapped around you and you could feel him all over you. He felt himself harden against your hips. He had to do it. He had to put an end to his loneliness.

He slashed his wrist with his nails, deep enough for him to bleed. Then he pressed his wrist against your lips. Your slowly closing eyes opened up at once as the strange taste of blood hit your tongue. Lestat shifted his position to open up the breaches of his trousers. He watched you drink him up hungrily as he lifted your skirt up to your waits. You felt his cold fingertips tracing over your bare stomach and thighs. His blood tasted sweet. Sweeter than the liquors you tasted in the balls, sweeter than the sherbets in the centre of the candies you ate, sweeter than the tropical fruits that your father bought very rarely.

You felt your whole body burn in need, in lust. You felt the buzzing sensation in your brain and your ears ringed. You pushed his hand away and pressed your lips against his own. You had to have him. It was a primal instinct that made you think so. Lestat held your back and positioned himself against your leaking entrance. Your warm walls welcomed him. You were sweet, warm and wet. In that moment it felt like it was all he ever needed. You tasted each other’s blood on your lips as his tongue explored your mouth. The he pushed you back and pressed his wrist back onto your lips. He wanted you to drink, cure your thirst and hunger with him.

He thrusted into you hard and deep as you kept drinking and drinking. He had to tend to you, he had to care for his fledgling. You were his. From head to toe, you belonged to him. Magnus had never claimed him as his own. His mother had no maternal instinct for him. He belonged to no one in this entire world. Nicki was in his own little world despite the love Lestat gave him. And Armand would never belong to anyone. Oh but you, you were perfect for him. Your walls tightened and it drove him over the edge. He ripped his arm away from you and held your face. You whined in need for his blood. His length went deeper and deeper into you as your shaky breaths hit his face.

He heard your heart sync with his own as he looked into your eyes. Your face was covered in blood as you moaned in pleasure. Lestat wanted to get lost in you. He wanted to be buried in you. He spent himself in you with one last thrust and felt your walls tighten more than before as you choked on your breaths and held him tight against you. He looked down at you and saw your thighs and his pubes sticky with blood. I had claimed her in every way possible, he thought.

He let you lay back down as he laid himself on top of you. You tried to catch your breath and he laid his head on your chest, between your breasts. Lestat kissed your skin, his lips left marks of blood on you. Then he felt your hands in his hair. Your fingers played with his lose curls that was ruined when he lost himself in pleasure. He felt your fingertips caressing his forehead and temple, gently, softly. You were still gentle with him even after what he did to you. His shoulders relaxed under your touch and he let out a shaky breath. What was he going to do now? He should’ve ask you before turning you and prisoning you into darkness. How he was different from Magnus when he just grabbed you like a piece of meet and drank your essence of life just to replace it with his rotten, blood of death?

“My family will think I coupled with the devil.” You whispered as you kept caressing his hair. Lestat’s breath hitched in his troath. He looked up to you under his lashes. He looked like a scared little boy in this light. A little boy that feared the monsters under his bed, scared of his father’s rage, scared of life and death. The tears of blood filled his eyes as he looked into your eyes. He saw the bright colour of your irises that matched your new nature. He nodded as he agreed with your statement.

“You have.” He said quietly as he avoided your eyes. He heard your small chuckle, felt his arm move as your chest rised up. You were still so calm. Maybe you were in shock after what he did to you. Poor girl, Lestat thought. I have driven one more innocent into madness.

“How come devil is so pretty then?” You asked as your fingertips trailed around his eyebrows. He stopped frowning with your touch. Then your touch continued to his eyes. Then to his nose. You caressed his straight bone. Finally your fingertips reached to his lips. Your hand brought grace to his well shaped lips. He planted a small kiss to your fingers.

“I never knew devil would look so perfect.” You whispered. As if even you couldn’t believe what you were saying. But Lestat heard you. He heard you so well that he received your compliment as a sharp pain into his heart. Growing up he had always heard that he was a pretty boy. Many of his lovers had said so even after his humanity was ravaged. But he couldn’t see anything but a monster when he looked at himself in the mirror. He had a attraction for violence. He couldn’t feel fulfilled if he didn’t kill. And he couldn’t satisfy himself if he didn’t hurt.

“You don’t know what I am. How can you say I am perfect after what I’ve done to you?” He asked his his tears started to spill from his eyes. You caught them before they could flow down his cheeks. Your small, soft smile remained on your lips. Lestat thought that he never seen someone so beautiful. He was surrounded by your smell, your beauty and compassion. He was covered in your blood and you were carrying his blood. He felt himself warm next to you. Centuries of coldness in his chest was replaced with your smile. He could feel your body calling for him, desperate for his touch and taste. There was a soreness in his troath. He wanted to scream it out.

“You have bewitched me.” You said, almost like a confession. His sharp gaze found your eyes immediately. Lestat’s tears kept spilling from his eyes as he laid his head on your chest again. He stayed in your arms who knows for how long. How could he let you go know? When you were calling him perfect, even after seeing his blood thirsty animalistic side, touching him with love and passion, carrying a piece of him in you, opening your arms for him without a question and accepting him as he is?

The next time Lestat knew loneliness was the hardest time.

You were a great companion, lover and a wife for him after the night he had you in your room, in your bed of youth and innocence. You were a brave little thing that was ready to face an army for him. He felt like the luckiest man alive when your laughs echoed trough the walls of your home. After decades he was finally living, sleeping in a house that he called home. He tried to taught you french but you were impatient and often ran away from his grasp to play his favourite melodies on the piano. He couldn’t get mad at you and watched you for hours as you played, looking at him for the whole time with a big grin on your face. He bought you the finest dresses in your favourite colours, had beautiful jewellery made for you. He loved making you happy more than everything in the whole world.

You were getting into an excited hurry every time you two decide to host a party in your home. People of your city were adoring both of you as a couple. You were so cheerful that there was no room people didn’t smile and the place didn’t lighten up as you entered. Men and women considered themselves lucky if you danced with them. But Lestat knew your first and last dance always belonged to him. Your heart and soul belonged to him. He didn’t know how many nights he pressed his forehead against yours, smiled like a teenage boy in the bliss of love and lifted you into air as your skirts flied behind you and your laughs filled ears of fortunate mortals. His heart was syncing with someone that loved him deeply. And he was so full of love, that he couldn’t remember the times he had lost himself in darkness.

He would have children with you if he could. If he was still a human. He would love to raise a boy that looked like you and a girl that looked like him. He had imagined the picture many nights as he closed his eyes in his coffin, his arms wrapped tight around you. He could see them running around the house, laughing beautifully like you. He could see them growing up and having their own lives as he grew old with you. I was so close to have a life, he thought after every single time he dreamt. The thought brought him sorrow. But he had you. It was more than enough for him.

Lestat met with your family when you two decided to get married. Your parents loved him. They called him a great gentleman with knowledge and culture. A husband fit for my daughter’s hand, your father said. But as the years went by and you still didnt have children or added wrinkle over there and there, your family sank nto silence. The letters became lesser and lesser. By the last letter, it was a dry piece of paper with few words written on it. No feelings, no longing or great love of your mother. You two attended the funeral of your father as he passed away after 15 years of your marriage to Lestat. Your mother’s eyes filled with tears and hatred as you watched your father getting buried. Lestat held you as you fought so hard to keep your tears back from spilling. You could see everyone’s eyes on you, examining you with fear planted in their heart, convinced that you are no longer the girl they knew. You tried to approach your mother and got blocked by cousins and other relatives.

“Tell that devil to leave my poor girl's body and find someone else to be the servant of satan.” You mother’s harsh voice made you step back. And Lestat could hear your heart shatter into pieces. He knew her words were referring to him. How many times I will hear the same thing, phrased differently? He thought. After the funeral you refused to leave your bed chambers for days. You didn’t eat even if Lestat hunted for you. You refused to sleep either. As the sun rose from the east and Lestat closed his coffin, he could hear your muffled cries in your own coffin. You couldn’t get yourself to sleep with him. You couldn’t get yourself to face to world. Your mind kept drifting back to the times you were with your family and how much they loved you. Lestat never wished something as much he wished to hear your thoughts and take your pain away. If he could, he would take all it of to himself. He was used to be in pain since he knew himself. But seeing his sunshine fade away was like tying his hands and feet and abandon him to starve to death.

After days, you left your coffin for the first time. Lestat’s bright eyes scanned your body head to toe. All he could see was a hungry vampire that was broken. Your under eyes were purple and your skin was paler than usual. The veins under your skin was showing trough. You could barely walk and talk as he held you in his arms and carried to the living room. Your hands fell to your thighs and he fell to his knees in front of you. His eyes were filled with concern and fear.

“Ma cherie, you need to eat something.” He said as he tried to make eye contact with you desperately. But your eyes were avoiding him by all cost. Your lips parted and some whispers left your mouth. Lestat leaned closer to hear you.

“It’s you.” He heard you say. He frowned and his mouth opened but nothing came out.

“I don’t understand.” He said quietly after a moment. You looked like a mess in front of him. And he wanted nothing more than pulling you back into his arms and never let you go.

“You never did.” You said as you finally made eye contact with him. “You are the reason of my current state.”

Lestat felt your words form into a dagger and stab him on his heart. His stomach dropped and he fought the urge to get away from you. He wanted to step away and take one more step away and one more… Your eyes were looking at him differently. There was a feeling he never felt from you before. Hate.

“You made me what I am and you ruined me.” Your voice sharp and your eyes full of bitterness. You collected all your strength to get up but it was not enough to keep you standing. Lestat held you gently before you could fall. Then he felt your sharp nails scratch him and rip his hands away from you.

“Don’t ever touch me.” You hissed and crawled away on the big sofa. Lestat’s eyes could not leave the empty space that you used to sit. He could hear your heart beating fast and he could almost taste the poison in your words you spoke out and you were going to speak out.

“You put me in a prison that I will never be able to leave. No matter what I do.” You said. Lestat looked over you and saw the tears of blood flow down your cheeks. Your fragile figure broke his heart repeatedly. He came in front of you on his knees and tried to hold your hand but you pulled away again. He sighed and did his best to hold his tears back.

“It will get better. In time everything will feel less weird and more normal. You will embrace what you are.” Your eyebrows lifted and a cold smirk appeared on your lips.

“And what is that? A murderer? A sinner? A cursed woman?” Your voice raised with each word and Lestat moved away. He turned around to avoid your eyes and words. His left hand found the corner of the window to lean down and his right hand covered his mouth. Muffled cries left his lungs as he shut his eyes tight.

“You will carry this feeling for the rest of your life.” You said and your presence left the house in seconds. Lestat did not move from his spot as he felt you going away from him. Your heart beats faded away in the night until he couldn’t hear you anymore. Me and you both, he wanted to say.

8 years.

He didn’t see you for 8 years after that night. He knew you were out of the city, far away from him. He called for you every night for a year at first. He screamed your name in darkness, hoping desperately that maybe you would hear and answer him. But you didn’t. Once his voice became hoarse, he wrote letters to your family. But got nothing back. Was it still possible for them to take you back after everything? Your mother couldn’t look at you and your siblings had nothing but fear and disgust in their eyes when they glanced at your direction. You were truly all alone in the entire world. You had no one but the person who trapped you into loneliness.

Lestat wandered around the city for days, searching for your scent, your gentle figure. You were no where to be found. He stopped going out after some time and trapped himself into his house. His coffin was full of pictures he could find of you. For nights he stared at your smiling face, frozen in those moments of happiness and joy. He missed your smile. He craved for you in every way possible. The house felt like a grave and his good old friend, the coldness was back. The memories of his youth started to haunt him one by one as he laid in his coffin during daytime. He could not find sleep when your side of the coffin was all empty.

He thought about his life before and after Magnus. He wondered if he would have a good life still if he wasn’t turned into a vampire. The thought of not meeting with you sent a gut-wrenching pain to his stomach. You’d be centuries apart, in different lives and countries. The picture of you marrying a decent man that your family found for you, wear a wedding dress for him, have his children, raise kids that looked like you and some man, have fights and love making nights with him, grow old with him and hold his hand while you greeted by the merciful arms of death made him tear up. He felt his heart pound painfully fast in his chest. A sob ripped from his throat and this time he didn’t cover his mouth. The guilt ate him from inside out. The honeymoon was over and now, he had the face the fact that he stole your whole life, your one chance of being alive, only for him to take your love for himself, selfishly and hungrily.

As the days turned into weeks and weeks urned into months, Lestat started to lose his hopes of seeing you again. Once again he was assured that no one could love a man like him. He didn’t want to stay in the house that use to be the home to two of you. Every corner was you and he couldn’t finish a day without thinking of the times you had spent together. But the small chance of you coming back made him stay. If you wanted to come back, you would love to see everything same and your husband waiting for you, Lestat told himself in the moments of doubt.

And one day you opened that door and came back. He was in the music room when he heard your heart beats. He felt like the time had frozen and his heart skipped a beat. His fingers on the piano stopped, his lips twitched with longing and tears formed in his eyes. When he saw you again, standing in front of him, beautiful as always, he wanted to get on his knees in front of you and beg you to forgive him for what he did to you. Then his eyes found the little body of the human boy in your arms. The child was maximum 4 and he was shaking uncontrollable. His blonde hair was dump on his forehead and weak breaths mixed with moans were leaving his mouth. Lestat didn’t need to be doctor to know that the boy was in great pain. And perhaps fear.

“He is going to die.” You said and hearing your voice after years made Lestat break down. He had to turn around at the doorway to hide his tears.

“Help me. Please.” Cracked noise from your sore throat was heard in the room. The boy was clinging to your dress, like a little lamb. You walked towards your husband as you held the little child tighter.

“Please save him. For me?” Lestat didn’t know if he was feeling grateful that you were back, guilty for his mistake or angry because you only showed up when you needed something from him. He looked at the boy. He was cute little thing with blue eyes like ocean and long blonde lashes that framed his doe eyes. He saw his clear tears run down his face as he coughed. An innocent, Lestat thought. An innocent dying in the arms of the woman I love.

“You can turn him. I don’t know how to. But you do. Please Lestat.” He saw your tears dripping down to the boy’s hands on your dress. The pain in your voice twisted his stomach. You sounded helpless and he whished nothing more than take this feeling away from you.

He shook his head no.

“I can’t.” He spoke. The dryness in his voice made more tears fall down your eyes. You held the boy closer to your heart. His head rested on your heart as you caressed his blonde curls. The curls that reminded you so much of Lestat.

“Yes, you can. Do it for me, please!” You were ready to beg if you needed to. There was nothing more you wanted than saving his little life. He had to live. He had to survive this filthy world and show everyone that he was strong. And maybe you would have a chance of being a mother.

“Children cannot be turned.” Lestat said as he reached out to hold you but you took a step back. You were shaking your head endlessly as tears kept flowing down your cheeks.

“Great laws forbid it. Otherwise a vampire child would live in misery.” He remembered Marius’s voice as he spoke these words to him before he sent him away. Someone under 17 cannot be given the dark gift.

“Laws? Are you serious? He will die if you don’t save him!” Your scream echoed through the walls and found his ears and heart. Your anger and sorrow shook him slightly. He knew he was walking on thin ice in this very moment. You could turn around and leave him again. And never come back this time. Who knows maybe you would find another vampire out there that could be your companion? Or turn this little boy for you to only make you happy? The thought hardened his blood and tightened his chest.

“My love, he won’t be saved if I turn him. He will live his life in desperation. For something more. Something he will never have.” He said gently as he wiped his tears away. He had to be strong. For both of you. His eyes found the boy again. He was so thin. Lestat wanted to put an end to his suffering. The boy’s eyes opened slightly and he looked at you. His fingers were shut tight over the fabric of your dress. Lestat could feel your love and care for him. You felt like you had to protect him. The boy’s big eyes found him. He looked at him with softness and hope. His eyes are full of life even when his life slips away from his body, just like hers were once upon a time, Lestat thought.

“We can be a family Lestat. He can be our son.” You said quietly. As if you feared that the world would take him away from you if they heard your words. “He looks just like you.”

Lestat didn’t look away from the boy. Yes, he did look like him. His blonde curls were just over his shoulders and his nose was small like Lestat’s nose when he was little. His mother loves him, unlike mine, he told himself.

“You and I and him. We can be happy together. We can try again.” The desperation in your voice broke his heart. You were willing to go back to him. To where you belong. Lestat wanted you back in the house, in his arms, in his coffin. He wanted you on his lips, on his skin. He wanted your fangs back in his neck and your heart on his. He wanted to be the one made you smile again and he wanted to be your dance partner in your extravagant parties. He wanted the boy to watch two of you as you danced and clap for his parents. He wanted to take him into his arms and feel a father’s strength in his bones. He wanted the pure and unconditional love of a son. The one he used to have for his father, way before he became his father’s unexplainable enemy. He wanted to see the boy become a man and be his pride.

“We are killers. A child has no place among the demons.” His words cut sharp as the boy started to cough again. The blood covered his lips as you tried to calm him down. Your own tears were spilling uncontrollably and sobs were coming between your lips. Lestat heard your irregular heartbeats.

“He cannot die.” You said between your sobs and cries as the boy kept coughing his blood out. You fell to your knees and kept his little head on your heart. His small, fragile hands were holding your hand tight. The fear in his eyes were piercing trough Lestat chest. He knelt beside you, held your back to his chest as you rocked back and forth. Both of you stopped breathing as the boy’s heartbeats started to slow down. His breaths calmed down and he closed his eyes. He clinged to your cold skin and did not let your hand go. With his last breath your head dropped back to Lestat’s shoulder. His arms were wrapped tight around both you and the boy. His long fingers intertwined with your and the boy’s hand. His decreasing temperature was slowly matching the coldness of both vampires.

“My son…” he hard your whisper. Your eyes were focused on the ceiling. Lestat buried his face in your neck when your cries filled the room. If only I could take all your pain away, he wanted to say but words did not leave his mouth. He could take your pain away, if only he made you a mother and gave you another family.

Lestat carried you to the coffin when you were exhausted from crying. He took the boy’s lifeless body and burnt it while you slept. He stayed until he was nothing but ash. He looked at the scene as the flames took him away and listened as his bones cracked and his flesh melted down. He didn’t let himself cry. It was his vilest murder. He had no right to feel guilt or shame.

He laid beside you in the coffin. You were whispering and crying still, even in your sleep. His fingers traced over your hands gently. He looked at your sleeping form and took a deep breath. Your scent filled his lungs once again after many years. His insides blossomed and he felt the life come back to his body. You were his home. It didn’t matter to him which form you were in or how you looked like. It didn’t matter if you were laughing or in sorrow. As long as you were beside him, he was happy to have you in any way. And you were back. Lestat knew he could not let you go again. Not after this night. Not when you needed him the most. He was the only one you had left with and he had no intention of leaving you alone. He was going to make you happy again. Just two of you were enough.

“You came into my life when I needed you the most. Now it is my turn to bring you joy.” He whispered to your ear and wrapped his arm around your waist. Your eyes opened as he closed his own. Your gaze traveled trough his beautiful features. He was beautiful as the first day you saw him. Years ago, in that party, where you were still innocent and human. Now I know that devil can be this pretty, you thought.

Lestat was in the corner of your mind for 8 years. You were carrying him in you wherever you traveled to. His face was carved onto your eyelids and you were too afraid to close your eyes. His voice kept echoing in your head when you killed, drank or spared a life. You played his favourite songs on the piano when you needed him by your side. But no matter how much you missed him, you couldn’t forgive him. You knew Lestat De Lioncourt loved you. You felt it in your bones, in your flesh. You carried his love in your veins. But you knew he cursed you forever. And you weren’t naive like you used to be to forgive and forget what he did to you. You were young and in love. How could you know it meant to lose your everything when you gave yourself to him that night?

You could not deny the fact that you were happy at first. Lestat gave you things no one ever did. He respected you, he loved you gently and made you feel like the only woman in the world. And you loved him. There was something in Lestat that pulled you to him. You were like opposite sides of a magnet. It felt right to touch and kiss him. Your heart craved for his heart just like your body craved for him. When he was deep in you, made you scream his name and planted soft kisses to your face, life was good. Until you started to see question marks on people’s faces. You were in peace with your fate and the things came with your new life. But everything seemed meaningless once it cost you your family. Lestat’s arms failed to comfort you when you were invited to your own father’s funeral at the last minute and saw that no one wanted you there. Not even your own mother.

