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onebadassunicorn · 2 months ago

Text

His Blue-Eyed Angel

pairing: Azriel x Reader

content warnings: it’s getting a little steamy in here…

word count: 3.1k

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

story tags: @bravo-delta-eccho, @tiredsleepyhead, @tele86, @celestialgilb

Image owned by Foxy Art.

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

Chapter 5

Azriel POV

The first time Azriel saw Y/n was when her wings unfurled for the first time in the sunlight on the beach of Summer Court. Azriel had endured countless battles, faced innumerable horrors, but nothing in his centuries of life had prepared him for this moment.

The training field was alive with the rhythmic clash of blades cutting through the crisp mountain air. He had been reviewing the recruits, his sharp gaze assessing every movement, every flaw.

Then he saw her.

She stood at the edge of the field, adjusting the straps of her leathers with quick, efficient movements, utterly unaware of the chaos she was about to wreak within him. Her long black hair, as dark and glossy as a raven’s wing, spilled over her shoulders in untamed waves. The sunlight glinted off her black feathered wings, each movement of them effortless, graceful, as though she had been born to dominate the skies.

And her eyes—Mother above, her eyes. They were the color of the ocean, an endless expanse of blue that seemed to hold storms and secrets, calm and fury all at once. When she glanced up, and he gripped the hilt of Truth-Teller to steady himself.

His heart thundered in his chest as he took her in. She was petite, but commanded attention in her fighting leathers, her frame lithe and strong, her tanned skin glowing with vitality. Everything about her was a contradiction—delicate yet powerful, serene yet fierce. She carried herself with an air of quiet defiance that made his throat tighten.

The faint rustle of her wings as they shifted sent a shiver through him—a sound he hadn’t realized he’d longed to hear until now. They were magnificent, those wings. Feathers darker than any shadow he could summon, their edges shimmering faintly in the dying light. They stretched wide, powerful yet graceful.

He stood there, words abandoning him at the sight of her in her leathers, walking towards the sparring ring and him, her wings stretching once before folding neatly behind her.

When she looked up at him and her eyes met his, and the world seemed to stop. Her gaze was piercing, steady, yet filled with a quiet kindness that made his chest tighten. The combination of her striking wings, her strong yet gentle stance, and the fierce determination in her expression made her look like something out of a dream. No—not a dream. An angel.

Azriel’s breath caught, his shadows curling protectively around his feet as if they, too, were captivated by her presence. He had always believed his shadows were his shield, his refuge from a world that had given him too much pain. But in that moment, they seemed to retreat, as if bowing to her light, her strength, her undeniable pull.

For the first time in his long life, Azriel, the Spymaster of the Night Court, the master of silence and shadows, found himself utterly undone.

“Are you ready for this?” Azriel asked, his voice low, a hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Y/n tilted her head, her lips curving into a faint, confident smile. “Let’s see what you’ve got, Spymaster,” she said, her tone teasing but challenging. She crouched slightly, ready to spring.

Azriel’s heart gave a small, unexpected jolt at her words. There was something about the way she looked at him—steady, unyielding, full of fire—that stirred something deep within him. He had sparred with countless warriors, many of them exceptional, but facing her was different. This wasn’t just a test of skill. This was her proving herself to him, and he could see the determination burning in her gaze.

He moved first, a calculated feint to draw her into his rhythm. She didn’t take the bait. Instead, she waited, watching him like a hawk, her stance fluid and prepared. Her restraint impressed him, her ability to read his movements reminding him that she wasn’t just skilled—she was smart.

He lunged, his dagger slicing through the air in a precise arc, but she sidestepped with ease, her wings snapping out to propel her into a counterstrike. He blocked it quickly, their weapons clashing with a sharp crack. Their movements became faster, sharper, the air between them charged with intensity.

Azriel found himself fully focused, every ounce of his attention on her. He noticed everything—the way her dark wings shifted subtly for balance, the way her blue eyes darkened as she narrowed her focus as she calculated her next move. She was beautiful, yes, but it was her strength, her determination, that truly captivated him.

She fought like someone who had been forged in fire, her strikes deliberate and powerful. When she feinted left and aimed a quick jab at his side, he barely managed to dodge, the tip of her dagger grazing his ribs. A flicker of pride swelled in his chest, but he pushed it aside, countering with a sweeping kick meant to take her off balance.

But Y/n anticipated it. She leaped gracefully over his leg, her wings giving her an extra burst of height. When she landed, she was already spinning, her dagger aimed for his side again. He blocked it, their weapons locked as they circled each other, the tension crackling between them like lightning.

“You’re better than I expected,” he said, his voice low, a hint of admiration slipping through.

“I know,” she shot back, her lips twitching into a grin.

Before he could respond, she moved. Quick as a flash, she stepped into his guard, her body brushing against his as she hooked her leg behind his knee and swept his feet out from under him. He hit the ground with a thud, his wings flaring slightly to absorb the impact. Before he could react, she was on him, straddling his waist, her wooden dagger pressed lightly but firmly against his throat.

The world seemed to pause. Azriel’s breath hitched as he stared up at her, his heart pounding for reasons that had nothing to do with their sparring. She was so close—those stormy colored eyes blazing with triumph, her chest rising and falling with exertion. Her dark hair hanging around them like a curtain, framing her flushed face and his, and her lips were slightly parted as she caught her breath.

His hazel eyes traced every detail, drinking her in. He noticed the faint sheen of sweat on her skin, the way her wings flared slightly behind her, giving her the appearance of a warrior angel. Her scent—soft and earthy, with a hint of salt—washed over him, grounding and intoxicating all at once.

“You’re not bad for a Spymaster,” she teased, her voice breathless but light.

Azriel’s lips twitched into a faint smirk, though his chest tightened with a mix of admiration and something deeper, something he wasn’t ready to name. “Not bad?” he murmured, his voice low. “I let you win.”

She arched an eyebrow, her grip on the dagger tightening slightly as she leaned closer, her hair brushing against his cheeks. “Oh, did you?” she asked, her tone playful but edged with challenge.

His hands itched to move, to brush the hair away from her face so he could pull her lips down to his or rest on her waist where they hovered hesitantly. But he didn’t. Instead, he held her gaze, letting his admiration—and pride—show in the way his hazel eyes softened.

“You’re incredible,” he said quietly, the sincerity in his voice making her blink. “You don’t need training, Y/n. You’re already one of the best I’ve ever seen.”

For a moment, she faltered, the teasing light in her eyes giving way to something more vulnerable. She straightened slightly, pulling the dagger away as she studied him. “Tarquin trained me,” she said softly, her voice steady but laced with meaning. “He made sure I could defend myself, no matter the cost.”

Azriel nodded, his hazel eyes never leaving hers. “He taught you well,” he said, his voice low and full of respect. “But what you have… it’s more than skill. It’s instinct. It’s heart.”

Her cheeks flushed, and she quickly climbed off him. As Y/n reached down to help Azriel to his feet, her hand clasped his with an undeniable firmness, her grip steady and sure. When she pulled him up, the motion brought their bodies closer than necessary – closer than Azriel had prepared for. The momentum carried them chest to chest, her dark wings brushing lightly against his as they came together. Her breathing was shallow, her chest rising and falling against him, and he could feel the tension radiating from her in waves.

The connection sent a jolt through him, his breath catching as her eyes, returning to a shade of azure-blue, locked onto his. She didn’t pull away. If anything, she seemed to lean into the movement, her body pressed against his in a way that made the air around them heavier. Her grip on his hand lingered, her thumb brushing softly over his knuckles as though she couldn’t bring herself to let go.

His free hand instinctively moved to her waist, steadying her – or maybe steadying himself.

He wasn’t sure nor did he care.

His shadows stirred, their movements agitated and restless, curling around his boots and flaring as if they too, were reacting to the tension crackling between them.

And then he noticed it – her scent.

It was subtle at first, mingling with the faint saltiness of her skin, but then grew stronger. The sweet, intoxicating scent of her arousal hit him like a tidal wave, sharper and more consuming than anything he had ever experienced. His throat tightened, his control fraying at the edges as her scent curled around him, making it impossible for him to think clearly.

She was aroused. By him.

The realization sent his heart pounding, blood thundering through his veins, and his hazel eyes darkened as they roamed her face, searching for a sign that she felt the same, that same unspoken desire that was tearing him apart. Her lips were slightly parted, her breath shallow, and her gaze flicked to his mouth for the briefest of moments before darting back to his eyes.

