#dining room alcove | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

florencemtrash · 6 months

Text

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Seventeen

Azriel x Day Court Librarian Reader

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: None. Some angst. Some fluff. AHHHHHHHHHH just look at the gif guys

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

“Let me know if I’m hurting you.”

“I will.”

The wet cloth soothed his burning skin as you carefully cleaned away the smattering of blood dashed over his high, bruised cheekbones like freckles. You were both holding your breaths, only daring to move when your lungs demanded it. Azriel sat on the chair you’d dragged into your bathroom, face level with yours as you leaned down to inspect his face with two fingers tucked beneath his chin.

Azriel’s fingers twitched at his sides, aching to touch you somewhere. Anywhere.

“You said you’d tell me if I hurt you.”

“You’re not hurting me, Y/n.”

Azriel could have told you that he was well versed with cleaning blood off his body and clothes. He could have reminded you back in the dining room that Feyre and Rhysand stood only ten feet away and could have whisked away his injuries and the bloodstains with a single touch or snap of their fingers. But instead he’d said nothing. He’d let you close your hand around his, fingers dangerously close to his thrumming pulse, and followed you to your bedroom while ignoring the throbbing pain of his cracked ribs.

Feyre called your bedroom The Wisp after having decorated it with all manner of airy, cream-colored furniture accented with soft browns. Your desk was overrun with neat piles of papers, books, and journals. The windowsill by your bed was dedicated to pre-sleep novels and clusters of lavender tied with twine and left to stand upright in vases fashioned from ink bottles. The scent of old books and parchment paper clung to every surface along with something that smelled clean and entirely like you.

Your bathroom was similarly orderly. Bottles of perfumes, lotions, and oils were laid out on the countertop like little soldiers, catching and scattering the moonlight from the window in a rainbow of color.

You brushed the cloth over his lips, eyes lingering on the two splits already scabbing over, then down the curve of his jaw to his chin.

It was reverently quiet here in your bathroom. Nothing but the faint and steady drip from the faucet into the quartz basin and your breathing filling the space.

Color had been spilled over Azriel’s face like a watercolor painting, equal parts painful and beautiful to look at. Because he was still so, so beautiful looking up at you with those whisky eyes that made your head spin. Those dark curls that hung over his forehead like seafoam waves. Your hands fluttered over the bottles on the countertop before settling on a pale green one that smelled strongly of mint. You smoothed the oil over Azriel’s face, leaving a cool, tingling sensation wherever you touched.

“I’m sorry about Lucien,” You whispered. “And Helion. I never wanted you to get hurt like this.”

“Don’t apologize.” He smiled sadly. “Cassian was right when he said I had it coming.”

You winced. “How bad was it when you fought Lucien the last time? When you invoked the Blood Duel?”

Azriel didn’t shy away from the question, and his gaze never left yours as you quietly restoppered the bottle. “I was a second away from stabbing him through the heart when Elain stopped us. There are a fair number of scars we both left that fight with, but we did walk away,” He stiffened at the memory, “Barely.”

“Do you… do you regret it?”

“Yes,” Azriel said quickly. Firmly. “I will regret what I did and what Elain and I did together until the day I die.” His hands flexed by his sides and he dared to lift them up to your hips, anchoring himself with the feeling of you beneath his fingertips. When you didn’t shy away from his touch, he continued on. “I wanted what my brothers had and in my desperation I think Elain and I chose each other because we just wanted to do something. I wanted a mate and proof that I belonged alongside Rhys and Cassian, and Elain wanted to break the rules for the first time in her life. To feel in control. But we never should have done it knowing everyone would get hurt.”

“Sometimes love is like that,” you murmured, “Messy and hurtful… or so I’ve read.”

“I didn’t love Elain. I don’t love Elain. At least not romantically.” Not the way that I love you.

You tried to ignore the flutter of relief in your chest. It didn’t feel like the right time for it. Not with Azriel bruised and hurting before you. You dropped your eyes to the pale green tiles and caught sight of Azriel’s gloved hands.

“You’re wearing them again.”