You were motherless and fatherless. You were a demon who could only see the world under the dark sky. You could only stay alive if you killed humans. And seeing Lestat every single moment of your life vexed you. At the time you needed someone to blame other than yourself. You were already aware of your mistakes. And knowing that Lestat still turned you despite the fact that he knew what kind of a curse he was bringing on you, made his existence unbearable. You had to leave. You had to be alone with yourself after decades of marriage. Still, no matter where you went, Lestat was the only thing your heart ever wanted. You would always love him.

Then you found him. Leonardo. That was his name, you tried to remember. He was the son of a homeless woman that lived on the street of your small home. It was nighttime when you heard his cries. You saw his dead mother and him crying his eyes out over her body. You felt your heart shatter into pieces with the sight in front of you. He was so small and so scared. When his blue eyes found you and you could see his face clearly, you knew that you could not leave him to die. His arms reached out to you when you knelt beside him. He didn’t know why his mother wasn’t waking up and taking him into her arms. He was shaking and coughing between his sobs full of fear.

“Mummy.” He cried as you caressed his blonde curls to calm him down. He was cold and hungry and sick. I want to help you. I need to hold you, you thought as he snuggled to your chest. There was only one person who could help you. But could you go back to him? After everything that happened between you? Could you find that strength in yourself or would he take you back?

“Mummy!” Leonardo screeched in your lap in pain as his coughs got harder. His little hands were trying to hold your arms. You had to do it. Both for yourself and him. So that was now you found yourself in front of the door of your home.

You reached to hold his cheek. His breath quickened with your touch but his eyes kept shut. You were pressed against him. Your lips were nearly touching and you could feel his breaths all over your face. Your fingertips traced over his face to his neck and to his chest. His body shook. The soft touch made you both shiver when your hand slipped under his expensive shirt. It has been years since you last touched one another and you realised how much you missed him. You needed to touch him. When you pressed your lips against his, Lestat’s arms wrapped tighter around you. His kisses and biting continued to your neck and to your chest. The soft lips of your lover were sending you into oblivion. You had to be closer to him. Closer than being skin to skin, something more, something more painful, something full of love and the suffering that comes with it. Something that would destroy that pit in your stomach and be worth of all your sorrow.

“I love you. I live you. I-“ Lestat’s raggedy voice stopped as he kept kissing you hungrily. His words weren’t able to keep up with his desire. Your mind was foggy as he undressed himself first, then you. Tears were flowing down your cheeks and you were feeling his cold fingers spread the wetness between your legs. His fingertip caressed your leaking opening and moans left your mouth. You could barely see because of tears when you held his face and made him look at you. He was crying too. You kissed him. His tears and yours mixed up and found your pressed lips. The taste of blood was exquisite, vibrating, destructive.

The next thing you knew was you were on top of him, the lid of the coffin was wide opened, he was inside you, fully. You rode him to the bottom of the coffin, hard and deep as his impressive size stretched you out immensely. Your eyes rolled back when his hands groped your breasts. He was talking but you couldn’t hear him. Your ears were ringing and the pain was too great. Your moves became faster and harsher. Your sharp nails digged into his chest and scratched him all over.

“You’re crying.” Finally you heard him and opened your eyes again. It was a mess in his coffin. His chest, between your legs, his face, your body, you were both covered in blood. Yet Lestat managed to smile when he saw the unsettled look on your face. He held your waits tight and moved you back on forth gently on him. He kept caressing your body and say sweet nothings as he controlled your movements.

All the memories of your shared life passed before your eyes as you went closer to the edge. Your legs shook when Lestat’s thumb found your pearl and circled it skilfully. There was a soreness in your throat and your climax was building in your lower belly. The image of two of you filled your mind over and over again. The image of you happy. Would you be able to be like that again? You didn’t know. And learning the answer of this question scared you to death.

“I can’t.” You cried out when your orgasm hit you hard. Your body froze as Lestat kept his hands on you and reached to his climax. His dead seed spilled into you. Deep into your dead womb that was never going to be a home to a babe. Was Lestat enough for you to be fulfilled? Were you going to be enough for him when he got bored of searching for things that made him feel human, made him feel young again?

When you made eye contact again, you could see fear and doubt in his eyes. He was scared that you were going to leave him, just like everyone he ever loved. And he was not sure if it was still you in your body. He was looking for you in the eyes he saw for thousands of times and more. Yet nothing about your eyes felt familiar. Your body felt like you, your kisses felt like you, your heart felt like you. But it was almost like a death itself looking down at him in this moment. He left out a deep breath when you leaned down and laid on his chest.

His heartbeats were fast under your cheek. You turned a little and pressed a tender kiss to his chest. And another. And another. You kissed him until new tears stained your face. You hoped that you could find him again one day. You hoped that you were both humans when you meet again. You hoped that you had a life in another world, with the love of your life. You knew Lestat would find you no matter what. He would love you the same if not more. He would be yours in every lifetime until you had no more love to give.

“I’ll love you forever. Now and always. Until my last day and after.” You whispered but your quiet words reached to Lestat’s ears. He smiled sadly, his tears spilled down to his paper white pillow. He tried to speak but his voice shattered.

“And I you.” He could only say without sobbing. He shut his eyes tight when he heard you fall asleep on him. Tomorrow was going to be better. Everything was going to alright. He had you in his arms. And he needed nothing more.

—

When Lestat opened his eyes again, the first thing he felt was pain. His eyes were watering and he couldn’t even press his lips together to cover up his moans. He licked his dry, chapped lips with the last strength before he was breathless again. In the darkness of his coffin, his shiny eyes looked around desperately. He could feel the air hitting his burned body and make his wounds boil. He cried out your name. You were not in his arms. Where could you possibly be? Were you harmed too? What if you were harmed worse than him? You were younger and weaker than your maker. Lestat had to put himself together and find you, his dear fledgling. When he pushed opened his coffin lid, he saw the the wide open curtains that were usually closed. It was dark outside. The moon light was the only thing that was bright in the pitch black room.

It was only then he saw his burned body. Front of his arms, his whole chest, his thighs and his face were all covered in ashy wounds that were slowly healing. His blood red flesh was showing trough the burned skin pieces. They sizzled as the new skin was forming over them. But before he could think about his wounds, he had to find you. Why the curtains were open? They were always supposed to be shut. Just in case if any of you had to wake up when sun was still up during the day. He dragged his feet to the short, wide corridor of the second floor. All the doors and the windows were open, he frowned in confusion. His head was banging quiet like a bomb explosion. His body was aching and he was afraid. He was afraid just like the night Magnus took him from his room.

He walked fast as he could and entered the music room. You were no where to be seen. Lestat’s nose scrunched when he breathed in the strange smell in the room. He felt the smell stick onto his lungs and enter every bit of him. It was haunting and indescribable. It almost felt like he could taste it on his tongue. That strange, unpleasant, obnoxious flavour was so familiar on Lestat’s throat, yet he could find no name for it. He took few steps to his piano. His favourite tunes ringed in his ears. He could see your ghost of a fingers on the keyboard, playing all gracefully.

When he looked down, a pile of grey, powdery substance caught his attention. How could he possibly not see this when he entered the room? He got on his knees and the source of smell was undeniably found. As he touched the powder, he felt his whole body shake in horror. His eyes closed tight when the faded memory of you getting up from the coffin came back.

“I love you. I love you. I love…” the words were repeated over and over again. Not thousands but maybe hundreds and thousands of times. He could hear you. You were not in the coffin. He could hear your steps in the room. Then he could hear your steps in the corridor. You were going in and out of rooms. Lestat could hear you mumbling things under your breath. He could hear your heartbeats and your rushed moves.

He wanted to open the lid of his coffin and get out. It was probably near sunrise and you had to go back to sleeping. When he pushed the lid, something blocked his exit. He tried to kick it and punch it when he heard you play the piano and keep talking.

“I want to see the sun rise in the sky again.” You said. “I want to see the clouds on the blue ocean of time.”

He called for you but you were not listening to him. As you played the melody from start to end, the fear in Lestat’s heart grew stronger. And when your fingers stopped, he felt a sharp pain all over his body. It was something he had never felt before. The greatest pain he felt was when he was transformed. He could never forget what it felt like for the next thousand years. But this, this was different. It was coming from somewhere deep. He wanted to rip his stomach open and find the core of the pain. His coffin got filled with his dreadful scream and he heard you shout in agony. He felt the pain in every inch of his body. With one last hard kick, he opened the lid successfully. Only to be greeted by bright, warm sunlight that was glowing beautifully in your shared chambers.

His skin started to burn immediately, and it was then Lestat knew what was happening. His jaw clenched and his tears burned his wounds when he heard your screams from the other side of the house.

“What have you done?!” He shouted but you didn’t respond. The sunlight was nothing compared the pain he was in as you kept burning. He could feel his blood boil in veins as yours dried up under the daylight. You were leaving him.

‘I have loved you, with everything I had in me.’ Lestat didn’t know if you spoke aloud or he just imagined, rather wished you have said it. Maybe it wasn’t too late, Lestat tried to get up but his body was damaged enormously. He could feel the sunlight penetrate into his bones with every second he was spending in front of the open curtains. But he had to save you! He cried and tried to get up again. And again and again. Until he couldn’t hear your screams anymore.

The house fell into a dead silence in seconds. Only thing that could be heard was the silent sizzling of Lestat’s burns. He stoped breathing and he stoped trying to get up. His lifeless eyes fell onto his hands. He laid back in his coffin and pulled the lid back on with a stinging move.

It was a nightmare. An unbelievably bad nightmare. Maybe the worst one he had have been for decades. You were sleeping in your own coffin peacefully. Lestat was going to see you when sun came down and he was going to kiss your lips with a smile on his face. He was going to carry you around the house like a princess and read your favourite poems just for you. You were going to forgive. And maybe in time, you were going to forget. He was going to change and try to be someone better than who he was now. Both of you were going to be happy again, together. He smiled with excitement with the thoughts on his mind. The smell of burned flesh tickled his nose.

—

“You do not know this girl!” Lestat said aggressively as he watched Louis lay the little girl on the bed carefully. Louis’s bright green eyes were full of fear and guilt when he faced Lestat again.

“Make her like us!” He said with a bitter hope in his voice. Lestat pressed his lips together when he heard him utter those words. This cannot be happening, he assured himself hopelessly.

“Non c’est impossible. Elle est trop jeune!” Lestat said in frustration as Louis walked closer to him with hurry. Lestat's heart was pounding fast in his chest. The images of a distant memory was blurring his vision. The same eyes from decades ago were looking at him again. The same eyes that were full of guilt, sorrow and hope with an innocent child at the edge of death in the arms of the person he loved. His chest tightened when Louis kept talking, pleading to save the little girl’s life. What could Lestat do? Was he curse to live same life over and over again for the rest of the eternity?

He could never forget you. He didn’t know how long he mourned you. Days, months, years? Maybe he was still mourning you with the little box in his closet that was filled with your ashes. It took him years to find the courage to try again. And when he kissed Louis for the first time, he felt like finding light in his murky world. But guilt ate him inside out. He wondered if you would be wounded when you learned that he was capable of loving again. He tried to reassure himself that the thing he had with Louis was different than what he had with you. You would always be his wife. Your wedding ring on a necklace that was around his neck was the proof of it.

“Please I can’t have her die!” The pain in Louis’s voice broke his heart. He remembered this feeling so well that it almost hit him on the face. He remembered how it felt like to be helpless when his lover was begging him to change things, set things right and how he couldn’t do it.

“The gift cannot be given to children.” He said when his anger and fear filled him to his limit. The look on Louis’s face twisted something in his stomach.

“What do you mean? Yes it can.” Louis said breathlessly as he tried to find his strength back. All he needed was to save this girl’s precious life. She laid on the bed, unconscious, coughing out the flames silently and she was all he needed in that moment.

“The great laws forbid it!” Lestat spited out as if he had poison on his tongue. Anger appeared on Louis’s face and Lestat regretted what he just said.

“The great laws?” Louis said mockingly. He sounded bitter and every octave of his voice cut both men deeply. “She gonna die in front of us!”

The next thing Lestat knew was that Louis dragged the little girl on the flour, cried, begged, cried, fell on his knees in front of his companion and cried. Louis’s usually gentle hands found Lestat’s body, he held onto him like he was the last thing on the world.

“Please, please.” It was all Lestat could hear. And the little girl’s raggedy breaths that were becoming slower and slower.

“My beautiful little daughter.” Lestat could not swallow, could not hold his tears back or his heartbeats stable when he heard Louis’s voice shatter as he said the words. He hated how his story repeated itself. He hated how he was always the one who had to make this decision.

“Please I’ll be anything.” Louis begged and cried. Lestat wanted to curl into a ball and never wake up again. He looked down at this companion, his lover, the man who saved him, begging him to make him a father.

“Please, please, please…” It was all Louis was saying when Lestat remembered your screams after your little boy died. He remembered how yours eyes looked dead inside and even your smiles were full of grief. He remembered how you begged him and he didn’t listen to you. And then how he lost you. He was a fool to think that you were going to be alright after your son died. He was a fool to think you were going to forgive him and be happy again. And he was a fool to think that you were going to stay with him after what he did to you.

There was a no day passed after your death that he didn’t regret not turning that boy. Great laws forbid it! At what cost he had followed the laws when he was on the other side of the world, oceans away from the last vampire he had seen? He regretted his choice everyday of his last few years and he didn’t know if he would be able to mourn one more person.

He looked down at Louis and saw your crying eyes stare back at him. He looked up instantly.

“You will regret this for the rest of your life.” He said. Yet he didn’t know if he was talking to himself or Louis. Maybe both. He walked to the little girl on the floor and picked her body with ease. Poor thing was covered in burns and couldn’t open her eyes. His blue eyes found Louis’s relieved shoulders and his fangs found the girl’s small neck.

[angelshadowsinger]

Assistance

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Azriel x f!reader

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 8.8k

𝐂𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐲: smut, & a lil dosage of fluff at the end

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬:

dirty talk, heavyyy praise kink, oral(f receiving), implied size kink, light breeding kink, creampie, cum play, a little overstim, Az is a fuckin freak, sweeeeet aftercare 💗

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲:

Azriel hears that no one has ever made you orgasm before, and makes it his mission to show you what you've been missing... again and again.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞:

y'all this is narstyyyyy nasty... as in, absolute filth. literal prawn. the most detailed smut i have ever written... probably too much detail. be warned.

･ ゜゜・．｡ ･ ゜゜・．｡･ﾟﾟ･．｡ ･ ゜゜・．｡･ﾟﾟ･

ɴᴏᴛɪᴄᴇ: ʙʏ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴘᴀꜱᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇʟᴏᴡ ꜱɪᴘʜᴏɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴇʀᴛɪꜰʏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴏᴠᴇʀ 18 ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀ ᴍɪɴᴏʀ. ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ʙᴇʏᴏɴᴅ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴘᴏɪɴᴛ ᴍᴀʏ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀɪɴ ɴꜱꜰᴡ ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇꜱ. ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴅɪꜱᴄʀᴇᴛɪᴏɴ.

･ ゜゜・．｡ ･ ゜゜・．｡･ﾟﾟ･．｡ ･ ゜゜・．｡･ﾟﾟ･

“I dunno, I’ve just… never been able to finish when I’m with a guy,” you shrugged, nonchalant.

Mor’s jaw was on the floor, her big brown eyes filled with horror. She gasped, “A man has never made you cum?”

You reached across the wide oak table and slapped her arm roughly. “Would you shut up before every citizen of Velaris hears you??”

It had been quite a while since you’d lost your virginity, and after you’d run through a couple partners, you’d come to accept the fact that a man would never deliver that finishing, white hot ecstasy to you. But the way your friend had said it like such sacrilege made you embarrassed, a flush creeping up your ears.

“It’s fine, it’s not like I’ve never come in general,” you went on a bit too quickly, like you had to explain yourself. “It’s just that if I’m with somebody, and I wanna finish, then I have to… do it myself.”

“Gods,” Mor sat back, finishing the final sip of her— how many was that again?— umpteenth glass of wine. “This is why I prefer women.”

You stifled the laugh that nearly escaped. “I wish I could share that sentiment. Sadly…,” you sighed, “Penis is what does it for me.”

“Apparently not,” Mor whispered under her breath, going to sip more from her cup, but it was already empty.

Rolling your eyes, you grabbed the open bottle, ready to pour her another— but nothing came out. The two of you blinked at the empty glass, slow to register what that meant exactly.

“Welp. Should we start taking shots, then?” She asked with concerning sincerity.

You were quick to shoot her down. “Um, no thanks. I'd rather not feel like complete death at training in—” you glanced at the clock above the hearth, “six hours.”

Mor’s expression turned sour, as did yours. Six hours was certainly not enough time for your tipsiness to wear off completely, especially since wine had been your choice of poison for the night. “Fucking cauldron. Guess we should call it a night,” she groaned, dragging her pretty hands across her face.

The House cleaned away your glasses and the numerous empty wine bottles and corks that littered the surrounding area. You thanked it, stroking the table briefly as Mor trudged off, wanting to take a minute to yourself and maybe have some tea to relax before bed. You were completely unaware of the shadowy figure that was frozen around the kitchen corner, having heard every word of your secret confession.

Azriel stood in silent contemplation behind the doorway. He did not believe in fate, or destiny, or whatever crock of nonsense others would claim ruled their lives, but… was it not a sign that he had been walking into the kitchen for a late night sweet, only to stumble upon you spilling drunken secrets? It was rare to find anyone else up as late as him, and it would be a lie if he claimed he wandered out of his chambers tonight solely in search of a snack.

The two of you were quite close friends, but there was something more there that neither of you were brave enough to acknowledge. Lingering glances, teasing flirtation that always went a bit too far, the easy back and forth you volleyed with your sarcastic, dry comments. Yes, somehow the shadowsinger had found himself wrapped around your little finger, yet again enamored with a beautiful lady friend who did not return his interest.

Except you did.

Azriel was too blind to know it; too doubtful, too hard on himself to believe you would really want him. But that did not stop him from thinking about you every time he fisted his cock in the long, solitary hours of the night.

Everyone else in the circle could see it plain as day— in fact, Mor was perhaps the most eager proponent of them all. And perhaps she was a bad friend for allowing you to spill that sultry, enticing secret when she was aware that the shadowsinger who loved you now idled within earshot. Perhaps she was even worse for leaving in a hurry, a smirk on her lips and her fingers crossed as she skipped off to her room.

You remained at the large wooden table, unaware that the man who ruled your fantasies was just around the corner. He was silent and still as possible, battling himself with whether he should sneak off and never breathe a word of this, or if he should join you and take the risk. His shadows reported to him from the other corner of the room, informing that you were now sipping tea and looking gorgeous as ever, clad in a tight, sparkly evening dress that you had worn to the club that Mor had taken you to earlier that night.

Azriel stepped out from his hiding place.

You jumped— even with your fae hearing and so many hours spent with your friend, you never adjusted to how sneaky the spymaster could be. He emerged from the darkness of the kitchen, donned in gray sweats that hung low on his hips, exposing a glorious stripe of tanned, hard muscle that you stared at shamelessly. The white t-shirt that stretched across his broad chest was criminal, and you had to actively avert your eyes from burning into his visage, finally forcing yourself to meet his gaze.

But Azriel was looking at you, too, taking in how your dress flawlessly hugged your every curve, the expanse of your arms and décolletage that laid bare in the sleeveless, sweetheart ensemble. He noted the matching heels that were kicked haphazardly underneath your seat, the hair now falling from the clip you’d pinned at the beginning of the night, your slightly glazed expression. A small smirk graced his lips.

“Az!” You sighed, a hand on your chest, “How many times do I have to tell you not to sneak up on me like that?”

The Illyrian only shrugged, approaching slowly. “How many times do I have to tell you to work on your awareness? Always take note of your surroundings?” He quipped back easily, coming to stand beside you. He was so tall that you had to crane your neck to look up at him, and you motioned for him to take the seat that Mor had vacated only minutes earlier.

You play-scowled as he obliged, only replying once he was sat, his large wings tucking in behind broad shoulders. “And why would I do that, when one of your shadows is always watching for me?”

Azriel’s hazel eyes widened, a faint blush tinging his cheeks. You wished you could commission Feyre to paint that expression— you loved how boyish it made him look, how cute. But he quickly recovered, that measured mask of cool returning to his handsome face. “You should be flattered. They seem to take interest in you.”

