#devoid of talent

[aster-draws]

The urge to put hot to go or pink pony club in the Prom chapter of better halves versus my intense desire to keep it vaguely anachronistic: FIGHT

[doggirlbuck]

whatever whatever whatever i just have to keep doing what im doing and ignore everything else i know i have interesting ideas i know im fairly decent at drawing i know im creative and interesting and cool i cant let anyone else let me think otherwise

[goodeye-cyborg]

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[persicipen]

𑑛 “A GUARD FOR HIRE” ﾉ MOZE. HONKAI STAR RAIL

fem reader ﾉ words 2.8k ᯽ reader is a high-ranked diplomat. bit proud and bratty. petnames — princess. moze is giving emo aura. quickie. manhandling against the wall. thrill of getting discovered. cumming inside, mentioned protection. one night stand but suggestion to continue the relationship. flirting going both ways! ᯽ ADULT CONTENT ﾉ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT ᯽

your diplomatic visit to one of the xianzhou ships is of utmost importance. thus, general feixiao lends her personal guard to ensure your safety. the short stroll in shadows takes an unexpected turn, one that leaves you both smitten.

The light breeze of the docks brings the scent of incense and distant melodies. Your arrival on one of the Xianzhou ships is marked by the swirl of silken banners and the quiet greeting of highest elegance between you and a few other diplomats.

The title of ‘Princess’ is a misnomer, one that clings to you like an unwanted gossip, yet here you stand, poised and ready to fulfill your role.

A figure detaches from the shadows as you step off the polished platform after exchanging pleasantries. Moze, the infamous shadow of the Great General Feixiao of the Xianzhou Yaoqing, moves with the quiet grace of a predator. His greyish features are looming over you like a storm, emphasising the stark contrast of his fuchsia eyes that seem to pierce through your very being. His demeanour is akin to a crow, brooding and enigmatic, a man of both dignity and foreboding.

“Welcome, Princess,” he addresses you with a curt nod, his voice low and devoid of warmth. The title grates on your nerves, but you swallow your irritation, knowing that he is your shield tonight.

“Good evening, indeed it is. Moze, correct? Long time no see…” you reply, striving to match his aloofness. “General Feixiao has entrusted you with my safety.”

He inclines his head again, a gesture that feels more like an acknowledgment of an obligation rather than respect. “Follow me,” he says, turning on his heel without waiting for your response.

You fall into step behind him, the bustling celebration fading as he leads you through a series of narrow passages. The noise of the festival is muffled here, replaced by the distant hum of the ship’s core and the occasional clink of unseen machinery. His presence is both a comfort and a source of unease; his silence is palpable, a constant reminder that one does not receive a prominent place by the general’s side so easily — he must possess many hidden talents, and you’re unsure if you should pursue your curiosity about any of them.

“As per usual, the security here is disappointing. Suspicious patrols are too active tonight,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. “We must avoid unnecessary attention.”

You purse your lips, unsatisfied but unwilling to press further. The passageway twists and turns, your guide leading you with an unerring sense of direction until he suddenly halts, raising a hand to signal you to stop. You glance around, finding yourself in a secluded corridor, far from the festival’s epicentre.

His proximity is unsettling, the cold aura he exudes a barrier to the warmth of the celebration you can no longer hear. Yet, there is a confidence in his movements, a silent assurance that he will protect you, even if his loyalty remains as shadowed as his past. Should you even trust him? No, you mustn’t doubt the general’s word. She would not have sent her personal guard to you otherwise.

In a swift movement, Moze pushes you against the wall, eliciting a quiet gasp from your lips. One hand curls around your neck while the other grabs your hip, keeping you still.

“What are you doing?” you let out a silent scream at him, but he covers your mouth with his gloved hand — the awful realisation striking you how large his palm is compared to yours when you try to pull it away, unsuccessfully.

“Shh, patrols.” All he says, barely moving his lips, eyes flickering to the side and head tilted a degree to listen.

“But—”

He moves his hand, cupping your cheeks and chin instead, silencing you with the gesture. His touch feels heavy, inexplicably intimate. “I can’t let them see you.”

Your chest heaves as you struggle to find words to reply, but none come. His neon eyes burn into yours and it feels like the air has turned thicker, heavier, charged with electricity. You see him tense as footsteps echo through the closed street and then all of a sudden, he pulls you closer to him.

“Keep still. I can make us disappear.”

A violent shudder runs through your body at his command, and you immediately feel his thigh pressed between your legs. Is he even aware?

The silence hangs between you, filled only by the hammering of your heart and your harsh breathing. Every sense is attuned to his closeness, the hard press of his chest against yours, the heat emanating from his body, the rough texture of the metal details on his gloves against your skin. His fingers are tight on your chin, ensuring your eyes are fixed on him.

His presence is overwhelming, crushing, yet he seems completely unaffected, scanning the darkness with laser-like focus. How can he be so impassive? Why do you feel this way?

A small eternity passes before he finally relaxes his muscles, eyes gliding to meet yours — for the amount of emotions he shows, which is barely anything, they almost express an apology. “They’re gone.”

“Mhm,” you hum, unable to say anything else. You fear if you open your mouth, he’ll hear how your breathing hitches at his touch, hear the thoughts in your head that were anything but noble, hear your desire and confusion that pools in your core.

“We must move on, Princess. Don’t waste time,” he warns you as he steps back, unexpectedly releasing you from his grasp. Your body immediately misses his closeness, despite how overwhelming it felt. Trembling fingers clutch to his coat involuntarily, before you even notice they move on their own.

But Moze notices, ever vigilant, eyes quickly flashing to your hands, and back up at your face.

He then bows his head as he retrieves your hands away from him, placing them against your sides — almost tenderly. He mutters something unintelligible under his breath, before his brows knit together in a deep frown. “You are my duty. This is no time for idle musings.”

“Hmm… You say that, but do you know what I feel down there?” you whisper, clinging to him closer, the prominent bulge in his pants impossible to hide and easy for you to press after approaching these remaining inches between you two.

He remains still, save for the pulsating twitch beneath your fingers — he is quiet, the rise and fall of his chest slightly uneven, eyes glazed with indecipherable emotion.

A second too long for you to consider him interested, reading yourself to experience the worst shame, but he finally draws you in for a kiss, claiming your lips in a possessive manner, hungrily devouring your mouth like you’re air itself and he’s drowning.

Moze tastes just as you imagined — his tongue smooth, dark and wickedly talented as it glides against yours. The deep growl that reverberates from his chest seems to flow into your mouth, the sound sending an electric current of desire through your body. Your nails claw at his neck, hips desperately rolling against his thigh, searching for any friction you can get. Fuck his military pants and fuck how coarse they feel compared to your silken robes.

A muffled moan escapes your lips as he moves to trail his mouth along your jawline, leaving behind a blazing path of kisses and small nips.

“How far can I—?”

“Until you cum inside. I need to get rid of the stress from this whole delegation…” You could feel him smirking against your skin, but you don’t see it — his gloved fingers wrapping around your neck, making your head spin even more than it already did, but in the most delightful way.

“I assume this much already, but it’s safe, yes?” He suddenly stops, going from possessive to worried so quickly you barely catch up.

“Of course, I wouldn’t risk my career now,” you exhale, long lashes fluttering and lips swollen from his kisses.

You bunch up your expensive robes above your thighs, enough for him to see your glistening cunt, folds puffy with your slick, due to him — that rough fabric of his pants taunting you as a challenge to push you this far. Himself, he works fast on the buckles and belts of his pants, tugging down the parts necessary for his erection to spring free — he must have been aching for release just as much as you did, maybe even more. He gives himself a few pumps, ensuring he’s hard enough before he pulls you back into his embrace, just enough for him to access your entrance and lift you up without delay.

His mouth seeks yours again, this time with more urgency.

“So… Please, give me this honour. Take me. Give me something worth remembering after this night is over,” you mumble between his kisses, eyes wide open in anticipation of what is to happen.

The first thrust makes you weak in the knees, the feeling of his length sliding inside you is indescribable. You thought that his energy and aura were overwhelming before, but now it’s multiplied tenfold. You slip on one of your heels, but he secures you with his forearm under your lifted knee. The sound of your silk robes swishing as he moves against you is like music to your ears.

“Be quiet, Princess. Would you want someone to find us?” His voice is harsh, lips brushing against your earlobe as he whispers to you. As if reading your mind, because a wanton moan was already blooming in your throat, barely swallowed in time.

Your hips ache, both from the impact of being held in the air and how furiously you buck against him. You move in tandem, bodies writhing together, yet moze keeps control over your movements. The weight of his cock is deep and relentless, fucking you into a frenzy, making your eyes roll back as your legs tremble. His gaze burns into yours, all your attention consumed by his presence.

“How are you holding on?” His voice is barely above a whisper, eyes half-lidded and clouded with desire. “Knowing that it could end your career, how are you dealing with it?”

“I… Fuck, I don’t care about it now! You’re so smug about it, shouldn’t you do better if you still have the time to mock an official that pays you for your job?” you reply with a sharp pride, albeit quietly, but enough to send him the message. He seems almost impressed, judging by the smirk he gives you in return.

Fixing the hold he has on you, both of your knees now in the air and all your weight pressed against the wall and in the grip of his muscular arms, there’s no way to escape as he lets you fall on his shaft over and over again, deeper and deeper, his tip kissing your cervix, the movements harsh and quick.

“I can’t keep quiet!” you mewl right into his neck, your resolve faltering as your pleasure grows.

Moze chuckles darkly at your begging, apparently finding it amusing how you tremble and your eyes roll back as he relentlessly pounds into you.

“Look at me, Princess,” he commands. “You’ll cum with my eyes on you.”

His intense gaze holds you captive, like a moth drawn to the flame. Every detail fixed in your mind — his furrowed brow, lips parted as he draws in ragged breaths, neon eyes blazing with lust. Your body is on fire, every nerve tingling with pleasure, your release so close yet out of reach.

In a swift movement, he rolls his hips to angle himself against your sweet spot, a smug grin stretching across his lips as he feels you tighten around him.

“You’re so gorgeous when you’re desperate,” he whispers, leaning forward to trail his tongue along your throat. “If we were not on a mission, i’d have you spread out before me on the silken sheets.”

“Do… not… order… me… around…! Just because I— I’m vulnerable now!” you keep muttering under your breath, half-irritated by his words, half-trying to compose yourself so you wouldn’t moan through your gritted teeth. Your neck is soaked by his kisses and occasional nips that he leaves there as he adjusts his pace, both to match the quiet music of the festival and make sure he hits all the right spots inside you.

It works perfectly. Despite your persistence, a few times you were close to slip out from his grasp and into a loud and shameless moan, but he holds you with an iron grip, coaxing your orgasm out of you with expert precision.

Your muscles tense and your mind goes blank, all your senses honed in on the feeling of moze filling you, completing you. He presses his forehead against yours, gaze fixed on your face as you unravel, a ragged moan slipping past your lips. He curses under his breath, a strained groan that reverberates in your chest. The coil of pleasure within snaps, ecstasy washing over you in a violent wave, sparks dancing before your eyes as you clench around him. You cling to him, fingers tangling in his hair, nails digging into his shoulders, holding onto him like a lifeline.

He stills inside you, the tremors of your orgasm milking his cock, urging him to his release. During that minimal break, your eyes meet through the delirious haze, and you breathe out the quietest “come for me…” that works like a whip on him.

A rush of heat fills you as he cums with a staggered sigh, gloved fingers tightening their hold on your hips as he grinds against you, prolonging both your pleasures until he stills, tip pulsing with his release.

It feels so hot inside you, all you can think about is how you would look with your legs spread, his cum dripping down your thighs. How you would love to let that happen… but it is not an option for now.

But this moment will be forever imprinted in your memory, in the back of your mind. Especially when Moze presses his forehead against yours again, and pants right into your mouth — tousled but not sweaty, his stamina formidable.

“This is a bonus. But I still expect you to pay my wages,” he then smiles.

You huff at his demand, irritated by his assertiveness despite everything. “That is not what I had in mind. You think of me lowly! I would assume to pay you even more now that—”

“I’m not a whore, Princess. I’m fine with the original deal. This is a bonus, like I said. For being endearing.”

It’s a little saddening how quickly he puts you down, not waiting for your answer and adjusting his outfit in seconds. And yet somehow he still makes you feel special, like a prized possession he didn’t want to let go of, an unexpected gift wrapped up in a crumpled bow.

“Right… The deal,” you scoff, slowly but surely finding your ground on the heels. They seem to be like an additional leverage now that he fucked your brains out so thoroughly, you’re impressed how you can keep balance after that.

His cold facade only breaks when you step away from him. You barely notice his eyes flick to your face and then look at your heels, noticing how you seem more balanced than before. “Hmm… Not bad.”

“Is that praise I hear? Oh, do tell me more,” you smirk.

He huffs a little in amusement as you’re yet to realise there’s a drop of cum trickling down your inner leg. And then another one, finally tickling you enough to notice. He cocks an eyebrow, rather pleased about it, but says nothing — not out of sympathy, but because he finds it funny how you blink in confusion and then pick up the corner of your robes, wiping it against your wet entrance.

Your skin tingles where his touch lingered, all too aware of how exposed you feel. You are used to the skimpy dresses that are part of your designated fashion, but Moze stares at you with such intensity it’s like you’re standing naked before him. You push the thought from your mind and will yourself to meet his gaze.