Wordlessly you picked up one and gently began tugging the leather off his fingers. One by one. The whole time you kept your eyes on him, tracing the tension in his shoulders and between his eyes as his ruined skin was exposed inch by inch. The air felt foreign on the skin of his palms. The feel of your body so close to his felt exhilarating.

“I’m so sorry,” Azriel whispered, “I never meant to hurt you in all the ways that I did. What I did—”

“I know, Azriel.”

His eyes traced every line of your face, hands shaking. “You’re not a fourth choice. You’re not broken... But I think I might be,” he confessed. The words hung in the air between you two. Words you could wrap around his neck and hang him with.

He felt every stroke of your fingers over his knuckles. Every flutter of your eyelashes as you looked at him with the faintest tilt of your head.

“So what?” You breathed out.

Azriel shook. “Y/n?”

“So what if you’re broken? Maybe you are, maybe you aren’t,” You leaned your forehead against his, noses brushing, “But you’re still Azriel.” You smiled gently at him, eyes fluttering closed as you sighed. “And I think that’s a wonderful thing.”

Azriel stopped breathing as you brought his hands up to your lips and brushed them over every scarred knuckle. Every touch of yours was sacred. In their sincerity. In their rarity. In their preciousness to him.

“Do you… do you like me, Azriel?” Your words were nervous and soft. Softer than the finest bed Azriel had ever laid his head down on. Softer than the clouds that turned to rain when he flew through them. Softer than your ink-stained fingertips landing on the sprinting pulse of his neck.

“Yes,” Azriel murmured, “You can’t even begin to know, Y/n.”

And then your softness was all around him. It was your lips against his lips, pillowy and tasting faintly of the sweet wine you’d drank at dinner. It was your hands and arms looping around his neck and keeping his head squarely on his shoulders so he could experience this vibrance. It was the feel of your body as he held onto your hips and then flattened his hands against the small of your back, pressing you as close as he dared. River-soaked robes long since forgotten.

You were like water threatening to slip through his fingertips.

You hoped you were doing this right. Reading about kissing was very different from the actual thing. Your lips felt too stiff or too fervent. You worried your hands were too greedy as you plunged them into his raven-wing hair and tangled silken strands. But while you lacked experience, Azriel surely seemed to be making up the difference. He held you as close as possible, until it felt more like breathing than kissing.

Salty tears landed in between your lips until you could both taste their sharp tang on your tongues.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he kept saying over and over in between shaky gulps of air. “Y/n, please believe me. I—”

You kissed him harder just to make him stop, swallowing his pain as best you could until his breathing evened out.

“I’ve got you, Az.” You brushed his black waves away from his forehead before kissing him there too. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Tell her. Tell her. Tell her.

Azriel’s shadows chanted in his ears. But he made them go silent.

Another day.

Let him just hold you like this for now. For as long as you would let him. Here in the stillness with you — the only person who’d ever brought him a real sense of peace and quiet — he felt it was safe to hope again.

The long stream of kisses ended too early for his liking, although he didn’t dislike the sight of your heaving chest and blushing cheeks. He couldn’t quite believe what had just happened, and you seemed to be thinking the same thing as you stood between the walls of his legs, his arms wrapped loosely at your sides and yours dangling off his shoulders.

You’d kissed him. You’d kissed him.

You touched your fingertips to your lips, worry in your eyes. “Was it bad? Did I do a bad job? I’ve never—”

Azriel would have none of that. He tightened his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest and kissing you all over again. You relished in his heat and the faint tickles of shadows that encased you both in darkness, like a veil had been thrown over the room leaving everything gauzy and soft.

“You, my Y/n,” his lips brushed over the corner of your mouth, trailing down to your neck when he sighed so, so softly, “Are a marvelous kisser.”

Had you melted into a sack of bones on the floor? It certainly felt like you had. You were blushing uncontrollably, searching for something, anything, to comment on. You thought your heart might just burst out of your chest.

“You have frosting in your hair.” You plucked the white blobs off his head, feeling the sugar grains crumble between your fingers.