“Hmm,” you feigned thought, rolling your eyes to then land on him and bat your lashes, “Just them that are interested?”

The shadowsinger couldn’t contain his grin. Flirting with you was just too easy, and he loved when you looked at him like this, gave him all your attention. It never led anywhere, anyway— so really, it was harmless… right? He chose not to respond, shrugging and taking a sip of the teacup that the House had conjured for him.

You huffed, displeased. Azriel was always the one to cut your flirting short, only entertaining you to the point where you weren’t sure if he was just playing with you or if there was actually some sincerity in his antics. It was fittingly mysterious of him, and undeniably irritating. You decided you weren’t going to have any of that tonight, the remnants of your liquid courage just enough to push you a step further than you would otherwise go.

“Az, tell me—,” you crossed your arms over the table and leaned toward the spymaster who took another sip of tea, nodding for you to go on. It took every ounce of the male’s willpower to not drop his gaze to your cleavage that was now pressed onto the tabletop, squished between your arms. “— Have you ever made a girl come?”

Azriel spit out the hot liquid, wings going rigid behind his back and his scarred fingers clutching the tiny cup in his palm. You examined the fresh line of tea that was sprayed onto the table, slightly amused as the House began to clean it away. But you continued on, determined to get an answer.

“I’ve heard you have a long list of lovers, surely you know how to do it?”

The Illyrian’s cheeks were now a bright red, the most obvious display of emotion you’d ever seen from him. “What—” he stuttered, still shocked that you had really just asked him that. “—Who told you that?”

You frowned, tilting your head in your hands, elbows sliding out further onto the table. “I asked first,” you pouted, taking a sip from your cup.

The male fumbled for words. True, he had heard your conversation with Mor and yes, he did make the choice to come in and sit down with you but never would he have expected you to ask him such a thing, so outright, so brazen.

“…I have,” he finally replied, slightly hiding behind his cup. You’d never seen the shadowsinger look so timid; it was endearing.

“But how do you know you really did?” You queried, looking at him curiously. “I mean— girls can fake it, so how do you really know?”

Azriel seemed offended at your insinuation. But he only pursed his lips and said, “My question…?”

You clicked your tongue and answered, “Cassian and his big mouth. And then Rhys with his… And maybe Mor at some point as well.”

His face contorted into a scowl, shadows coming to lick at his shoulders. But he decided to save his revenge for later, instead meeting your inquisitive gaze and deciding that your intention was not to slander him. “I am almost certain that my partners have never faked completion,” was all the explanation he gave.

“But how do you know—”

“Do you fake a lot of orgasms, Y/N?” Azriel shot back, his turn to pose the picture of nonchalance as he leaned on one elbow, hand on his cheek.

Your cheeks burst into flames. “W-What? No— I—”

The shadowsinger smirked at your flustered babbling. He was tempted to poke at you some more but took pity, instead savoring how cute you looked when you were embarrassed. But you couldn’t find the strength to answer, so he went on to fill the silence.

“If a man cannot make you finish, you should move on and find someone who can,” he said calmly, studying your bashful gaze that was now fixed on the table before you.

You sat up, removing your arms from the table so you could cross them over your chest, guarding yourself. It was your choice to enter this conversation but now it was getting a little too real, and your mortification was getting worse by the minute as Azriel’s steady hazel eyes were pinned to your every movement.

“Yeah…,” you agreed. In theory, his advice was all good and well, but there was no way that it would be that easy. “That’s hard to find, though.”

Azriel gauged your expression, wondering if he should admit he heard your earlier confession to Mor. But you seemed so embarrassed, he didn’t want to make you any more uncomfortable.

“Is there, like, a class you took or something? Maybe you can introduce me to one of your fellow classmates,” you attempted a joke, but the shadowsinger’s gaze only hardened, the corner of his lip twitching in distaste.

Jealousy and possessiveness swirled in his gut, not liking that you had just asked him to set you up— even if you had only meant it as a joke. You were not his, yet your faux request rubbed him the wrong way.

But the slightly hurt look you were giving him now was enough to wipe away any ill emotion that had briefly bloomed. “Just kidding…,” you murmured, fingering the handle of your now-empty tea cup.

Azriel fought to find the words that could navigate him through this strange situation. If only somehow he could reassure you, offer his services, but not ruin your friendship, nor come off creepy.

He took too long, because you rose, excusing yourself, “I think I better get to sleep.” Your cup disappeared and you quietly thanked the house, turning away from the male and heading toward the bedrooms.

The spymaster stood as well, following you down the hall. Both your rooms were at the very end of the walkway, meaning he at least had another minute of your time. His heart beat quickly in his chest, desperate to smooth things over with you, desperate for however much longer he could get with you. “I did not take a class,” he said, matching your pace.

You shot him an inquisitive look over your shoulder.

“One of the marks of a true man is to be able to fully pleasure a lady.”

You laughed, pausing so that you could walk by his side. “So you think of yourself as a true man? What is that supposed to mean?”

Azriel smirked, glad that your disposition seemed a little looser. “It means, I’ve had five hundred years to cultivate my skills.”

“Riiight, with your countless lovers,” you quipped, a little smirk growing on your lips.

A scarred hand pushed you gently, just hard enough to let you know he didn’t appreciate such accusations— even if they held some truth. Those gorgeous hazel eyes rolled as he clicked his tongue, about to shoot something back when you arrived at your door.

You didn’t reach for the handle though, instead turning to look up at him as your back brushed against the sturdy wood of your threshold. “Thanks for all your—,” you blushed, gaze fleeting, “insight.”

Dark brows furrowed at you. You had said it in such a meek little voice, your hands wringing with anxiety. It was easy for him to read your body language, but also, his earlier eavesdropping had cued him in more than you knew. Even though your conversation had made him seem like the one with all the expertise, his heart was slamming wildly against his ribs, tanned cheeks feeling hot. Somehow the spymaster managed to keep his composure and dared to take the leap.

“May I ask why you are so curious all of a sudden, little dove?” He said, a gleam in his gaze. “Would you like for me to prove myself to you?”

You chuckled, shocked, unbelieving. “That joke is deplorable— I think you’ve been spending too much time with Cassian lately. ”

Usually a jab at his brother would make the shadowsinger bark out a laugh, but he remained stoic, looking down at you with profound intensity. The two of you stared at each other, and you found yourself unable to look away. There was always something about Azriel that drew you to him, and in that moment, as he leaned a hand against the door behind you and filled your senses with the scent of cedar and crisp, chilled night…

His gaze flicked down to your lips.

You studied his, the full, soft pink calling to you.

Azriel could barely find the strength to resist kissing you, his face only inches from yours. The sweet, fresh smell of you was so devastatingly strong with such a short distance between you, and the way you were looking at him… he swore he could discern hunger in your beautiful, captivating gaze…

“Do you want that to be a joke, Y/N?” he murmured, warm breath washing over your cheek. The tip of his nose just barely scraped yours, another muscular arm coming to trap the other side of your body so he had you right up against the door with no escape. “I did not intend for it to be, but if that’s what pleases you…”

You looked at him with wide eyes, a shiver running through you. A new scent greeted your nose, and your lips parted as you took it in, your body shamelessly eating up the smell of his growing desire.

The shadowsinger licked his lips, gaze piercing yours as he detected the beginnings of a similar, honeyed scent emitting from you. There was no going back now, he decided. He was closer to you than ever, and he couldn’t pretend he could find satisfaction in you both returning alone to your rooms, not tonight. He dared to caress your jaw, the smooth skin a contrast to the rough texture of his scars.

“It’s your pleasure I seek, always…,” he said, and you held your breath, unblinking as you beheld his astounding beauty up close. “I only aim to please you… will you allow me to?”

Permission— he was asking permission. You could barely think; was he serious? Azriel was not the type to fool about things of such gravity… If this was some cruel joke…

Before you could give it much thought, your mouth was already moving. “Yes,” you breathed, answering him so quietly it was nearly inaudible, “Please, Azriel…”

The Illyrian’s brow twitched and he shuddered. He leaned down lower, lower— big, gentle hands coming to brace the small of your back and the nape of your neck, a thumb slipping along your jaw to point your face up to his… slowly, slow enough to give you the chance to change your mind… You leaned forward, eyelids fluttering shut. Another second went by and then, he kissed you.

Time stopped, and everything else faded away.

His lips pressed against yours and your arms wove around his neck, every place your skin touched exploding with sparks. The smell of him and his desire overwhelmed your senses, your knees weakening as he claimed your mouth with his, pressing you against him harder, hungrier.

You were snug between the door and his broad, powerful body. His hands squeezed at your hips, then slid down to your ass and lifted you effortlessly, your legs securing around his waist. The small friction of your core rubbing against his abs through your clothes was enough to make you gasp for breath.

Azriel seized the opportunity, his tongue coasting into your mouth without caution. The slick muscle wrestled with yours and you pulled at his hair, savoring the quiet moan that spilled onto your lips. You wanted more— to explore more of his skin, discover more of those sounds… Wordlessly the shadowsinger came to the same realization, fumbling with the door handle and tucking the two of you into the privacy of your room.

Your hair fanned out onto the pillows as the male deposited you on your bed, muscled thighs coming to part your legs and settle himself on his forearms above you, lips never leaving yours. It felt unreal to be consumed in the shadowsinger’s kiss, to have his hard body pressed up against yours and your hearts pounding together in harmony.

He felt the same, hardly believing you were really here beneath him, your small hands caressing his arms and his neck, fingernails digging into the meat of his shoulders and curling into his thick onyx locks. Finally he tore his mouth from yours, panting, studying your breathless form under him. “You are so gorgeous,” he praised, licking his kiss-bitten lips, hazel eyes ablaze as he examined the valley of your breasts. Before he leaned closer, he whispered, “Your safe word is moonlight, should you want to stop at any time.”

Though you didn’t plan on using it, you appreciated the consideration… and you wondered just what the male had in mind that might require such a precaution. But he captured your attention once more and you murmured his name as he moved to trail his tongue down your jaw and nibble at your throat, slowly making his way to plant open-mouthed kisses on your exposed cleavage. He pawed at the top of your dress, taking his time as he memorized the taste of your skin, tugging the material down. Your breasts spilled out for his eager mouth to immediately greet, soft lips capturing a nipple and his tongue rolling over it while his fingers found the other. Instinctively your hips bucked up against his, pleasure tickling you as he gave all his attention to your chest, grinding his aching cock into the mattress below.

Teeth grazed the sensitive nub and a moan escaped you at full volume, your cheeks burning when a ravenous glint met the shadowsinger’s eye. With just one swift look you knew he would do anything in his power to elicit more of those sounds from you, and your excitement only bloomed further as a hand slid up the slit in your dress, rough fingers raising goosebumps on your now-exposed thigh.

He kept busy as he explored your chest, sucking and kissing the swell of your breasts. The slow trail of his fingers up your thigh had you clenching in anticipation, whining when the digits brushed the lace edge of your dampening panties.

“Az, wait,” you huffed, causing the male to release your breasts, his warm gaze coming to inspect your face. Even though it was an embarrassing admission, for some reason you felt the need to inform him of your predicament. “I um— I’ve never… No one has ever been able to…”

Hazel pierced into you from his lower position on the bed, his broad shoulders steady and wings taut behind his back. He finished your sentence for you, ceasing your struggle, “…make you cum?”

Just hearing him say it made your soul want to leave your body, and you shut your eyes, nodding, wishing you could just skip this part. A gentle hand cupped the corner of your jaw, his thumb brushing your cheek with such tenderness that you dared to meet his gaze.

“I’m honored to be the first,” Azriel stated, unwavering as he looked deep into your eyes. His own were peering into you, the gold in his irises seeming to shine even in the dark of the room.

Your mouth opened to protest that he lower his expectations, but his thumb pressed into your parted lips and the words died in your throat. There was sheer determination in the look he was giving you— promise.

“Don’t think,” he whispered, his other hand coming to pull you down the sheets, back flat on the duvet and now squarely underneath his entirety. His toned body dwarfed yours and his ability to maneuver you with such ease made something distinctly female stir deep inside of you. “Just relax and focus on me. Focus on how my hands feel on you, my lips…”

A mewl escaped you as he leaned down to kiss the hollow of your neck, your head turning into the blanket while he left his mark on your throat. Your hips squirmed and his own pressed down in response, the hard length of him reaching for you through his sweats. The heat that resonated there made you dizzy, a fresh wave of desire pulsing through your pussy as he rutted against it.

The Illyrian’s groan rumbled across your skin, and he sank lower, again taking your breast into his mouth, an elbow digging into the mattress to hold himself up and curl a large hand around the back of your waist. The other wandered up your dress again, this time his fingers immediately cupping your core through your soaked underwear.

A string of quiet moans floated from your lips as his fingertips began to map your dripping cunt through the soiled material. The firm press of his digits against your entrance teased you until they wandered up to slowly rub your clit, his teeth grazing at your nipple. You whimpered, face twisting in ecstasy. Already the shadowsinger was making you feel better than anyone else had, and you weren’t even fully undressed.

At the realization, you fisted the cotton of his shirt. He complied instantly, ripping the article off of him with no issue, and you watched as the tattered cloth was swallowed by the shadows that danced at the foot of the bed. You then took in the sight before you, mouth watering at his utterly male form— the tan, lean muscle that tapered from his wide shoulders to his narrow waist, the contours and bulges that made his long hours of training evident, black ink melding perfectly with the straight planes and dipping down under the hem of his sweats.

Your fingers wandered on their own accord to splay across his broad chest, tracing the tattoos that laid there and thumbing over his nipples. That bit a low moan from the male, and he leaned down and captured your lips once more, tongue dominating yours. His hands disappeared behind your back and suddenly the zip down your back was undone, the material slipping down your sides. You helped him free you of the gown, now only clad in your soaked panties, hips squirming as you throbbed with need.

“Azriel,” you whimpered when his lips touched your sex through the cloth, the male taking a deep breath of your honeyed scent, and closing his eyes. His brow pinched as he experimentally licked at you, your thighs twitching as he released a moan of approval.

You gasped when he tore the drenched fabric off of you effortlessly, his teeth bared in a quiet snarl. Then he grabbed your hips and dragged your pussy onto his mouth, tongue spreading your folds and moaning as he savored the taste of you. He dove into you and you cried out in pleasure, his mouth sucking and nibbling on your sensitive core, tongue dragging up and down your seeping slit with fervor.

All of his attention focused on you was making you delirious, your eyes rolling back as you relished the sensations he was causing. His hands tucked under your ass and grappled onto your hips, not allowing you to squirm away from his generous attack. He alternated between gently sucking on your clit, your folds… then washing the sensitive bud with the flat of his tongue, laving over you wave after wave.

You were clenching, your hole leaking more and more as your body begged for some kind of relief. Utter want throbbed through you as scarred fingers slowly made their way toward your core. All remnants of thought left your skull at the press of rough digits at your entrance. There was nothing you could say or do as a finger slid inside of you, nothing but stretch around him and keen, gasp for breath. Before you could even moan, a second pushed in and disappeared knuckle-deep, right beside the first. The foreign stretch made your thighs tremble around his face, his nose nudging your clit as he continued his ministrations with his tongue.

His name became a prayer on your lips, a chant as those blessed digits curled and his knuckles scraped parts of you whose existence you had not known before. Slick was pouring down your thighs now, the steady, rough friction of his scars rubbing so deliciously along your gummy walls. You forgot any worries you had harbored, left them far behind as Azriel brought you closer and closer to the edge.

At some point you started begging, actually begging— you couldn’t help how good the shadowsinger was making you feel, couldn’t think to filter the words mixing with your ragged breaths.

Azriel only trekked on, mouth earnestly working in sync with his hand, examining the furrow of your brow, the part of your lips, the roll of your eyes back into your skull. Only then did he speak, mouth popping off of you just long enough to encourage you as you circled the drain.

“Good fucking girl,” he growled, the words vibrating through your cunt, tongue lashing against your folds between his praises. “I can feel your tight little pussy clamping down on me, I know you wanna cum…”

You could only whine and latch onto his shoulders as you hurtled toward that line no partner had ever been able to push you to, at full speed now that the shadowsinger was egging you on, pure filth falling from his lips.

“You can do it baby,” he purred, pressing another kiss to your clit, a brush of tongue following in its wake. “You’re gonna make me so proud, I swear my little dove, you’re right there… Come on pretty girl, cum for me, cum on my tongue.”

The tension in your belly heightened and you gasped, your body tensing under his firm grip and your back arching, teetering on the edge. And then you were cumming, your core gripping onto his fingers and pulsing, your head thrown back onto the sheets as you let out a long, sultry moan.

Azriel’s cock throbbed at the sound, his curiosity peaking as he wondered how your pussy would feel milking his cock like that, so tight and wet for him.

Your body was humming with bliss, fingernails embedded in the sheets beside your hips, your breath ragged and sweat glistening at your forehead. You’d only cum that hard a handful of times before, and it had taken a hell of a lot longer for you to get yourself to that point.

The Illyrian’s pace slowed, his fingers and his tongue still moving just enough to let you ride out your orgasm without overwhelming you. He continued to kiss your clit softly— even as his patience was wearing thin, his length crying for you, trapped tightly, painfully, beneath his pants.

His fingers finally fell from your entrance and he inspected the glossy sheen on them before he stuck them in his mouth. You watched as his tongue ran over every inch, savoring the taste of your cum. He pressed one final kiss to your clit and sat up, the tent in his pants more prevalent than before.

“I’m so proud of you, angel,” Azriel praised, a hand skimming down your thigh. His gaze was warm as he made eye contact, but the movement of his hand landing on his cock pulled your eyes from his.

You watched, still breathless as he firmly gripped his length through his sweats, a low sigh falling from his lips. He looked absolutely criminal touching himself like that, the shine of your cum still on his lips and his muscled torso heaving as he caught his breath.

All thought left your brain as his thumbs hooked the hem of his pants, dipping lower until you could see the base of his dark… thick cock. He pushed his pants down fully and your cunt clenched as his fully erect member slapped hard against his navel. The tip was the most beautiful shade of pink you’d ever seen, and your mouth dried as you examined the trail of glistening pre that dripped down the side. He fisted the base of himself, the wide vein running along the underside flexing as he twitched for you, eying the apex between your legs and your shared desire.

“See how hard you make me?” he said, a sinister glint in his gaze pinning you to the mattress. Both of you were fully naked now, and the sight of him approaching you, those big, ominous wings billowing with shadows behind him… he looked like a god, one that was about to completely decimate you. “See how much I ache for you? You completely own me, fuck… now that I’ve had a taste of that pretty little cunt, I’m yours.”

Your heart skipped a beat. It was unclear whether this was just dirty talk, or if he really meant that, but in the heat of the moment, you allowed yourself to believe his words were sincere.

He crawled toward you, completely predator as he neared. Heat rolled off his bronze skin, his member reaching for you, wings shuddering in anticipation. “These lips are yours…” he murmured, mouth grazing over yours. You closed your eyes, your arm reaching around his head, fingers carding through his soft hair. “These hands are yours…” His scars skimmed down the curve of your side, tingles echoing in their wake. “This cock, it’s yours…” you gasped as his hot tip sliced through your folds, tracing down your slit with ease from the orgasm he had just gifted you.

You moaned, hips lifting and your sex sliding along the length of him, coating him in your essence. He groaned at the sight, his breath mingling with yours as he panted, watching your most intimate parts slide against each other, your love juices mixing.

“Please, Az,” you cried. You’d never been more turned on in your life, the very tip of him nudging against your hole, the promise of pleasure so close you could taste it.

The shadowsinger could barely hold himself back, but he needed to hear you say it. “Tell me what you want,” he commanded, grit in his harsh tone as he began to lose his manners.

“I want you to fuck me,” you replied instantly, inhibitions thrown to the wind. “Please, please— I need you to fuck me, make me cum with your cock, please Az—”

Whatever semblance of restraint the Illyrian had was lost then, his lips pulling back in a desperate snarl. The sound had your legs spreading, your body feeling fuzzy with the overwhelming urge to be filled by him, taken and claimed by him.

Your body sang as he speared the tip inside of you, your cunt stretching around the sizable girth of him. A whimper fell from the male as he lowered his hips, half his cock disappearing into your tight, wet heat. It felt like he was heaven incarnate inside of you, your eyes rolling back and your legs parting wider around his hips, welcoming him deeper inside of you.