Azriel’s gaze dropped to her lips without thinking, and the temptation to kiss her – to claim her – was almost too much to bear. His body was taut with restraint and the urge to claim her body right here in the training ring was overwhelming. He couldn’t stop imagining how her lips might taste. How she would feel pressed up against him, her body pliant and warm as he tangled his hands in her hair and devoured like he had been starving for centuries. He could imagine it so clearly – her taste, her softness, the way she would melt into him, the sounds she would make as he –

This wasn’t the time.

But Gods, he wanted her.

He wanted to feel the weight of her body against his, to trace the curve of her wings with his hands, to lose himself in the warmth and softness of her skin. He would give everything to feel her respond to him with the same hunger that was threatening to consume him.

But he didn’t.

He forced himself to step back, his movements slow and deliberate as though any sudden motion might shatter his already tenuous control. Her scent lingered in the air, clinging to his skin and making it nearly impossible to think.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice rougher than he intended.

Y/n tilted her head, her eyes still locked onto his as a faint, knowing smile curved her lips. It was as though she understood exactly what she was doing to him, as though she could feel the electricity crackling between them.

“Anytime, Spymaster,” she replied, her voice low and rich, that sent a shiver down his spine as she winked at him.

As she stepped back, her hand slipping from his, the absence of her touch was almost painful. Her scent still clung to him, a reminder of the moment they shared, and he couldn’t help but watch as she walked away. Her wings tucked neatly behind her, her dark hair swayed softly with each step, and the sunlight caught on her skin, making her look like a warrior goddess who had stepped straight out of his deepest desires. He caught himself memorizing every detail, every movement.

His shadows curled tighter around his boot, agitated and restless as though mirroring his inner turmoil. He dragged a hand through his hair, his wings shifting as he exhaled sharply. The scent of her arousal still lingered in his nose, a maddening reminder of what had just walked away from him.

“She’s going to be the death of me,” he muttered under his breath, a faint smile tugging at his lips despite the storm raging inside him.

As he picked up the training weapons and headed out of the ring, her warmth haunted him, and the image of her standing so close, so utterly captivating, burned itself into his mind. It wasn’t just her skill in the ring that had left him reeling – it was her.

All of her.

And though he refrained today, he knew there would be a time when he wouldn’t be able to hold back. When he wouldn’t want to.

******

Azriel POV

The following day, the midday sun casted a warm glow on the River House terrace where Azriel and Cassian sat, each nursing a glass of wine. The faint hum of the city carried on the breeze, but Azriel’s mind was elsewhere, replaying the events of the previous day in the training ring. He had been bested—truly bested—by Y/n. And not just that. She had disarmed him, pinned him, and left him more than a little distracted.

Cassian, ever observant, leaned back in his chair, one brow arched as he watched his brother in silence for a moment. “You’ve been unusually quiet today,” he said, a sly grin tugging at his lips. “What’s on your mind, Shadowsinger?”

Azriel swirled the wine in his glass, his wings shifting slightly as he finally spoke. “Y/n,” he said simply, his tone steady but carrying a faint edge of something Cassian couldn’t quite place.

Cassian straightened, his grin widening. “Y/n? What about her?”

Azriel glanced at him, his hazel eyes sharp. “She disarmed me in the training ring yesterday. Took me down like it was nothing.”

Cassian blinked, then burst into laughter, the deep sound echoing across the terrace. “She what? Disarmed you? Oh, I have to see this for myself.”

“She’s exceptional,” Azriel said firmly, his tone cutting through Cassian’s laughter. “Her technique, her precision—it’s flawless. She doesn’t need training, Cassian. She could hold her own against anyone.”

Cassian leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table as he studied Azriel with keen interest. “You’re serious,” he said, the teasing edge in his voice giving way to curiosity.

“Dead serious,” Azriel replied, his hazel eyes meeting Cassian’s. “You need to spar with her. See for yourself.”

Cassian smirked, leaning back again as he crossed his arms over his broad chest. “You’re impressed,” he said, his tone almost accusatory, though it was laced with amusement.

Azriel’s jaw tightened slightly. “I am,” he admitted. “She’s… different. Tarquin trained her hard, and it shows. She’s skilled. Controlled. And fast.”

Cassian let out a low whistle. “High praise from you, Spymaster. Sounds like someone’s smitten.”

Azriel shot him a sharp look, his shadows flickering around his boots. “This isn’t about that,” he said evenly, though the faint twitch of his wings betrayed him.

“Right,” Cassian drawled, grinning as he picked up his glass. “Totally not about that. You’re just casually marveling at how incredible she is. Nothing to read into there.”

Azriel sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re impossible,” he muttered.

Cassian chuckled, shaking his head. “Come on, Az. It’s not like I don’t see it. She’s stunning, after all. You wouldn’t be the first to notice—”

A low growl rumbled in Azriel’s chest, quiet but unmistakable. His hazel eyes darkened, and his shadows coiled tightly around his feet, restless and agitated. “Careful, Cassian,” he said, his voice soft but edged with warning.

Cassian burst out laughing, his shoulders shaking as he set his glass down to avoid spilling it. “Gods, Az, you should see your face,” he managed between laughs. “I was just teasing, but that reaction… That’s telling.”

Azriel’s glare didn’t waver, though his wings shifted slightly as if trying to calm themselves. “You’re insufferable,” he muttered again, though there was a faint flush high on his cheeks that he couldn’t hide.

Cassian leaned forward, his grin softening slightly as he studied Azriel more seriously now. “All right, no more teasing—for now. What do you really think of her? I mean, beyond her fighting skills.”

Azriel hesitated, swirling his wine again as he considered the question. He looked out at the mountains, his shadows flickering restlessly as he said quietly, “She’s… different. In a way that I can’t ignore.”

Cassian tilted his head, studying him more closely. “Ahhh. Cassian replied, immediately understanding. “And does she know?”

Azriel hesitated again, his wings shifting slightly as he shook his head. “No. I don’t think she does.”

“Don’t you think you should tell her?” Cassian asked, his tone softer now, the teasing gone.

Azriel exhaled slowly, his gaze dropping to his glass. “Not yet. I don’t… I don’t think I deserve someone like her.”

Cassian’s grin faded, replaced by something more thoughtful. “Az,” he said quietly, “that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard you say. And I’ve known you a long time.”

Azriel let out a faint, humorless laugh but didn’t respond.

After a moment, Cassian leaned back, his grin returning as he raised his glass. “Still, to Y/n. And to the poor Spymaster who’s head over wings for his mate.”

Azriel’s head snapped up, his hazel eyes narrowing. “Don’t say anything, Cassian,” he warned, his voice low and edged with a quiet desperation.

Cassian held up his free hand in mock surrender, though the grin on his face didn’t waver. “Not a word,” he promised, though his laughter said otherwise.

Azriel sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose again.

But as Cassian laughed, Azriel’s thoughts drifted back to Y/n—her fire, her strength, and the way she had looked at him in the training ring. And despite Cassian’s teasing, he couldn’t deny the truth.

She was his mate. And one day, he would tell her. But not today.

Chapter 6

#azriel fanfiction #azriel fanfic #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel spymaster #azriel #acotar fanfiction #acotar

149 notes · View notes

aspenmissing · 1 month ago

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ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ x ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ || ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ || 2328 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴘᴏꜱꜱᴇꜱꜱɪᴠᴇɴᴇꜱꜱ? ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ʏ/ɴ, ᴀɴ ɪᴍᴍᴏʀᴛᴀʟ ʙᴇɪɴɢ, ɪꜱ ᴛᴏʀɴ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ'ꜱ ᴏʙꜱᴇꜱꜱɪᴠᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ'ꜱ ᴘᴀꜱᴛ ᴀꜰꜰᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ. ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀ ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ ꜰʀᴀᴄᴛᴜʀᴇꜱ ʀᴇᴀʟɪᴛʏ ᴛᴏ ᴋᴇᴇᴘ ʜᴇʀ, ʏ/ɴ'ꜱ ᴇꜱꜱᴇɴᴄᴇ ꜱᴄᴀᴛᴛᴇʀꜱ ᴀᴄʀᴏꜱꜱ ᴛɪᴍᴇʟɪɴᴇꜱ. ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ, ᴅᴇᴛᴇʀᴍɪɴᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇꜱᴛᴏʀᴇ ʙᴀʟᴀɴᴄᴇ, ᴠᴏᴡꜱ ᴛᴏ ꜰɪɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ.

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ

In a reality far from the one you knew, where timelines bled together like rivers meeting at an impossible delta, a singular existence wove its thread through the vastness of the cosmos. Y/N, untethered by time and space, gazed down at the lives of mortals, each existence a fleeting dance. To feel, to love, to exist in a body bound by fragile flesh—this, she yearned for. So, she descended.