“You should be proud, I’m usually not so easily pleased,” you say, though your voice wavers more than you would like.

A lopsided smirk is the only indication that he heard you as he adjusts his glove, turning his back to you and expecting you to follow. “My only task for tonight is to keep you safe. If you wish for my other services, you would have to convince General Feixiao first to borrow me again.”

You study him closely, wondering if his words are true. Your skin still buzzes with the memory of his touch, though your true responsibility forces you to disguise your feelings.

“Let’s go.”

[kianamaiart]

can i ask what the process was like for hiring voice actors for your project was like? i have my own animated project i'm working on and that seems like a big, scary step as an indie creator

I'm lucky in that a lot of the VAs I cast are friends/mutuals of mine so I just DMd them and asked for their rates/if they'd be open to working on my pilot. When I posted the character bios initially, Shara commented on DeVoid saying "I wanna voice the baddie" and I said "bet". For everyone else, I'd just send them the character bios and script to read over to make sure they were down. I was even luckier that a lot of them were just down to help me out despite me trying to pay them (i made sure to at the very least offer my services as an artist if they ever needed prints for cons in the future)

More under the cut

Of the 7 VAs, I didn't know 2 of them personally and was planning on cold emailing their agent (they both have the same one) to ask if they'd be available for something like this. I was definitely nervous and was drafting up emails for such a long time wondering how to pitch the project and make it seem appealing without tooting my own horn too much.

During this time, I'd DMd Marieve, who's my friend and coworker on Big City Greens (voice of Tilly and our voice director), and asked if she'd be open to giving me voice directing tips since I'd be working with professional VAs on my own. She was gracious enough to just work alongside me on the project which was SO helpful, I owe her my life. I mentioned to her that I was still casting and was gonna email Atlas Talent to see if I could book the two other actors. What I didn't realize is that Marieve was also with Atlas and had the same agent and is also friends with said agent. She connected us and they got back to me right away!

That was my in, and from here on is what the booking process is actually like. This is what I feel like will be the most useful to you!

I told them who I was looking to book and they asked if they could get more info on the project. I sent them all my pitch materials so they knew this was a legitimate thing that was happening. I'd had pretty much the whole board and all the scripts done at this time. I feel like having actual, tangible work to show will really help your chances. The talent will know what they're getting into and if they're open to doing the project. Oh and also, if you have some VAs cast and are going to cast more, mentioning who you have already can also give you leverage and make you seem more legitimate. Ooh and also also, I let them know I was massively open to improv which I feel a lot of actors enjoy. A big selling point for this project.

They passed this along to the actors and I also made sure to tell them my budget. I was told by another VA friend that VO rates usually range from $200-300 an hour (you can shoot lower for indie projects). I told them I could do $200/hr but since they're pretty high profile, I was willing to negotiate.

The agent got back to me saying that the actors really liked the script and were willing to do it for free/at a discounted rate which meant the absolute world to me. Both of them are sweethearts and I also owe them my life. From there we scheduled zoom sessions and also studio times (we recorded one of them in person which was so sick). I'd say zoom's the way to go so you don't have to pay to rent a studio out and most VAs, due to the pandemic, have at home setups. There was a lot of scheduling back and forth involved with the agents and the studio but it all worked out and boom! Had em recorded in the next couple weeks.

I will say, it's ALWAYS worth asking and reaching for the stars. VAs are artists too and generally like being on fun, creatively fulfilling projects. You never know who'd be willing to be on your project if you never ask~

[illyrianbitch]

An Education in Malice — Part Three

Pairing: Vanserra!Reader x Azriel

Summary: With the sharp tongue of your notorious family, you are Azriel's most tantalizing challenge yet. It only takes one small meeting before you both realize that the line between hate and desire is dangerously thin.

Warnings: 18+ SMUT lots of bickering, sexual tension, threats, name calling, slight torture and wound descriptions, two emotionally dysregulated cunts tbh

Word Count: 8.2k (whoops i got carried away sorry)

←Part Two | Series Masterlist | Part Four🡢

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

After Lucien left Autumn, you saw him once in a while, found time to meet with him in Spring when things weren’t treacherous at home. It wasn’t often, but it was a breath of fresh air when you usually needed it most. You always assumed that feeling came with the openness of Spring— the feeling of being able to laugh with your brother.

But it only got harder over time and things slowly got bitter. Lucien tried his best to persuade you, had convinced you of a future for yourself you never would’ve imagined. Tamlin was ready to welcome you, to give you a space in his court, in his home. But you declined. Over and over, you declined. And eventually, Lucien stopped asking— and stopped pretending he wasn’t deeply hurt by your refusals. 

Before meeting with Azriel, it had been quite some time since you’d stepped foot in the Spring Court.  You hadn’t seen firsthand the damage that was done by Hybern. 

The house you stood in was nestled amidst the Spring Court's grassy expanse, dainty and modest but still beautiful, something so reminiscent of a peaceful, lively history.  You could almost feel an echo in these walls, something dull and quiet, a haunting remnant of a life that was lived here. The silence was broken only by the soft shuffle of your footsteps against the dusty floorboards. 

Sunlight filtered through the large, dusty windows, casting golden hues upon the scattered papers that littered the floor like fallen leaves in autumn— you stared at it for a moment, at the rays of light pouring through as normal, as if there was still a family inside to bask in their warmth.

"This is not where we meet.”

You bit back a grin as you nonchalantly shrugged, casting a quick glance over your shoulder. Sure enough, there he stood, spine straight and eyes burning into your back. Azriel had an affinity for quiet entrances, you’d noticed. But no matter how stealthy he tried to be, you could always sense him. Somehow, somewhere deep inside you.

 "I do things differently than my brother.”

You ran your fingers along a worn tabletop as you walked past it,  turning to face him fully as you leaned against the wood. There was a casual ease about your movements that you knew made Azriel uncomfortable, something you did that made his shadows swarm around him like angry bees to a heavily disturbed beehive. 

Your gaze met his.  "Besides, it's not like Tamlin will mind. Or these people," you said, gesturing around the abandoned, empty room with a sweep of your hand. "Seems like this home has been devoid of life since your High Lady let Hybern decimate this court."

Azriel's rough growl rumbled low in his chest, his shadows quickly slithering up his body to curl around his wings. From behind him they flared slightly, shadows hovering on their apexes like dark sentinels. You watched the display for a moment. And then your gaze fell back to Azriel’s face. 

You raised a single eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corners of your lips.

"And they call Tamlin a beast."

Your voice was laced with equal parts mockery and challenge, a talent you’d learned to refine over the years. It always filled you with such satisfaction to see the flicker of annoyance on the males you used it with, the anger that grew in the muscles of their body.

Azriel said nothing, gave no response aside from the clench of his jaw and a flare of his nostrils. He was never one for self-composure, never needed to hone the skill. If he wasn’t staying in the shadows, quietly absorbing any information that was willingly shared in the dark, he was using his methods to get answers— and those methods, that duty, didn’t require him to have self control. If anything, his simmering anger helped him. But he was being careful now— around you, specifically. 

Another moment passed and Azriel’s shadows returned to their original place around his torso. He tucked his wings tightly between his shoulder blades. You frowned at the motion, watching as he scanned you, took in your entire presence before him, and turned to leave. 

It was your turn to clench your jaw, for your nostrils to flare in anger. A feeling of deja-vu ran through you like a wave, a memory of how he’d walked away from you in that forest, of how he had dismissed you so quickly then, too. You glared at his retreating form, pushing yourself off the table to stand.

"And where are you going?"

There was a sharp edge to your voice, a dripping venom that Azriel quickly recognized. His footsteps faltered for a moment. 

"Away," he replied tersely.

You weren’t one to beg. If circumstances were different, you’d gladly let him leave, make some comment to push him out the door yourself. After all, the last time you’d seen him your sole goal was to ensure he was out of your hair— out of your business. But things had changed. Eris needed you, and you needed Azriel. You needed an edge– a starting point. Anything. And deep down you knew Azriel had something to offer, that his shadows, his time submerged in them, must have gotten some information, some whisper, that could help you. 

If anything, he’d be able to help you with your current situation. You tossed a glance toward the small hallway behind you, towards the closed door at the end of it. You let out a small growl. 

 "We haven't talked," you snapped, “You’ve been here for less than five minutes. Are you giving up so quickly?”

Slowly, he turned to face you, his gaze a smoldering ember, tense with a restrained fury. "We've talked enough." 

There was a small hunger burning deep inside his stomach now and Azriel knew what he needed to do. He needed to go home and tell Rhysand that he, in fact, wasn’t up for this job. He needed to tell him that he had better things to do with his time, that due to the recent silence, perhaps these meetings weren’t needed in the first place. He made a move to leave once more. 

If you were angry before, you were even more pissed now. You were willing to cooperate despite every fiber of your being itching to set him alight, to leave him and remind him of his place. And he was toying with you. 

With a sharp intake of breath, you snapped your hand out, inadvertently dislodging a piece of wood from the top of the doorframe. Azriel's shadows shot out, snatching the fiery fragment from the air before it could fall. With a swift motion, tendrils of black shadow extinguished the flames, engulfing the fire and leaving only the scent of smoke lingering in the air. 

You blinked, watching as Azriel looked down at the burnt piece of wood that now dropped at his feet. He kicked it off his boots in a gesture of casual regard. 

You took a deep breath as you repeated, "I said we haven't talked.”

Slowly, Azriel turned around, his gaze piercing, expression etched with a simmering anger that would send most fleeing. You matched it as best as you could. He began to advance towards you, each step deliberate and measured, agonizingly slow. You found yourself rooted to the spot, unable to tear your gaze away from his approaching form. Despite the seething anger that coursed through your veins, you forced yourself to draw in deep breaths, fists clenched at your sides, nails digging into your palms. 

Every muscle in your body screamed for action, for release, but you remained still.

Bending down slightly, he brought himself to eye level with you. His eyes scanned you, dissecting you with the precision of a predator sizing up its prey. And then, in a voice that dripped with authority and a burning fury, he spoke. "Tell Eris that if he isn't the one to meet with us, our agreement is over."

Your jaw clenched at his proximity, at the predatory gleam in his eyes that dared you to back down. But you refused to cower. You were growing tired of males in your life giving you commands. 

"Last I checked, you're a lap dog, not a High Lord. You don't give orders.”

His breathing mirrored your own, both turning shallow and erratic. As if in response to the heavy atmosphere, Azriel's shadows stirred, darkness swirling around him like a cloak of night. His wings extended. Then he straightened, the tension in the air easing slightly as he pulled away, breaking the almost suffocating closeness between you. 

“Why would I talk to you?” Azriel spoke. "Did you not threaten me the last time we spoke?"

You narrowed your eyes at his question, a bitter laugh escaping your lips as you shook your head in disbelief. "Oh my gods," you mocked, bringing a hand to your lips in exaggerated surprise. "Is this what this is all about?"

With a sarcastic lilt to your voice, you continued, "Did I hurt your feelings, Shadowsinger? Is that it?" 

Azriel's gaze hardened into something almost tangible, eyes narrowing into slits that bore into yours. Tension coiled in the muscles of his jaw. He gave no response. 

"Fine," you said, "If you're so sensitive, send someone else to keep this arrangement."

You waited for a moment, watched as Azriel stood quietly before you.

"Rhysand should have never agreed to working with your pathetic excuse of a brother."

A familiar heat rose within your stomach.  "My pathetic excuse of a brother," you echoed, "has saved your asses multiple times, whether you're willing to admit it or not."

A silence stretched between you. You clenched your jaw.

"Rhysand made this agreement," you hissed, "So be a good little Spymaster and spill your guts."

His demeanor remained stoic, but there was a subtle shift in his expression as his gaze scanned you once more, eyes narrowing slightly in contemplation. Something new gleamed in them, now, a hint of amusement deep within the hazel-brown. Even his shadows had stilled, coming to a slow circling around his arms. 

"I thought that agreement didn't apply to you?"

"Things have changed." 

"How very convenient for you.”

Frustration boiled in your chest.  "The sooner you give me any updates, the sooner you can crawl back into your shadows to wallow in self-pity," you spat.

Azriel's eyebrow raised in response. But still, there was no verbal answer, no indication of any real response. 

Straightening your posture, you adopted a facade of sweetness, a coy smile playing at the corners of your lips. "At this point, I'm starting to think you're finding reasons to stay and argue with me," you said, "If you want to fuck again, just ask. You’re getting desperate. It’s not a good look."

His eyes darkened instantly— as if you’d offended him in some deeply egregious way. "No updates,” he snarled.

You were torn on whether to smirk at his response or to offer a snarl of your own. 

"That's what you said last time we spoke,” you responded, “Over a month ago.” 

"Sorry to disappoint, princess.”

Azriel made it a point to emphasize the last word, to add as much venom as he could to the syllables that it contained. It practically dripped of contempt. His shadows flickered and writhed around him.

His silence, his nonchalance, his arrogant demeanor—  it was all beginning to eat at you, beginning to gnaw at whatever patience you had collected to be here before him. In the back of your mind you kept reminding yourself, kept repeating it over and over again: Eris needed you. And you needed Azriel. 

“You came here,” you said through gritted teeth, “You found me. Why bother making the trip if you had nothing of use to offer?”