Azriel obliged, his balls slapping the wet backside of your thighs as he surged forward. The moan that fell from both your lips was pure sin, your bodies exploding in pleasure as they connected in the deepest, most intimate way, him fully seated inside of you.

Slowly he started to thrust, hips almost shaking at the all-consuming pleasure that was washing over him. He was already fighting his orgasm as he began to find his pace, the moans he was summoning from you urging him to press deeper, harder.

Again and again his hips slapped into yours, burying that impressive length deep within you. The depths he reached made your eyes cross, your pussy squeezing down on him, and your mouth drying from the constant panting he had you victim to.

He was growling into your ear, sweat sticking his hot chest to yours as he exerted himself. The sounds that tumbled from him only made your slickness grow, a wet patch forming beneath your ass as he started slamming into you with reckless abandon.

“Fuck, you look so pretty with my cock inside of you,” Azriel crooned, his face falling so that the bridge of his strong nose skimmed your cheek. It made his breath fall on the crest of your ear, rendering you privy to all the low, delicious noises that slithered out of his mouth. “M’gonna take good care of you, promise…”

Suddenly he pulled out and you wailed at the loss, but he was already flipping you over before you could register what had happened. He yanked you onto your knees, landing a quick slap on your ass before he nudged your legs apart and pushed himself into the new space. His cock dipped into your folds from behind and he loosed a delectable moan as he slid all the way back inside.

From this angle, the tip of him prodded a sacred, uncharted spot that had you shaking, arching your ass onto him and your back bowing in submission. The place he was reaching at the end of your inner walls made you weak, the hard length of him too euphoric for you to handle. He gave a tentative thrust, a hand coming to fist the hair by your scalp, the other weaving around you to tweak a pebbled nipple between his fingers. You sobbed at the newfound intensity, your stomach knotting and your hips sliding back on their own accord, once again seating yourself at the base of his cock.

“You like having me all the way inside, hmm?” he gasped, thrusting deep and hard, the clench of your cunt almost tempting his load straight out of his aching balls.

You gasped an affirmative, each thrust making stars dance on the back of your eyelids. “Yes, ah— yes, deeper— Az!” It must have been your g-spot he was ramming into because you could barely sit upright now, your body nearly collapsing in pure pleasure. “There, oh please right there!”

Azriel’s hand at your chest dove down, a large palm landing right above your womb, right where his cock nestled inside your throbbing cunt. “Here, baby?” He gave a few more thrusts, the very tips of his fingers nudging your engorged clit. “Feel my cock right here, dove? I’m right here inside you, fuck—“

You cried as he continued, ruthlessly pounding into you, the hand in your hair pulling your head back so he could manipulate your body and bend you into the perfect angle to continue hitting that spot.

Again you were rushing toward completion, completely stupefied by the shadowsinger rearranging your guts from behind. The pleasure was too intense— with each thrust his huge, thick cock stretched you to the brim and dragged against that delicious spot deep inside. Sweat dripped down both your bodies, heat and the lewd slap of his wet front against your ass filling the room again and again. His name became the only word you knew, a raspy chant as he brought you closer, closer—

You came with a silent cry, pussy pulling tight and fluttering down onto his hard cock. This orgasm was even stronger than the last, your eyes rolling to the back of your skull as his thrusts slowed, the intensity of your throbbing too great for him to continue his quick pace. Rough fingertips continued to circle your clit, drawing out your euphoria as you slumped into his strong chest, trembling with pleasure.

The Illyrian was fighting every inch of himself not to cum right then, blood tanging on his tongue as he bit the inside of his cheek. He refused to violate your perfect womb with his seed, even if every fiber of his being was screaming with the need to claim you as his. But he would not relent to his desires, not without your permission. And he didn’t want to finish yet, not when this was the highest he had ever felt, sheathed inside your ethereal body. So he clutched onto you and channeled all of himself into supporting your weary frame, rubbing your clit as you floated back to earth.

Once you had ceased twitching, Azriel laid your back onto the sheets again, joining you on his side, adjacent to you. You were still panting as you came back to reality, examining his mussed hair and how it clung to his damp forehead, the flecks of pure gold in his hazel irises, his slick, still-hard cock— a ring of your cream adorning the base of him.

Wordlessly you wiggled closer and kissed him. He moaned in surprise, either at how soft and sweet your kiss was, or at the touch of your small hand wrapping around his aching length. You jerked him slowly, the sound of it absolutely obscene, your thumb grazing over the weeping head where precum had once again begun dripping out. Your back pressed up flush against his chest, guiding his cock to your center and slipping the head into your slit, hips pushing into his.

The shadowsinger’s vulgar moan rung out as your warmth surrounded him again, your nails scraping his scalp. An arm slipped beneath your waist, his grip securing on the opposite hip and fully penetrating you once more. This position had your pussy tighter than before, and his chest shook as he tried to breathe normally, trying to fend off his orgasm. His finger slipped to the back of your head again, this time much gentler than before, just to turn your face and peer into your soul.

Azriel couldn’t find it in himself to thrust, just savoring how your bodies were completely intertwined like this, feeling absolutely one with you and staring deep into your gaze. But you wanted him to cum— needed it, pressing your ass flush onto his hips and clenching tight. The male’s broken growl was his only reply, words failing him. It was he who had planned to drown you in pleasure; he had not been prepared for how incredible you would truly feel, how whole he felt when he was inside of you.

You reached down and cupped his balls, feeling how tight and heavy they were with his seed. Azriel’s teeth grazed your lip at the movement, his body starting to shake with the need to release everything he had deep within you.

“Y/N,” he choked out, hips starting to press tentatively to yours on their own volition.

You studied the desperation on his handsome face, the shake in his thighs at each slow thrust, the dull fingernails that dug into your skin as he clung to you. “Azriel,” you moaned, he was reaching that spot again and rutting into it so slow, hard and precise… you could hardly think as pleasure filled your brain with fog once again. “Please… Need you to cum inside of me.”

Azriel groaned, tongue wrestling with yours and conceding as he began to lose himself in you. His thrusts became slower, sloppier, so you hooked your leg around his and began to arch back into him. The Illyrian began panting, fingers grappling onto your hips.

“This cock is mine,” you purred, repeating his earlier words, your ass slapping back against him harder.

His fingertips were blanching, the sight of his wet length sliding in and out of you from behind as you fucked yourself onto him mesmerizing.

“This cum is mine, too,” you squeezed his balls again and he let out a loud whimper, his orgasm surging forth as he started to meet your thrusts. “Give it to me, fill me up with your cum— fuck Az, need it deep inside me, please.”

He snapped, suddenly hard and fast and deep, a few more snaps of his hips that had you crying for him until— The most pornographic moan sounded for him and he pushed every inch of himself inside of you. His wings fluttered, thighs shaking as he gripped onto you and smushed you into the mattress under his weight. Warmth filled your belly as hot waves of cum spurted deep into your womb, his cock throbbing as you pulsed around him, milking every drop you could get. Sharp teeth lodged into your neck as he emptied himself inside of you, his body trembling with the effort of holding himself up as to not crush you completely.

Sweat dripped from his breathless form onto your back, and you laid there blissfully as you caught your breath. The sheets beneath you were completely ruined, drenched in sweat and slick and cum, but you couldn’t find it within yourself to care; not when Azriel was naked on top of you, cock sheathed all the way in and his cum spilled deep in your womb.

After a minute, the shadowsinger’s dark chuckle sounded from above you, his fingers tracing down your spine. “Naughty little thing,” he murmured, lips brushing your ear before he laid a kiss there.

You smirked, squeezing onto his cock that was still inside of you, retorting “You like it. You like me~”

He growled lowly, nipping you with his teeth. But he nuzzled you then and your heart melted, his lips ghosting over your cheek as he said, “I do. Very much, in fact.”

You whined as he pulled out of you, the loss of him much too noticeable for comfort. But he was right there, turning you onto your back with care, pressing soft kisses into every inch of your sweat-slicked skin. You could feel his release seeping out, the sheer amount of it too great to stay tucked inside where you so desperately wanted it to be.

Azriel gently pulled your legs apart, inspecting the slow stream of creamy white that trickled out of your raw entrance. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to last long enough for you to cum again,” he said, a thumb running down your soaked folds, “I know you were getting there…” He licked his lips as you clenched under his heated gaze, embarrassed that he was outright admiring your most intimate part. Was he seriously apologizing for not giving you a third orgasm? “Allow me to make it up to you, angel.”

The male leaned down and pressed a kiss to each thigh, sliding back onto the foot of the bed and pulling you with him. You shot him an incredulous look as he settled between your legs, lips just inches from your soiled cunt. There was no way he was really about to do this— the mix of your cum with his was spread wide, coating your inner thighs, your pussy, your ass.

His tongue was like lava as he licked at you experimentally, eyes taking note of the shock apparent in your expression. Hazel glinted at you as he began to make out with your ruined center, his seed dripping from you as he made you clench. But he didn’t seem to mind the taste of himself, for he closed his eyes and traced his tongue down to your messy hole, petting you unabashedly, happily, even.

You didn’t think he could get any hotter. But this… this was outright perverted. Your core felt aflame at the sight, his pure enjoyment as he devoured the mixture of your cum like it was the most sacred delicacy. It had you moaning, legs trembling around his head, clit throbbing as he kissed and sucked at the poor bud.

Deft fingers brushed your core and were immediately coated in that same mixture, slick pouring from you as the shadowsinger continued his depraved quest. Two entered you with no warning and your back bowed, the digits instantly searching for that sweet spot as they pushed through the river of his release. A third joined and you released a garbled sob as they found their target.

Azriel, ever the observant one, took note and pummeled the spot relentlessly, knuckles curling as they slid in so they achieved full stimulation. His tongue was flat against your clit, licking you back and forth, and you were so sensitive from your previous orgasms that tears dotted the side of your eyes, your breathing ragged.

“Az, oh Gods— I—,” you mewled, hips squirming as the pleasure became too much. “Please, I can’t, it’s too much!”

But the Illyrian did not stop, would not stop unless he heard your safe word, his fingers picked up speed. “Come on baby, one more. Just one more,” the words vibrated through your cunt as he held you down, palm flat atop your tummy and pressing your sweet spot down so that it was even more vulnerable to his attack. “Trust me, it’s gonna feel so good angel, I swear.” His lips took hold of your abused pearl and he ravished you, his cum squelching as his fingers drove into you without reprieve.

Pressure gathered deep in your core and you whimpered, the intensity of your pleasure so great it was almost painful. You were close— so close to something big, you could feel that it was different from before with the way your cunt leaked and throbbed, the way your entire core felt on fire.

“Please—” you gasped, not even sure what you were pleading for, “Fuck Azriel, please, yes—!”

You screamed as you came, white-hot ecstasy imploding from your center. You nearly lost consciousness, your eyes crossed with utter bliss as liquid sprayed out of you and onto the shadowsinger’s chest. His chin, his torso, your thighs, and sheets, all of it was drenched as you couldn’t stop the squirt from pouring out of you. Fast fingers replaced his mouth and continued rubbing your clit, only slowing once you had ceased squirting.

Your entire body was shaking, toes curled into the filthy sheets, your brain trying to catch up but it was a mile behind your body.

“I’m— Az, I,” you stuttered, attempting to sit up, shock and shame taking root in your chest. The male was completely drenched from the chin down, the sheets beyond salvation. “I never— I’m sorry—“

A towel appeared from his shadows, and he swiftly wiped himself dry before he joined you on the bed, uncaring of the huge damp spot that now lay beneath you two. He shushed you with a kiss, taking your trembling form into his arms, a hand tucking your hair behind your shoulder. His lips were soft, his touch gentle as he tucked you against his chest.

“You have nothing to apologize for. I am so proud of you,” he said quietly, his low voice rumbling in your ear, “You did so well, little dove. Now let me clean you up.” His praise sent a pleasant warmth through your bones, and you curled closer to the male, basking in his embrace.

Secured in his arms, his shadows enveloped the pair of you in darkness, their cool caress whispering on your skin. Then, you were hovering over a large marble bath, steam wafting from the filled basin that Azriel was standing in the middle of. Slowly he lowered the pair of you into the water, holding you tighter when you squeaked at the heat from the water leaching into your tender core. He sat behind you, wings stretched over the lip of the tub, your chest against his back.

Wordlessly he tied your hair back and ran a damp cloth over your skin. You were still coming down from your high, the warmth from the water and the strong male at your back making your eyelids droop, exhaustion ebbing into your body. He held you up and washed your back and then his front, and when you leaned back against him, you somehow found the strength to smirk at the erection evident behind you. You scooted back to brush your ass against him and he growled lowly in your ear. The sound sent shivers through you, and you turned to face him, looping your arms around his neck.

You nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck, humming in content. The Illyrian kissed the top of your head, large hands supporting your weight as he lifted you from the water. The soft brush of a towel met your skin and his quiet laugh graced your ears when you refused to separate from him, your wet front clinging to his. Eventually he was able to pry you off of him so that he could fully dry you, but it took many kisses of encouragement and gentle praise.

Finally he placed you onto his bed, the silken sheets welcoming your clean, naked skin and flooding your senses with his strong, woodsy scent. Azriel slipped in beside you, his inked arms wrapping around you as he laid on his side, nose tucked into your hair, covering you under the blankets.

“So, did you fake it?” he whispered in your ear just as sleep was about to take you. He had clearly proven himself, teasing you now that you had experienced his full talents.

You swatted him with what little strength you had left, a lazy smile curling the corner of your mouth. “You’re deplorable,” you said and he laughed, gathering you closer to his chest.

You didn’t know what this night would mean moving forward, but you didn’t have the energy to care at the moment— completely drained from the earth-shattering orgasms the shadowsinger had summoned from you. You had the feeling he didn’t want to question it now, either, not as he held you like you were the most precious thing in the world, not when he had you naked, in his arms, in his bed. So you succumbed to slumber, content to leave the questions for the morning, your heart full and your body completely sated for the first time in your life.

⤷ masterlist

[a-kind-of-merry-war]

will you please give us examples of resources to look at if we want to learn more about the concept of gender and maybe even transness in Medieval Europe? thanks!

whooooo boy right, there's a lot! I wanna start this by saying that I am very much not an expert, and I only have access to stuff I can find for free and the handful of books I can afford to buy second hand. Most of my research has been around gender as it relates to transness and GNC people. I am absolutely missing stuff, or have forgotten stuff, or simply lack the know-how to find stuff.

There's a few bits I've got on a TBR but haven't read yet - some I've included and some I haven't, depending on the source and how established it is.

Also: this is medieval Europe. The way pronouns are used to describe people don't really align with modern views of sex and gender. Also be aware of old-fashioned language use (for example, some texts talk about "hermaphrodites"). Remember that the way we talk about gender and trans identities is far different to how we even spoke about it 20 years ago.

So with that out of the way... I am chucking this under a read more, because it's long:

---

GENDER

Medieval ideas around gender were different to how we now think about it. The Hippocratic view of gender saw gender as a sort of wet/dry, cold/hot spectrum upon which men were at one end and women the other (and in the middle were intersex people). The male body was seen as hot and dry, and the female as cold and wet. The cold, wetness is what made women try to seek out heat from guys. A lot comes down to humors rather than genitals - if you're hot and dry, that innately means you grow a penis, because the heat sorta forces it out. So the marker is that penis = man, but you only have that penis in the first place because of your hot, dry humor.

Some people believed the vagina was an inverted penis - as in, the penis turned outside in. Some schools of thought believed that both men and women produced "seed", and that both were needed for conception. These thoughts and ideas shifted around a lot.

The Hippocratic view shifted towards Aristotelian ideas around the 12th Century, where the male/female divide was a lot stronger. There were also surgeons throughout all these periods who sought to "correct" intersex genitalia with surgery (how little things change).

This podcast (I've linked to a transcript, because I have more time to read than listen to things) with Dr Eleanor Janega is super interesting. In fact, I'd recommend reading her whole blog, which is fascinating. She also has a book out (but I've not read it so I can't give a yay or nay on that one)

The Meanings of Sex Difference in the Middle Ages by Joan Cadden seems to be a good source on this, but I've not read it so I can't vouch for it 100%.

I've listed below some real people who could fit into our modern interpretation of transness, and the fact that all of these people were only "outed" when arrested or at their death makes me think that there were probably a lot more people at the time who would also fit into this category. It does feel (to me, a layman) that you could rock up in a new town and go "hello I'm Jeff the Man" and people would just accept that.

It's also important to note that the majority of sources I've found are about people we could define as trans men (FTM). I've only found one person who could be described as a trans woman. If anyone out there has more sources for trans women, I'd love to hear them - specifically in medieval Europe/England.

There's also a big discussion to be had around the idea of women dressing as men to achieve a goal. People love getting into arguments about it. My general rule is that if someone lived as X gender, and was forcibly outed against their will or at death, then I feel we can more safely assume that their experience maps more closely onto a trans narrative than it does one of a woman taking on the "disguise" of a man.

---

TRANS & GNC ACADEMIA

Here's some of the sources I've been using that examine medievalism through a trans or trans-adjacent lens.

Trans and Genderqueer Subjects in Medieval Hagiography, Alicia Spencer-Hall & Blake Gutt - a deep dive/collection of essays about medieval religious figures/saints through a trans lens, specifically about cross-dressing figures. Really fascinating, and available on open access.

How to be a Man, Though Female: Changing Sex in Medieval Romance, Angela Jane Weisl - goes into detail about medieval texts in which characters change their sex.

Transgender Genealogy in Tristan de Nanteuil, Blake Gutt - trans theory in the story Tristan de Nanteuil.

Trans Historical: Gender Plurality before the Modern, edited by Greta LaFleur, Masha Raskolnikov & Anna Kłosowska - A great big examination into trans history/gender. I desperately want this book.

Clothes Make the Man, Female Cross Dressing in Medieval Europe, Valerie R. Hotchkiss (book, no online source available) - Another look into women dressing as men and gender inversion.

The Shape of Sex, Leah DeVun (book) - A history of nonbinary sex, 200 - 1400BC. Not read this one yet but it's on my TBR.

In fact, I'd recommend all of Leah DeVun's work, which I'm currently making my way through. I'm currently reading Mapping the Borders of Sex.

The Third Gender and Aelfric's Lives of Saints, Rhonda L. McDaniel - An examination into the idea of a "third gender" in monastic life based around chastity and spiritualism

Erecting Sex: Hermaphrodites and the Medieval Science of Surgery, Leah DeVun - an essay about "corrective" surgery on intersex individuals in the 13th/14th centuries. (I've not fully read this one yet but the topic is relevant)

----

TRANS FIGURES

Joseph/Hildegund (died 1188) - A monk who, upon his death, was discovered to have a vagina/breasts.

Eleanor Rykener (1394) - A (likely) trans sex worker arrested in 1394 (and another source that isn't wiki)

Katherina Hetzeldorfer (killed 1477) - An early record of a "woman" being executed for female sodomy. Katherina dressed and presented as a man, and some scholars read them as a trans man.

Marinos/Marina the Monk (5th Cent) - A monk who was born a woman and lived as a man in a monastery. Marinos was accused of getting a local innkeeper's daughter pregnant. Their "true sex" was discovered upon their death.

-----

ROMANCES* & GENDER

If you're interested in the idea of gender presentation and trans-adjacent stories, I very much recommend taking a look at some contemporary sources. I've tried to take a sort of neutral approach to pronouns for these descriptions, but it's hard to marry the medieval and modern ideas of sex and gender! The titles are all links.

*Romances here means Chivalric Romances: prose/verse narratives about chivalry, often with fantastic elements. Not, like, falling in love Romances.

Le Roman de Silence (13th Cent) - in order to ensure inheritance, a couple raise their daughter as a boy. The baby is called Silence/Silentius/Silentia. The poem features the forces of Nature and Nurture, who argue about Silence's "true" gender - Nature claims they're a girl, and Nurture claims they're a boy. Silence has a variety of adventures, largely referred to in the text as a man with he/him pronouns, and at the end their "true gender" is discovered and, as a woman, they marry the king.

Yde et Olive (15th Cent) - to avoid being married to their own father, Yde, a woman, disguises themselves as a man and becomes a knight. They end up in Rome, where the king marries them to their daughter, Olive. After a couple of weeks, Yde tells Olive about their "true gender", but the conversation is overheard. The King demands Yde bathe with him to prove they are a man. An angel intervenes and transforms Yde's body into that of a man.