She chose a world where ambition and brilliance sparked like the brightest of stars. A man named Viktor, consumed by intellect and an insatiable hunger for discovery, became the anchor for her desire. In his pursuit of knowledge, she saw a kindred spirit. And so, Y/N walked among them, cloaking herself in the mortal guise of a young woman.

But love, love was never meant for her. Not in the way mortals knew it.

Viktor, once a man of pure intellect, became obsessed with the paradox she posed—an immortal being in the form of a woman who could love him and yet, not be bound by love's chains. To possess her, to make her his, became his only desire, so he sought to bind her soul to his. He cast his magic upon her, tore her essence apart, and scattered the fragments of her being across infinite timelines. Every timeline, every version of him and her, became a reflection of the other. A perfect mirror, forever intertwined, but not whole.

Jayce, a man of conviction and heart, found himself caught in the ripples of their shattered reality. He had loved Y/N —before the fracture, before the magic and madness. In his own world, she had been his. They had shared quiet moments, whispered promises, and dreams of what could be. But now, standing in the ruins of a dystopian world where magic had twisted and broken everything, he saw her again. Not the same Y/N. No, she was far more than he remembered. Her eyes, once full of warmth, now shimmered with the weight of countless lives and deaths. She was a star, burned and torn by the very forces that had created her.

"Y/N?" Jayce’s voice trembled, a fragile whisper that echoed through the desolate air. He took a step forward, but the ground beneath him seemed uncertain, as though his very existence faltered with each movement. "How? What happened to you?"

Her hand gently rested atop a moss-covered statue, one that clutched a hammer, its stone face long weathered by time. She smiled, but it was a sad, bittersweet thing—an expression that carried the weight of untold stories, of lives lived in the quiet spaces between worlds. Her gaze met his, a soft understanding in her eyes, as if she were an embodiment of sorrow itself. "Spoilers," she replied, her voice light yet heavy, each syllable resonating like a distant, unspoken truth, the kind that could break a heart if you listened too closely.

Jayce’s breath hitched, his chest constricting in a wave of memories too painful to bear. "I watched you die," he choked out, the words as jagged as shattered glass. "In my arms."

A soft sigh escaped her lips, but her eyes were unyielding. "She was never truly gone," a voice interjected from behind them. Jayce spun, his heart hammering in his chest, to find Viktor stepping forward. Y/N offered him a quiet smile, one that seemed to span the distance between them.

Viktor’s voice was raw, thick with regret. "Not in the way you think. The Y/N you knew was just a shadow, a façade. But this..." He gestured toward Y/N, "This is who she truly is. She is everything now."

Jayce’s fists clenched at his sides, his frustration bubbling, threatening to spill over. "What did you do, Viktor?" His voice quivered with anger, disbelief twisting his every word. "What have you done to her?"

Y/N’s gaze softened, a tender sorrow lacing her every movement. She stepped toward Jayce, her presence like a quiet comfort in the face of the storm. "He wanted to keep me," she said, her voice almost a whisper, fragile with the weight of grief. "For both of you. But I wasn’t meant to be kept. I wanted to experience your world—the joy, the sorrow. So when I died, my body was gone, but not my essence, so I could return back to the cosmos...But Viktor… he couldn’t let me go."

Her words trembled with the weight of countless lifetimes, of loves both lost and found, of endings that stretched across infinite realities.

Viktor stepped forward, his voice shaking with the agony of a love that had consumed him. "I loved her. You loved her," he said, his eyes filled with an anguish that mirrored Y/N’s own. "I couldn’t bear the thought of losing her again. Not after everything."

Jayce’s breath caught in his throat. "So, what? You ripped her from the world, tore apart time itself, just so you could have a piece of her?" His voice cracked, anger mingling with a profound sorrow. "Even if it means she dies in every universe, in my universe? Was this all just a game to you, Viktor?!"

Y/N’s gaze fell back to him, her eyes full of empathy and quiet understanding. She stepped closer, the weight of their shared pain settling between them. "No, Jayce," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "It was never about games. Viktor couldn’t let me go. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing me again, so he did what he thought was the only way to keep me with both of you. But it wasn’t a choice made lightly. It wasn’t selfish. It was love, desperation, and grief all tangled together."

Her words lingered in the air, soft yet final, before she looked at Viktor with something unspoken, something he would never truly understand. She turned back to Jayce, her expression unreadable. "What happened to me… what Viktor did, it’s not something that can be undone. I am... part of something much larger now. When you return to your world, you'll see it for yourself. And I can't stay—not in the way you want me to. I know I’m not your Y/N, but I carry her memories."

She smiled sadly at the statue, her gaze distant. "I carry her love for you. But also for Viktor."

Her voice faltered, a quiet tremor of grief passing through her. "The timelines are shattered. The paths we walked are broken. But I’ll carry the memory of you both. I’ll carry the love, even if I can never return to it."

Viktor, standing beside her now, seemed to shrink under the weight of her words. His face was full of guilt, of an impossible sorrow he could never undo. "She’s right," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "What I did… it wasn’t control. It was about trying to save something that was already lost. I couldn’t let go."

He turned his gaze to Jayce, his eyes filled with raw grief. "I never meant to destroy what you had with her. I just… I couldn’t bear the thought of losing her again."

Jayce’s anger flared once more, but it was tempered by a deep sense of helplessness. "You didn’t just tear her away from the world, Viktor," he said, his voice breaking, tears threatening to fall. "You tore apart everything we had together."

For a moment, Jayce turned to Y/N, his heart torn between love and confusion. His voice quivered, the weight of his grief pressing down on him. "We loved you. We still do. And we always will."

Viktor’s hands reached out, trembling, as if he could still hold onto the fading remnants of her presence. "You were everything to us," he whispered, his voice full of despair. "Don’t leave us again. Not like this."

Y/N’s gaze softened, the finality of her words hanging in the air. "And you were a beautiful experience," she said, her voice heavy with tenderness and regret. "But you were always a chapter in a story I could never finish."

Jayce's eyes filled with anguish, his fists clenching at his sides as he tried to hold onto the fleeting moments of her presence. His voice trembled as he spoke, raw and desperate. "We loved you. We still do, and always will." he whispered, the weight of the words pressing on him like a heavy stone. His breath hitched, the grief rising in him like a tidal wave he couldn’t escape.

Viktor, his eyes reflecting the same torment, stood motionless. His outstretched hands shook, as though he could still feel the remnants of Y/N’s essence slipping away from him. "You were everything to us." He took a hesitant step forward, as if testing whether he could hold onto something that was already vanishing

Y/N shook her head, her gaze soft yet filled with an unspoken regret. “And you were a wonderful experience,” she said, her voice filled with both tenderness and finality. “But you were always a chapter in a story that I could never finish.”

Jayce stood frozen, the ache in his chest unbearable. His heart screamed for her, for a chance to make things right, but he knew it was hopeless. She had lived a thousand lives, and in each one, she had died. For her, they were fleeting moments—wonderful, painful, but ultimately fleeting.

As Y/N’s form began to dissolve, fading into the air like smoke caught in a storm, Viktor reached out one final time, his hands trembling, desperate to hold onto something already slipping through his fingers. "Please," he whispered, his voice breaking. "Don’t leave us again. We can’t lose you. Not like this."

Her voice, soft and haunting, floated back to them, like the last note of a song carried by the wind. "You were everything to me, but I am not yours to keep."

And just like that, she was gone.

Jayce stood there, paralyzed, his heart torn between Viktor—whose love had shattered the very fabric of reality—and Y/N, whose presence had filled their lives with both light and shadow. There were no answers, no resolution, only the overwhelming weight of their loss.

Only silence.

Her absence hung in the air, the remnants of her essence scattering like stardust in the void.

Viktor stood beside him, eyes hollow with grief. The world around them was broken, twisted beyond recognition, a stark reminder of the sacrifice they’d made, of the love they had tried so desperately to keep. The weight of their shared history, of the pain they had caused one another, was unbearable, but Jayce could feel the shared longing between them—a desire to have held onto something that was always meant to slip through their fingers.

Jayce glanced at Viktor, their gazes meeting, silent understanding passing between them. They both knew: Y/N was never meant to stay. She had been a spark, a moment of warmth in their otherwise cold worlds, but in the end, she was a part of something far greater than them. Something beyond their grasp.

With one last, lingering look at the place where she had been, Jayce turned away, his steps heavy, each one harder than the last. Viktor hesitated but didn’t follow. Instead, his gaze remained fixed on the space where she had vanished, as if hoping she would return, even though they both knew she couldn’t.