Ever so slightly, like a dog curiously sizing up another animal, Azriel’s head tilted. He offered a half shrug. “It was expected of me.”

You scoffed. "As a good lapdog, I suppose."

A growl cut through the air like a warning. "Watch it," he cautioned.

"I don't think I will," you replied coolly, "You're all useless, as usual, so I guess I'll find out what I need to know by myself."

He raised an eyebrow in response, a subtle tick in his jaw as he scanned your face once more. Then, he turned to leave for what felt like the fifteenth time within the hour. 

You bit at the inside of your cheek. "And to think I had a little gift for you."

He stopped in his tracks, turning back to face you with a scowl. "What are you talking about?" 

“Doesn’t matter.” You shrugged nonchalantly, feigning indifference as you inspected your nails with exaggerated interest. "But, y’know, I always thought one of the perks of being a shadowsinger was being able to hear things other people didn't.”

You dropped your hand to look up at him. “Guess not.”

The muscles in Azriel's jaw tensed, his patience wearing thin as he took a menacing step closer to you. "You’re insufferable," he snarled, his voice a low rumble that reverberated through the room. “What are you hiding?”

“Rude.” You pouted. “And it’s not a what, so much as a who.”

Azriel’s gaze lingered on you, his eyes following the movement of your lips as they curved into a smile.  "Come on, pretty boy,” you taunted, voice laced with amusement, “If you’re not gonna use your shadows, at least use those arched ears of yours.” 

He scowled, letting his shadows fall from where he had been purposely containing them. Instantly they dispersed throughout the house. Az stood still— eerily, stone, still— as his eyes remained trained on you. A moment later, realization dawned on his face, his expression shifting from anger to something cooler. 

You chewed at your lip.  "Now, should I be flattered that my presence is so distracting?" 

A new grin began to widen as he shot you a glare, instantly moving towards the hallway of the small house, his shadows curling around his ankles while a few lone tendrils led the way.

The hallway was small, with only a few doors lining either side. He passed two in quick succession before finally reaching the room at the end of the hallway.

Pushing open the door, Azriel's shadows spilled into the room and he stilled, gaze falling to the unmoving form of a male sprawled on the floor. He was bloody and bruised, features twisted in pain as he lay in a pool of his own blood. 

He was alive. This Azriel knew from both his shadows and the shallow rise and fall of the male’s chest. He blinked, taking in the scene for another moment. From behind him, he heard your soft footsteps cease. 

When he turned to look at you, you were still grinning at him, a glint of something in your eye that made him nervous, of all things. 

"This is…" you began as you walked to where Azriel stood, positioning yourself next to him as you continued to speak. “One of my father's men.”

You gestured toward the man on the floor, shaking your head with a small chuckle of disbelief. "Somehow he’s one of my father's most trusted– has been out on a few errands for him.” You turned to look up at Azriel, only to find his gaze already on you. "Such a shame he’s on a drunken bender now... or at least, that's what everyone in Autumn is saying."

Azriel's gaze shifted from you to the man on the floor, his expression unreadable as he stared at the scene before him. "Did Eris bring him here?"

You scoffed at the suggestion. "I take offense to that, Shadowsinger. This was all me. Eris doesn't know.”

The answer drew Azriel’s gaze back to you, eyes narrowing with what you could only assume was a mix of skepticism and curiosity. 

"Why not?" 

You met his stare with a steely gaze of your own. "Don't worry yourself with the details.”

Your tone was cold enough to make him fall silent once more as he turned his attention back to the male on the floor. 

"You haven't heard even a whisper about Koschei?” You said, “Then he's probably your best bet, given Beron's incessant need for a power grab."

Beron. Azriel took note of how you used the term father interchangeably with his name. He stored the information away in his mind, reminding himself to think about it later– to assess if it was important enough to use against you in some shape or form. 

Azriel turned around to meet your gaze.  "What do you want?"

A smirk tugged at the corners of your lips as you met his intense stare. "Maybe you're smarter than I give you credit for.”

But Azriel wasn't having it. He growled in frustration, patience clearly wearing thin as his scowl grew deeper. "What do you want," he repeated.

You didn't flinch. "I need you to be useful for once in your pathetic life and make him talk," you stated bluntly. “Obviously I can't keep him here. But I don't have spare dungeons just lying around. We're a bit more civil in Autumn than you night dwellers.”

"Civil isn't the word I'd use," Azriel gritted his teeth.

You rolled your eyes, biting back the answering remark that was on the tip of your tongue. You knew you’d have plenty more opportunities to tell him off, to make him simmer in his own anger and evident self-hatred. But you needed to buy that extra time first.

“I need you to take him somewhere and do your job. And I need you not to tell your owner about it—not yet, anyway."

Azriel sent a withering glare your way, but he didn’t bother to respond. If he were to acknowledge your words, acknowledge the jabs you were making at him, he was bound to lose control. He could feel it bubbling inside him already. 

“And why the hell would I do that?” 

You let out a small contemplative hum. The sound held a gentle caress to it, one that stood in such contrast to you— and to the bloodied male that lay before you both. It made Azriel shiver, made him itch to make a move. He wasn’t sure what move it would be, didn’t trust himself enough to think about it for too long. 

“You’re desperate,” you said, cocking your head at him. “I can sense it. This silence, the lack of any movement or threat, it has you unsettled.” 

Azriel’s glare remained fixed on you, a burning intensity that could have set you ablaze if he had been ‘blessed’ with powers just like you. It made you excited, the realization that you still evoked such strong emotions in an otherwise emotionless male. 

“I don’t think you know how to exist when you aren’t needed,” you murmured, “And your only skillset seems to fall in between fighting and fucking.”

His shadows swarmed around him as he rolled his shoulders back, wings extending out and high to tower over you— a reminder of who he was, in case you had forgotten. He was sending you a warning. 

“And what if I were to say no?” Azriel said, his darkened eyes drinking you in like a new challenge. “If I were to take him now, hide him somewhere and get the answers I needed?”

“You wouldn’t get far,” you said matter-of-factly, “You make the mistake of underestimating me.”

He thought back to his encounters with you, to the venomous bite of your tongue and the fire in your veins. He asked honestly, voice deep and rough like gravel, “Is that so?”

“All I care about is figuring out what my father is doing. Everything else? That’s on you.”

It was all true. You didn’t care about Koschei— not truly, not about him specifically. If it came down to it and there was a way to protect your family, to protect Eris and Lucien, to protect your mother and your hounds, even your other brothers, you would let him burn the world down. It didn’t matter to you. All that mattered was ensuring that power, that leverage, didn’t end up with your father. The savior complex of the Night Court could deal with the rest. 

“So if you try to cross me, I’ll kill him,” you pointed to the male on the floor. And then, you brought a finger to Azriel, “And then, I’ll go after someone you care about. I won’t lie and say that I haven’t dreamed of what it would feel like to make your sorry excuse of a family burn.”

Something snapped within Azriel, some thin sense of resolve that he had been delicately protecting by remaining quiet, passive even. In an instant, faster than his own shadows could process, he had you by the throat, pinning you against the wall with a force that stole your breath away. His eyes blazed with fury as he held you in place, grip tightening as he leaned in to share a breath with you. 

"You have a death wish, princess," he growled, voice low and dangerous, sharp like a sword. "I don’t care about Rhysand’s deal with your brother, with you. If you threaten my family, I’ll kill you."

Slowly, a smirk grew on your lips, tantalizing and wicked in a way that made Azriel’s own shadows still. Your smirk only widened as Azriel's grip tightened around your throat.

You could feel his anger radiating from him, could see it in the flare of his wings, in his breathing—heavy and ragged like a wound-up beast on the brink of attack.

"Is it killing me you think about when I run through that mind of yours?" you gasped out, your voice laced with a dangerous, intoxicating edge. "Or is it something else?"

The words seemed to strike a nerve, igniting a deeper, darker blaze of fury behind Azriel's eyes. He knew you were right, knew that thoughts of you had haunted his mind more than he cared to admit. Images of you, of your defiance and your vile mouth, had conjured themselves in his darkest fantasies, igniting a desire within him that he struggled to contain— how much he had enjoyed you, how starved he was to repeat it again, to make you submit in some form. 

"Shut up," he growled, his voice rough, strained.

"You want me dead, Shadowsinger?” you managed to taunt, your words punctuated by ragged breaths as his hand remained wrapped around your throat.  “Allow me to help you get a head start."

With a deliberate slowness, you raised your hand, revealing the glint of Truth-Teller, watching as Azriel's eyes flickered to the dagger, his expression betraying a hint of alarm.

A surge of adrenaline coursed through you as you observed his reaction, as you watched a sense of realization pass through his face— perhaps he had begun to realize that you were not just a challenge, you were an equal. A proper threat.

His shadows surged forward, pinning your wrist to the wall with a force that made a strained gasp leave your tightening throat. The dagger slipped from your grasp, clattering to the floor with a metallic echo.

Despite the pressure against your windpipe, you managed to maintain your composure, your voice steady, albeit broken, as you spoke, "I told you that you were underestimating me."

Azriel looked over his shoulder at the male behind him, running the scenarios through his mind. You were right. He was unsettled— not only by the silence, but by some unquenchable thirst he’d been feeling. He veered away from admitting the truth, from admitting that his duties as a Spymaster helped him relieve some deep tension that had forged itself into his very bones, anger that was born out of every event of his life. It made him feel powerful, made him feel useful, made him feel in control. 

He’d been lacking in that area recently. He wanted to be in control again. This scenario, the male before him, a secret deal with you— being with you, it made for some sinister compromise in his deeply troubled mind. Something that made him hungry, made his thoughts hazy. 

“I’m not a patient female,” you hissed, “Make up your mind or get the hell out of here.”

Azriel knew better— somewhere deep in his gut, even deep in his mind, he knew better. But his rationality wasn’t the part he tended to listen to. So against his better judgment, and in favor of the burning he felt in his chest, of the sickening sense of excitement that had begun to grow, and the allure of your grin, he let out a breath and released his grip on you.

 “Fine.”

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

It had been a few days now, a week almost, since Azriel relocated Renard– as he’d so kindly offered his name— to an area where he could interrogate him farther.

The day had been quiet, nothing beyond familial affairs and brotherly gossip within your home. So you decided to pay Azriel a visit— see just how much this deal was benefiting you.

You stood silently for a while, observing Azriel as he circled Renard with an eerie calmness. You held on to any words that he spoke, absorbing any information you could— just in case Azriel began to pick and choose what he wanted to share. You knew that he knew you were there, that he’d sensed you the minute you’d winnowed in. But he hadn’t made any move to acknowledge you. You doubted he would anytime soon. 

This was how it had been for the past week. Azriel, as you had come to learn, went into a certain headspace when he immersed himself in his duties. He was frightening enough on his own, in his normal stature shrouded in his own shadows, wings on display. But in this state, as an active spymaster, even you found yourself being careful. Not as much as you should have been, but far more cautious than you usually were. 

A few more minutes passed, minutes filled with cryptic talk and groans of pain. You pushed yourself off the wall and walked closer to the opening.

"For a Spymaster, you're awfully bad at your job.”

Renard’s head snapped up to where you stood and he sneered as he caught sight of you, eyes filling with contempt. "If it isn’t the backstabbing whore herself," he spat, "When your father finds out what you've been up to, he'll—"

You clenched your jaw as your gaze flickered to him, taking in his form– bound to a metal chair, covered in his own dried blood. The irritation in your gut calmed as you gave him a scowl. 

"For a male bound to a chair like a bitch, you sure are mouthy.”

Renard opened his mouth once more, but before any sound could leave it, a flurry of Azriel’s shadows snaked around his neck, curling up to his mouth to gag him. He thrashed against the movement, attempting to bite at the strange, foreign feeling that bound his mouth. You grinned. 

You shot a pointed look at Azriel. "See, I had him talking already.”

There was no response. Azriel didn’t even look back, didn’t mutter a sound. He seemed more stoic than usual, more quiet than you were used to. It was unsettling. 

“You’re holding back,” you said. A statement— an observed fact.

Azriel threw a bitter glare your way, but his gaze didn't linger, falling back down to his stained hands as he methodically wiped his blade clean with a rag. "You talk too much," he muttered, tone clipped with irritation.

You ignored his deflection. "Is it Elain?"

He stiffened, hands stilling around the blade. For a moment, the only sound in the room was the soft rustle of fabric against steel as Azriel continued to clean the blade with meticulous precision, opting to ignore you to the best of his ability. But you could see it, the tick in his jaw, the tension in his wings— his restraint was slowly chipping away. 

"I can't blame you," you continued, "I've heard she's a real sweetheart. I bet you can't wait to get those blood-stained hands on her, ruin her in some way she can never return from."

The color drained from Azriel's face as his jaw clenched further, the siphons on his hands flickering with blue heat. 

"But she wouldn't stay with someone so dark, would she?" you mused aloud, a mocking lilt to your voice. "Someone so starved for affection."

The room fell into another tense silence as Azriel's grip tightened on his blade, the bound male before you shifting uncomfortably in his chair. But still, Azriel remained silent, expression hard as he continued to stare at the weapon in his hands. 

You felt a surge of frustration building within you, prickling and hot. You wanted a reaction, to break whatever resolve he was clinging to so that you could get the information you needed. 