“I think that was meant to be dessert.”

“I think you might be right.” You tried controlling your breathing when Azriel leaned forward and kissed the bare skin of your shoulder, and failed miserably. “It’s a real shame,” you stammered, “I was looking forward to cake.”

He kissed the center of your chest next and your heart skipped a beat. “I’ll buy you all the cake in the world to make it up to you.”

“That’s a hefty promise, and a waste of cake.”

“Do you doubt me?” Azriel asked honestly. You could ask him for moonlight in a bottle, or a dress spun from spider silk, or all the stars in the sky and he’d find a way to make it happen. Some way. Somehow. He’d give you everything that was his to give, and then some.

“No. I don’t doubt you.”

“Good.”

He couldn’t help himself. He kissed you again, reveling in the faint sighs that he swallowed up and the few that escaped between your locked lips to sing in his ears. You traded kisses for hours on end, slipping them in between conversations and gentle touches. It was an exploration in intimacy that you worried might sweep you away, but Azriel was as he always was — patient and gentle — from the tips of his black hair to his scarred hands to his leather boots. And you loved every inch of him.

You clung to his shirt, the scent of soap still clinging to his skin after he’d returned from his bath and laid down in bed beside you in cotton instead of leather.

“Azriel,” You said, your voice thin and tired. The candles burned low casting shadows that flickered and twisted on the wall. But you didn’t pay any mind to shadows any longer, not when you knew they belonged to Azriel as surely as you did. “Stay.”

And who was he to deny you? He held you close, your cheek pressed against his chest. You fell asleep to the sound of his heart, and he fell asleep to the rhythm of your breathing.

You woke up to the weight of Azriel draped over your body, face pressed against your breasts, arms wrapped around your waist, and the rest of him nestled in between your legs. He grounded you, wings splayed out and bathing in the sunlight that streamed through the windows.

You were pleasantly surprised that he was still asleep and you took the time to lightly trace his features, weaving your fingers through his hair until he made a sound that had your heart speeding up. Something halfway between a sigh and a groan.

He was slow and sluggish to wake, eyes blinking languidly as he registered the warm, supple body beneath him.

You.

He’d fallen asleep here with you, wrapped up in your scent until the world had faded away into blissful nothingness. He could have been asleep for eight hours or eight years and he would be none the wiser. All he knew is that you were running your fingers through his hair, and he didn’t want you to stop.

“Hey, you,” You murmured when his whisky eyes fluttered open, eyelashes casting spidery darkness over his cheekbones where his own shadows curled as if still asleep.

Azriel hummed, burying his face in your chest and sighing with his whole body. His arms rubbed up and down your sides leaving molten heat in their wake. “Please don’t tell me it's morning.”

“I’m not above lying, Azriel. It’s the middle of the night.”

His wings shook with quiet laughter, the movement of his body tickling your skin until you were grinning unabashedly.

“Then why are you awake?” Again, his words were muffled by your skin.

“Because I’m currently being crushed beneath the weight of an Illyrian warrior.”

His head shot up in alarm. He was no small male and although he’d spent centuries gaining enough strength for his wings to feel weightless on his back, he knew they were anything but. And you’d let him stay like that all night. It was a miracle you hadn’t suffocated.

Stupid. Stupid.

“I’m sorry. Gods, I didn’t mean—” He began to slide off of you. But you were laughing.

“Wait! No! I was joking. I was joking. Come back!” You wrapped your legs around his back, the sudden movement pulling him flush against you in a rush of heat that made him go stone still.

Mother, help me. He thought to himself, feeling blood travel both up and down his body.

You guided his head to your chest by the strands of his hair until he was following the curves of your silhouette once again. “I like it when you hold me like this, Azriel,” you confessed. “I don’t feel like I’m going to float away anymore. Does that make any sense?”

“It makes perfect sense,” he whispered. He felt the same way. “You make the world go quiet, Y/n.”

It wasn’t until the clock struck twelve bells and the House’s cooking wafted through the hallways that you and Azriel finally peeled yourselves off one another, shuffling to the bathroom in a cluster of wings and loose night clothes.