Jayce’s hand brushed against the moss-covered statue, the hammer in the statue’s grip catching his attention. Without thinking, he pried it free, holding it in his hands—a symbol of the bond they had shared, the weight of his love for both of them. As he held the hammer, he felt the echoes of the reality they had just left behind, the choice he had to make. If he didn’t act, if he didn’t find a way to restore balance to his own world, this fractured reality would become his—an endless cycle of loss, broken dreams, and unspoken grief.

Jayce’s heart clenched as he stepped toward the swirling portal that had opened in the air, ready to return to his own universe. As he passed through the rift, the world around him seemed to shift and flicker, like the last remnants of a fading dream. He could feel her, Y/N, her essence lingering in his thoughts, in his heart. She had been a part of him, of Viktor, and yet she was now something more—something eternal.

When Jayce emerged on the other side, back in his own world, the air was thick with tension. The hammer, now clasped firmly in his hand, pulsed with energy, its presence a reminder of what could happen if he didn’t make the right choices, if he didn’t act swiftly. The timeline he had witnessed—the future of a world where love had been corrupted and reality bent out of shape—was the future they could face. A world where Y/N’s sacrifice had meant nothing, where Viktor’s desperation had caused nothing but destruction.

Jayce’s fingers tightened around the hammer’s grip. He could feel the power of it—the weight of decisions yet to be made. If he didn’t find a way to heal the fractured timelines, if he didn’t make the right choice, their world could end up like the one he had just left behind. A broken place, where their love for each other would remain unfulfilled.

But Y/N, Viktor, and he—they still had time. There was still hope. And no matter what it took, Jayce would not let their love be consumed by the void.

As he stepped forward into his world, the hammer pulsed once more, the promise of what could be, and the burden of what must be done, weighing heavily in his chest.

He knew one thing for sure now: their love—his love for both of them—would not fade. It would endure, even across broken timelines, even through fractured realities.

And somehow, someway, he would find them again.

#arcane fandom #arcane angst #jayvik x reader #jayce x reader x viktor #viktor x reader #jayce talis x reader #jayce x reader #Angst #jayce x y/n #viktor x y/n #reader insert

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the-californicationist · 4 months ago

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Cali's Kinktober: Day 03

Kinktober Masterlist in absentia lucis - "in the absence of light" John Price x f!reader Kinks > rape, torture, sensory deprivation Full tags on AO3 - MDNI - Read at your own risk.

You are a new recruit to the CIA, and Kate Laswell sends you to some remote blacksite for your interrogation training. Your temporary commander, Captain John Price, gives you a safeword, but as your training begins, you realize that you feel everything except for safe.

Hey, did you see where the tags said RAPE? Okay, just making sure.

It was three flights and a cab. It was airport food and cold coffee. It was forgetting whether the date ended in a three or a four. It was paperwork and passports and finally a cold office. It was a long trip, and you were running on empty.

“What are your expectations, here, Katie? I don’t wanna do another Warsaw situ–” The man complained.

“This is nothing like Warsaw. She can handle it. Trust me.” Your boss replied, her voice crackling over the video call.

The man who complained squared his jaw and fixed his eyes on you again, looking at you fresh now that your handler, Kate Laswell, had vouched for you. You tried not to fidget in your seat. You didn’t sit up any straighter. You weren’t here to advertise yourself as the bravest or the toughest of anything. You knew you still needed a lot of training, and if he wanted to draw his own conclusions about you, then that was his business, not yours.

“Her scores are high. She beat your exam?”

“She did. Her field test and her ‘chute certifications were performed at a DF site here in the states.”

There was a long pause before Laswell spoke again,

“Do me this favor and maybe I’ll even let you borrow her for a recon mission or two. I know none of your boys are pretty enough to pass for party girls, but mine is.”

“That she is,” you heard his tone darken, thickening in his mouth like sticky sap from a tree, borderline inappropriate. When he saw your reaction to his comment, he turned back to the screen and said, “Alright, Katie. You got a deal. I’ll send her back once she’s out of recovery.”

“Thanks, John. Don’t go easy on her, or she’ll make you pay for it.”

“Is that so?” His wry smile sent a jolt somewhere in your belly that you didn’t appreciate.

She laughed and hung up the call. You waited, trying not to let the jitters or the exhaustion win out, battling both but feeling pulled in either direction just the same.

“So,” he turned his attention to you at last, “Did you lay in your fuckin’ pink princess bed when you were a little girl and dream about becoming a bloody spy, or is this some sort of complex I should know about?”

You shrugged,

“A man does what he must…”

“Careful, girl. Quoting Kennedy can’t be good for your health if you’re working in Katie’s office, hm?”

“You don’t need to know why I’m here, sir.” You used his title like a knife, flashing it right in front of his eyes and watching them ignite with his smoldering, quiet fury.

“No, but I bet I’ll find out during our time together,” he promised, making your heart clench with stress and anxiety, “What’s your safeword?”

“Red.”

“Red,” he repeated it to you as if he wanted to see how it felt in his mouth. Then, after a long pause, he explained, “I will also stop before the point of emergent damage. But, I will push you past the point of pain. You will sustain injuries. Do you understand what I’m saying to you, love?”

He seemed to be under the misconception that this was your first rodeo. You knew what you had come here for, and it wasn’t some drill sergeant to yell you into shape. You had already been through Delta Force’s operator training center - the parts they allowed CIA operatives through, anyway - and you’d surpassed what Williamsburg had to offer. You were aiming to serve as a Special Skills operative, the blackest of the black ops groups, and although you lacked the physical strength to be of any use in most field positions, you had one key factor that your fellow recruits didn’t have.

Men never expected a woman to be a threat.

Laswell had plans for you. She’d tracked down two high value targets, but they were well-guarded. However, there were usually strippers and dancers and prostitutes as far as the eye could see, always partying and coming and going at all hours of the night. You were her way in. But, it was your job to get back out. If you could survive, you’d be a hero. If you didn’t, well, she had more pawns on the board. Not to mention, you had a mission of your own to complete..

So, you worked harder than anyone. You jumped at every field training exercise, you took martial arts classes in every different format you could find, and you lived at the shooting range. You didn’t have a social life. Usually, if you were alone in a room with a man, your fists were connecting with each other’s faces.

You looked back across the wooden desk in front of you, over his nameplate - Captain Price - and into his startlingly blue eyes,

“I understand.”

He came out of his chair like a fucking demon, lunging for you without warning. As you stumbled backward, wielding your own chair over your shoulder, you sighed inwardly. You’d at least expected a more civilized initiation, maybe even a moment for a coffee, before he started in on his training. But, alas, that was not to be.

You crashed the wooden chair against his head, neck, and shoulder as he rounded the desk, keeping hold of the broken armrest as a weapon. You stabbed downward, aiming for his throat and not holding back. He blocked you, cracking your wrist against the rigid wood. You stepped into his space, kicking his heel out from under him and following him to the floor. His head hit the concrete with a bang, and you used that moment to pin the armrest against his throat, bearing down on him with all your weight, dislodging his trachea enough to cut his air supply.

He flung you off of him like a ragdoll, and your back slammed into the leg of the desk. You twisted underneath it, staying just out of his reach, small enough to fit through the gap. He scrambled up on all fours, cackling at you with a gravelly, menacing laugh before leaping up and over the desk to pull you out by your ankles.

You kicked up and over, making contact with his nose, and when he dropped your other foot, you launched your heel into his balls, making sure to aim as deeply as you could.

He coughed, and it was your turn to laugh.

Your victory was short-lived. He launched his body at you, shoving your back down on the desk. You felt the familiar bite of his nameplate digging into your skull, so you dragged it out and swung it at him, cutting him across his cheek. He hissed, yanking it out of your hand and tossing it to the ground.

The captain forced himself between your legs, pressing his body down on yours, and wrapped his hand across your throat. You fought like hell to get him off, twisting his pinky until you thought it might break, but he caught your wrists in his other hand, holding them at a terrible angle, choking you until you saw rainbow spots discolor your vision.

“Well,” he said, breathless and bleeding, “Christmas came early, dinn’it?”

Just making sure you read the tag that said this fic has RAPE IN IT. I'm just checking in again. Just want you to know. Okay, thanks.

When you woke up, you weren’t completely sure of it, at first. It was as if you were still asleep. You opened your eyes, but all you saw was an endless blackness. You couldn’t hear anything, you couldn’t smell anything, and you couldn’t move your jaw. But you could feel everything.

Your whole body screamed in pain. One of your hands was wrenched above your head, and the weight of your body hung from your broken wrist, making you cry out in whatever muffled way you could.

Then, something was removed from your ears, and you could hear again. It was still quiet, but the sound of the aircon and the noise of another person’s breath were like blaring sirens compared to the silence you had been steeped in.

“Look who’s awake,” John’s purr of a voice washed over you.