"I miss Lucien quite a bit," you remarked casually. “He’s always had a great sense of humor. Tell me, can you hear Elain’s giggles through those picture-perfect walls of your Velaris homes? As she chooses a Vanserra over you?”

Azriel finally let out a low, guttural growl, a cloud seemingly descending upon his mind— obscuring his thoughts with a haze of anger and frustration. In one fluid movement, he lunged forward, driving the dagger into Renard’s chest, the blade sinking deep into his flesh as if his skin were a sheath. You, his mind seemed to growl at him, you insufferable, pretentious- 

His shadows slithered up his arms like dark serpents, and before Renard could utter another word of defiance with his newfound freedom, Azriel's fist connected with his face in a brutal blow, sending his head down in a motionless heap.

Azriel turned to face you, eyes burning with a loathing intensity that sent a nervous flutter through your stomach. His jaw was clenched, features taut with a dark anger, yet there was something else there too—a glimmer of excitement, perhaps, maybe even a hint of begrudging respect.

You were torn between fear and defiance, heart pounding in your chest as you met his gaze. There was a part of you that continued to relish in the power you held over him, the way you could push him to the edge with just a few carefully chosen words. But there was also a part of you that held strong to the reminder that you were playing a dangerous game with not nearly enough leverage. 

His gaze bore into you with an energy that made your heart quicken. Wings extended, he rolled his shoulders and took deliberate steps forward. Despite your efforts to stand your ground, you found yourself instinctively stepping back. Fuck.

Azriel noticed the movement instantly, his gaze flickering down to where your foot had shifted. When he looked back up at you, there was a gleam in his eyes that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Is this your way of begging for my attention?" he said, his voice low and dangerous. “Has your court finally grown bored of you?”

A certain heavy anger boiled under your skin. "Fuck you," you spat. Your hands curled at your sides. 

A chilling smirk curled upon Azriel's lips. "You already have.”

He took another step forward and you stumbled backwards until your back hit the cold, unforgiving stone wall behind you.

"It's interesting," Azriel mused, "You say so many things about me, yet you let me fuck you— begged me for it. Do you hate yourself, is that it?"

For a male of little words, Azriel sure knew the right ones to say— and the ways to say them. He was mocking you, playing with you in the same manner you’d toyed with him. You had to admit that being on the receiving end wasn’t as fun. And your patience was wearing thin. 

You met Azriel's gaze with a mask of annoyance.

"Contrary to what your life experience might lead you to believe, some people actually like themselves.”

A small cock of his head.

"I don’t see what there is to like.”

You blinked. Then, a spark in your stomach lit and you were biting back a smirk. 

“Saw enough to fuck me.”

His jaw clenched. Seconds later, something flickered across his face, rolling through the scowl he wore. His eyes narrowed, the intensity of his gaze boring into yours with a new kind of intensity— something hungrier. 

“You were right,” he said, his voice low.

The sudden shift in his tone caught you off guard, leaving you feeling unsettled and apprehensive. He was too calm now, too collected compared to moments prior. It was dangerous— dangerous enough to make your heart quicken. 

"What the fuck are you talking about?" 

Another step towards you, close enough to where you both stood practically chest to chest, sharing a breath. 

"It isn’t just killing you that runs through my mind,” Azriel murmured.

His hand slithered up your collarbone, a roll of anticipation coursing through you at the touch. 

Then, with a swift motion, his hand twisted, fingers wrapping around the base of your neck, fingers threading through your hair. You let out a small, breathless gasp as he pulled roughly at the nape of your neck, coaxing you to tilt your head back, neck exposed fully to him.

He leaned in closer, breath hot against your skin as his nose brushed against your neck— tracing a path to your pointed ear. 

"You have no idea," he breathed, "The things I've imagined doing to you..."

He pulled back to meet your gaze, eyes heavy and blown-out in a haze of lust. He brought a rough hand to grip your chin, the pad of his thumb moving to trail over your bottom lip. "Putting this mouth to better use.”

You let out a small breath, heart pounding in your stomach as a familiar hunger began to grow deep in your stomach. Your body hummed with desire as you locked eyes with him. Azriel stilled, his thumb settling motionless on your lip. His eyes flickered to yours. 

“Does this turn you on, Y/n? Being pressed against a wall, so eager to be put in your place?”

For a moment, you stared intently into those hazel irises, into the dark, sickening sense of desire that flickered in them. Far in the back of your mind, a realization gnawed at you, nipped at you like a small animal begging for attention. This was a bad, bad idea.

Which made it all the more fun.

You surged forward, closing the distance between you and pulling him into a rough kiss fueled equal parts by anger and desire. 

Azriel let out a growl as he pressed you further against the wall, hands roaming eagerly over your body. One hand found its way to your waist, pulling you closer to him with an iron possessive grip while the other quickly moved to grip your ass, bunching the fabric of your dress in his hands. 

You indulged him, mirroring the aggression and pressing hard into the hands that grabbed you, into his chest as you pulled him closer by a rough hand around the base of his neck. You moaned into the kiss, the sound muffled by his lips as he ravished you, nipping at your lips in an attempt to coax the sound out of you once more. 

The kiss was forceful, violating. Your teeth knocked together as Azriel moved his tongue deeper into your mouth, moving it in tandem with your own as you met his mouth in conflicted familiarity — movements both desperate, hot and heavy, separated by only your own gasps.

Azriel’s shadows began to coil around him as a distant groan echoed through the room. With a heavy breath, he pulled away from you.

"What?" you managed to gasp out, voice breathless as your eyes shuttered open.

He glanced over his shoulder, eyes falling to Renard’s stirring form, watching as he slowly came to from whatever hellscape Azriel's punch had thrown him into.

There was the clear choice: push you off, swear to himself that he wouldn’t indulge in such fantasies again and focus on getting answers for his family— information to protect those he loved from an imminent threat. 

And then there was the other choice, just as tempting as it was inherently wrong.

He looked back to you, to your swollen lips and dark gaze. 

Without a second thought, Azriel pulled you back into him, covering you both with his shadows as he winnowed away. 

The world spun in a dizzying whirlwind of movement. Disoriented, you pulled away, faintly recognizing the small home you’d grown familiar with, the same rays of sun peeking through wide windows. Azriel closed the distance between you once more— a kiss of tongue and teeth, rough hands pawing at you like an animal in heat, movements led by a hunger that matched your own. With a rough urgency, he guided you towards the small living area— the image of you pressed over a couch, bent over for him, grew in his mind. 

Azriel pulled apart, tugging at the material of your dress. A rough hand snaked up your waist, his large palm grabbing one of your breasts. 

"Take this off.”  He brought you in for another searing kiss. 

"Stop telling me what to do.”

With a swift movement, Azriel spun you around, hand gripping your neck as he pulled you into him. You could feel the hardness of his arousal pressing against you through his leathers and you fought the urge to writhe in need. 

"There's that attitude," he growled into your ear. A wave of anticipation sparked in your stomach, his voice sending a wave of arousal that began to pool at your core. "I can't wait to fuck it out of you again.”

A smirk tugged at your lips as you turned your head to peer back at him. “And you say I’m the one who talks too much.”

Azriel's eyes darkened, jaw twitching as he removed his hand from your throat, wasting no time as he roughly threw you forward onto the armrest of the couch. You let out a small gasp at the sudden movement, arousal surging through you as his hands worked to push your dress up, the fabric bunching around your waist.

The fact that you were still clothed only added to the burning in your chest— something about it, in this abandoned home, made it feel even dirtier, even more sinful. The first time could have been written off as a bad decision in a lustful, angry haze, but this— this was deliberate. This was purposeful. And you wanted it— badly. 

A groan echoed in the air as Azriel finally stripped you bare of your lace underwear, fingers grazing over the soaked fabric with a primal need. With shallow, heavy breaths, he took in the sight before him, eyes dark with desire as he drank in the curve of your back, the way you instinctively arched in the open air. 

His hands found purchase on your ass, kneading the soft skin of your cheeks with a possessive grip. There was a haze clouding both of your minds now. Azriel felt like a starved animal, like a man already praying for release. 

For you, there was a deep, desperate need to be touched by him further, to feel him inside you again. 

Another moment passed as he gripped your ass in his rough hands. It was sickening how much he was enjoying it, enjoying the way his scarred hands ran over your skin, how his siphon glared and glistened with every pulse of desire that ran through him. His cock stirred.

You gritted your teeth together in response to the urgency in your body, at the fire his touch started beneath your skin. A sound of frustration left your mouth.  

“Are you just going to stare or are yo-”

Your sentence halted abruptly, interrupted by the sudden slap of Azriel's hand against your ass. 

The sting of the impact sent a jolt of electricity rippling down your legs, the feeling instantly intensified by the burning sensation of his finger tracing along your folds.

"Look at that," he crooned, "So eager for my touch."

Two fingers drove into you. Your back arched in response as a delicate moan left your lips. 

Azriel's voice, low and husky, wrapped around you like a caress as he observed your response to his touch. “So responsive.”

He drew fingers out, slowly working up to circle your clit with your own wetness. He curled his fingers into you again, pulling a faint whine from your lips. You bit at your lip, gnawed at it in an attempt to quiet yourself: With each thrust of his fingers, you felt yourself building to the edge of ecstasy.

You attempted to grind your hips back into him. 

But before you could fully indulge in the sensation, a faint tug wrapped around your legs. His shadows coiled around your ankles with a sudden force, yanking your legs apart and holding them firmly in place.

A gasp escaped your lips as you registered the movement, legs bowing under the pressure as his shadows— as Azriel and his fingers— exerted their control over you. His left hand grabbed hold of your ass, locking you in place as his fingers continue to plunge into you.

Azriel hummed in approval at the sight before him, his tongue running along his lip at your vulnerable position.

"You look even better restrained like a good little whore.”

The voice that spoke was almost unrecognizable, even to Azriel himself,  dripping in lust, deeper and rougher than you’d ever heard. A growl escaped your lips.

"A lot of talk and not enough action, Shadowsinger.”

His jaw clenched at the taunt, the muscles on his arms and throughout his back tensing in response. Instead of responding, Azriel’s fingers worked to undo his leathers, quickly freeing himself from the confines of his pants, his length springing free and throbbing with need.

He stroked himself once, twice, his gaze never leaving yours as you lay beneath him, breathless with anticipation.

“Do you want me to fuck you, princess?”

Your heart gave a throb and something in your stomach clenched. At the sound of his voice, your muscles tightened, and by the way Azriel’s breath hitched, the way his body tensed further, you knew he could feel it beneath his fingertips. “Yes,” you answered without hesitation, because how could you not.

He guided a fisted length along your slit until the thick head was pressed against your glistening core— teasingly, agonizingly slow, Azriel repeated the motion. Once, twice, a third time, watching as the tip of his cock slowly collected the wetness of your cunt— the slick that he had caused.  

He hovered above you, cock poised at your entrance as you ached for the release that only he could provide— a scary, insidious reality you’d come to acknowledge. 

Azriel let out a guttural groan as he pushed himself inside of you, your slick walls welcoming him eagerly.

"Oh fuck," he breathed, face contorting in pleasure as he watched himself disappear into your cunt.

The stretch of him was delicious, a sudden feeling of fullness pulling a whimper from your lips as you surrendered to him. Azriel moved his hips slowly, savoring the sensation of being buried deep within you.

He spread your cheeks with his fingers, wanting to admire the sight of his cock disappearing into you— his grip grew tighter the longer he watched, the harder he attempted to store the image away in his mind, somewhere he could reach for it at a later time. His movements were deliberate, each roll of his hips pushing his cock farther, deeper, into you. Agonizingly, teasingly slow.

But you wanted more. You needed more.

“C’mon, pretty boy,” you crooned from over your shoulder, pausing to bring your bottom lip between your teeth. “You can do better than that.”

He let out a growl— a sound more animal than it was fae. And then he was pulling himself out, quickly pushing himself back in to sheath himself to the hilt once more. The force of it alone sent your body forward, and Azriel was quick to grip your waist in his hands and pull you back into him, into his relentless pace. 

“Gods,” Azriel groaned, more to himself than you, “I’ve missed this tight cunt.”

Your back arched more each time he plowed into you, the bow of your spine more pronounced as Azriel’s hands gripped at the small of your back, pushing you further onto the arm of the couch. You gripped the couch cushions beneath you with tightly curled fits, leveraging your hips higher to meet every thrust.

A prickling heat spread through your body, collecting at the palms of your hand as you gripped onto the couch below you. 

“Prove it,” you managed to whine out— a challenge, an offer.

Azriel took it immediately. 

He pulled you back even more, moving your body so that your weight was leaning forward, stomach pressed against the arm rest, toes barely touching the ground as as he rammed into you at the new angle.

Azriel couldn’t explain the hunger he was feeling now, the deep-seated pleasure he was experiencing as he fucked you, watching as you writhed underneath him, watching how your ass bounced with every thrust. It wasn’t like this with any other female he’d bedded. This, you beneath him, was addicting. Every indecipherable sound you let out was intoxicating, the sound of your whimpers, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh. It made him want to test every limit he’d ever set for himself, push every boundary he knew he shouldn’t. But as you moaned for him, as you met him at every jerk of his hips, Azriel couldn’t think of a better way to continue his life. 

“Thats it, princess,” Azriel murmured, “Fuck yourself on my cock.”