Azriel watched you closely, finding new ways to love you even as you brushed your teeth side by side, bumping hips and smiling at one another shyly. He watched as you brushed your hair and washed your face, stealing kisses that left minty cool tingles on his skin.

Lucien was noticeably frowning when you and Azriel walked into the dining room, Azriel’s scent still clinging to your skin and yours to his. You’d done nothing more than sleep in the same bed, everyone was looking at you with shit-eating grins like you’d taken Azriel on the living room couch for the whole House to hear.

“You look well rested, brother,” Cassian noted over the lip of his coffee cup.

It was the best night of sleep Azriel had gotten in centuries, perhaps in his entire life.

You wordlessly traded seats with Elain at the table, leaving you and Azriel on one side and Lucien and Elain directly across. When no one was looking, he reached down and pulled your chair closer, pressing his knee against yours beneath the table. Lucien noticed — of course he did — but the blush on your cheeks was so innocent and the love in your gaze so honest that he couldn’t bring himself to make any comment. Although, he did throw a few dangerous looks Azriel’s way, looks that plainly said, If you hurt her, you’re a dead man.

Azriel only nodded faintly in reply, as if he knew what Lucien had been thinking all along and was in agreement.

But in the following weeks your brother would come to be grateful that your care for one another was not loud. It wasn’t desperate, groping hands in hallways or sultry looks that heated up crowded rooms and made people uncomfortable. It was reserved smiles and knowing glances when you independently formed the same thought at the same time, eyes latching onto one another until one of you inevitable broke away laughing.

For the first time in his life, Azriel had someone who wanted him back just as fervently, even if it was difficult to believe.

Azriel always needed to be touching you, whether it be a hand at the small of your back or the press of your shoulders together as you leaned over one of the desks at Cagniv — now that Azriel was allowed inside — with papers strewn about like dove feathers.

You were no better. You stuck close to his side where shadows lingered and sought him out in every room until you may as well have owned the space within the curve of his wings.

But things were changing. Koschei loomed taller and taller over the House like an avalanche ready to wipe Velaris off the map. Once again, everyone heard Vassa’s cries at daybreak and nightfall, and when Jurian slipped out of the attic for his own rest, he looked a little thinner and paler each time and no amount of medicine or food you and Lucien brought upstairs seemed to be helping.

Azriel tried to steal every extra second with you in the mornings. If he had his way, he’d never leave his bedroom again, content to admire the splash of sunlight over your body and your sleepy sighs. But he was still the Shadowsinger and Spymaster of the Night Court and you quickly got accustomed to waking up to an empty bed with only a note on the nightstand. On those days you migrated out of whatever room you’d spent the night in — yours or Azriel’s, although the lines were blurred — often trekking to Cagniv to escape a house where strange, new faces were coming and going with more frequency: ash-pale fae from Winter, a white-haired female from Summer with skin so dark it was almost black, and golden males from Dawn with downy hawk wings. They locked themselves in Rhysand and Feyre’s office where bargains and plans were made in blood and salt.

Other days you carted your books to Feyre’s studio with Nesta and Ione in tow, perching on a stool while the High Lady crafted life out of brushstrokes like she was the Mother herself.

Feyre stood at her easel, as she had been every day this last week, with her pencil clenched between her teeth as she ignored the faint aches in her lower back and her wrist. Every line, every detail, was attended to with painstaking precision as she mapped Nesta and the old woman’s faces onto the blank canvas first with graphite, then with a thin wash, then with layers of paint that added dimension and familiarity to the two stoic faces. Feyre didn’t let her passion overtake the more clinical approach she was taking with this piece. This was not the time for free flowing movement and modernism.

This was all about realism.

Exactness.

When the High Lady placed her brush on the muddied water cup beside her, you jumped up. “Is it finished, Feyre?”

“As finished as it will ever be,” Feyre responded gravely as you took in the sight before you. Three women: Nesta, Ione, and some mixture of the two. Feyre had captured their likeness with incredible precision, using the painting to familiarize herself with their faces and the ways they could be warped and molded.