You tried to reply, tried to beg for him to cut you down, but you couldn’t speak. Your mouth was holding something round and pliant.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he patted your flank, and you were suddenly aware of your nakedness. He’d taken your clothes? You could hear him scooting a metal chair across the room towards you, and his pants rustled as he sat down, “Can’t have you talkin’ your way out of this one. Based on the three stitches in my cheek, I was wrong to underestimate you, darlin’. Shoulda listened to Katie, this time. But, look at you. Just a whisper of a thing.”

His rolling chuckle made your bones itch.

“Hard to use a safeword when you’ve got a gag on, yeah?”

You nodded, acknowledging the irony.

Price moved in the chair again. No, he stood. You could hear his boots sliding around you in a half-circle. He kept talking to you, his tone as casual as ever,

“Yeah, thought so. But, this isn’t one of those trainings, pretty girl. You won’t be needing one. I will stop when you’re ready to stop, not when you want to stop. You need to learn that, sometimes, your body…” His hand snaked its way around your thigh and you tried to kick out at him, discovering your ankles were tied together and anchored to the floor, “... is capable of so much more than you give it credit for.”

Your heart began to slam against your chest, and your breathing became labored. You were having a panic attack. If you could only see…

“Hey,” his tone shifted, becoming the instructor again, “Breathe slowly. In. Hold it. Out. All the way. In. Out. Tha’s it. Good.”

There was a long pause. You could smell him now. It was cigars and fire and gunpowder and smoke. It filled your senses, replacing your sight with scent.

“I’m gonna put your ears back on, and we’ll see what you can do.”

The world fell away again, and all you had was the smell of him. Then, he started his training.

It wasn’t the pain that upset you, not really. Pain was something you could move past. It was the surprise. You never knew when it was coming, nor where he was going to hit you next. Sometimes it was his fist. Sometimes it was a belt. Sometimes it was an electric shock. Legs, ribs, foot, arm, neck, belly… there was no pattern.

You also had no idea of the passage of time. You were infinite and you existed in the darkness of infinity. It was just pain forever with no reprieve.

Until it wasn’t.

The first time you felt his fingers pinching the tender peaks of your breasts, your whole body jolted. You hadn’t really responded to the pain in the same way, but to pleasure? It was unexpected in a different way. You didn’t think he would violate you. That wasn’t even something they’d tried to do when you were with the DF.

You bucked, hoping that your displeasure was noted for the record.

But, perhaps, your mind teased you, the lady doth protest too much? You had wanted him to touch you when he’d picked you up from the airport. When he shook your hand, hadn’t you measured his fingers and started wanting? Weren’t you eager for training to be over so you could be invited back to his flat for the after-work romp you knew would be on offer?

Hanging there like a slab of meat had changed things a bit, but it had not quelled your desire, unfortunately.

You wondered if he had reacted. You imagined him laughing at you. Was he enjoying himself? Or was this all apart of his brand of training?

I bet you choke out all the pretty girls… you sneered inwardly.

More pain. This time, your ass cheeks were the targets. The snapping bite of what felt like a belt hit you repeatedly and without mercy. You found yourself breathless from silently screaming, your tongue pressing against the gag for some sort of relief and finding none.

Then, pleasure again. His thick fingers fondled your pussy from behind, digging into your flesh and discovering the wetness hidden inside of your unused hole. There was no romance to his movements, but forcing an orgasm from you did seem to be his goal. And fuck, you lamented, he was good at it.

He doubled up, twisting two fingers deep inside of you, pounding them into your body all the way to the knuckle, fast and hard, dragging you towards the edge. Your legs began to tremble, and you knew your face must’ve looked a mess, because you were in total shock.

It felt like he was going to vibrate you right out of your skin, and still he moved faster. He wrapped his other hand around your belly, holding you in place, and you thrashed against it, fighting the mounting urge to come.

You were doing pretty well, you thought, given the conditions. Until…

His soft lips pressed themselves down onto your spine. It was just a chaste kiss, but it unfurled you like a ripcord. You exploded, your whole body convulsing in bliss, and although you were wearing a blindfold, you could see white streaks and stars dancing across your vision. You came alive.

Price pulled out of you, and you felt the stream of slick drip down your legs. He’d forced you to squirt, something you thought was completely faked, only for pornos. But, there it was, proof of its reality smearing down your thighs and onto the concrete floor.

Pain, again.

The searing sting of a taser in the sensitive flesh of your belly.

Fists and harsh palms.

The bite of a chain.

A sharp ache from a needle or a knife.

His fist closing around your index finger and snapping it cleanly in two.

You wanted to puke, but there was nothing to come up. Your belly bulged and hollowed, letting you gag and choke around nothing, going through the motions and yet giving you nothing to move.

Then, pleasure.

His hands were back on your pussy, finding your clit and teasing you until you jerked forward. But, his hand remained, insisting. And insisting. And insisting.

You lost track of how many times you’d toppled over the edge of your orgasm. There were no borders, not anymore. Your pleasure was bleeding and smearing all around you in one great wave, blinding you to the starts and stops from coming and not. You were drowning in it.

Just when you thought you might pass out, you felt the prod of his prick between your legs, entering you from behind. You couldn’t feel a condom. You tried to twist yourself away, rocking your hips to no avail.

This was definitely not protocol.

Those lips returned to the same spot on your spine, and you melted onto him, covering him like hot wax, sealing your body onto his cock like a brass signet, letting him leave his mark on you.

His hands found your breasts, squeezing them roughly, holding your body to him in a vicious embrace.

Then, he dug around inside of your mouth and yanked out the gag. You felt yourself make a terrible noise, but you couldn’t hear the sound that came out. You knew he could, though, because when he heard you, his cock throbbed at your entrance, and it made him push forward, dipping into you even deeper.

Wait… Captain Price. Please. Wait. Wait.

You wondered if you were as loud as you tried to be. In fact, you wondered if he could hear you at all because he did not stop. If anything, he went onward with even more fervor.

His mouth kissed its way across your back, and you could feel his stubble and the coarse hairs of his beard raking their way along your skin. His warm tongue leaving little wet stamps as it laved across you, tasting your sweat.

The way his fat prick was stretching you out made you question if he was using himself or the armrest of the chair that you had tried to kill him with. You hissed from the ache, but he didn’t halt his advance. Didn’t retreat. He just pressed further inside of you.

How much cock did this jerk have?

Finally, you felt his hairy base tickle the skin under your ass cheeks, and you knew there was an end to his incredible length.

What… why are you doing this? Why…

He pulled himself out in the same way he had pressed in, slowly and with a fierce persistence.

Then, he began to pound himself into you.

You were at the perfect height for him, and it made you sick to your stomach to know that it was deliberate. This had been his plan all along. And although most of you felt completely indignant, there was a nasty little demon in your heart that celebrated in it. He’d wanted you from the start, even after you’d made him bleed, maybe even because of it.

And that thought brought you no small amount of joy.

His hands had returned to your breasts, playing with them too roughly. John was pinching your nipples and craning his neck around to suckle from them, nipping at them with his teeth until you screamed from the pain of being bitten. Even then, your screams were a poor deterrent. It didn’t stop him from returning to them, crushing the stiff tips as he worked his cock inside of you, fucking himself up into you at a punishing pace.

He only pulled away to stick his tongue inside of your armpit, licking you over and over in a place where no one had ever even thought to lick, and you wished you could say, honestly, that it had disgusted you. But, it didn’t. If anything, it made you gasp with a new brand of pleasure. He had awakened something fresh and bright in you that you never meant to discover.

Then, he got brave. He shoved two fingers right into your slack mouth, and you immediately bit down, hard. You could taste blood, and you fought against his flesh, trying to crack the bone. But, he shoved them down your throat, and all you had to chew on was a fat fist that wouldn’t even allow your jaw to close much less to bite.

You could feel his fingers in your throat, deep down in a place where fingers were never supposed to go, and all you could do was swallow around them, trying your best to keep from drooling into your airway.

His cheek pressed into your shoulder blade. He was enjoying you.

The way his gentle kiss or the softness of his cheek ripped orgasms from you was concerning, to say the least. You hoped you could remember this moment, of how the way he rested himself against you as he was taking you against your vocal will was throwing your body down a deep well of dark, forbidden pleasure. How your vision burned white and gold and formed spots of colors that had no names as he fucked you into a different plane of existence. How you thought, if you got a late night text, written in his smoky, raspy Scouse accent, you would crawl your way back across the pond just so he could give it to you again.

Oh, my God… You screamed from the pit of your belly.

His thrusts never slowed. He was like a machine. All those muscles were being put to work, and you were the mission.

Had it been hours?

Days?