It was obscene, truly, the creak of the floorboards under the weight of the couch, the wet sounds of your bodies slapping together, your moans, his harsh breathing. You threw yourself back into every thrust, legs now aching as they remained spread apart, tied by his cool shadows at the base of your ankles. Pleasure laced and bloomed inside of you, radiating down from your fingers to your toes— an electric pressure building to a peak.

Azriel’s mouth salivated as he drank it all in: the sound of his balls against your ass, your breathy moans, the sensation of your wet heat wrapped around him. The room echoed back the sounds of your pleasure in an erotic melody that left you both embarrassed and breathless. He gave your ass a rough smack, a shiver running through his body as he observed the reddening print of his palm on your skin.

“Dirty, dirty, girl.”

You could feel his cock swelling inside you, could feel his hot palms gripping your skin— there would be bruising, you were sure of it, marks of his hands in such unholy, dangerous placements.

You let out a breath, attempting to brace yourself on your forearms as you turned your cheek to your shoulder, just enough to see him moving behind you, just enough for you to murmur, “I think you love it.”

The words seemed to sir Azriel even further and he  increased his pace, thrusts becoming even rougher, sloppier—  more urgent. Your body responded to his movements, cunt massaging him, clenching around him, making him groan instinctively in response.

His breaths were ragged as he bucked into you roughly, a string of curses falling from his lips. With one final snap, you felt the tension within you reach a peak, cunt clenching around him as your orgasm rolled through you, white-hot and dizzying. 

A shiver of pleasure shot from Azriel’s stomach to his cock — with a rough jerk, he emptied against inside you, an animalistic groan filling the room as he came, face contorted with pleasure. You felt the warmth of his seed fill you, felt it leaking as Azriel slowly pulled out.

You slumped over the armrest of the couch, body still tingling from the intensity of your orgasm. 

Azriel’s eyes were fixed on you, his cock still twitching with the aftershocks of his release. He watched his seed drip from your glistening folds. He fought a primal urge to stroke a finger along your folds, to curl them in your cunt again and push his seed even further--- to claim you in a way that would ensure you could never forget the pleasure he had given you yet again.

Slowly, his haze of euphoria slowly faded, his body now relaxed, the tension melting away as his shadows loosened their hold around you. He looked up, watching as you pushed yourself up from the couch, watching as your dress fell back into place as you turned to face him.

A wicked grin spread across your lips, sinful and enticing.

“Now isn’t that a lot more fun than just killing me?”

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

←Part Two Part Four🡢

A/N:

and so we begin the fun lil enemies with benefits and forced proximity tropes… we love when 2 heavily traumatized people bond over torture <3

also confession time guys…writing the words whore or slut make me 😟 but in this case lil az using it as a means of trying to be in control… just imagine how he’s gonna feel later when he’s realizing how shitty it was and how he actually respects you omffff

TAGLISTS

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: @rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon @glam-targaryen

malice series tag list: @going-through-shit @sidthedollface2 @justasillylittlegoofyguy @mal-adaptive-dreams @alainabooks143 @mybestfriendmademe @sfhsgrad-blog @marina468 @wonderwomanlovesyou @the-darkestminds @circe143 @starsandsins @acourtofdreamsandshadows @ysmtttty @mendes-bae

@breadsticks2004 @tothestarsandwhateverend @kamastar39 @previousloversandmuses @judig92 @romanoffslegacy @sweetcarolina-24 @harryskissies @glitterypirateduck @justyouraveragekleemain @midnightnotice @teenagellamaangel @thesillyyogourt @reiincarnatiion @stinkinstuffie @formulahockey @pruvii @marina468 @nickishadow139

@cherry-cin @quinzzelx @sadiechar @glam-targaryen @moosemahboi @inloveallthetime

azriel tag list: @thisiskaylin

if your username is crossed out it means i was having issues with tagging you so hopefully it works 🫶🏻

[susandsnell]

oh great the theatre equivalent of the “anti filmbro” TikToks that simply betray deeply crass tastes and complete intellectual and stylistic incuriosity about the medium has arrived 🙄

Wasn't DEH outdated musical as the old outdated other musicals?

[its-avalon-08]

hi !! can you do headcanons max verstappen X senna’s daugther!reader?

thank uuuu

hii !!! if i were to imagine senna's daughter!reader she would be so talented. she isn't a driver because of her built up trauma. (im fully aware that the timelines don't add up, don't add logic into it <3) she is an aerodynamic engineer, mainly responsible for making the car. she is secretly in love with speed and racing.

max and y/n met when they were just kids. max was a menace on track and y/n was terrified of racing. she saw speeding cars as a reminder of her father's passing. being good friends, y/n has a tradition of kissing max's helmet as a feeble attempt to keep him safe.

they started dating in 2019, and have been together ever since. y/n being the absolute genius she is, continues to work in redbull and delivers top of the line car designs leading to the dominance as seen on track.

max leaves a single, perfect red tulip on y/n's desk every race weekend, a silent promise to return safely.

y/n hides little notes in max's helmet before qualifying, each one a technical insight phrased like a love letter.

max, despite his aversion to early mornings, wakes up before y/n on important presentations to make her breakfast, his way of calming her pre-work jitters.

y/n, who finds airplanes stressful, uses a calming app max downloaded for her whenever they travel together.

max, after a particularly grueling race weekend, finds y/n curled up on the couch with a book about aerodynamics. he joins her, listening intently as she explains a new concept she's been working on, his full attention the sweetest victory lap.

max knows how deeply the lack of a father figure affected her, causing under-confidence and a constant need of validation. max knows this and never stops giving her words of affirmations.

everyone of the grid adores y/n. they see her spirit and her beautiful face reflect senna's in so many ways. max is fiercely protective of y/n, often defending her from questions about her father and his death.

y/n hates jos verstappen from the bottom of her heart. she is not scared of yelling at him when he berates max. she whispers affirmations into max's ears after a bad race (which was rare but not impossible)

when max crashes, y/n is the first to suffer from the highest intensity of a panic attack. she shivers and trembles until max gets out safely. after the crash in 2021 with hamilton which caused max to fall over in the medical center, y/n angirly stormed towards the cheerful hamilton, shouting angrily.

here's what happened ↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓

the smile evaporated as y/n marched towards him. it wasn't a walk, it was a storm surge. "congratulations? you call pushing max off the track at 200 mph congratulations?" her voice, usually calm and collected, was a tightly leashed fury. lewis blinked, his smile morphing into something defensive. "it was a racing incident, y/n. we both went for the corner." her voice cracked. "racing incident? you call leaving him stranded on the gravel, risking his life, a racing incident? do you have any idea what it's like to watch someone you love walk away from a fireball?" the room held its breath. lewis's face paled. "y/n, i…" "no, you don't," she cut him off, her voice thick with emotion. "you don't get to pretend you know what it's like to see your dreams vanish in a cloud of smoke. you don't get to understand the terror of every single corner, every single race because you haven't lost anyone on this damn track!" tears welled up in her eyes, blurring the accusing stare she fixed on him. "max is more than a rival, lewis. he's a friend, a teammate, a human being. and today, you gambled with his life for a trophy." the silence stretched, suffocating. finally, lewis spoke, his voice devoid of its usual bravado. "y/n, i… i didn't…" "you didn't think," she finished the sentence for him, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. "just like some people never think about the consequences of their actions." turning on her heel, she stormed out of the room, leaving behind a stunned silence and a champion stripped of his celebratory air. as y/n reached the red bull garage, she found max emerging from the medical center, a sheepish grin on his face. relief washed over her, so strong it brought her to her knees. max rushed to her side, his concern a warm balm on her raw emotions. he held her close, whispering reassurances into her hair.

🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️

well i hope you liked it! thank you for sending in your request and do send more <3 happy reading!

leave a like! leave a note!

🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️

[spider-stark]

THE GOLD TANKARD

Benjicot Blackwood x Smallfolk!Reader

Summary - Benji is a regular at the tavern you work at—and you're starting to think he's forgetting his coin on purpose.

Warnings - fem!reader, kieran burton fan cast, all characters 18+, suggestive/sexual language, not edited bc I'm lazy and wrote this for fun in like an hour

Word Count - 650+

!MINORS DNI!

// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //

The Gold Tankard was a shit-house of an inn. Famous mostly for its basement-tavern, it had been built ages ago in the heart of Pennytree—a derelict village lying smack in the center of the disputed border of House Blackwood and House Bracken. 

After many, many years of existence, the Tankard has fallen into a blatant state of decay. Cracks spiderweb up the side of stone walls, woodworms infest the cedar roof overhead, and the carpets are stained with beer and piss and gods-knows-what-else. 

Still, it remains in-business—bringing in coin from the many knights and men traveling through Pennytree, so desperate for a hot meal and a bed that they’re willing to overlook the scuttling bugs and musty aroma. 

And being the resident barmaid isn’t so bad, you suppose. 

At least, not when Benjicot Blackwood is a near-nightly patron of the Tankard. While he's forever forgetting his copper, he's always quite creative in finding other ways to pay for your service—and you have found the Lord to be quite talented with his tongue… 

His grip tight, Benji drags you up the dimly lit stairs leading from the tavern to the narrow halls of the inn above. 

“M’lord,” the title slips past your lips, giggling as you protest, “my shift isn’t over! The girls will be needing me behind the bar and–” 

Benji cuts you off with a groan. Tugging your wrist, he shoves your back flush against the chilly stone wall, caging your body with his. “Is that all you care about? What the girls need?” He leans in close, the tip of his nose brushing against yours. “What about what I need?” 

Pure, unbridled lust dilates his pupils, his storm-cloud eyes nearly devoid of color as they drag over your face. They snag on your lips—and, instinctively, he rolls his hips against yours, a growing hardness pressed to your thigh. 

“I care about getting paid,” you choke out, clawing at the remaining shreds of your composure. “Not all customers are as mingy with their coin as you, M’lord.” 

Warmth fans across your cheeks as Benji huffs a laugh. “So you think I’m mingy, do you?” 

A scowl twists your features, heat rushing to your cheeks. You can tell from his tone—so impish and cheeky—that he’s poking fun at you. What word would a highborn girl have used, then? Oh, you’re so frugal M’lord! So utterly parsimonious! 

Shoving against his weight, you grind out, “I have work to tend to, M’lord–” 

Benji’s grip on you tightens, his other hand coming to cradle the side of your head, fingers weaving themselves into your hair as he presses you back against the wall—harder this time. 

“Oh, don’t be so sensitive, love,” he tuts, lips grazing against your cheekbone, leaving soft kisses in their wake. “You know how I adore your little commonors dialect.” 

Your eyes narrow, frustration bubbling up inside of you. 

“If you wish to insult someone, then I may suggest the whorehouse down the street, M’lord. Barmaids are not forced to endure such abuse—especially from unpaying customers.” 

“Abuse?” Benji’s breath tickles your ear, a shiver crawling down your spine. “Is that what I’m doing?” He pauses, teeth nipping at your earlobe. Your breath catches, and you feel him smirk as he purrs, “Abusing you?” 

Your pulse races, your heart hammering against your chest so fiercely that you fear Benji can feel it, his chest pressed firm against yours. You feel dizzy and off-balance, unable to think of anything other than him—his fingers twined in your hair, his lips on your jaw, his cock against your thigh. 

You feel it waning—the last bits of your composure, torn to ribbons under his touch. It’s only when his mouth comes to rest against yours, catching your bottom lip between his teeth, that you finally give in. 

Between strangled moans, you say, “You’ll have to be quick."

Benji’s grin is painfully arrogant as he rolls his hips again. “Oh, baby—” a low, raspy chuckle sets a fire in your belly—“quick isn’t in my vocabulary.” 

a/n - idk man I can't write smut so this where it ends I guess lmao. kinda wanna explore more with this reader cause I like the idea of a lil barmaid and benji but we'll see!

as stated in warnings, this wasn't edited in the slightest and I wrote it super quick last night, so apologies for any errors!

tag list 🫶🖤 - @bearwithegg @jacaerysgf @lenasvoid @valdezthg @xzydra11 @snixx2088 @lianna75 @kennafild @ghostinvenus @heystaystray @but-i-write-so-i-must-count @a-song-for-ages @nixtape-foryou @kezibear

[eternal-evergreens]

Can you please do a yandere sukuna x fem reader

｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+*⁠.⁠✧ "Iron Forged In Blood" ｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+*⁠.⁠✧

Post format: drabble

Pairing: Yandere! Sukuna x Fem! Reader

Word count: 1.2k

Warnings: abusive household, period-typical misogyny (not from Sukuna), violence, light gore, theft

"Please spare my son!" Your mother cried, a protective hold on your younger brother. "If no one else, please spare his life!" Your father nods ardently, encasing your mother and brother in an embrace.

What a touching sight---for a family of three. Ryomen Sukuna, the monster who pillaged your town, looks down at your family with disdain.

"You beg for your son, but not for your daughter?" He asks. "How pathetic."

Your mother stiffens, a look of horror etched upon her face. Your father's expression morphs into anger.

"Our son is the pride of our family! He's the one who will succeed my craft!" He yells. "My daughter, in comparison, is just a useless girl."

That's not true, you think to yourself. Your brother shows absolutely zero talent for blacksmithing, despite being personally taught by your father. You had to teach the craft to yourself, in a futile attempt to win his favor.

"You're an embarrassment," your father said, throwing your first sword to the ground with a clang.