Iphis and Ianthe (Greek/Roman myth, but also in Ovid's Metamorphois, which first came to England in the 15th Cent) - Telethusa is due to give birth, but her husband tells her that if the baby is a girl he'll have it killed. When she gives birth to a girl, she disguises the baby as a boy. Eventually, Iphis is engaged to Ianthe. (Incidentally, this is also a really early example of same-sex romance, as Iphis struggles with their love for Ianthe "as a woman"). Before the wedding, Iphis and Telethusa pray at the temple of Isis, who transforms Iphis into a man.

Tristan de Nanteuil (11th/12th Cent) - from the Chanson de geste, after his alleged death, Tristan's wife, Blanchandin/e, disguises themselves as a Knight. Clarinde, a sultan's daughter, falls in love with them. Blanchandin manages to hide their "true sex", but when Clarinde demands they bathe with her to prove they are a man they flee into the woods. There, they meet an angel who asks if they want to be transformed into a man. Blanchandin accepts and he is turned into a man for the rest of the poem. (Incidentally the angel gives him a giant cock. Yes, the text specifies this).

Le Livre de la mutation de fortune (1403) - written in the first person by Christine de Pizan, the poem describes how the narrator is transformed by Fortune into a man after the death of their husband during a storm at sea. They maintain that 13 years after the event, they are still living as a man. (They also mention Tiresias, a Greek mythological figure who was a man transformed into a woman for seven years).

Okay, for now - that's about all I can think of. Happy reading!

[defiledheartsblog]

SPOILERS but Marcus decorating the tub with dicks is so incredibly gay of him. Speaking of, how is being queer seen when this game takes place and will it be mentioned/shown at all in the game?

Romans were big on dongs (there were necklaces, idols, statues, mosaics...) So, that's both incredibly gay and Roman of him.

I could write a whole essay on this subject matter but this is the gist of it:

A Roman man should never be in a submissive role in his relationships. This includes both hetero and gay relationships.

No one cared that much about sapphic ladies. It was broadly thought that in order to have sexual intercourse, there needs to be a penis involved. It was frowned upon, though.

In the military, gay relationships were punishable by death.

Hati's sexuality and gender will play a bigger role when the relationships start to blossom more. For example, Camilla and Niall have never been in a gay relationship.

Thank you for the ask!

[serpentface]

What would happen if an Odonii were pregnant, or to a child if it were born? Is it like, a vestal virgins situation

Yeah it's vestal virgin-y in that the consequence is death. It's expected to be a form of ritual suicide, and they will be executed (via being physically forced into this suicide) if this is refused. (This is the same for breaking any of the vows of the order, celibacy is one of several).

(TANGENT: should be noted that 'celibacy' in this cultural context really means 'not having penetrative sex involving a penis', most specifically PIV sex. Getting fingered or eaten out or etc would not be considered breaking celibacy (but if the partner is known to be male, they would bear a high risk of PIV sex being Assumed to have happened) (it's also not something you could just be Open about doing on a number of other levels, it's just that it's 'dishonorable or at least questionable conduct' rather than 'breaking a holy vow')

In cases of an Odonii breaking their vow of celibacy it must be corrected with both their death and the execution of their sexual partner (this is part of the process of reconsecrating the order). When 'breaking celibacy' occurs in the context of rape, the rapist is not only killed in reconsecration but denied funerary rites, beheaded and mutilated, and left on display to rot, which is considered to damn them to a miserable afterlife as an earthbound ghost (this is a wider trend in executions for very severe offenses rather than specific to this situation).

The expectation for suicide or execution would ostensibly be the same in cases of rape, but in practice, Odonii who do not take it upon themselves to honorably end their lives have mostly been exiled from the order while still Getting To Live (especially in cases of pregnancy). This is in some ways an act of mercy, but largely a punishment for their 'cowardice' in not properly reconsecrating the order by ending their own life. Their body is considered to have been defiled in a permanent manner, their exile from the order is a mark of shame.

They not only Lose their privileges and status as an Odonii but are now a disgraced individual (thus having a higher chance that their fathers will not reclaim them under their household), a woman who has not only lost virginity but been impregnated by another man prior to marriage (thus may have Significant difficulties finding a husband, and Significantly More difficulties obtaining security for their bastard child). Odonii exiled in this manner are not only relegated back to the default second class citizen role as a non-man, but are distinctly socially disadvantaged beyond just being a woman, likely to be deprived of the patriarchal household structure, (which is the main source of security for a woman here, because this society is so deeply structured around it). Even if the woman herself is reclaimed under her father's name, any resulting child is very unlikely to be.

(When I say things like this, it's as a generalization. Many fathers Do In Fact love their children and may continue protecting them in spite of social shame, it's just not the default either. In many cases this will be performed by not Officially reclaiming them to avoid familial disgrace, while still offering them physical sanctuary).

An Odomache who broke celibacy (or ''broke'' it in the case of rape) would be FULLY expected to commit ritual suicide, and this would be Strongly enforced without any exile wiggle room, pregnancy or no. Their body isn't just one of many living embodiments of sovereignty (as in other Odonii) but has a Face of God incarnated within it, which absolutely Must be made whole again by their body's reconsecration in death and Odomache's incarnation into a new body. If a pregnancy was involved, the fetus would not have any special status (ie wouldn't be treated as some kind of child of God), rather would be treated as a defiling element in a living body of God with absolutely no reason whatsoever to preserve it.

This scenario has never actually played out in full in the modern version of the order (the last Odomache is reported to have been raped after her capture, but was killed almost immediately without the body ever being reclaimed) so no one knows Exactly how they would handle the situation on a political level.

[pervcoded]

cunt. starring baji, chifuyu

content warning: Aye this shit is evil. FTM misgendering- reader ‘passes’ but Baji is very diminutive of/disrespectful of his identity in this. Chifuyu is his accomplice. They are not good in this lol. Rape rationalizations, Dacryphilia (Chifuyu). Sadism (Baji). Hard non/con, reader uses he/him pronouns but Baji will refer to him as a female. degradation/humilation. Implied bajitora. Lots of cursing (fucks and shit, mostly). Wishing for death (brief ment).

Reader is referred to as: Man, Slut, Whore, Girl. Bitch. Boy.

Readers genitals referred to as: cunt/pussy, boypussy (1), clit/clitty. (small adjective) penis. Dick. Cock.

“What a fucking cunt.” Yeah. You could say the same thing. 

He pinches your clit cause you got too much attitude on your face. Brows too furrowed, lip too thick. Makes you look like a man. “I am a grown fucking man!” Yeah, you say that, but this pussy ‘tween your legs got Baji thinking a little different. 

It’s juicy and fat. Clit a mimicry of the soft thing dangling between his legs. It looks cute in the light when your legs are open long enough.

Flicks your little clitty and you squirm and writhe and he has to hold you down by your neck cause you won’t stop fighting him. That’s okay, though. He hasn’t gotten any in a while, can’t promise he won’t cum quick. 

“You wanna run around with gangs with this shit between your legs? Look! Pussy so fat it fucking dangles, y’all.” He announces to the crowd of one, your scowl deepening even as the heat seeks to melt your facade. He grips your calf and lifts your leg too wide, your thigh tensing and jerking painfully.

“Pussy like that… just begging to get fucked.” You mourn the loss of your dignity, your hands leaving the iron cable at your throat and darting to your shirt, fingers plucking at the dangling end to drag it over your delicates.  Baji doesn’t have enough hands to stop you, but he doesn’t seem to care, looking towards his blonde friend.

“Ever seen boypussy, ‘Fuyu?” Chifuyu still hasn’t entirely grasped what’s happening.

You’re from somewhere else. Different gang, probably. But you’re dressed down right now, sweatpants and hanes shirt and jacket, windbreaker. Baji mentioned a favor he had to cash in on. There was an apartment, polite old lady in the lobby, slow elevator. Hallways with The Shining carpet, this potent bad feeling,

Now you, bent in half on your own bed. Granted Baji’s doing most of the work, but it makes Chifuyu uncomfortable watching you contort that way. You’re all lines and edge and box and square. You got a little plush though; nice thighs, cute ass, tummy …

He’s gotten ahead of himself.

“Ah—No, Baji-san.” He comes closer at the curl of Baji’s finger. “Well get the fuck over here, then. Hold hi— ” Baji’s lip raises like he’s all boxer and bully, like he’s got another fucking stupid idea,

“Come hold her still, dumbass.” You buck at the accusation, suddenly so lively you actually clip his hip. Dumb bitch. His hand leaves from ‘round your neck and you take a deep breath, palms darting to cradle a crushed larynx. 

He jams a finger up your pussy and you scream. 

Maybe this shit is The Shining and you’re Missus Duval, because Johnny is here.

Fuyu is trying to kick off his shoes. How polite of him, you don’t think, as he clambers on the bed -  grabbing your hands and forcing them back into fluff and blankets. Looks nervous; but not as much as you are. You’re trembling, trying so fucking hard not to cry, and it makes Baji hard like fuck all else. He doesn’t afford himself a moment to contemplate the nuances of who you are—or to him, what.  Finger’s going in and out, but it’s not like you make it easy. It’s like fingering a crack in concrete.

Any hole’s a goal, and hole-y fortune smiles upon him now, he thinks. He’s hit the fucking jackpot.

And you’re not ugly or anything. Just too boy. If you were in Toman he thinks he’d put in a special uniform request with Mitsuya. Any whore shouldn’t wear a skirt past ‘er thigh - easy access is important. 

But you’d probably look like you’re playing dress-up. He’s got a slimmer wasteline than you, and he’s a man.

You’d make a really ugly girl. Need a bag over to head to fuck you— maybe shave off the happy trail, get your skin all nice, smooth. “Um, Baji?” Baji starts going for his belt. “Yeah? Fuck you want? Wanna use ‘er mouth? Go on, I don’t give a fuck,”  Chifuyu blushes piggy-pink, then says, “Nah, It’s not that boss… Ah, you sure ‘Tora won’t get mad at you?” Baji sucks his teeth at the mention of that cock hungry twink. “Who givesa fuck? If rabbit wants the carrot, he shouldn’t be surprised he gotta share it.” Kinda likes when that slut gets a little loose anyway, Baji can throw his weight around, bust his lip and Tora’ll love it. Probably ask him to do it again. Lick the blood off his knuckles and then give him head, get him used to the smell of your cunt on his balls.

Baji’s tugging on his belt like some dickless virgin, can’t slide the leather out of place fast enough— 

You’re still kicking, even if he’s got your leg tucked under his arm. Still think you got a chance, but you’re wasting all your damn breath on struggling, you don’t notice he’s got his cock out until he’s raising your hips to his height.

“F-fuck off!” The dog makes a face, showing you his top teeth all like “F-Fuck off!”, mocking you and shit. You’re not sorry you got caught selling on his block, but he’s making you a lot sorry he didn’t bash your brains in when he found you. You’d prefer the bloody nose, broken ribs, black eyes, punctured lung.

Anything but this, man, fuck— 

“Dude.” “Dude.” “Listen to me! Fuck—stop! I’m, I’m sorry alright? Just d..don’t— ” Whine whine whine whine whine. Yap yap yap. Blubber lips; so scared shitless you can’t even keep your drool in your maw. He spits into your babbling mouth, and you choke on it. Baji gets a good grip on your cheek and shoves your face down into the bed, lines himself up. “Shut up bitch. Just take it.”

Pushes the tip in just a little. Just get a feel for it. “Oh fuuuuuuuuuuuck. Oh fuck yes. Damn bitch, you’re ti-ight, ah,” he moans, nails in your hips to keep you still.  You buck like a filly with no home training, and he’s fixing to break you in, bareback.

It doesn’t feel good dry. He’s too big, the fucking bulldog, and you’re not high enough or drunk enough or fucked up enough to get your pussy wet. Or maybe your pipes are broken. That shit you take to make your jaw cut like that, flatten out your hips— that’d do the trick. Might not be an all bad thing though, he could probably cum in you as much as he wants.

“Sure you don’t want her mouth—fuck—‘Fuyu?” He pushes in a few more inches with a little wiggle of his hips. It burns. “Tight, whore’s tight.” Swallows, “I’m gonna break you in half if you don’t loosen up, bitch, c’mon,” Your back arches and your hands thrash in Chifuyu’s grip and you’re barking and fighting, and Chifuyu’s got this look on his face. Like he doesn’t know if he wants Yakisoba or Top Ramen. Baji doesn’t know what the fuck there is to think about. He’s muttering shit to himself, spine firepole straight and cheeks blushed beetroot red. “I don’t know Baji, I don’t think I can just… y’know?” You interrupt with a groan. He looks down at your heated face, tears skimming your cheeks. He doesn’t like how it turns him on.

Chifuyu shrinks away from that feeling physically, grip loosening a little on your wrists, and you take the opportunity to pull. Fuyu near hops out of his skin to keep you in place as your struggle revives itself.

“Nooo no no, fuuuck that! I’ll bite your dick off, I’ll fucking—ugh!”  The dark hared demon maintains the pressure on your hips. “What you’re gonna do, is back up on my dick. Quick and easy, slut. C’mon.” 

Baji wants you down to his balls. He’s only half-in and you hate it. Loathe it. Despise it. He’s humping with puppy precision and has wandering hands, grabs up on your ass, tits—lack thereof, only settling at the back of your knees to tug you forward. He brings his head up to meet his friend’s ambivalence, talking as if you’re not even there. “Fine. Fuck the slut or don’t ‘Fuyu, don’t matter to me. Better I get some than you, anyway.”

God you hate this guy's fucking guts. He better paralyze you after this shit, cause as long as you’re breathing, he’s destined to become dust, you will crush him and kill him and fuck him,

Fuck him,

ah. Your chest feels tight. All the scared that was chased off by your fight and flight surges back into you all at once, potent and suffocating. “S..stop! Please, just stop..” You sob, and Baji levels an unimpressed expression at you. “What happened to all that fight you cunt?” He taunts, jostling you. “You giving up on me now?” You respond with tears. Baji seems unmoved. Chifuyu’s heart aches bittersweetly, and his hard cock throbs in anticipation, watching the water delicately arc down the sides of your face, over your cheeks.

Chifuyu doesn’t hold you any more cause you just wanna hold yourself now. Hold yourself and cry, cry, cry. It’s freaking him out a little, watching a man be pushed to such distress, though of course he’s having more… conflicted feelings about it. If you get any louder, someone might catch you. With your pants down. Bent over. Cock five inches dick in your pussy. Imagine if your whole building knew you had one. You don’t know what they’d think - couldn’t fathom it, probably, and who knows; they might want a piece too!

Look at how much you hate this right now. You couldn’t handle the embarrassment. He won’t do that to you - won’t let that happen. You’ve already done enough, now it’s his turn. His hands move to the front of his jeans. “Ah, Baji… slow down.” The sound of pants unbuckling follows, denim sliding down thighs. A slow, incredulous laugh. “That’s what I’m talking about! Hold on Chifuyu… C’mon bitch. Move.”

Baji’s gets you into a better position, buddy ‘Fuyu lifting your chin and looking at the lost life from your face. Expression dazed? Stony even? Irrelevant, ‘cuz it scrunches up funny when he puts his tip in your mouth. 

You groan in what sounds like pain as he slides into your throat, but it’s gotten much harder to hear you now. You’ve gone gentle, twitching and hiccuping and crying, but no kicking, no punching. Baji’s a little sad to see the grit go.

You’re still so tight - and it’s starting to hurt instead of feel good. He grits his teeth, reaches his thumb swipes daftly at your little soldier. God, he’s never seen anything like it. Your hood is huge! Your little clit really does look like pinky-sized penis. Kinda glorious, in a way- it wobbles and twitches when he pokes it and it makes you writhe- if you weren’t an in incompetent slut you might’ve been able to get some place with that kind of ambition. He strokes you slow, and Chifuyu starts pumping in and out of your mouth.

Drags his dick along your tongue and it feels like sandpaper. Your jaw opens up a little more for him, and inch by inch you take it, til his balls are resting against your nose bridge all nice like.

“Oh look at that, girlie’s getting wet…” Baji rubs your slick over his finger, pinkish pomade stretching a slim film over the tip of it. “Maybe that dick is doing something for her, Chifuyu. C’mon, don’t be afraid to fuck the slut now,” Baji slurs, getting comfortable with Chifuyu’s rhythm.

In and out. In, and out.

It’s agony. They seesaw with the coordination of blind mice, Chifuyu resting his cock in the snugness of your throat, not as eager to move as Baji - who’s doubled his ministrations on your dick, trying to get you to open up more for him. Antagonism and hatred bubbles to the surface mostly, but your cock has started feeling a little more sensitive since Dickhead’s learned to stroke it properly. Stuck his fingers in his mouth for lube and is using his whole wrist to work you, two fingers diligently stroking either side of your dick. You groan and Chifuyu feels it, full body tremble as he grabs for your chin, determined to stay in your throat. “Keep- keep doing that, feels nice… ah,” The last thing you give a shit is making sure he’s having a good time, but it’s not like you can help it.

“Yeah… That’s it. Open up for me, bitch. Gonna fuck your cervix - make you suck my dick clean after you make me cum. You’d love that, wouldn’t you, bitch?”

You hope you choke on it.

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀TOKREV/BANNER ART by @/KenWakui

all content written by me @ciematis, is owned by me, and you are not allowed to repost or translate my works. don't put my shit into ai generators, don't steal my shit and put it on wattpad. thank you.

[dontheckinswear]

i’ve been thinking about trans man kabru head canons

and i know it probably wouldn’t happen with the way the dungeon’s death industry works, BUT i think one of the funniest possible things that could accompany this hc is that at some point kabru dies in the dungeon in such a way that he gets chopped up into lots of pieces. like he’s all still there but has to be put together like a puzzle by the person that’s resurrecting him. then afterwards, this magician pulls kabru aside and is like, “look… i did my best putting you back together, but i couldn’t find your…ahem… most important bit. so i had to improvise. hope it works just as well as the old one did.”

then kabru checks and yep it seems that he has received resurrection-induced bottom surgery. not that he’s going to say anything about his gender identity to this random dude. so he’s just like “that’s understandable, these things do happen. thanks for doing your best ^_^”

and then he just has to walk away and accept this is his life now. like he just woke up and suddenly is a changed man. with a penis magically bestowed upon him.

[john-laurens-hamilton]

Quick summary of John Laurens' life

John Laurens was born to Henry and Eleanor Laurens on October 28th, 1754. With sparkling blue eyes and hair described to be the color of honey, since his teens, he had no trouble attracting company. At the tender age of 13 years old, he was already as tall as his father. In a letter to his friend, he says that he was too immersed in his studies to pay attention to any of the girls who swarmed around him. At the start, this was assumed to be a testimony of Laurens' maturity in his career.

In 1771, he moved to London shortly before his 17th birthday, then, quickly to Ginebra, the next year, to incourse in Law studies. Since his childhood, everyone noticed the young boy had a great interest in medicine, Botanics, and arts; but Henry decided it would be best for his son to stay in the family path of politics.

In Geneva, Laurens met Francis Kinloch, assumed to be his first love. Kinloch was also from South Carolina, one year younger. John desired to stay in Geneva with him, but his departure to London to finish his studies lends us a glance at their relationship through their letters. I highlight one excerpt that would be similar to future letters: "Adieu, kiss all the pretty Genevoises from me, and don't delay writing to your affectionate Laurens." (these are translated to Spanish in my notes and then back to English in the process of writing.)

Laurens and Kinloch, despite their homoerotic relationship, disagreed in political matters. This would ultimately be the point of breaking their relationship; while Laurens was an ardent patriot, Kinloch leaned toward loyalism. At the start, this didn't make their bond break, as John says in a letter from April 12, 1776: "You and I may differ, my Dear Kinloch, in our political sentiments, but I shall always love you for the knowledge I have of your heart." Francis' answer to this letter is what many consider their breakup: "If you see any I know from upon the Carolinians of your acquaintance, give them my regards: I won't be thought of forgetting them or my country. Be sure I shall never forget you."

Almost immediately after this letter was delivered, John saw himself involved in his first and only affair with a woman: Martha Manning. Their relationship was friendly before this incident, and during it, it was purely sexual. In an incredible strike of bad luck, Martha got pregnant with Laurens' child. Five months after their daughter's conception, they got married, on the 26th of October, 1776. Laurens wrote to his uncle: "Pity has obliged me to marry." Then, in an egoistical move, he sailed to the Colonies and presented himself as a volunteer aide-de-camp to General Washington. There was no turning back; Laurens never saw his wife or his daughter, Frances Laurens, again.