Did the world still exist outside of this concrete cube that you suspected you were in?

Would you starve to death in here?

The demon that apparently lived in your cunt rolled its eyes and said, who cares? I wanna come again and again and again…

And you did. You were so overstimulated that you thought even someone looking at you the right way would make you come. It had become painful, at one point, and now you were not numb… Numb wasn’t the right word. You were soft. Your mind and your pussy were just murky, oily, cock-filled vessels, happy they were full and unwilling to question what it meant.

When he finally pulled out of you, you were limp. You didn’t thrash or fight. You couldn’t, even if you wanted to.

You felt his fingers again, drawing out your foaming, frothy come into his hand. He used it to smear it along the rim of your asshole. Then, he began to fuck your tight hole with his fingers, one. Over and over. One. One. One. Then, he added a second. Two. Two. A thousand times, two. Three was a bit of a challenge, but he pushed through. Three. Two. Three. Two. Three. Three. Three. And then, none.

None.

Where did he go?

Pain. A heavy hand slapping across your bruised tits. Again. Again.

You were screaming, surely. You wanted to be, at least.

The flat of his palm beat itself against your breast over and over without mercy.

Then, his cockhead rested at the entrance of your asshole.

You didn’t beg this time. If anything, he should be the one begging, you thought. If you lived, you were going to make him remember you.

Price shoved himself inside of you with some force, but you took it. You waited until he was fully sheathed inside, and when he took a breath, when those lips rested themselves on the back of your neck, you beared down on him, hard.

You felt his breath catch as it skittered across your skin.

The demon in you chuckled in triumph.

C’mon, Captain. Is that all you got? You made the words come out of your throat, and you hoped he could hear you.

The way that his hand fisted itself in your hair told you that he had.

If you thought he had fucked your pussy like an animal, you had been mistaken. He took your ass like he owned it. Like it was his toy. There was no pleasure-seeking rhythm, no careful pacing or grinding movements. He was fucking you because he wanted to come. So, you made him.

Every time he dragged himself out, you let him go, but every time he pressed himself in, you fought him the whole way. Squeezing and pushing, squeezing and pushing, making your tight hole even tighter, rocking your hips to drive him mad with want.

You felt him lose control, his hot spend filling your ass and bursting out of his swollen head, soaking your hole. You pulsed around him, and you felt that soft cheek return to your shoulder.

Come for me, baby. Good boy. You giggled out loud.

He slapped you across the mouth, and you laughed harder, feeling his cock slip out of you, spent.

You can’t hurt me in a way that matters, John Price. Do your fuckin’ worst.

You felt him step around you, smelling his breath as he held you face to face. Then, the noise of the room came back and you could hear him panting, ragged and desperate. You felt the blindfold fall away and you could see him, your eyes shrinking in the dim light of the cell, hurt by even the smallest glow of light.

You were back, but you were not yourself. Not anymore. You were a different you. Someone he had made. He had crafted you with his own hands.

“Why? Why didn’t you beg me to stop?”

His eyes were burning into yours as he stared down at you, questioning what he had done, what you had done with him. You had used him like a sharpener, honing yourself to a high shine, and he didn’t understand.

When you heard your voice for the first time, you mourned it a bit, but you knew it would come back eventually. It was raspy, muddled, and barely audible, but you said it with your whole chest,

“I was made for this, and I could go all fuckin’ day.”

“How long?”

“What?”

“How long did he keep you prisoner?”

Kate Laswell, you fucking bitch.

He’d read your file. The real one. Not the one on your tagline, but the one that you and Laswell had hidden away.

“Five months,” you told him, a sick smile on your face, “But, you already knew that.”

He sighed, his hands on his hips, just as naked as you, which you found a little funny.

“Why’d you come here? Why would she…”

You watched him wrestle with the betrayal in his head, knowing he’d been manipulated. He’d walked right into her trap. You basked in his confusion, having almost as much fun as you’d had while he was railing you into oblivion.

“Laswell said you needed a way into the Ikon, some strip club on the border between Russia and Urzikstan. So, I said I would help.”

“And she knew I’d say no…”

“Unless you knew I could handle it.”

It was his turn to be in pain. You could see the fire of it creeping through his belly, knowing he’d just tortured a girl who’d written the book in torture. The surgeries and the psych consults were long, long behind you, but your run in with the Russian mob was not something you were ever going to forget. But, now, John Price was going to give you a chance at revenge. You were his gun, and you just needed him to point you in the right direction.

Suddenly, he cut you down, freeing you from your hanging place. You crumpled into his arms, letting him hold you as you collapsed. You used your hands to pet the worry out of his eyes, and he fought you for it, trying to stop you from comforting him. So, you grabbed him with what little strength you could muster, and you pulled his face to yours, pressing your mouths together, making him taste your blood from where he had cut your cheek against your teeth. He yanked his head back, furrowing his brow,

“No, stop…”

“Shut up,” you said, kissing him again and feeling his surrender as he held you tighter, pulling you into his chest even though he was ridden with guilt.

“We shouldn’t, love. I’m so sor–”

“Where’d you put that gag?” You pretended to look around for it, earning a slight smile and an exasperated huff.

You knew you’d made the cut, because when he fucked you this time, he didn’t hold back.

Whelp. Kinktober!

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diaphragmjellyfish · 4 months ago

Text

Gentleman

Rafe Cameron x reader

College AU

Smut, 18+ only

Tw: hazing, prostitution if you squint, me being back from the dead after years

Whoever invented nylon underwear was on your personal hit list after today. You understood it was more for show than for go, but seriously, you’ve never been so uncomfortable in your life. Surrounded by the other pledges, you got yourselves dolled up like strippers to be auctioned off to the campus’ leading fraternity. What the fuck, right? It was “for charity,” but you knew that was just an extreme to cover up this ridiculous hazing process. The idea was that all the pledges had to prance around a basement in lingerie in front of a bunch of douchey frat boys and let them bid on a night with you. If you chickened out or didn’t get high enough bids, you’d be dropped. So here you were, applying a final coat of clear lip gloss before being lined up like horses at auction getting ready for slaughter.

“Alright ladies, look alive!” the sorority president yelled as she jaunted through the makeshift dressing room. “These boys have full pockets and hard cocks, let’s not keep them waiting.” Real classy. And the fact that some of these girls actually seemed excited was beyond you. If your whole future wasn’t relying on getting into this sorority, you’d have been gone a long time ago. But here you were, about to whore yourself out for a chance at your dream.

“Layci, you’re first,” you heard as you and the other livestock – I mean, ladies – lined up by the door in the order that you’d drawn earlier in the day. You were third from last. You assumed the boys would all throw their money on the first bunch of girls, meaning the end of the line would be left to fight over the scraps of what was left. And you knew this fraternity too– had heard their name mentioned on campus a lot. Known for using Daddy’s money to throw expensive parties with VIP lists and endless cocaine, their elite functions were held only at country clubs and private beaches, mansions and yachts. Hopefully that at least meant that whatever pig won your bid would be a two-pump-chump and you could be over and done with this whole thing before midnight.

“Push up those titties and pout those lips,” the president shouted with an evil enthusiasm, “the show is about to begin.” She took one last look at the desperate lineup of girls, adorned in the sluttiest garments they could muster. You shouldn’t think too little of them. After all, you were standing among them. You had your own reasons for being here, so you would give the others the benefit of the doubt too. The president skipped out of the room and to the basement, where the bidding would take place. This was all happening in the fraternity house, or mansion you should say. They had set up lights, speakers, and a runway for the annual event. You heard the president through the microphone from where you stood.

“Welcome, gentlemen, welcome! To the annual Kappa Delta Theta bid night for charity!” You heard a hoard of whooping and clinking of glasses. “Let me just say that tonight’s lineup of young ladies is sure to exceed all expectations. Please use your paddles to place your bids as the ladies walk out. Feel free to use those later tonight, too,” she suggested cheekily, and was met with comments dripping in testosterone and entitlement. “All proceeds will go to Kappa Delta Theta’s charity of choice, the Charlotte Food Pantry, which feeds over one thousand families per week.” Well, at least you could get behind that.

“We ask that you please let us know if your chosen lady does not meet your needs. After all, these girls are still proving themselves as honorary members of the Kappa house.” She went on to say, a subtle warning to the waiting girls. “Once you have won your bid, please make your way to the back room where you will meet your lady and be sent to one of the private rooms in the house. After that, the rest is up to you!” Cheers and hollering followed as the president brought out her list of girls.