"We feed you, clothe you, and yet all you do is throw yourself into useless things! Don't you know a woman's only purpose is to marry into a good family?"

"Ungrateful wench! Are you trying to show up your brother?"

Your father's lips curl up into a wicked smile. "But since your lordship has shown such concern over her," he says slowly, as if testing the waters. "Perhaps she can be of some use to our family after all."

Ryomen Sukuna raises an eyebrow.

"Please spare our family," your father says. "In return, please take our daughter, and do with her what you will." Your jaw drops. You aren't sure what you're feeling right now. Shock? Disbelief? Fear? Anger?

Perhaps you are feeling all four.

"I've listened to your useless ramblings long enough." In a flash, your father's head is separated from his body. Your mother screams, and your brother begins to wail. Blood splashes to your face, but you don't react. The world is spinning, the cries of your family are ringing in your ears, but all you can focus on is one thing.

"In return, please take our daughter, and do with her what you will."

The screams of your mother are cut abruptly short. Next is your brother. Only you remain.

Should you beg for your life? What would be the point? You'll never be a blacksmith, anyways. You'll never earn the recognition of your peers. Not as a woman, anyways.

"You," he says, commanding. You look up numbly. "Give me one good reason I shouldn't kill you alongside your kin." You blink, looking down at your lap.

"I'm afraid there is none, my lord," you say to him, voice and face devoid of any emotion. "Like my father said, I am just a useless girl."

"Oh?" The monster sounds amused. "Your arms are quite muscular," he says. "Are you a blacksmith?"

"I'm not very good," you say.

"Uraume," he calls.

"Yes, master." A white haired person steps forth from the shadows, head bowed.

"Bring me the sword."

"Yes, master." Just as quickly as they appeared, the servant vanishes, returning with a sword black as obsidian. Your sword. Your magnum opus. "Here it is," they say, presenting it to Sukuna.

"Did you make this?" You nod. You don't know how he got his hands on it, but that's definitely your sword. The same sword your father confiscated and threw away, stating you'd be lucky if those calloused hands would ever house a ring.

"You aren't aware of it, but you possess potent cursed energy, it's been etched onto this sword. Meanwhile, that 'father' of yours had no talent for sorcery at all." You don't follow, but knowing it would be unwise to question him, you keep your head bowed. "Listen up," he says, voice commanding authority. "You have a talent. Continue to make swords for me, and your life will be spared. Refuse and you will perish alongside these worthless rats you call your family."

You...have a talent? That can't be right. No, rather, it wouldn't matter even if it was. Because you're a...

"But I'm a-" Sukuna scoffs.

"I've fought countless sorcerers in my life," he says. "Both men and women. Most are equally untalented, but there are some that have been strong."

"Raise your head," he commands. Your eyes meet his. There's an expression in them you can't quite make out. "Strength does not have a gender. Nor does talent. Follow me and you will not be looked down upon again."

This man...he believes in you. He sees your worth.

"If I follow you, will I be a blacksmith?" You ask tentatively.

"What an idiotic question," he says. "You already are."

｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+*⁠.⁠✧

After working under Sukuna for some time, you've come to realise some things about him. Namely, that he does not pillage for no reason. There's always a motive, an underlying goal to achieve.

"My lord," you say, having just finished polishing a new spear. Sukuna is watching you from the edge of your workshop. He has a habit of coming to you whenever he gets bored. Though you don't make very good company when you're working, he doesn't seem to mind. "May I ask you a question?"

"Hmph. Ask."

"Why...did you choose my village?"

"Do I need a reason?" His tone is challenging, imposing. He speaks as though you need to watch your words, lest he cut out your tongue for impudence. You know him better than that, though. It's not a threat. Not if it's you. You look at him expectantly and he scoffs. "That sword..."

"Hm?"

"When Uraume presented it to me, I thought finding the craftsman behind its creation and forcing them to work for me would be an amusing way to pass the time. But the man who claimed to have made it didn't possess even a lick of cursed energy."

"There was a group of bandits that picked a fight with Uraume. They lacked talent, but one of them was wielding a sword that almost made up for it."

"Was that...?" Sukuna nods.

So your father had stolen your work to pass off as his own. If you had found this out even just a few weeks ago, you would have been devastated. Now, you feel nothing.

"I thought you'd be more upset," he says, eyeing you. You shrug.

"It's in the past. My father has already paid for his crimes in death. There's no need to let it bother me anymore," you say, face blank. The expression you're wearing is eerily similar to the one you wore that day. Sukuna shifts uncomfortably.

"Perhaps he did not suffer enough." Sukuna smiles. "If it would please you, I could have him ripped from his grave and brought back to the world of the living so that you may do away with him yourself."

"Like you'd go through all that effort just for someone like me," you say, a hint of teasing in your voice. You think you hear Sukuna say something else, but his voice is so low you can't make it out.

"There's little I wouldn't be willing to do, not if it's for you."

[astraystayyh]

you're in the wind, i'm in the water

hyunjin x reader. friends to lovers with a pinch of unrequited love (it's very much requited dw). this is pure brainrot so suggestive at the end. but also fluffy and soft. also reader wears a two piece swimsuit.

a.n: again, sanest response i could have to this hyune. please enjoy my descent to madness :) also the last scene is heavily inspired by my favorite dialogue in the song of achilles!!

pt. 2- orange

The first time you went on a vacation with Hyunjin’s family, you were only seven years old.

You don't clearly remember the island his parents took you to, the details of the travel elusive to your memory's grasp. But you remember Hyunjin- his hair darkening under the touch of the saline sea, akin to a night sky devoid of its stars. You remember the dimple on his left cheek- the sheer pride in you each time you managed to bring it to light. And you remember thinking that Hyunjin was pretty, for the first time in your small existence.

It's a thought that scorched itself indelibly into your brain, and as the years cascaded by, the branches of your love grew, each leave bearing new adjectives to describe Hyunjin- caring, emotional, talented.

But never yours.

You're both older now, and you see him less since his house is no longer right next to yours, the rhythm of life distancing you both. Hyunjin comes in and out of your life as an ephemeral tide, gently brushing your shores. You cling to the sea shells his oceans sometimes throw at your feet- the rare times when your schedules align, when you can see him beyond the confines of your phone, in pixelated video calls late into the night.

And it seems as if you've caught a rare shell this time- one with an ivory pearl hidden within it. Because you're traveling once again with him.

You're all much different, the passage of time marked you in different, but palpable ways. But your presence with Hyunjin's family still felt just as effortless as it did when you were seven. You never had to second guess what you said or how you acted with them. You were just like running water, flowing naturally within the nooks and crannies of his family.

And at night, under the moon's watchful gaze, your hushed conversations with Hyunjin remained. Beneath a shared blanket knitted by his mom, the warm sand melded with your feet, his dimple appearing once again at every word you uttered. He was still as pretty, perhaps even more so with time's gentle sculpting, molding his features into much sharper ones. It seemed only fitting for a soul as beautiful as his.

"I want to take you somewhere tomorrow," he had whispered excitedly, his lips grazing the shell of your ear, momentarily leaving you breathless- tongue dissolving in your mouth like ivory seafoam.

"You want to kidnap me?" you playfully asked, nudging him.

"You don't want to come with me?" he pouted, his gaze locked into yours, pupils appearing much darker with the absence of the sun, like a boundless ocean. The water was right beside you and yet your only wish was to swim in his eyes.

"I want to," you admitted.

"Anywhere?" he asked, irises trembling slightly as he sought your response. You were both very different, chemicals binding his molecules, and your love for him binding yours. You stood faraway from one another- you in the water and he in the wind, stirring your waves, submerging you in the seas of your longing.

"Anywhere."

...

Faraway land punctures the ocean you're gazing at, crystal blue water filling the small pool Hyunjin took you to. You admit it's a breathtaking view, only your eyes can't depart from Hyunjin's figure.

He jumped into the pool first, while you went to retrieve your camera from your bag. And now you stand by the door, heart caught in your throat, as you watch him swim around. Hyunjin is graceful, in the way he moves his limbs, bending the water to his will. It doesn't look like he's swimming, rather dancing on liquid ground.

Kkami joyfully barks once he sees you, and Hyunjin finally lifts his eyes, locking them with yours. He is pretty, unattainable, a singular star outshining all the celestial light. Foolish of them to even think they could compare.

And he's still not yours.

"I’ll take a picture of you both," you smile softly, willing yourself to conceal the lump growing in your throat. Hyunjin nods, draping his hand over Kkami's body, softly scratching the spot behind his ear. You take the first pic, capturing the tenderness in Hyunjin’s eyes. This one's for you alone.

"Okay, look at the camera," you call out cheerfully, and they both turn to look at you in unison. Though your bodies did not touch, the intensity of Hyunjin's gaze seemed to sear into your skin, igniting a fire within you. Foolish of you to dream of more.

You set the camera aside, before sitting at the edge of the pool, dipping your toes into the cool water. Hyunjin swims towards you, positioning himself between your legs, his warm hand wrapping around your ankle. You want to flee, to go back to to the innocence of seven, to never recognize how pretty Hyunjin is, to avoid the heartbreak of dreaming of someone you'll never have.

"Come swim with me," he pouts, palm pressing against your damp skin. You shake your head, a teasing smile on your face, and he pulls you to him, hands holding your waist promptly to prevent you from sinking under.

You free yourself from his intoxicating hold, before diving into the water, a desperate attempt to get away from him. Because when Hyunjin held your waist, a tenderness so earnest in his eyes it made your heart skip a beat, you dared to imagine a future together. For a fleeting moment you became the ocean and he the sky, merging at the faraway horizon.

Hyunjin dives right after you, and then you both swim around one another, giddy smiles on your faces, your laughter echoing around the room. He tries to drown you, hands gliding across the surface of your skin, making goosebumps ripple in you. You attempt to do the same, but you soon regret it. His skin was smooth, taut muscles flexing under your touch; broad shoulders you wrapped your arms around, trying to push him down. Your hand accidentally brushed against his pulse, and you removed it as if it had burned you. There is life beating within him, wildly. But not for you. Never for you.

"Wait, hold on. Your straps are loosening," he notices, reaching for your arm and spinning you around, your back now facing him. "Can I?" he asks, voice dipping to a lower timber. You feel it in the depths of your stomach, depths only he can unravel.

"Yes," you whisper, as he undoes the loose knot of your swimsuit, the one behind your neck still holding up the fabric against your skin. You can feel his cold breath traveling across your bare back, crystalizing the droplets of water trailing on it. His fingers are a stark warmth as they brush against your spine, fingertips gently grazing your skin, like a delicate feather. You imagine your body is molten wax, and he's the seal stamp pressing onto you, molding you whichever way he'd like.

He's tentative as he grabs the undone straps, wrapping them in a knot. Or at least attempting to. You can tell that he's shaking, a shuddering breath escaping his lips. "Im sorry, I didn't tie it well," he giggles sheepishly, undoing the knot once again. You don't reply, unsure of what words will stumble out of your mouth. 'I don't mind you touching me' instead of 'it's okay'.

You turn around once he's done, but he doesn't move back, his body mere centimeters away from yours. You can see the rise and fall of his chest, the slight blush creeping up his neck, coloring him in the prettiest shade of crimson. The droplets cascading down his body, forging a tantalizing path you wish you could undergo. His dampened hair, a shade darker than his usual color. His lips slightly parted, rosy as they've always been. His adam's apple bobbing up and down furiously.

And you suddenly can no longer breathe.

Beneath the water, his hand encircles your wrist, a touch so faint you almost believe that you've imagined it. His fingers trail down, holding your palm and bringing it to his face. He closes his eyes, letting out a shaky exhale, one you inhale right back in. You're cradling his cheek, his hand right on top of yours, holding it in place.

"Hyunjin..." you start, but he shakes his head, eyes still shut.

"Please," he whispers, "just for a little." and the clouds slightly uncover, a singular sun ray piercing through them- one petal of hope unfurling at his words.

"Don't- don't do this," you plead back, tone tinged with panic. You couldn't have him, not even for a second, not even in a dream. That's the way things are. Two parallel lines, traveling down the same path, forever adjacent, but never merging as one.

Hyunjin plants a soft kiss on your wrist, lips barely brushing against your pulse. You've never truly known gentleness until this moment.

"If I told you that this trip with you is the happiest I’ve been in a while, would you believe me?" he whispers against your skin, head slightly tilted.

You shake your head no.

"If I ask you something would you be honest with me? I'm tired, yn," he says, his voice softening as it always did when he uttered your name. As if the syllables were always coated in honey, even in his sadness, in his anger, and now, in his pleading for you.

"I will," you respond with an equally quiet voice, and yet it resounds loudly around the room, amplified by the consequences looming around the corner.

"Do you want me?" he asks simply, expecting you to easily uncover a secret you've buried for years, to dust the weight of your fear in mere seconds.

You remain silent and Hyunjin deflates a bit, shoulders slumping forward, the dimple in his face vanishing completely.

"Because I'm drowning in my want for you."

A water droplet falls from the strands of his hair, landing softly on his mouth. You follow its descent, as he licks his lips nervously, his hold on your wrist faltering. The wind is gliding across the water- he's offering himself to you. Who are you to ever refuse?

Your lips crash on his before you even realize it, years of longing exploding before your eyes, spilling from your mouth to his in the most vibrant colors. His lips are soft as you've always imagined them, and they move against yours perfectly, as if molded from the same dough, created to meet again and again, in a fervor, and then in a tenderness that makes your heart ache.