In 1777, he met his last and most prominent love: Alexander Hamilton. Described with reddish hair, slightly freckled, and "deep azure eyes, eminently beautiful, without the slightest trace of hardness or severity." They are theorized to have fallen in love with each other, and this maintained itself until his death day. Possibly the most romantic letter opens this way, surely known by everyone who has looked into the subject:

"Cold in my professions, warm in my friendships, I wish, my dear Laurens, by actions rather than words, to convince you that I love you." In this letter, many instances let us see into the nature of them, maybe the following worth highlighting:

"I mind you do justice to the length of my nose, and don't forget that I _____"

After, there are five words crossed out, probably by J. C. Hamilton, looking to protect his father's legacy. There are many theories and analyses of what those words might be. One of them is very convincing, well-founded and probably accurate, but out of respect for the owner of this theory, I won't use. In any way, considering the context—the size of one's nose was an euphemism for the size of the penis—it insinuates Laurens knew what Hamilon's penis looked like.

Laurens pushed Alexander to get married; that way, he might get rid of his unholy desires for men. In 1780, Hamilton married Eliza Schuyler, and wrote how his marriage wouldn't change the devotion toward him. Noneteheless, in 1782, Laurens wrote his last letter to Hamilton, signed as: "you knows the unalterable sentiments of your affectionate Laurens."

Hamilton answered, asking John to drop his sword and put on a toga: "come to congress, my friend, the war is over," and signed it as "yours forever." Twelve days later, John died in Tuesday the 27th of August, 1782. We'll never know wether he read that letter.

[genderisareligion]

As a woman of colour:

How exactly do you feel about moc who claim that they are oppressed "because of being male and not in spite of it"?

I know that you know that it's bullshit, but I just wonder are they brave enough to say this to women around them or are they trying to guilt trip people into ignoring the fact that they are still male?

Both. Men of melanin saw intersectionality on the rise in feminism and said "how can we twist this to benefit us" and did so pretty shamelessly. Men in general love pretending like the patriarchy is this ominous nebulous cloud floating over us that no one generated and no one benefits from, men of melanin just have an easier out there because they are legitimately oppressed on the axis of race and think they can use that as an excuse to commit crimes against women and girls.

Funny how most men of melanin completely understand when you say racism doesn't exist in a vacuum and white people can't be the victims of the system they created and are born privileged into, but when you talk about sexism suddenly "men are hurt by patriarchy too" and "feminism is for everyone" (is BLM for everyone too?) and "what male privilege? I'm black/brown/disabled."

Anyway as usual Audre Lorde has everything to say about this that could be said:

"It is for Black men to speak up and tell us why and how their manhood is so threatened that Black women should be the prime targets of their justifiable rage. What correct analysis of this capitalist dragon within which we live can legitimize the rape of Black women by Black men? At least Black feminists and other Black women have begun this much-needed dialogue, however bitter our words. At least we are not mowing down our brothers in the street, or bludgeoning them to death with hammers. Staples pleads his cause by saying capitalism has left the Black man only his penis for fulfillment, and a 'curious rage.' Is this rage any more legitimate than the rage of Black women? And why are Black women supposed to absorb that male rage in silence? Why isn't that male rage turned upon those forces which limit his fulfillment, namely capitalism? Staples sees in Ntozake Shange's play For Colored Girls 'a collective appetite for black male blood.' Yet it is my female children and my Black sisters who lie bleeding all around me, victims of the appetites of our brothers."

[rarepears]

You can not and will not convince me Tianlangjun does not know about peg.

Because with the way he is portrayed and the fandom, (cough- he's a simp-cough) there is no way this man has not begged his darling to peg him.

If its his darlings (newly) grown actual penis? EVEN BETTER!

Oh man, with the way you've worded this, I'm getting Wei Wuxian asking hubby Lan Zhan to sex him up again.

So I'd like to propose this: Wei Wuxian getting dumped into Tianlang Jun's body (after his Burial Mound death? Or he gets revived into Tianlang Jun's body instead of that Mo fellow?) and of course Lan Zhan, upon finding his love again, just rails him to many many little deaths in short order.

(Poor Zhizhu Lang...)

[spiderversebigbang]

Spider-Verse Big Bang 2023 Masterpost

Valley of the Kings

Author: @rainbowtransform || ao3 Artists: @ovytia-art and @zylien

“So, Gym Leader Peter Parker of the Celadon Gym died a few months ago, if you’d recall.” Miles nods his head. He’d seen it all over his feed, and plus it was all over the news.

24-year-old Peter Parker dies by a heart attack, survived by a grieving widow, their pokémon, and the people of his city. Or: Miles is appointed to be a gym leader of Gym Leader Parker’s death. Unfortunately for him, nobody thinks he can do it least of all Miles himself. At least, until he finds a mysterious note saying that Gym Leader Parker’s death might not be an accident.

Wordcount: 14,356 || Rating: General Audiences

Archive Warning(s): No Archive Warnings Apply Character(s): Miles Morales, Gwen Stacy | Spider-Gwen, Peter Benjamin Parker | Spider-Man Noir, Peter B. Parker (Spider-Man: Into the Spider-verse), Peni Parker (Spider-Man: Into the Spider-verse), Peter Porker, Wilson Fisk Tags: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Team as Family, Alternate Universe - Pokemon Fusion, Animal Cruelty (mentioned), Miles Morales Needs a Hug, Spiderverse Big Bang, Fluff and Angst, Mystery, Peter Parker does still die in this guys sorry

Overture

Author: @the-real-pocket-egg || ao3 Artists: @jo-v-ie and @hootdraws

"In the realm of songs and symphonies, there exists such a thing as a climax, a crescendo; the striking of a match that burns its brightest the moment before being suddenly and unceremoniously snuffed out. It’s the point towards which the band has been clawing to reach, to see all of its hard work paid back in kind as the music swells and the audience’s hearts quicken in anticipation. When nothingness had fallen upon him, so with it went the music, and the Doctor had the sense that he had just been fully and thoroughly, suddenly and unceremoniously, snuffed out. Hypothesis? Not-his Peter had killed him. Great." The year? 1982. The location? Broadway. The lesson? That maybe Otto Octavius understands T.S. Elliot more than he let on.

Wordcount: 13,835 || Rating: Teen

Archive Warning(s): Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply Pairing(s): Otto Octavius/Rosalie Octavius Character(s): Otto Octavius, Rosalie Octavius, Norman Osborn, Curt Connors, Peter Parker, Aunt May Parker, Max Dillon, Flint Marko Tags: Fluff, Angst, First Dates, Slice of Life, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - 1980s, Musicals, Theatre, Romance, Memories, Memory Alteration, Headaches & Migraines, Redemption

Demons Within

Author: @loadyron || ao3 Artists: @noiter00123 and @zarthhearth

Peter and Wade's pasts are… complicated. The weight of their experiences brings out fear and sympathy from them both.

Spider-Man numbed his heart and promised to never be in a relationship again, but as he realizes his feelings for Deadpool he finds his past haunts him with agonizing pain. Deadpool while coming across his new love interest, finds himself opening up. But the torture and abuse, all the stuff he had been through would always haunt him.

Follow their love story and watch how both despite being tormented by their traumatic past, heal the wounds in their hearts. Finding comfort as they develop a strong emotional bond

Wordcount: 18453 || Rating: Mature

Archive Warning(s): No Archive Warnings Apply Pairing(s): Peter Parker/Wade Wilson Character(s): Peter Parker, Wade Wilson, Weasel Tags: Canon Compliant, Andrew Garfield (Peter Parker/Spider-man), Ryan Reynolds (Wade Wilson/Deadpool), Longfic, angst, introspection, miscommunication, humor, love story, falling in love, dating, first kiss, age gap, compassion heals wounds, emotion bound, emotional comfort, sexual tension, poor coping mechanism to trauma, happy ending, Post- Canon, Post-Spider-Man: No Way Home, Post-Movie: Deadpool 2 (2018) and bad language

Sirens (Just Wanna be Good Again)

Author: @sparkstar-trash || ao3 Artists: @mistical52, @kats0wo and Sehrli

When Miles inserts himself into a fight between two villains, the last thing he expects to happen is to lose his powers. With a Brooklyn-wide conspiracy, constant spider missions, and everyday life bearing down on him, Miles cannot handle it all without his spider powers -- especially when he refuses to ask for help from anyone except his Prowler counterpart. That is until he gains Venom Symbiote, and suddenly, his powers seem to be back. But are they really? How will Miles face all his responsibilities without giving in to the devil in disguise whispering on his shoulder?

Wordcount: 48,963 || Rating: Teen

Archive Warning(s): No Archive Warnings Apply Character(s): Miles Morales, Miles Morales | Prowler (Marvel Earth-42), Ganke Lee, Hobie Brown, Gwen Stacy | Spider-Gwen, Miguel O'Hara, Lyla | LYrate Lifeform Approximation (Earth-928), Peter B. Parker, Pavitr Prabhakar, Venom Symbiote (Marvel), Olivia Octavius, Max Dillion, Michael Morbius Tags: Angst with a Happy Ending, Miles Morales Needs a Hug, Miles Morales-centric, BAMF Miles Morales, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Villain Character Death, Cancer, Possessive Venom Symbiote (Marvel), Loss of Powers, Post-Canon, Miles Morales has the Venom Symbiote

LYLA's Gambit

Author: @thesilentbard || ao3 Artists: @madbunnyarts and @maybetheworldwillburn

“Come on, Miguel. Miles traveled all the way to this dimension just to see you. I think you at least owe him a cup of coffee and some conversation.” Miguel pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Fine.” He leveled a deadpan stare at Miles. His next words came out clipped and inhospitable. “A pleasure to see you, Miles.” He gestured woodenly towards the interior. “Won’t you come in? I’ll show you to the kitchen.”

After Spider Society disbands, LYLA decides it's time that Miguel get his life back together. The first step? Reconciling with Miles Morales. Everything after that? Well, LYLA has a plan.

Wordcount: 15,128 || Rating: General

Archive Warning(s): No Archive Warnings Apply Pairing(s): Miguel O'Hara/Original Female Character(s) Character(s): Lyla | LYrate Lifeform Approximation (Earth-928), Miguel O'Hara, Miles Morales, Peter B. Parker (Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse), Original Female Character(s) Tags: Slice of Life, Angst and Humor, LYLA-centric, Miguel O'Hara needs a life, Post-Canon, Identity Reveal, Mild Hurt/Comfort, mild romance, POV Third Person, Lyla POV, Speculative Post-BTSV, Spider Society is disbanded, Character Study, overcoming guilt, mending broken relationships, over-reaching AI, Comedy

Breakthrough

Author: Simbeline Artists: @uwuagenda and herefor_reasons

When Spot stepped into the collider, he changed. Miles... well, Miles changed, too. (Inspired by EEAAO, for the Spider Verse Big Bang 2023.)

Wordcount: 20,116 || Rating: Teen

Archive Warning(s): No Archive Warnings Apply Character(s): Miles Morales, Miles Morales | Prowler (Marvel Earth-42), Gwen Stacy | Spider-Gwen, Peter B. Parker (Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse), Miguel O'Hara, Spot (Spider-Man: Across the Universe), Hobie Brown, Pavitr Prabhakar, Rio Morales, Jefferson Morales (Earth-1610), Jessica Drew, Aaron Davis (Marvel Earth-42) Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Inspired by Everything Everywhere All at Once, (but you don't really need to know anything about EEAAO), Dimension Travel, Time Travel, Identity Reveal, Miles Morales-centric, Movie: Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse (2023), Spiderverse Big Bang 2023, Powerful Miles Morales

Oh, the places you'll go!

Author: @graham-cracker-guillotine || ao3 Artists: @samaspic31 and @englandamericaitaly

Miles landed ungracefully in a heap, smacking into several trash cans and cardboard boxes on the way down. As he straightened up, he inhaled sharply. This wasn’t his New York. Where were the colors? The energy? It was as if someone threw away all the things that made New York what it was and left just the gross, dirty buildings behind. The rooftop access door slammed open, revealing an older man. Graying hair, lines in his face, though his pressed suit seemed to be out of place with the dingy-looking rooftop. Miles realized belatedly that he looked like a police officer - maybe the commissioner? The older man glanced around, taking a long drag of his cigarette. "Fuckin’ Bats,” he muttered, shaking his head. Miles watched, bewildered, as the man turned and simply walked back the way he came. What the hell? ~~ What if the spider that bit 1610-Miles Morales wasn’t actually from Dimension 42? What if it wasn’t from a Spiderverse dimension? What if the universe that the spider came from was less arachnid themed and more… bat themed?

Wordcount: 29,432 || Rating: Teen

Archive Warning(s): Graphic Depictions of Violence Pairing(s): Tim Drake/Miles Morales (preslash) Character(s): Miles Morales, Miguel O'Hara, Peter B. Parker (Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse), Gwen Stacy | Spider-Gwen, Jason Todd, Batfamily Members, Justice League (DCU), Spider society - Character, Harleen Quinzel Tags: Miguel O'Hara Bashing, (collective) Spider Society Bashing, Miles Morales Whump, Glitching (Spiderverse), Panic Attacks, Justice League as Family (DCU), Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Miles Morales Acts Like a Spider, no Gwen Stacy bashing, Miles is very much just rolling with the punches rn, his catchphrase is “yeah okay”, Protective Harleen Quinzel, Minor Pamela Isley/Harleen Quinzel, Fake Science, Pre-Movie: Spider-Man: Beyond the Spider-Verse (2024)

The Life We Wish We Had

Author: @tytach and @noiter00123 || ao3 Artist: @the-real-pocket-egg

We all want to live the life we wish we had. Believe me, I have tried. And the harder I tried, the more damage I did." - Miguel O’Hara Ever since having his DNA spliced with a spider’s, Miguel’s personal life has become a mess. A hidden identity, troublesome mutations, and increasingly frequent bouts of anger tear at his sanity daily. So when his ex-fiancée gets sucked into another dimension, well — that’s just one more act to the shit show, isn't it? ...or so he thought. As it turns out, getting stranded in a new world with her and the ever-annoying Peter B. Parker might be exactly what he needs to turn his life around. A story exploring the trauma behind Miguel’s behavior and convictions in Across the Spiderverse.

Wordcount: 33,365 || Rating: Mature

Archive Warning(s): Major Character Death Pairing(s): Miguel O'Hara/Dana D'Angelo, Peter B. Parker/Mary Jane Watson Character(s): Miguel O’Hara, Dana D’Angelo, Peter B. Parker, Lyla, Jordan Boone, Mary-Jane Watson, Doctor Octopus, Gabriel O’Hara Tags: Pre-Canon, Character Study, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Tone shift, Pregnancy, Child Loss, Bridging the comics and movie lore gap, Identity Reveal, Mending relationship, No Smut, Multiple POVs, Unreliable Narrators, Brutal ending, Mention of blood and injuries

Germfree Adolescence

Author: @kubostrrrngs || ao3 Artist: khansarah

Gwen convinces Miles to join a band with the rest of their friends. Turns out it's a great choice. A small series on Miles' life with his bandmates.

Wordcount: 16,286 || Rating: Teen

Archive Warning(s): Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply Pairing(s): Miles Morales/Gwen Stacy, Pavitr Prabhakar/Gayatri Singh Character(s): Miles Morales, Gwen Stacy, Hobie Brown, Pavitr Prabhakar, Margo Kess, Gayatri Singh, Peter B Parker, Rio Morales, Jefferson Morales Tags: Alternate Universe - no powers, Alternate universe - rock band, Miles Morales-centric, No angst, Platonic relationships, Babysitting, Trans Gwen Stacy, Very minor though, Teenage dorks, First dates, Dorks in love, First relationship, Sweet Pavitr Prabhakar, Fluff and humour, Attempt at humour, No plot/plotless, Just vibes, McDonald's, Grocery store, Food as a metaphor for love, Concerts, Adorable Mayday Parker, Minor Peter B Parker/Mary Jane Watson, Hobie Brown is a little shit, Miles Morales is trying his best, Gwen Stacy is bad at feelings, She's doing better, Good friend Pavitr Prabhakar, Margo Kess is a good friend, This should already be a tag, Big bang challenge, Anthology, Artist Miles Morales, Drummer Gwen Stacy, Underage drinking

[evita-shelby]

They didn't know we were seeds

Chapter 6

Cw: sex trafficking, prostitution, allusions to child sexual assault

@justrainandcoffee @call-sign-shark @emotionalcadaver @peakyswritings

Eva knows he’s staring even as he tries to hide it.

Jack hasn’t spoken to her in the week leading up to the games and given that he’s on 2 and she on 10, their paths hardly cross until the big event begins.

Then they are shown to the grand hall where the games are viewed, where you schmooze sponsors who pay good money to be in the room and mingle with other mentors. It’s the first night of the games, all the big people are here, and attendance is mandatory.

Jack’s tributes have both made it to the career pack even if the boy isn’t strong enough to wrest control from the girl from 1. Eva’s lost the girl, Silvia, to blood loss, but Matty has made like a thief and gotten himself safe and in possession of a hatchet.

Matty is eighteen, has been working at a butcher shop since he was old enough to hold a knife and has been taking out tesserae since his dad was executed for cattle theft and poaching when he was thirteen.

She continues buttering up her favorite sponsor to convince him to sponsor him, hoping to get him into the finalists at least. Luca will do it, and she will pay for it the same way she paid for it four years ago: by fucking him.

Luca had paid an exorbitant fee for the honor of being her first, and while Eva would’ve never done that sort of work in a million years, there were worst candidates and becoming another cautionary tale like Haymitch made him incredibly desirable.

He was, as the Capitol tabloids called it, her sugar daddy. 16 years older than her with a penis that would shame a horse and controls the Capitol’s underworld and the very legal gambling dens.

Well, until he runs out of money or falls out of favor with Snow who chooses her customers and everyone else’s. Luca was her second client because his dear old dad kicked the bucket, and he did Snow’s dirty work for a price: his pick of the litter.

Besides, he could be worse and forced monogamy was easier than what some did to the others.

Enobaria from after her games had not fared as good as she did and after discovering that her filed teeth made her repulsive to these people, she went all out on it until she was taken out of the list. Cashmere, who won after her brother two games ago, had to pretend she was enjoying having men and women pawing at her and her brother and Finnick Odair wasn’t even allowed to wait until his dreaded 18th nameday going by the way the biggest donor leers at the fifteen-year-old boy.

The arena never ends, if Jack knew how right his words were, he would’ve never said them.

“Long time, no see, stranger.” Eva doesn’t mean to flirt, but it has become second nature to her these days. Just an angle she plays, the mysterious and sexy woman who needs a big strong man to satisfy her.

“You’ve become quite the whore since I last saw you.” He is blunt, a thing people attribute to his upbringing and not the torture inflicted upon him by the Capitol…or his mother’s slightly treasonous views.

“Your mentor never told you what happens to the pretty ones, didn’t he?” It sickens her, sometimes, to see what the Capitol made of her and hearing it from Jack stings.

Brutus pretends not to know because to say that he turns a blind eye when his former tributes are pimped out to pay for the games and other favors the president needs is as bad as doing the raping himself. And because he keeps his mouth shut and everyone knows he’s got the biggest crop of hot teenagers in his keep, they let him be.

Jack was spared because Lyme refused to let him join as a mentor claiming he was unstable after Laurie’s death, or so Eva heard. Except Lyme had to fold her hands and step away when Enobaria almost bit a client’s dick clean off last year and Snow demanded him to be put on the list.

Now Jack’s being put on the platter for deranged people who recapture their youth by stealing theirs. Eva hates how the women look at him, even worse, how some look at the two of them standing here together.

“That explains how they can afford it all.” Jack hides his disgust with a sip of his high-end whiskey. “Am I unattractive enough to be spared, Miss. Smith?”

He is flirting right back. Eva supposed time does heal all wounds going by the way Jack leans in close enough for him to smell his expensive cologne mingled with the whiskey. He’s still a dead ringer for his dad, and he’s outgrown the last of the softness of his teenage years making him rather striking leaving some of his resemblance to the boy she murdered behind him.

His confidence and envied pedigree make him almost as desirable as Cashmere and Gloss these days. He could drive the attention away from Finnick if he takes one for the team, let the kid turn sixteen at least. Some victors stick together to make this hell bearable, but others refuse to even give you a heads-up out of self-preservation.