“Let me introduce you to lady number one, Layci,” she announced as the lighting dimmed and a spotlight was shown on the curtained entryway. Layci breathed deep and plastered a smile on her face before exiting into the room– a gazelle marching into a hoard of lions. “Layci majors in marketing, and enjoys Sunday football and Bud Light Limes. Let’s start the bid at $100.” You struggled to hear the remainder of the bidding amongst the shouting and music until you heard a “Sold! To Trey Parker for $375.” Trey Parker, Jesus. You were glad he hadn’t bid on you, but felt extremely bad for Layci. He was an obnoxious drunk, known for snorting coke and punching walls when his football team lost. This was going to be a long night.

You attempted to dissociate and drown out the rest of the bidding as the girls filed out one by one, but before you knew it, you were face to face with that daunting curtain. The bidding had seemed to slow down a lot, and the room grew quieter as the boys won their bids and moved on to claim their prizes elsewhere in the house.

“Gentlemen, we only have a few ladies left, so let’s see those wallets! Next up, we have a Pre-Law major who enjoys pina coladas and getting caught in the rain, gentlemen give it up for Y/N!” you mustered up all the courage you had, pushed your bra strap up one final time, and walked into the blinding spotlight. You saw the glares of eyes watching your every step, analyzing your body, your face. Never in your life had you felt so vulnerable. Law school. Law school. You reminded yourself of your goal, and that gave you the courage to plaster on a smile and strut down the walkway. Whistles could be heard, but you ignored them and gave a spin before walking back up.

“Let’s start at $100,” she stated as you waited for the inevitable sting of a low bid. After all, you hadn’t put nearly as much thought into this as some of the girls had. Waxing, laser, facials, nails… all you had done was shaved and shown up. A paddle raised in your line of sight. Shit, was that Tanner Marshall? A cocky boy with a beer gut and entitled attitude, you’d heard rumors of his temper. Multiple women on campus had horror stories about him. Please, God, anyone else. Please not him.

Another paddle raised in the corner of your eye from a boy you hadn’t seen before. “$200,” he said quietly as his eyes raked your frame. He was cute, you wouldn’t lie, but you had no reason to believe he was any better than Tanner Marshall. His blue eyes met yours as he adjusted his backwards baseball hat and leaned forward.

“$350,” said Tanner with a smirk.

“$500,” the mystery boy countered without missing a beat.

“Woah, woah, let’s slow down, boys. There’s still a couple other girls after this,” the sorority president countered.

“$600,” Tanner Marshall forced, growing frustrated at the thought of taking a loss.

“$750,” Mystery Boy added, showing no signs of giving up. The highest bid you heard so far was $800. Did you stand a chance at topping that? If you did, they’d have to let you join for sure. To sweeten the pot, you threw a wink towards Tanner Marshall, as much as it sickened you.

“$900,” he said in a pained voice after seeing your flirtatious act.

A silence followed. Shit, you shouldn’t have done that. Mentally prepping for the most traumatic night of your life, you heard a solid “$1,000” from Mystery Boy. All heads turned to him at this extreme bid.

The sorority president seemed shocked at that, but gathered herself and announced, “One thousand dollars, going once,” please, please God please, “Going twice,” let him win and let him be an ounce kinder than Tanner Marshall, “Sold! To Rafe Cameron.”

Rafe Cameron, you’d heard his name mentioned before on campus but had few details to go off. You locked eyes with him once more before making your way back through the curtain and releasing a large sigh. It was over, but it wasn’t. Now came the tough part. Yes, you’d won the highest bid of the night, but now you had to fulfill it. Would he be aggressive? Would he listen to your pleas to be gentle? Would he fuck you and throw you into the hallway like trash after?

Your thoughts were interrupted as you were herded back to the entryway of the house by one of the sorority sisters. She handed you a strip of condoms and said “Good luck,” before leaving you to wait for Rafe Cameron to show up. The seconds felt like days as you paced in your stripper heels, attempting not to roll an ankle. Footsteps sounded in the distance and got closer. You held your breath as Rafe turned the corner and locked eyes with you once more. He let his gaze fall openly down your body once more and then gestured towards the stairs with a smirk. “Shall we?”

The trek to your private room didn’t last nearly as long as you had hoped. As you both entered, he turned to close and lock the door behind you. You stood in the center of the floor awkwardly, waiting for him to give you some cue as to what to do. Should you try to talk to him? Should you kiss? Should you drop your underwear and bend over and let him do what he pleased? This was an entirely new scenario to you, and you had absolutely no idea what to do. He waited as well, hands in his pockets, though not out of nerves. It was a test. He was trying to see if you were forward enough to take action, or if the awkwardness would be too much for you to stand. You held eye contact firm. He seemed pleased with this and broke the tension.

“Y/N, right?”

You nodded in response.

“Face down on the bed, hands behind your back.” Your breathing stopped, and you couldn’t move. So this was the type of night this would turn out to be. You’d be meat. He watched your shocked expression and waited for movement, before cracking a smile and saying “I’m kidding.”

“Oh,” you breathed, relieved and feeling slightly looser.

He kicked off his expensive shoes and hopped on the bed, hands behind his head as he leaned back against the pillows. He patted the seat next to him in a silent order to sit. You perched on the edge of the bed and leaned down to finally take off your excruciating shoes. You sighed in relief once they were off, and spun to sit next to him, still feeling unsure.

“I’m not sure what to do,” you finally admitted, hands picking at each other. His piercing blue eyes made contact with your own. He was extremely confident, and it was a little intimidating.

“Well, we’re supposed to have sex,” he stated plainly, hands still behind his head.

“Right,” you said nervously, “so should we just… start?”

“Why you doing this?” He questioned, the sudden change of topic giving you whiplash. “You don’t seem like you want to be here, so why are you?”

“Uhh,” you thought. Should you lie and act into it? Should you be honest only for him to treat you like a chew toy anyways? “Well, I uh, I just need to get into this sorority.”

“Other ones weren’t fancy enough for you?” he questioned, a joke laced in truth.

“Not exactly,” you started. “There’s a grad school I want to go to. Need to go to. And of girls in this sorority who apply, 90% get accepted. The Dean was a Kappa.”

He nodded in understanding. “That’s a better reason than most,” he finally responded, giving you some comfort. “I was right, though.”

At this, you gave him a questioning look. “Right about what?”

“You’re not Kappa material. That house is for sluts and party girls.” You were caught off guard by his bold language, and somewhat offended at his accusation, though you know deep down that he was right.

“Well then why did you pay $1,000 for me if I’m not a slut?” you countered, trying to throw something, anything, back at him.

“Because you’re smoking. And I know what Tanner Marshall does to girls, and you’re too innocent for that.”

“I am not innocent,” you huffed, glaring at him through a blush. He doesn’t know you. Who does he think he is labeling you like that?

“Oh yeah? How many guys have you slept with?” he argued. You paused. Should you lie? You didn’t want him to think you couldn’t handle yourself in the bedroom. Then, he might tell Kappa that you weren’t satisfactory and you’d never get in. Something about his stare, though, demanded honesty. You could see him being a very cut-throat boss or CEO someday.

“...one.”

“One guy, or one time?” Damn him. Was he a mind reader or something?

“.... one time. There, happy now?”

“What did you think?”

“What did I think of what?” you countered.

“The sex. Did you like it?”

You paused. This conversation was taking a turn, but what did you expect from a night like tonight?

“It was… fine,” you admitted.

“Just fine?” he prodded, “did you finish?”

“Wha– that’s none of your business,” you argued. He must have some real ego, asking you a question like that.

“So, no,” he stated. Your intense blush only confirmed his remark.

He smirked to himself, contemplating his next words.

“So, Y/n, here’s my offer.” He was definitely a business bro in the making. “We can stay in here for 20 minutes, make some crazy noises, and you can tell everyone we had sex so you can get into your precious sorority. No hard feelings. Or, you can actually let me fuck you. You’ll learn what good sex is supposed to feel like, and walk out of here an honest woman.”

What an insane offer. He was giving you a free pass to get out of this after dropping $1k for a night with you. He would let you walk away and tell everyone you had gone through with it. What was the catch?

“What makes you think I’ll like it any better with you?” you countered, feeling defensive.

“Oh, trust me, you will,” he smirked again. You wanted to wipe that smirk off his stupid cute face. Damn him. Why were you even considering this? You should take the free pass and run, you thought. But for some reason, you stopped. He was super hot, and you were in college. There was nothing wrong with wanting to get a little more experience, especially if you were going to spend your entire school career in the library doing test prep. You know what? Maybe you should do it. After all, he spent big money to save you from a worse fate, and was giving you options right now. You wondered how many of the other pledges were wishing they had that offer tonight.

“Okay,” you breathed, feeling emboldened by your choice.

“Okay, what?” he quipped.