You're kissing Hyunjin, and you aren't burning, disintegrating under the weight of longing for someone so unattainable. You aren't Icarus- you flew too close to the sun but it hadn't burned you, instead it embraced you, it's now wrapping its hands around your waist, pressing your chest to its warm one. It's a touch you welcome, one that liquefies in your veins like molten amber.

You wrap your legs around Hyunjin’s waist, as he walks backward until your back is against the pool railing. Your hands are tugging his damp strands, fingers threading through his locks the way sunshine weaves between the leaves. He tastes sweet, sweeter than anything you've ever had in your life. And you're greedy, you can't get enough of him, so you part for a second only to meet again, his hands digging into your sides. Chest to chest, skin to skin, heart to heart.

"Say it," Hyunjin whispers against your lips, "say that you want me back."

"I want you. So much, Hyune. You're the only one I’ve ever wanted," your words wash over him, erasing every doubt that was anchored in his heart. How could you not have seen it, all this time? In each photograph you took, his gaze, always on you. The fondness in his eyes and the dimples in his cheeks, only ever coming forth for you.

You lean away, head dipped down to kiss his shoulders. Your lips trail down his collarbones, moving to the mole on his arm. He smells like chlorine, and the sweet scent of your monoi oil. Hyunjin is pretty, Hyunjin is warm, Hyunjin is yours.

Your eyes meet his and you both let out giddy giggles, the flush of your cheeks matching his. His lips are slightly swollen, and he bites the lower one as he glances at Kkami, who was idly watching you both.

"Do you think we traumatized him?" you ask in a hushed whisper.

"I think he's glad this happened and he no longer has to hear my rants about you," Hyunjin smiles sheepishly and you laugh, the sound reverberating through Hyunjin’s heart.

"Have I ever told you how much I love your laugh?" he asks, thumb swiping across your cheek with a tenderness that leaves you dizzy in its trail.

"You have," you whisper, the sound of it getting caught in your throat.

"And this?" he gently grazes your cupid bow. "Have I told you how much I love your lips?"

"You haven't," you say, mouth parting slightly at his words.

"This then," he trails across your neck, skimming your pulse. "Did I tell you how I feel about your blush? How it always always starts up your neck? Always so pretty?"

"No," you are breathless now, shuddering under his touch.

"What about this?" his hands hold your waist, kneading the tender flesh. "Did I ever tell you? About this?" They go over your hips, gliding across the bare skin. "Surely I did."

You shake your head. Skin burning up where he had touched it. He smiles, tongue poking against his cheek, hands going to your back, tracing over your spine, undoing the knots of your swimsuit. "And this? Did I tell you how much I want you?"

You close your eyes, wind meeting water. "Tell me again."

[retrorats]

Some thoughts about Komaeda's fifth free time event and his relationship with Hinata

The fifth Komaeda free time event has always been very popular between Komahina fans, specially because the event was where the romantic tone of their relationship was consolidated for a lot of people. But even if the focus is usually on Komaeda's love confession, I have always felt that this free time event is way more important and meaningful besides that. This event has on it a lot of important moments that say a lot about their relationship, and that make very clear the most prevalent themes of it.

The free time event starts with Komaeda wondering why Hinata is still going out in his way to talk to him. Hinata answers that he is doing it so he can hear the rest of his story, in his typical fashion of rationalizing and dismissing his feelings for Komaeda. While Komaeda tells the rest of the story, he says one of the most important things for this free time event, and in general for the relationship of Komaeda and Hinata.

This dialogue reveals to us the important information about how Komaeda not only perceived the similarities between them since they first met, but also how since that moment, he deeply believed that Hinata would be able to understand him. All of the things that this scene explains are the fundamental basis of the relationship of Komaeda and Hinata. Komaeda's attachment towards Hinata comes from a place of feeling like he had finally found a person that could get to understand him and as we will see with other parts of this free time event, he thought he had finally found a person that could love him.

Hinata's response towards Komaeda is also important to mention. Hinata negates to be not like Komaeda, he rejects their similarities and also in certain way he rejects the connection Komaeda feels between them, something that's accentuated even more considering how Komaeda interprets his words as having lost the opportunity of having someone inheriting his soul. But even in his negation, there's something deeply interesting in the way Hinata phrases certain things in it. If we look well at what Hinata is saying, we can see how while he negates being similar to Komaeda, his negation is mostly focused on negating his misery, and he seems to silently accept being a bystander that is devoid of any unique aura possessed by the talented.

In a certain way, Hinata's negation in this part has always read to me as being a last resort to try to distinguish himself in some way from Komaeda. Compared to other parts where Komaeda alludes to him and Hinata being similar, here the negation of Hinata doesn't feel so unaware like in the other times that he negated it, here it feels more like Hinata is legitimately aware of how similar they are; He says that he's not miserable, and that he is ultimately different from Komaeda as a last resort to negate what he already knows, and to dissociate himself from him.

Komaeda talks about how he doesn't have anyone in this world and how absolutely lonely his existence is. Something very interesting that Komaeda says, is that he mentions his ideologies as the main reason for being alone.

This moment is not only interesting because it puts Komaeda loneliness to be something that is a lot about his way of thinking being completely incomprehensible for other people, but also because it provides us with certain information about the relationship between Komaeda and Hinata. People distancing from Komaeda because of his beliefs is not something that is only mentioned here, but it is very explicitly the main reason why Hinata distanced himself from Komaeda since chapter 1. Because of this, it's not hard to read this to be a certain reference to his relationship with Hinata -a person that Komaeda really felt he could connect with- and how he also ended up distancing himself because of his way of thinking, like other people Komaeda knew.

This seems to be the principal reason of why Komaeda seems to be so focused on believing that he and Hinata are similar, and also in the belief of Hinata being able to understand him. Komaeda has been misunderstood by everyone all his life and his ideologies have isolated him from the rest of society. All of this has resulted on Komaeda having the fixation on finding someone that would be able to understand him, this fixation ultimately leading him to have a very intense attachment towards Hinata even when they barely really knew each other, because it was probably the first time he had known someone that was similar enough to him to understand him.

There is also a certain connection between Komaeda thinking that they are similar, Hinata distancing himself from him and Komaeda's surprised reaction in chapter 1 seeing Hinata had started to think lowly of him. When Komaeda thought that he and Hinata were similar, he probably also believed that Hinata had a similar way of thinking, and because of that, he wouldn't just distance himself from Komaeda like the others when discovering the truth of the murder.

Considering how Komaeda talks about feeling that Hinata was able to understand his feelings, how he implied that he wanted Hinata to "inherit his soul" and in general considering how much this free time event talks about their connection, is not hard to think that in certain way this line is also a little bit about Hinata. Obviously, Komaeda's desire to be loved wasn't born because of Hinata, but I do think considering all we have seen before, is logical to think that one of the reasons Komaeda was so attached to Hinata is because he saw in him -because of their similarities- someone that he could connect with, and for that same reason, someone that could love him.

This is specifically accentuated considering the very strong reaction that has Hinata regarding this statement, literally considering throwing everything he has believed about not forgiving Komaeda until that point. I don't think that his reaction is because he was aware of that fact, but I do think it was written in that way to accentuate how this was talking in a certain way about Hinata.

Hinata's extremely heartbreaking and intense response towards Komaeda "lying" could also be easily considered a hint towards this being in a certain way about Hinata, but his response to this is also about way more than just that. His reaction is due to a lot of things, for one part it's about how Hinata feels like he was just deceived by Komaeda again, after having spent so much time trying to actually understand him. But is also about how Hinata wanted to believe in the existence of the Komaeda he once knew. Both of these very strong reactions -this one and his reaction towards Komaeda wanting to be loved- are born from that, from the need to believe him and to have a proof that after all, there existed some truth about the Komaeda he once knew, that there was some logic behind Komaeda, that there existed a reason behind his behavior.

He specially wanted to believe on that line because of how human it makes Komaeda. His biggest desire being something as sensible and human as connection, and this desire, being only realized when on the verge of death, is something that makes Komaeda look very tragic. That makes, Komaeda, human and sensible, and his actions, suddenly are more understandable. Hinata wants to believe on this because he wants to make reason of Komaeda, and give a logic, a very human and sensible logic, to the way he acts.

To finalize, I really love this event because I feel that in it is conveyed all of the main themes and important parts of the relationship of Komaeda and Hinata. It's very beautiful for me to see all the little parts that make them themselves being presented so strongly and explicitly on a full event.

[eleteo125]

"Be Mine or You Will Burn"

Rollo x GN!Reader

AN: Me and my friend are Rollo fans and they've inspired me to write this idea out 🤣

You were simply just walking around admiring the scenery of Noble Bell where you went back to the cathedral to appreciate the artistry of the stain glass. Each panel depicting how Judge Claude Frollo and his accomplishments.

Rollo, the school’s student council president has welcomed the NRC students by giving them a tour but his obvious disdain for magic users made it clear that he was rushing to get the tour done as fast as possible to get away from them. Heck you would even bet that the only reason he was able to get through the whole tour was because he only set his attention towards you barely minding the other guests. He sometimes casts a watchful eye on them but other than that he doesn’t particularly engage with them compared to you.

With those signs in display, everyone from NRC has come to the conclusion that them being invited here has an ulterior motive to it. Briefly shaking those thoughts from your mind, you admired the lights coming through the different colored windows surrounding you in a colorful halo.

My what a beautiful sight indeed.

Magic wielder or not, you’re still a student from NRC so of course Rollo has kept a close eye on you when freely strolling around the school. But he can’t help the fact that you’re devoid of any magic at all has him deeply fascinated. And to think to mingle around those…ahem.

Do not be fooled he’s only keeping watch of you because he can tell that everyone from NRC are quite attached to you especially that dragon fae. What better way to keep them in check when he has you close and in his clutches.

Walking towards you he silently stood in behind you. He held in a small chuckle as he saw you’re awestruck face looking at the beautiful work of art. “Impressed?”

Jumping a little bit in surprise, you quickly looked behind to see him “O-oh! Yes, I haven’t seen a stained glass window in person before, just through pictures.” You confessed

“Hmph of course such beauty is painstakingly crafted by hand of course you won’t see a lot of it. Craftsmanship that took people’s skill and talent with no assistance from cheap tricks everyone reveres.” He spits

“Magic?”

Rollo stayed silent at your question.

You decide to let go of the subject with his sudden silence. Instead you walked closer to the window to admire the small details. It was such detailed you can’t even imagine how long it would take to finish such a large piece.

Too lost in thought, you started to reach your hand out to the window but you’re once again surprised when you felt a strong grip around your wrist.

You were about to apologize but instead freeze up when you felt him step closer behind you. You tried to step forward to get some distance since you’re starting to get flustered at our position but realized that you don’t have much space to move in since you’re very close to the window.

“I’m sorry but those were just cleaned by the careful hands of our cleaners hands off please.” He whispered in your ear.

You shuddered at his closeness and the sensation of him speaking carefully so close to your ear. “I-I understand.” You stuttered while unconsciously leaning into his ‘embrace’.

He seems to have lost himself also since he buried his nose in your hair while his other hand rubbed your free arm.

You two stayed like that for who knows how long just basking in each other’s contact. “Why not transfer here, I can tell how ‘generous’ the headmaster is in your current school.”

“I can’t” you managed to mumble out after almost melting at the close soud of his voice yet again.

“You’re surrounding yourself with magic that is as deadly as fire.”

You leaned closer “Fire can be useful too.” You whispered

You felt his sigh in your ear and your knees almost gave up but he held you up when he sensed you were about to fall.

“Consider it.” He kissed behind your ear “Be mine or you will burn.

He carefully let you go after making sure you won’t collapse to your knees before walking put and leaving you under colorful light.

[wisteriagoesvroom]

oscaaaar piaaastriii it’s the way he is quiet and observant and by his own admission “calculated”, the way he does all his talking on the track, whipped out a p2 in imola quali on a track he'd never driven outside of testing... it's his hilarious radio bleats, it's how he’s deadpan funny and actually really sharp and witty but it’s a blink and miss it unless you’re paying attention, it’s how his seriousness grounds lando a little but lando gives him the freedom to act a little goofy and sarcastic too. it’s his smart and cunning hidden under an unassuming exterior, the way he has such sexy racecraft and overtakes on the track. it’s the narrative of a young and talented person who doesn’t coast on talent but is relentless and consistent about pushing themselves to the apex of their potential.

anyway like i said, oscar piastri is not devoid of personality he is just very tactical about when to unveil it and it’s hilarious and hot as hell okay bye

[jojomiwbvb6]

Author's note: I thought this blurb up tonight and knew you guys will eat it up bc bitch, me too. (Yes the title is inspired by INK, but it fits)

The Shower Scene

Warnings: this is a work of fiction. NSFW, MDNI. Smut (18+) Swearing, voyeurism, descriptive, masturbation

Part 2 / Part 3

You had a long day on tour. Load-in was exhausting. Every time you turned around, at least one mechanism had a glitch or a cable went haywire. At least 2 malfunctions during the concert that they spent 10 minutes fixing. By the time load-out commenced, you were flat on your face and crawling to the bus.