Too soon to tell with Jack.

“Nope. Even if you were, your pedigree would make you as irresistible as poor Finnick over there.” She is honest with him just as he is with her and to keep the façade of flirtation going, she takes his whiskey with a wink. “You are trapped in this hell with me, pretty boy.”

“Laurie would’ve hated this.” He says quietly as grief gets a hold of his heart and gives it a good squeeze.

“Yeah, he would have.” Eva sobers up and drops the mask completely. The dark-haired woman gives him a genuine look of sympathy and a comforting hand on his arm.

He doesn’t flinch away as she expected.

“Do you think I’d be able to get the hag eying the little boy with my good looks?” he asks not hiding his disgust at the woman harassing 15-year-old Finnick all evening.

“You don’t have to, Jack.” Eva points out wondering if Laurie’s protective nature was something he and Jack shared too.

“We’re all trapped in this hell together, Evie. Besides Laurie would do the same if he was here.” Jack steels himself and offers her his arm as they scare the vultures off the youngest victor in known history.

It was never in his plans to seek her out.

Jack had promised himself to ignore her and do his job and yet he’s here sharing a cigarette after his first taste of the true burdens of being a victor.

He's practically raw from the scrubbing and essentially trying to power wash the sensation of shame and disgust he’s felt since he spoke to the old bat.

“Luca is not so bad, actually. He’s very possessive about his toys which keeps me off the table these past years.” Eva sports a gaudy and pricy diamond chocker she’s referring to as a dog collar and seems to have gotten past the initial stages of this new life.

Her strategy at the arena has worked here too, everyone knew what Changretta was capable of and even Snow seemed to fear his displeasure. No one dared to make a move on the sexy district 10 mentor even when he wasn’t around.

“I’m sorry I called you a whore.” Jack apologized for his initial assumption. Never in his life had he considered there is a punishment for winning the games. Well aside from the trauma that comes from being a tribute and then the kin of one.

“Whore, murderer, pet. Doesn’t faze me anymore, Jackie darling” she says imitating the grating voice the woman had after they succeeded in prying her off the boy. “But thanks anyways.”

She is nice underneath the mask she wears around the Capitol people; he has to admit. No longer the fragile shell of a girl he met during the victory tour, but still broken like all of them are.

“My real talent is woodwork, actually. Built myself a whole cabin in the woods with all the amenities.” Jack doesn’t know why he shares that with her when everyone else is told he likes hiking. “I also fix up cars for the hell of it now that I’m done.”

She smiles, “I make medicine, learned midwifery and bribed a medic to teach me the rest I didn’t know. I don’t like sitting still either.”

They were more than just pretty Capitol slaves; he thinks bitterly as he took a drag of her fancy cigarette before giving it back to her. These were hard to come by even in Two, and Eva was given all the contraband her heart asked for as long as she played the whore for her protector.

“Allies?” He asks knowing Eva won’t stab him in the back, in this arena at least.

“Allies.” Eva agrees, taking back her cigarette and adding quietly as if to herself, “You fix things, I fix people. Quite a team we make.”

Somehow, he finds himself in bed with her on the fifth night of the games.

She killed his brother, he tried to kill her and yet when Luca nuzzled and kissed Eva like he owned her, Jack wanted nothing more than to square up with the mobster.

So he waited to corner Eva at the elevator and kissed her like he wanted her. He did, in a fucked up way he wanted her, he had to admit.

“He will kill you.” Eva warns but doesn’t push him away. She wants him too. “He doesn’t like sharing his whores.”

“You’re not a whore, you’re not his, Evie.” Jack wasn’t afraid of Luca and tore off the diamonds from her neck to prove it.

It was worth the risk he thinks, see how far Luca’s power truly extends. He can’t kill a victor, especially one so publically adored like either of them.

“Jealousy is a good color on you, Jack.” She chuckles and kisses him back as hungry as he is for her.

There are no rules about fraternizing with a fellow mentor and even if there were neither care about following them.

Eva’s tribute is the only one to survive an arena event and becomes the winner of the 66th Hunger Games.

“See you in November.” He says as he kisses her goodbye.

What a pair they make, the victor who’s brother died in the games and the victor who killed him.

[amazingabby300]

Random Ohio head-cannons / thoughts

Jessica buys the book Fourth Wing and instantly fell in love. Then buys the second book Iron Flame.

Remy and Tommy cosplay Marvel and Star Wars on their channel. Tommy will do Peter Parker Spider-Man and Remy will dress up as Miles Morales Spider-Man. Drew will dress up as Harry Osborn. Mel will be Spider-Gwen. Jessica dresses up as Mary Jane. Caroline dresses up as Peni Parker. Meredith is Spider-Noir.

Tommy gets into NASCAR and Formula One (European Motorsports) and watches it every Sunday. Decks his room out in Motorsports stuff.

Caroline tries to get the whole Spectrum 7 club to go to the Renaissance Fair and all of them come in different costumes. Jessica would instantly go up to a both selling mini dragons that would rap around her hand. Meredith would fact check every building and if it was from the Renaissance period. Tommy and Jessica found the fake sword both and bought two and had a fake sword fight and Jessica wins. Tommy “fake dies” and Jessica carries him in her arms and will avenge his death. Remy gets face paint down of a butterfly on their face and buys stuff for their cosplay channel. Mel starts quoting Shakespeare stuff. Mel and Remy get an idea for Drew and Meredith to reenact Romeo and Juliet. They get Caroline in there plan as well and she imagines Meredith on Juliet’s balcony and Drew is down below.

Drew - It is my lady, O, it is my love!

O, that she knew she were!

She speaks, yet she says nothing. What of that?

Her eye discourses; I will answer it.

I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks.

Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,

Having some business, do entreat her eyes

To twinkle in their spheres till they return.

What if her eyes were there, they in her head?

The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars,

As daylight doth a lamp. Her eye in heaven

Would, through the airy region, stream so bright

That birds would sing and think it were not night.

See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand.

O, that I were a glove upon that hand,

That I might touch that cheek!

Meredith - Me!

Drew - She speaks.

O, speak again, bright angel, for thou art

As glorious to this night, being o'er my head,

As is a wingèd messenger of heaven

Unto the white upturnèd wond'ring eyes

Of mortals that fall back to gaze on him

When he bestrides the lazy puffing clouds

And sails upon the bosom of the air.

Meredith - O Drew, Drew! Wherefore art thou Drew?

Deny thy father and refuse thy name;

Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,

And I'll no longer be a Capulet.

[bunnyramen]

Tw/Death/Talk of Self Sacrifice

Despite all he’d done, fighting himself, fighting the spot, jumping from dimension to dimension, they still couldn’t save his dad in time.

The kicker was that an hour before him, Rio had come in contact with a patient that had a venom symbiote. While police were shooting to kill the alien that was destroying the hospital, a bullet ricocheted and hit his mother.

It severed an artery in her arm, and she bled out before anyone could get to her.

When he came back, he was met with family members and police telling him the news.

He was never ok with losing his Dad and he never will be ok with it. But losing his mom on the same day, it was too much for him.

So, as Miles watched both of his parents lowered into the earth, no tears could come out.

Flowers upon flowers were laid on both of their graves by Rio’s side of the family, candles, and favors peppered the recently laid dirt.

Everybody was waiting for the other shoe to drop as they watched Miles watch his parents be laid to rest.

Miguel couldn’t say anything to him, and if Miles could think, he’d tell him to never show his face to him ever again.

He doesn’t know why he bothered to show up.

His friends set their versions of objects on their graves, which Miles half appreciated.

Peter B brought a Puerto Rican flag for Rio and a pair of sunglasses for Jefferson.

Peni laid out a mechanical piece shaped like a heart.

Spider Noir had a bouquet of gray roses while SpiderHam brought goofy gag glasses.

(His universe didn’t have much that wasn’t hilarious since people don’t die traditionally)

Hobie, who had worn different color shoelaces out of respect for Miles, put down a candle with one of his lucky guitar strings wrapped around.

Pav brought a small statue that sat between their graves.

Gwen gave them one of her favorite drumsticks and a picture of Miles she had taken.

Margo couldn’t bring anything since she wasn’t there, but she did give him a side hug.

Ganke bowed twice to his mother and father, and once to him.

People tried talking to him, sobbing family and friends from all over the city and even further comforting him, his comrades trying to give their best condolences, but he really couldn’t care less about all that right now.

He tore off the tie he had hastily knotted and failed at doing so because he couldn’t quite remember the way Dad showed him because he was.. numb.

His fingers were numb as threw his tie on the ground.

His head was numb to thoughts that weren’t his parents.

Maybe a glitch will come and undo all this as if it had never happened.

But the multiverse was fixed for the most part.

The probability of things like that happening...

..Zero to none.

He wanted to scream.

What hurt most than being an orphan in just one hour, was that he never got the chance to say he loved them one last time.

He touches his freckled cheeks, the ones his mother gave him, as he breathed a heavy sigh through the lips he got from his father.

Miles plopped down between their two graves, being careful of the stuff people had laid down.

“I never got to tell you guys the biggest secret of them all.” He whispered, “I’m Spider-Man.”

At first, something bubbled in his gut. A warm feeling of.. laughter.

It started as a scoff that led to a chuckle, then a full-bodied laugh came over as he fell backward in tears.

“The biggest fucking thing I was worried about was you abandoning me because of that, and I guess it came true!” Hot globs of anguish flowed down his cheeks, as his laugh grew manic and loud.

He didn’t stop until someone stood over him.

“Miles, you’re hysterical. You need to take a deep breath.” Miguel reached a hand out to try and pick him up, but Miles grabbed his wrist.

With all his Spider-Man strength, he squeezed it and as he looked up into the eyes devoid of much emotion, he had a single thought as his mouth abruptly clamped shut to end his howls.

“It should’ve been you.” He didn’t dare voice it even if at that moment, he wish it would happen just for a second.

He didn’t voice that very real expression of anger, but he did say something a little less harsh.

“I’m allowed to be whatever the fuck I want to be right now.” He lets go of Miguel’s wrist, letting his hand fall limp on the grass.

He didn’t even feel like laughing anymore, just laying there lax, his eyes taking in the oddly clear blue day. If he thought hard enough, this is what it would feel like to be dead.

But there’s no light in a deadman’s eyes, only darkness.

So he closed his own.

He briefly wondered what his Uncle saw right before he died.

If anyone tried to save his mom as she felt her organs shut down from the lack of blood.

What his dad thought about right before that fatal shot to the head.

After a few moments, someone picked him up as they sat on the grass near his body, putting his head in their lap.

He could smell who it was before he opened his eyes, Tía Daniela always smelled like fresh-cut roses.

It didn’t help that she looked so similar to her big sister, just a little more soft and huggable. Even with that, he could still see his mom.

“Let it out, mi amol.” She put a warm hand on his chest, his heart thudding against his sternum, trying to get out from whatever he was keeping in.

He took a sharp, stuttering breath as he sobbed loudly into her skirt, gripping the fabric between his sticky hands. She cradled him against her as if shielding him away from everything.

He didn’t care if all of Brooklyn heard him, he didn’t give a single, solitary shit.

He hoped he was loud enough to wake the dead.

Miles cried until his chest felt it would cave in, something sitting heavy in his chest that wouldn’t get up no matter how much he begged.

“I want.. I want them back. I’d give up my own life just for that to be.”

Daniela cupped his cheek with one manicured hand, “Don’t you dare say that, boy. You know your parents would say the same if you took their place.”

Even in the face of her grief, losing one of her big sisters, here she was comforting Miles.

She appreciated her so much, more than he could voice at the moment.

“We’re gonna take care of you, I promise you that. You’re one of our babies.” She smiled down at him with tears in her eyes, “Oh, I wish I could take this pain away from you.”

Somewhere in between her saying that, and some other family members coming over, he must’ve fallen asleep.

That must’ve been what happened or else he wouldn’t have woken up.. wherever he is.

He’s sure as hell not home or with family, no matter how cozy the bed feels or how comforting the decor is, he doesn’t know where he’s been taken.

His wrists were empty of his webs.

And he wasn’t wearing the suit from the funeral.

Shit.

Hearing voices downstairs, he decided to start there. Miles turned on his invisible, planning to get the jump on whoever it was that kidnapped him.

Who the hell kidnaps a kid at their parent's funeral anyways?

They’ve gotta be sick.

His shoeless feet allowed him to walk on the wall of the stairs, stepping over what looked like family photos.

The voices became clearer as he was in clear view of the living room next to the stairs.

“Don’t you think someone should’ve stayed with him so he doesn’t freak out?”

That was Hobie’s voice.

“Why would he freak out?”

Miguel. (He was still feeling conflicted about talking to him.)

“Oh I don’t know, imagine waking up in a house you’ve never been in, undressed by unknown people plus finding that his webs are stolen.”

“I should go check on him.”

Tía Daniela is here too? But.. that would mean...

He stood on the stairs, looking over the railing, everyone sitting on homey-looking couches. He looked back at the photos he stepped over, they were mostly of Mayday.

Must be Peter and MJ’s house.

Speaking of which, the little girl seemingly looked up at him and pointed. Everybody brought their gaze to where she was giggling and staring, and Miles decided there was no point in hiding.

He uncloaked himself, everybody gained that same pitied look people gave him when his Uncle Aaron had passed.

Except for Hobie, but he didn’t mind. He just had a natural resting bitch face.

“Miles, hey buddy..” Peter was beckoning him to come down with a few swings of his hand.

“Are you feeling hungry?” Mj asked as she made a space on the couch between Daniela and herself for him.

Miles shook his head, “How’d I even get here? What did you tell my Tía?”

“I carried you here through a portal.” Daniela explained, “Peter told me.. everything. He trusted me with such a secret and I’m very grateful. I’m able to better understand what’s going on, even if I don’t quite get what it means to be Spider-Man or ‘canon events’.”

“We brought you here because bringing you to your actual apartment would’ve been too much. Were we wrong about that?” Peni asked, Miles nodded wordlessly.

“Sorry that your folks answered the last roll call, kid. “ Spider-Noir’s wording for their death nearly made him chuckle.

Miles shrugged, not having a clue what to say.

“I know you must not know what to do now, man.” Ganke adjusted his glasses, “My parents would be happy to have you as their kid.”

Miles half smiled, “Thanks, dude.”

“You could come live with one of us. You know any of your family members would be more than happy to take you, Papi.” Daniela wrapped an arm around his shoulder, kissing his forehead.

He was filled with gratitude that everyone was opening their homes up to him, however.. he wished so badly that he could go home to his parents.

Make his dad stand still for a sketch or help Mami with cooking.

But that wasn’t possible now, not in this lifetime at least.

“Actually, and smack me if this crazy-“ Peter felt a tiny smack from Mayday, who he playfully pouted at, “-you could always stay here with us. This is just a suggestion. You’d be able to still go to school, and of course, visit family and friends in Brooklyn anytime. I know you’re in a tough position, and I’d never ask you to make a choice now but-“

“I’ll have to think about it. I’m still pretty.. tired and it just feels.. so strange.”

“Of course, Miles. You got all the time in the world.” Daniela hugged him close.

—-

I only wrote this much but I’m conflicted on who he should stay with. Any ideas?

[separatist-apologist]

Young Gods

If there's a light at the end, it's just the sun in your eyes

Summary: When invaders come to Elain's shores, she's certain it means death.

Taken to a foreign land, Elain finds herself a princess of a people she barely understands and married to a man she's not sure she can trust. But Elain will need more than her wits if she wants to survive.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Read on AO3

Elain woke alone. The door to the bed chamber had been pulled open and when she stood and peered out into the drawing room, Lucien was gone. Elain shooed away servants uncomfortably, too used to dressing herself. She didn’t trust anything about this set up—he’d, what, decided to elevate her to a princess and that was it? Surely Lucien expected something in return, and Elain was trying to minimize what she took in order to not have to give him as much.

She dressed in a pale pink dress, with pretty cape sleeves that fluttered in the warm breeze. She pulled her own hair off her face neatly using the same pearl pins from the day before, and she ate what had been left out for her because she was starving.

It was fare like she’d never seen—trays of food, more than she could ever eat. So used to having just enough, Elain didn’t know what to make of the excess. She decided to try everything that seemed unfamiliar, and found herself with a plate of eggs and tomatoes drizzled in some sort of chili oil, bread spiced with things she didn’t know even existed, and fruit she’d never seen in her life. 

Elain left what she was unable to finish on the platters to explore. There were no locked doors and no guards. No one tried to stop her, even when they passed her in the halls, though she did garner curious looks from other members of Helion's expansive court. Elain wanted to explore almost as much as she wanted to track down Vassa and Arina and make sure they were alright.

Without Lucien—or anyone, given she’d chased off the servants—Elain was forced to figure this out on her own. 

That was perfectly fine with her. She didn’t want the sanitized, guided tour she was certain she would have gotten had she let Lucien stiffly walk her around. Elain made her way from the southern wing of the palace, creeping closer into the interior where she found an indoor swimming pool and large baths that, apparently, people used utterly naked. She saw her first penis that way, wholly by accident when she just strolled in and found an older gentleman standing just on the other side, naked as the day he was born. Elain might have laughed—stolen from her new husband, who surely meant to impress her with whatever was housed between his own legs. Elain found it rather underwhelming given the way men were always going on and on about their sex appendages. Was that the metaphorical sword they spoke of?

Suddenly, her marriage night did not seem so terrifying. Suddenly, Elain understood why the apothecaries wife told her to just lie back and go somewhere else. It was rather easy to ignore, then. 

She was given time to study the art, the architecture, and the people though she tried not to be obvious about it. It seemed Helion's court favored bright, breezy colors and everything seemed to be lined in gold. Gold thread, gold carvings, even the yellow sun was edged with it. 

Elain found Arina in the library. She’d heard of such places—where books were housed solely for entertainment and pleasure—but she’d never actually seen one. It took up the majority of the east wing and all five stories of the palace itself. Elain was stunned, craning her neck to look at the rows upon rows of books that spiraled toward the heavens.

She didn’t notice Arina, tucked in a chair, until she all but tripped over her. Arina looked up, draped in the loveliest gown of blue. Her hair was unbound and she looked well rested. 

Safe.

Unharmed. 

They blinked at each other, unsure what to say. They’d been friends on that ship, bonded by their shared fears but now Arina felt like a stranger to Elain. What did she say?

“How was your night?” Arina whispered apprehensively. Elain nodded. 

“It was…” if she said it was uneventful, would Arina tell Eris, who might tell their father? “Fine.”

Arina’s eyes glazed. “Mine too. Have you seen Vassa?”

“No.”

But Elain had no idea where Vassa had been sent to—who she’d been given to. Elain could guess, though. She recalled Jurian and how he’d been so, so careful around her. Nodding his head with what could only be described as respect and offering her the nicest things he had to offer before passing it out to the rest of them. 

Assuming he’d been allowed. Arne had wanted someone, too—and now he was dead. Elain forced the image of his bouncing head from her mind, swaying slightly on her feet. Suddenly, the food she’d eaten made her feel sick. 

“Let’s find her,” Arina decided, snapping her book shut. 

“How?”

Arina only offered Elain a determined sideways glance, her green eyes blazing. She looked as if she meant to cause problems—and when she pulled out a little, hand drawn map, Elain knew she’d been right. Somewhere to the side was a little square labeled ass, which she assumed meant Eris. 

She was suddenly unsure of herself. Had Eris been cruel? Lucien had merely left her alone, and as far as Elain could tell, he intended to continue doing so. 

Why even ask for her? 

Elain chose not to examine that. She suspected Lucien was merely biding his time and one day she’d find all his good will had run out. She needed to take what she could get for as long as she could, and perhaps find little things to humanize the monster who had thrown her over his shoulders and dragged her back to his home only to make her his wife.

They marched upwards, toward the bedroom Elain was trying to forget, to the man Arina was now trapped with. He was lounging in a high-backed leather chair staring at a piece of paper in his hand like it was the most disgusting thing he’d ever seen. When Arina slammed her palm against the wood and flung open the door, Eris seemed almost relieved by the intrusion.

Almost.

His eyes narrowed when Arina strolled in, already queen of the domain. “Light of my life,” Eris began dryly, dropping the paper so it fluttered to the desk. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your presence?”

“Where is Vassa?”