“Okay, we can… do it,” you responded, again feeling shy but trying to power through it. His face lit up with a laugh at your phrasing.

“Well then, come here, sweetheart,” he muttered, pulling you closer to him by the hips as you gasped. You were fully lying down next to him now, and he was leaning over you with a hand on your inner thigh, your leg pushed up against his stomach. He leaned down and confidently took your lips with his own. You squeaked in surprise at his boldness before sinking further into the mattress and shutting your eyes. He kissed you slowly, yet dominantly, tongue peaking out to brush your lips before retreating so as not to scare you with too much, too fast. His one elbow remained propped by your head as his other hand rubbed soft patterns on your thigh. That felt nice, you thought, as your body grew hotter. If the rest of the night was going to be anything like this, you were in for it.

Breathing heavily, you pulled away for air as he brought his mouth to your neck. He licked a firm stripe up the side, pulling another gasp out of you, before sucking down on a patch of skin. He soothed with his tongue before lightly biting, being sure to leave a mark. You began to writhe underneath him at the sensation, which he definitely noticed.

“Feelin’ good?” he muttered, face still buried in your neck. You felt the urge to tease him as he had been teasing you all night.

“It’s… fine,” you giggled, attempting to knock his confidence. But he only sucked harder at this, drawing a yelp from you. He sat up on his knees before you and tore his t-shirt off in a fervor. He paused for a moment, giving you time to pump the brakes. However, you took that time to admire his defined torso, lined with lean muscle and veins trailing down below his waistband. You wanted to find out where they lead. He adjusted his backwards hat and lowered himself onto the bed between your legs, hooking your thighs over his shoulders. He began to kiss your inner thighs before you stopped him.

“We can skip this part,” you said breathlessly. He looked at you, confused.

“Why?”

“I just… I don’t really like it, is all,” you admitted. He looked at you like you just spoke Chinese.

“You’ve had one guy who had no idea what he was doing eat you out. I’m doing it, and you’re gonna like it. Besides, I’m not fucking you without getting you warmed up first.” He said it almost as an order, and you had no choice but to let him continue. Maybe it would be different this time. You doubted it, but it was possible. He used a hand to push you back down on the bed and began kissing your thighs once more. You were only in a bra and underwear, so he had easy access to you, but he didn’t go straight for it just yet. He kissed and sucked around your thighs and hips, careful not to touch your center. He was being a tease.

You lost yourself in the feeling and began to writhe once more. Noticing this, Rafe brought a hand down to pull your underwear to the side, and met your center with a soft kiss. Your nerves were all lit up at this point, so even the small motion felt great. Your hips bucked up for more friction, but he pulled away.

“What do you say?” he teased.

“Please,” you pleaded without any thought to it. He mumbled a ‘fuck’ at this, and commented, “What a good girl you are.” He brought his mouth back down and began to lick stripes up your center before suckling on your clit. This action caused a small moan to leave your mouth, which only encouraged him more. He continued these motions for God knows how long, licking, suckling, kissing, until you were a squirming mess underneath him. Then, he brought a single finger to your center, swirling it around your hole to collect your juices, before pushing it inside you to the second knuckle. He paused here so as not to hurt you, and waited for a reaction. When he found none, he pushed his digit all the way in, and studied your face as he brushed your inner wall in a “come here” motion. You gasped as your eyes shut closed and your head dropped back. Shit, that felt good.

“That’s it,” he mumbled as he kept up this motion, adding his mouth back into the mix once he was satisfied with your facial expressions. The combination of his mouth and finger was insane. You’d never felt anything like this before, even by yourself. This must have been what girls were talking about when they raved about oral.

“Oh my God, Rafe,” you sighed. He moaned in response, grinding his hips into the mattress. After several more minutes of this, he sat up and looked for the strip of condoms that had been forgotten on the floor. Standing from the bed and tearing one off, he dropped his pants and tore the packet open with his teeth. You admired him. He was straight out of a Greek myth, all corded rope muscles and a jawline that could cut a man. His tall frame overtook the room, and his dick… it was… big. Big enough to have you concerned. The last guy you had been with was half the size, and the pain was excruciating. Rafe saw your concerned face.

“Y’okay?”

“Yeah, it’s just, um… “ he waited patiently for a response. “Would you mind, maybe, like… starting kind of… slow?” you finally managed to drag out.

He looked at you again with a hint of laughter on his face.

“Honey… I’m not just gonna jam it in you,” he laughed. “We’ll take it easy. I’m not a monster.”

You giggled with him at this and relaxed into the bed once more. He kneeled before you on the bed looking like a Calvin Klein ad. Hands beside your head, he lowered himself on top of you and gave you a sweet kiss. He lined himself up and asked, “Ready?”

You nodded and felt him push his tip through your folds. He pressed carefully into you as you stiffened at the stretch. His face was buried in your neck once more, kissing up and down softly. Feeling your tense muscles, he whispered an order. “Breathe,” he soothed, the hand that wasn’t holding himself up petting your hair. You did as told and attempted to relax your body. He slid further in and paused to let you adjust.

You peeked down at your joined bodies and saw that the fullness you felt inside of you was only half of his length.

“Jesus,” you sighed.

“You’re okay,” he whispered, holding you steady. His words were the only thing keeping you grounded in that moment as you tried to manage the stretch of him. When he was most of the way seated, he pulled out a couple of inches and carefully pushed back in. You felt the drag of him on your walls, and let out a sigh. The sensation was bordering on painful, but the pressure of his tip inside you was a needed and pleasurable distraction. He did this once more, pushing deeper in this time, and continued this motion until he was fully seated inside of you.

“How’s it feel?” he questioned.

“It’s a lot,” you breathed, unsure how to describe it.

“I know baby, I know,” he comforted, hand still petting your head. “Let’s get you goin’, yeah?”

You nodded, though you would have agreed with anything he said in that moment. He dragged himself out halfway and pushed back in. He was still being gentle, but was definitely picking up the pace and made sure to watch you for any signs of discomfort. He sat up to a kneeling position between your legs and brought his hands to your waist, holding you steady for him. He worked into a quicker pace and brought a thumb to your clit, drawing small circles. This had you bucking your hips to meet his, soft moans beginning to leave your mouth. You closed your eyes and dropped your head back, falling into the moment.

Seeing you relax, he cooed, “There you go.”

“Oh my God,” you sighed, brows scrunching at his relentless rhythm. This was nothing like your last time, and you were so grateful for that. His thumb quickened on your clit, drawing higher and louder moans from you. “Fuck, Rafe,” you moaned loudly, only spurring him on further. His own moans joined yours, and you felt your stomach tighten. You tensed, and he noticed, not changing a thing about his actions until you were seeing stars. Your whole body tightened as you came, thighs trembling and mouth hanging open in a silent scream, and he watched every second of it, keeping pace until you peeled his hand off your center, the feeling becoming too much to handle. He dropped his hand, but remained constant with his hips until you saw his own face begin to scrunch. He moaned a “Fuck, Y/N” as he spilled into the condom, and paused for his own high to blow over before pulling out of you gently. You felt an emptiness in you then, wanting him back inside of you but knowing you both needed a break. After throwing away the condom, he came back to lay beside you on the bed, heavy breathing matching your own.

Your eyes remained closed, but you became conscious of how long you were lingering. Wasn’t that rule number one of hook-ups? You were supposed to leave right after?

“Sorry, just give me a second and I’ll go,” you huffed, still catching your breath.

He looked over at you and, after realizing what you said, spoke, “you’re not going anywhere.” You looked at him in slight confusion.

“We’re gonna snuggle and then go get some food. I’m fucking starving after that.”

“Okay,” you conceded. Again, you would have agreed to anything that man had said in that moment. You didn’t have the energy or will power to put up a fight. He pulled you onto his chest and wrapped his arms around you, kissing your forehead and soothing your skin with his fingers. You sighed and shut your eyes, soaking in the moment.

“So?” he prodded, that same cocky tone as before lacing his voice.

“So, what?” you teased.

“I’m guessing by your volume that you liked it,” he retorted. You felt yourself blush at this, not realizing that you had been particularly loud. He felt your embarrassment and comforted with a laugh, “It’s okay, I like loud. It was hot.” All you could do was giggle and bury your face in his chest.

“Hungry?” he changed the subject. You nodded, and he sat up and said, “Get dressed, gorgeous.” You looked down at the wrinkled lingerie that still adorned your figure, realizing that you didn’t have anything else to wear. You certainly couldn’t wear this in public. This wasn’t Vegas. He saw where your gaze landed and seemed to understand. After putting on his joggers, he walked over to you with his shirt and put it over your head, pulling the sleeves over your arms. “Doordash it is, then.”

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