The Bad Omens bus was as homey and fun as they could make it on the road. Tomorrow they had a day off in Denver, Colorado, and decided to venture the city for the day. As the bus pulled up to their nightly hotel, the crew, including you, and the band gathered their bags and got ready to depart the bus.

"Dude, I'm so ready to lay in that goddamn bed, I'm so fuckin' tired," Ruffilo commented.

"Fuck yeah, Albuquerque fucked me up." Folio responded.

"I'm gonna take the hottest fucking shower. The devil himself wouldn't be able to take the heat." You said.

This earned a chuckle from a few of the guys around you.

Noah walked up behind his bandmates. His face was calm, devoid of having any idea of what he could be thinking. He briefly ran his eyes over you, quickly looking away into the shadows.

Noah was always so cool, calm, and collected. He was so talented and funny and so, so fine. Of course you would never tell him how much you would say yes to him bending you over if he asked for it.

--

Holding your key in hand, you walk down the stale smelling hallway until you reach your door. You slide the key card into the slot, the door clicks, and you let yourself in.

You're looking at the floor before observing the room, rolling your suitcase into the door. You notice the light is already on and-- "oh my fucking god dude, you scared the shit out of me!"

Noah smirks and gives you a laugh. "Good,"

You blush, and quickly look for something else to look at.

"I know that normally we wouldn't room together," he paused, maybe noticing I was holding my breath. But he continued, "But the hotel was short a room, and we got stuck together last minute." He stopped again.

You nodded, trying to act like you normally do.

"If you're uncomfortable..." He began to say, unsure.

"No, Noah. Not at all. We bunk in the same bus. It's not like we're sleeping together."

There was a small silence that carried on slightly too long.

"Mmm. So, Imma take a shower," you said, ending the conversation with the man you were desperately trying not to want for the sake of your job.

You enter the bathroom, stepping out of your clothes. The door locked behind you, you stare at it and begin to overthink. The tension in your stomach gets you hot when you get the idea. You slowly unlock the door, slowly and silently turning the door handle and leaving the door cracked just a little.

The hot water hits your skin, steam rising into the air. You look at the door, there's nothing there. You shrug. It wouldn't work anyway, there's no way he's even gonna notice.

--

Noah looks down at his phone.

Hey, come get a drink downstairs, we at the bar.

The text from Davis lights up his phone. He texted back,

Yup be down in a minute dude.

Noah gets up from his bed and makes his way to the door, approaching the bathroom. He slows his tracks. Noticing that you had accidentally left the door cracked, Noah reaches out and goes to close the door. He looks up and just by accident, he gets a glimpse of the whole side of you.

You're closing your eyes, caressing yourself with the soap running down your breasts and to your hips. Everything all on display.

He knows that he should look away from you, but my God, the way your hands rub at your skin, his breath hitches and he's glued to his position.

--

After a few minutes of showering, you'd given up the small ounce of hope you had that your nasty fantasy faded and you began to really take a shower.

You applied the soap to your chest and stomach, rubbing the loofah against your skin. You scrubbed at your legs, and then when you glanced up, you almost didn't catch the tall silhouette in the shadow of the hotel room behind him. You did a double take, to make sure he was what you were seeing, and he was.

Your breath picked up. Smirking, you bit your lip and turned away from him. He didn't need to speak, and neither did you. He didn't have to know that you saw him, if he couldn't tell you did. No one in the band or crew needed to know he was in that door frame looking at your wet, naked body. And it's what you wanted.

You began to make every movement you made sexually charged. Pulling your hands over your breasts, you tugged on your nipples. Your fingers caressed and played with your breasts, rubbing the soap into them.

Dragging your fingers down to your navel, you squirmed. How much of a show did you want to give Noah? You decided you wanted him to remember just how hot you got with him standing there.

Not yet looking at him, you turn your back to the door. Rubbing your hands into your ass cheeks, gripping and spreading them only slightly. You bent over as you did this, sure to give him a little sneak peak of what you want him to see very soon.

You see his silhouette shift in the door over your shoulder, just knowing you have him right where you want him.

You turn around, finally letting your hand slide further down, and leaning against the back shower wall, you raise your leg to the ledge of the bath. You finally allow him your gaze and look at him completely as you spread your legs and sink your fingers into yourself, letting a small moan fall from your mouth.

You hear a quiet "Fuck," from the doorway and see his long, tatted fingers grip the door frame, revealing his presence from the shadows.

"Mm. I knew you were there," you said very quietly. He gave no response. You didn't look at him, continuing your movements into your pussy and letting Noah drink in every stroke and buck into your hand.

You continued to fuck onto your hand, gaining confidence under his silent watch. You turned your back to him again, bending over and putting your entire pussy on display for his viewing pleasure. Reaching underneath you, you begin rubbing yourself at a fast pace, small moans falling out of your mouth. You buck back on your hand again when you sink two fingers into yourself. You see Noah's fingers gripping the trim and more of his hand appears from the dark.

You gave him another treat by moaning "fuckkkk," and crying out. You swear you hear a growl from the doorway. The hand falls, palming a desperate hard on, but there's no way he wants what he is seeing to stop.

This was way too hot.

You took your fingers from your heat and placed them in your mouth, looking directly at the doorway. Dragging your hand over your pussy again, you finally lock eyes with his dangerous glinting eyes in the dark.

You insert a finger. "Oh, fuck," you smirk and tease as you talk. You look away, and pretending Noah isn't even there, you put in another finger. "Mmm..." And one more finger, you're brave enough to sigh, "Noahhh..."

At that, he storms into the bathroom. It's no longer a "secret" that he was standing there. His eyes are wicked and wild with a starving desire and he doesn't even hide the hard rise in his sweats. You're so hot and wet already, but it makes you tremble that he's here and has his eyes on your spread heat.

"Fuck..." You trail, gasping through your self assault that you didn't even stop when he surprised you with his barging in. You gasp, a moan coming out through your sentence. "Don't speak. Don't do anything. Just watch me, Noah. Fucking watch me... Please."

He does as you ask. He latches and locks the bathroom door, leaning back on the sink. Noah doesn't say a word. He doesn't touch himself, but his eyes feast on every single inch of you that's available to him.

You continue to touch and tease your body. Your fingers move faster and your heat is wetter with his presence in the room. Your moans are quiet but just loud enough for his ears. You see him run his eyes down your body with a slow lick of his lips.

Under his gaze, your fingers begin to move faster and your gasps come quicker. You're curling your fingers against that spot inside you, arching your back and giving him the best show possible.

"Ah, ah, ah," you chant, "Noah, fuck," you give to him, earning a small and satisfactory "mm." From Noah.

Your eyes roll back. Your hands are making your head spin and your stomach clench under his eyes as you rub your clit and bite your lip. His eyes never give way and stay locked on you. Sparks shoot through your body and your gasps never end. You see stars, your juices flowing down your legs. You're crumpled against the wall and panting.

Noah doesn't speak. He gives you one last burning, hot look, soaking the whole sight and everything that just happened into his mind.

He smirks at you, unlocks the door, and without saying a single word to you, he leaves the bathroom.

--

Noah. Dude. Thought you were coming down?

Text from Davis again.

Sorry man, I accidentally passed out for a minute. Be right there.

[babamiasworld]

Are you sick of me yet?

Hyrule!Link x GN!Reader ✭

Synopsis: Link refuses to leave you alone after you lose to him

Content Warnings: cocky link, possessiveness if you squint, light cussing, a lil kithy kith, and uhhhh jealous zelda if that’s how u wanna see it 🧍

A/N: jesus link brain rot is getting to me rn, and i got the new loz themed nintendo switch cause i’m OBSESSED- pls it’s so pretty🥰

Word count 1 .4k

To everybody, Link was a man of few words, and to most, he was intense. Never speaking much, and when he did, his words were blunt, curt, and devoid of vulnerability. He didn’t care what others thought of him, only that he got paid fairly for his work. Though there was a side of him that he didn’t show all that much, a side of him that only reared it’s head depending on the situation. He wasn’t secretly a softie or anything, no no, he was worse.

“That was a tough loss.” Link said while inhaling through his teeth, mocking something close to sympathy. You had just finished a racing competition, which wasn’t something you usually engaged in, simply because you were one to get really competitive and you were a sore loser, but you’d never show it, nor ever confirm it out loud, but you were. it was a fact you couldn’t deny. So you ignored Link’s comment, simply ignoring him as you made your way to your steed, walking a bit faster in hopes Link wouldn’t catch up, because if you were being honest, if you had to look at the grin on his face…you’d probably punch it. Though Link wasn’t having it, taking your silence as a challenge.

You sharply turned a corner in hopes he’d just give up his attempts to get you to lash out at him. Moments from the race replaying in your mind, pissing you off more.  The reason he was so amused by your loss is because you’re known to be one of the most talented racers in the kingdom, and you had come second, and Link of course, was in first. He wasn’t going to let you live this down that much is for sure, not unless you were able to rub his ego into the mud…and then stomp on it multiple times…then maybe setting it on fire. If it was possible, you’d consider traveling across Hyrule to throw it into a volcano.

Lost in your thoughts, with your eyes fixated on the cobblestone path beneath you, you didn’t see the encroaching obstacle in front of you until you collided with it. Looking up at a very unpleasant face. Link didn’t say a word, just staring down at you with that stupid smug face, as if you were smaller than him. Physically yes. But in every other aspect absolutely not, but as much as you hated it, you couldn’t help but feel heat rising to your cheeks at the proximity between the two of you. You stepped to the side to leave him behind yet again, though he mirrored your actions holding his expression.

“Can I help you, asshole?” You spat, sounding like more of a demand rather than a question. But much to your displeasure, your comment only inflated his ego as he tilts his head playfully at you.

“Aw don’t be like that.” He teases, causing your scowl to intensify.

“Shut up. Don’t act like you’re not enjoying this.” You retort. Pushing past him.

“You know me well~” He chuckles. The sound making your stomach flutter.

“Piss off.” Eyes focused on the stable that your Loftwing resides in, sleeping peacefully.

“No. I don’t think I will~” He taunts. Unbeknownst to you, he picks up his pace, inching his face closer to yours, whispering into your ear. “I know you like it when I tease you.” Emitting a sharp gasp from you, whipping your head at him with a look of disbelief, holing a hand over your ear.

“No I don’t!” You retort, a little more enthusiastically than you intended, mentally cursing yourself as you see Link puffing out his chest; and by your red cheeks, it only confirms his statement.

“Yeah?” His tone was quiet, as if you’d both get in trouble if he was heard. But as he starts moving towards you, absent-mindedly stepping back as he did, until your back hits the cold stone wall, only then do you realize it’s just you that’s in trouble. “Then why are you so flustered then?” Asking a question he already knows the answer to.

“I’m not.” You stare at him through your eyelashes, trying to intimidate him, though you know it won’t work. This causes Link to tilt his head once more, but his expression is different this time. He’s looking at you like he wants something…needs something. You immediately pick up on this; his hungry gaze, half-lidded eyes analyzing every inch of your face causing your heart to beat rapidly.

You turn your head away from him to hide your red face. But Link wasn’t having it. He wanted you to squirm under him his gaze, lifting a hand to your chin and tilting it up so you’d look at him. He was surprisingly gentle with his movements, slowly pulling your chin upwards towards him but stopping before your lips could touch. The proximity of your faces causing your eyes to flicker to his lips, only for a moment before meeting his eyes again. Though this didn’t go unnoticed by the man in front of you, causing him to look down at you with a seductive glint in his eyes.

“See something you like?” Link teases, adoring how red you’ve gotten. He moves closer, lips ghosting over each other for a few seconds before you can’t take it anymore and finally kiss him, a hand snaking up his neck; fingers lacing between his soft blonde locks while your other hand lays against his ribcage for support. Your boldness causing Link to chuckle into the kiss, sending heat through your body like shockwaves which only intensifies when his hands find their place on your hips, using them as an anchor to push his body against yours, chests pressed against each other.

He pushes his tongue into your mouth, his hand dragging up your body as it settles on your jaw, pulling you even closer. His kiss is heated, rough, and possessive, as if this was his way of claiming you as his, and deep down, you didn’t mind as much as you said you did, indulging yourself in him. Both of you were growing desperate, frantic even, as if you’ll die if you separate, but sadly breathing is a necessity.

You break the kiss to breathe, but before you can even take a full breath, Links lips find yours again, groaning into your mouth.

“Ahem!” A distant voice echoed. Causing you both to freeze, Link pulling away from your lips to turn his head towards the voice, a trail of saliva connecting the two of you. As Link moved his head, you were mortified to see Zelda standing a few meters away with her arms crossed over her chest, looking at you two clearly unimpressed with what she walked in on. “Link, my father wants to speak with you. He insists you meet with him as soon as…” She trails off, eyes flickering to you for a moment, then back to link. “…you’re done with your little rendezvous.” Zelda finished, turning on her heel and taking her leave.

Link looks back at you with a that same stupid smirk, and your just absolutely traumatized that the princess caught you making out with her knight, but Link has a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Wanna keep goin?” Link said with optimism. Which pissed you off considering you’re probably not the princess’ favorite person after that; the thought far from pleasant as you pushed him away and stormed off.

“Argh- you’re so stupid! Don’t ever pull that again.” A frustrated hand running through your hair, trying to find something to help you forget about the whole ordeal.

This causes Link to let out a low chuckle, watching the way your hips sway as you fade into the distance.

“That’s what you said last time.”