He leaned forward, steepling his fingers against his lips. What had happened between them? Eris was watching her with an intensity that seemed out of place, while Arina’s tense, taut body looked ready for a fight. 

“Have you considered, my treasure, that she is hiding from you?”

Arina’s fingers curled to fists. “I’m serious.”

“As am I, sweet princess. Have you asked my charming brother? It was his friend who ended up with her, after all.”

All eyes slid to Elain. With burning cheeks, she was forced to admit, “I uh…don’t know where he is.”

Eris chuckled. “Young love. Remember when that was us?”

“I will kill you,” she whispered.

“Try the training yard,” Eris offered, winking at his wife. “I’m sure you’ll find my wayward brother and all his friends out there, working hard to maintain his reputation as scourge of the seas.”

It was all a joke to him. Their predicament amused him. Arina looked as if she were restraining herself by the barest of threads, and Elain again wondered how their night had gone. She didn’t think Eris had gotten close enough to touch her. 

They both turned, leaving as Eris called, “What, no goodbye kiss for your husban—” Arina slammed the door loudly.

“I hate him,” she hissed, blinking so rapidly Elain suspected she was doing her best not to cry. “I hate him so much.”

Elain reached for Arina’s hand, squeezing it gently. They said nothing as they wound their way back through the palace using Arina’s makeshift map, stopping only to add new places. Elain was grateful for the outdoors and the warmth—the air was clean and smelled a little like Lucien. Warm and sunlit and salty. She was nervous as they wound their way through the courtyard, ignoring the path toward what seemed like a sprawling garden or the sparkling pool that sat currently empty. Were they allowed to use it? How much freedom did they truly have? No one stopped them as they tramped through the grass toward the fenced-in training ring, nor did anyone care as they approached the shirtless men swinging swords. It took Elain a moment to realize it was Lucien who was swinging the sword, and it was Lucien’s bronzed, muscled chest drenched in sweat. 

Eris had called him the scourge of the seas. She watched him leap from the ground, kicking off the solid ground with his powerful thighs, to bring his sword hammering down on the other warrior's shield. He looked terrifying with his red hair braided from his face, and the intensity focused in his gaze. 

Some of the onlookers noticed her and Arina before Lucien.

“Commander,” someone grunted, and all at once Lucien’s eyes were on her. She’d never seen a half naked man before. So much of Lucien’s skin was on display. His carved pectorals and his chiseled stomach, glistening beneath the warm sun. A trail of copper hair vanished into the waistband of his skirted leathers, drawing her eyes to the vee of muscles just over his hips. His biceps flexed and bulged beneath the strain of lifting his sword, and as he walked to her, the flaps of his skirt shifted, revealing long, powerful legs that could surely outrun her. He was nothing like his leaner brother, and just as tall. It made him seem more imposing, more terrifying. She shrank bank beneath his gaze, uncertain if she wanted to be the sole focus of his attention. Why had he wanted her? What did he gain? 

He cocked his head. There was no cutting, sarcastic words thrown at her. Only his raised eyebrows, one of which carried a scarred slash from her own knife. “Are you well?” he asked.

Arina blinked. “Um,” she began when it became clear Elain was not going to speak. “We were hoping you knew where Vassa is?”

He turned to look behind him. Elain hadn’t realized it was Jurian holding the shield. He, too, was shirtless and creeping closer with obvious curiosity. “They’re looking for your wife,” Lucien said, his amusement plain.

Both Elain and Arina cringed. Jurian, though, looked pleased. His cheeks flushed even as he said gruffly, “I left her in our chambers.”

“Where, exactly?” Arina asked politely. Jurian explained the route while Lucien, arms braced against the fence posts, watched as Arina marked it on her map. They both sketched polite bows before attempting to flee. Elain was desperate to leave him, certain he had noticed the way she kept raking her eyes up and down his form. It wasn’t him…it was just the novelty of seeing a man so close. She’d seen a lot of men that day—and her gaze kept dipping to that trail of hair as she thought of the man from the sauna. 

“Elain,” he called from behind. She heard a loud thud and when she turned, she realized Lucien had hopped the fence so he could walk to her. Elain could only think of how large he was in comparison to herself, and how he’d left her alone in their bed the night before. 

“Have dinner with me this evening?” he asked, dropping his voice so only she would hear.

Did she have a choice? He was asking like she did.

“Of course, my lord,” Elain began. A muscle in Lucien’s jaw ticked.

“Just Lucien,” he told her, raising his hand. She knew he hadn’t meant to hit her, and still she skittered back at the thought of him touching her.

Lucien dropped his hand as though he’d been burned. 

“I’ll have dinner with you…Lucien…” she whispered, her heart racing. He nodded, dipping his head in a sketch of a bow before turning. Elain watched him go, fascinated by the shift and pull of the muscles in his back—and how much she liked the sight of him. It was a strange contrast, her fear and her interest. 

“Come on,” Arina said, tugging Elain’s wrist. “Ogle the prince another day.” I’m not–I wasn’t—” she protested, but it was no use. 

Arina knew. Elain knew.

So long as Lucien didn’t, she was safe.

ARINA:

They found Vassa napping on the balcony of her bedroom. Of the three of them, she seemed the most laid back about her circumstances—and the most willing to share.

“He didn’t touch me,” she said, bouncing on her heels when they were back in the halls. “I think he wants permission.” Arina’s face darkened at that. Had Eris not done the same? Elain didn’t want her to feel bad, and so she didn’t tell Vassa Lucien had employed similar methods so Arina wouldn’t feel as though her circumstances were so bleak. 

“Are you enjoying it?” Elain questioned. She hadn’t known of Vassa—who was nobility, much like Arina—before their lives became so upside down. Vassa, dressed in a rich green, shrugged her bronzed shoulders. 

“I don’t know what to make of this. I asked Jurian why they’d brought women here for marriage and he wouldn’t say. I’m certain there is a reason, though. It would have been far easier to make us bedroom slaves.”

“I’ve noticed there are very few women here,” Arina added, turning toward the courtyard again. “Maybe Eris could explain.”

“Would it matter?” Elain asked, feeling a little despondent. “It’s not as if we can leave.”

Arina’s lips thinned. She’d seen the way Elain had studied Lucien and she didn’t think she liked it. All Arina had going for her was Elain’s fear. Lucien was well over six feet tall and built like a warrior of old. His presence was imposing compared to Graysen, who Elain had hoped to marry.

How long before it became soothing? Comforting? Before Lucien figured out what buttons to press and Elain curled up in his lap like a little house cat? Of the three of them, Arina was willing to bet Elain’s life had been the most difficult. Lucien had made her a princess.

And Vassa had been made, what? A General's wife? She needed a new plan, one that bonded them and painted their new masters in an appropriately terrible light before they could be wooed.

At least, that had been her plan. She’d walked them to the pool, intending to spend the day in the water, reminding both Elain and Vassa of what freedom truly was…when Eris came strolling around, hands in his pockets.

He saw her moments after she saw him. A delighted smile curled over his stupid, handsome face. She hated that some part of her was attracted to him—that somehow, she’d been paired with the exact right man, despite his grating, obnoxious, arrogant personality. 

“My beautiful wife,” he crooned, his eyes sweeping over the glittering, cerulean water just begging to be swam in. He was going to deprive her. “Do you have a suit?”

All three of them paused. “A what?” Elain finally managed when it was clear no one was going to speak to him.

He chuckled, and in his own language, murmured, “Pretty little barbarians.”

He knew she understood him. Arina narrowed her eyes to slits. Was that what he thought of them? Both Elain and Vassa’s gazes turned to her. 

“Are we the barbarians?” she sneered, doing exactly what he wanted her to and picking a fight. 

“No running water, barely any manners and now I find my wife about to swim in her fine clothes or worse. Were you going to swim naked?” Eris inched closer, clearly amused. 

She had planned to swim in her clothes, which ordinarily would not have filled her with shame. Women weren’t supposed to swim, or, that’s what Arina had always been told. Eris was mocking her for it now. She clenched her fists as he approached, swaggering with each step. 

“I might join you, if you did,” he continued, his eyes raking down her body with exaggeration. “You might like it, too—” Arina had never hated anyone more than she hated him. He was the embodiment of every terrible man in her life. Her father, her uncle…her husband. Arina shoved him hard in the chest, not thinking of what would happen as consequence. She only wanted him to feel an inkling of her own hurt, her own rage. Every emotion she swallowed because she couldn’t appear weak. 

Eris stumbled and then fell backward into the calm water with a loud splash. No one moved, frozen as the heir apparent toppled, clothes and all, and sank below the surface. Eris was graceful, his boot kicking off the tiled bottom before he emerged with those glittering amber eyes.

“Arina,” he warned. It was enough to send her spinning on her heel. She didn’t know where she was running to, nor did Arina realize she was crying until Eris’s wet hands were on her body.

“Don’t touch me!” she screamed, slapping at him, for all the good it did. She was sure she’d pay for his moment later, given she was currently making a scene in the middle of his court as his wife, which was surely to be embarrassing to him. Eris said nothing, though he did haul her up into his arms with a clenched jaw. He ignored the way her limbs flailed or how she repeatedly struck him—if she hurt him, he gave no indication. Eris merely walked her back to their shared bed chamber with the straightest spine she’d ever witnessed.

She might have respected him if she hadn’t hated him so much. Eris dropped her on their bed, still screaming. Water dipped from his hair and his fine clothes were stuck to him like a second skin. Eris said nothing, letting her rage and sob until there was almost nothing left. 

“You want to go home?” he finally asked, his chest rising and falling as though he’d run a marathon. “Back to that shithole country you’re  from—”

“At least it was mine!” she snarled, crawling to the end of the bed. She intended to climb off and throw something at him, but Eris was quicker. Hand wrapped around the bedpost, Eris crowded her space. 

“Fine,” he all but whispered, his eyes searching her face. “I’ll send you back tomorrow. Go home, Arina. I’m sure the execution you’re facing is more preferable to the freedom I’m offering you–”

“Is this freedom?” she demanded. “Carried onto a ship and informed I was newly married—is that your idea of freedom?”

Eris didn’t take his eyes off her. “Do you believe for one moment that I woke up one day and decided I’d rather wed a stranger? Do you think there wasn’t one woman at court I might have preferred?”

“You weren’t hauled out of your bed—”

“You murdered your fucking father, Arina!” he spat in his own language, his control slipping. “If it wasn’t me hauling you out of bed, it would have been the hangman or worse! Do you think this marriage is so bad that you’d go running back to your uncle? When I would put an army between his pathetic claim for your crown?”

She was shaking.

“Your options were bleak—pathetic. I am offering you everything and you…” he seemed to come back to himself at that moment. As if he’d realized he’d spoken out of turn. She wished he’d just say everything he was thinking. “You’ll drag your friends down with you. Poor little Elain is a princess now. What was she in your little village?”

Arina looked away with some shame. She didn’t know. She almost didn’t care, despite how Elain had spent a week tending to her wounds. Elain, who might have avoided all of this if she hadn’t stopped for Arina. 

Arina sat back on the bed, drawing her knees up to her chest. “So what, then? I just…”

“Swim,” Eris said after a thick moment of silence. “Or whatever it is you care about.”

There was a question in his voice, one she knew he wanted her to answer. What do you care about? 

She didn’t know. Gods, but all Arina had was her fight. Every moment of her life had been plotting and careful maneuvering and if that didn’t work, a moment of heedless, impulsive action that ruined everything. Like killing her father.

Like sitting on the bed before a man she didn’t know and letting him convince her she ought to just give in. 

What she did know was that for a few moments that morning, stumbling into the library and finding books on something other than female piety and the oppressive religions from back home had made her feel good. She’d given up on her plan to map out the palace in order to read, and might have continued to do so all day, had Elain not shown up. 

She didn’t want to tell him that. Eris had been mocking her all day. What if he, too, only wanted his wife to read about motherhood? She remained silent until he heaved a sigh.

“Right. Well—if you need to rage, I would prefer if you kept it confined to these four walls. My court doesn’t need to know how much their future queen hates her new home.”

“Why, Eris?”

“Bad for morale—”

“No, why are we here? Where are all of the women?”

Eris only stared. “If you want to swim, you’ll need a swimsuit. I’ll see you and your friends get one.”

He strode for the closet, clearly unwilling to explain why. Perhaps he didn’t think she’d care or that it would matter. Arina didn’t move until Eris was back behind the doors of the bathing chamber to change, strangely grateful he wasn’t going to make her watch him. She didn’t want  to get caught ogling him like Elain had. Eris wouldn’t pretend he hadn’t noticed like Lucien had. He lacked all of his younger brother’s good manners. 

Arina was off again, though this time she didn’t go looking for Elain and Vassa. She didn’t need the map hidden in her pocket to find the library. Arina had committed that to memory. She didn’t dare look at the people passing her and hoped they hadn’t seen her spectacle. 

It was only when the smell of ink on parchment invaded her senses, and the mingling of leather binding and dust motes illuminated in sunlight filled her vision that Arina settled. Calmed. The urge to scream, to sob, to do anything but walk up the curved stairs slipped away. Instead of raging, Arina began cataloging in her mind where things lived. Histories and fiction, romance and war. She’d never seen so many topics and genres, sub genres and books on focuses so narrow she wondered who had even written them at all. Her fingers trembled when she tried to reach for one–not fear, but the memory of birch snapping against her knuckles when she’d sneak into her father’s private library at night.

It was so ingrained in her that the muscle memory remained. She had no right to touch these books, even if it was only to run her finger along the spine. It took her hours to convince herself no one would come barreling around the corner, to remind herself she’d already had a book once, even if it had been on religion.

She chose an epic poem with a dry throat. Hidden at the very top of the library, in a chair at the very back of the stacks. No one was up there with her. No one witnessed how hard she breathed as she opened the heavy, silver leaf cover or how Arina dragged her finger pads over the looping script of the title.

She stayed up there, going through each page line by line as though it were something to savor. It occurred to her, around page eight or so, that this was a story she’d heard once. Perhaps her mother, though Arina remembered very little of her. 

She didn’t notice Eris until she smelled the heady, masculine scent of him. Framed by the dying light of day, he truly did look like a prince. And for once, there was no mockery on his face. She wondered if their altercation that morning had sombered him a little. She could only see half of him before the sunlight swallowed him whole, leaving him a glowing, shining thing. 

“What did you find?” he asked in a voice that seemed so at odds with the man who’d yelled at her earlier.

She was too afraid to say, and so Arina nervously closed the cover so he could read the spine. Eris dipped beneath the high beam of light to sit on the edge of her chair. He pulled it from her hands gently, flipping the pages open irreverently. 

“When you get here,” he began, dog-earring a page casually, “you’ll have reached my favorite part.”

He handed her back the book, unaware of how much that small gesture made her heart race. 

He didn’t care. 

“I’m told my wayward brother is dining alone with his wife and it occurred to me that perhaps we ah…” he trailed off, pink crawling up the column of his throat. “We should get to know each other.”

“Oh.” It was all she could imagine, given she still held that book in her hands. 

He didn’t care.

Arina cleared her throat as Eris stood, obviously waiting for her to follow him. “I can be in here?”

“At least I know where you are,” he replied flippantly. Arina almost told him why she asked—what she really wanted to know, but if he wasn’t explicitly telling her she wasn’t allowed, then why would she give him the opportunity to? 

So she stood, intending to put the book back before Eris, watching her meandering toward one of the stacks, said, “Why not just keep it? It’ll give you something to do in bed.”

There was no malice in his voice. She held it closer to her chest and followed him down the stairs. Where she could avoid people’s looks of curiosity, Eris could not. They all bowed their heads in a show of respect that didn’t feel forced. Arina detected no fear, and more than once she saw respect. 

She wondered which of the women they passed that he’d preferred. She wanted to know too much about him—why people looked at him the way they did when no one had ever looked at her father with anything but fear. Eris seemed unphased by it, but nothing made sense to her. 

He thought her people the barbarians, despite sending his brother to kidnap her. 

They went right back to their shared bedchamber, pausing in the drawing room so she could run into the bedroom and toss the book inside. He’d set up dinner on the balcony overlooking the city and if Arina didn’t know any better, she would have thought he was trying to court her. 

Eris gestured for her to sit, having pulled out her chair like an actual gentleman. She narrowed her eyes.

“I’m not sleeping with you tonight.”

“Sun and stars, Arina,” he swore as he sat across from her. “Not everything revolves around my cock.”

Though, the way he arched his brow, Arina wasn’t sure she believed him. She was certain if she began peeling off her clothes and invited him to climb into bed with her, Eris would have gladly agreed.

“Then what is all this for?” “To convince you I’m not the bastard you think I am,” Eris replied. She almost felt bad—apparently, her words had struck him. “I would like it if my wife felt like she could trust me.”

“Maybe you should have sent a letter,” she said loftily, reaching for a little porcelain pot of tea.

There was a very tense pause. “I did send letters. Many letters,” he added, his hands folded carefully in his lap. A warm breeze ruffled his immaculately styled hair and in the shade of the overhead awning, it was impossible to avoid the intensity in his amber eyes. 

Arina had never been told any man had ever inquired after her. Except, she supposed, her uncle. 

“I’m sure he didn’t want our lands in your hands,” she said, unsure why she was defending her father. 

Eris began pulling apart a roll of bread. “Do you believe that?”

“Yes,” she said after a moment of thought. “I do think that.”

He nodded, turning to look outward at the still bustling city. “I came to visit you—two years ago. Your father invited me.”

“People came to visit all the time,” she dismissed, unsure she liked where he was going with this. Guilt was rising in her throat again. 

“I assumed I’d be allowed to see you,” he continued. Of course he wasn’t—her father kept her hidden away from everyone. Locked away behind those massive stone walls, she’d only ever managed a brief moment of freedom when she’d run. Look what that had gotten her. 

“My father and I assured him the crown would remain yours—you would be queen, and I your regent of your home. I would stay out of governing unless you asked for my assistance, and together we’d reunite your rather small, very poor home. And after, I went looking for you. I just…I wanted to see who I might end up married to.”

Her heart was pounding. 

“Well, perhaps it’s a good thing you didn’t–”

“You were in a tree,” Eris continued, ignoring her as if she hadn’t spoken. “In the courtyard, foot dangling.”

His eyes were back on her. Arina swore she wasn’t breathing.

“Did you send your brother after me?” she whispered.

Eris smiled. “I did.”

“Eris,” she whispered, but there was no remorse on his face. He began piling food on his plate, his expression utterly arrogant. 

“For two years I sent letters to you—which, I realize, you never received. I assumed you were upset at the arrangement. And for two years we sent aid and money and food to your shores under the assumption that one day, you and I would be married. And then, when we asked for assistance, the arrangement was terminated and I learned you were to marry your uncle.”

“Eris,” she repeated, for all the good it did. 

His eyes flicked back to her face. “Lucien was supposed to kill him, you know. Kill your father, declare you Queen, and bring you back to me.”

“This…” This is my fault. 

The suffering of her new friends, of every woman who’d been dragged away from everything they knew…it was all her fault. Because one man had seen her half hidden in a tree and decided right then and there he’d have her, regardless of the cost. 

“Imagine my delight to find you’d already done it,” Eris continued, unaware of the horror racing through her. Arina stood so abruptly her knees slammed into the bottom of the table, rattling the dishes he’d brought out. She couldn’t sit there with him.

“You…you’re a monster,” she finally managed, though if she was telling him or herself, Arina genuinely did not know. “I don’t want to see you tonight.”

“Arina!” he called as she retreated. “Arina!”

But Arina slammed the doors of the bedroom they were supposed to share, well aware he could burst in and force her to talk to him if he liked.

He never did. 

[royal-confessions]

“Having sex on your moms death anniversary? And they say Diana would be ashamed of her older son.” - Submitted by Anonymous

“I´ve read that Harry put his mother's favourite skin cream upon his frostbitten penis and when he was applying it, he felt like his mother was in the foom *verbatim*. Am I the only one to find this disturbing?  Perhaps we learn from a sequel book later that he admits to have put on some of Diana´s old gowns! It is ridiculous - how deep can a man sink?” - Submitted by Anonymous

“Harry, did you REALLY need to tell the world that A) you once had frostbite on your penis, B) that you used an Elizabeth Arden cream your mother favored on your frostbitten penis, and C) that the smell of it had you thinking about your mother WHILE you were putting it on your frostbitten penis? Why? Why was any of that information essential to tell your life story?” - Submitted by Anonymous