You peered over the corner of the canvas to where the two women were standing side by side. Ione lengthened her spine, cane clasped in her hands that you’d never seen her lean on with her full weight. Time had condensed her bones and stolen some of the height from her frame, but none of her sharpness. It was a trait that granted her a strange degree of likeness to Nesta, as if you’d glanced into a future where she’d never turned fae.

You looked at Feyre, then down to the vials of blood you’d collected from the pair. Already your magic was seeping into the burgundy bottles, testing its boundaries with such an unfamiliar medium as you released any hold you had on it. You looked at the High Lady and nodded.

It just might work.

“My brilliant daughter,” Helion praised, kissing you on the top of your head before disappearing in a flash of light. His empty teacup spun on the saucer.

You felt a familiar flicker of pride grow within you. Helion had spent hours pouring over your notes, your manuscript, and leaning his ear towards your plans. He was in agreement.

It just might work.

Lucien slunk out of his room after Helion’s voice disappeared and sank into the abandoned couch with his whetstone and white-bone blade. The ring of metal echoed through the room, melting into the birdsongs that slipped in through the cracked open window and the clatter of sugar spoons against a porcelain plate.

“You should tell him,” you said again, pushing a teacup over to your brother. It was a common refrain after Helion’s visits.

Lucien stared at the three cups now strewn across the coffee table. Two empty. One full and untouched. Had Helion noticed the extra one?

“I’ve had enough of High Lords for a while,” Lucien said as you poured yourself another strong cup, “When this is over, I’m taking Elain, Jurian, and Vassa back to the Human Lands.” His eyes flickered over to you briefly, “You should come live with us. You’d find it interesting how they conduct themselves. You might even learn something.”

“I’ll visit for a short time, but nothing longer than that.”

“Why not?” You lowered your gaze and blushed, unconsciously tugging your sweater higher up your neck. The sweet marks Azriel’s lips had left on your skin were long gone, but you swore you could still feel them. “You know why.” You murmured softly.

Your swollen eyes spoke of restless nights without the Shadowsinger’s hands to lull you to sleep. Azriel had gotten into the habit of stroking your cheek while you talked in bed, until the steady brush of skin against skin finally had your eyes closing shut. You missed him.

“Lucien, I understand that you want nothing to do with Helion or any other High Lord, but… You could be better. I know you could be. You could be the best High Lord of them all, if you’d only be open to it.”

Because that was Lucien’s worst fear, wasn’t it? That a time would come when Helion would leave this world and any hope for a quiet, peaceful existence with Elain would be gone.

“And what if you’re wrong?”

You touched his wrist and the blade stopped its strange singing. “‘It’s often those who think they deserve it least, that deserve it most.’ Pippin Clodshot from—”

“A Duel of Two Faces by Aechtion.”

You reared back in surprise and Lucien grinned, tapping your nose. “I do read, sister.”

The sarcasm in his voice was laid on so thickly you could only grumble in response. “I wasn’t aware you had two brain cells to rub together, brother.”

Lucien laughed so heartily and for so long that Elain and Ione stuck their heads out from the kitchen in conern.

“I thought someone was dying.” Ione rolled her eyes before her grey head disappeared once again.

You slid further under the covers, burying your face in Azriel’s pillows as the sun finally slipped behind the mountains and shadows raced each other to the Sidra.

Seven days.

Seven days of waking up to empty sheets after Azriel had jerked awake halfway through the night, bloodshot eyes searching for something you couldn’t see and that he didn’t tell you about. He’d only kissed your forehead, smoothing back your hair and murmuring something about a task he needed to take care of before shrugging on his leathers. You’d sat in bed, comforter tucked under your arms and over your chest even though you were fully clothed, and watched Azriel move around the room with a practiced air as weapons flashed in the moonlight and disappeared into his bag.

You knew all the hiding places in his room now — one of the many secrets you’d unearthed — so you didn’t find it at all strange when he captured your lips before dipping his hand beneath the mattress and pulling out a long serrated blade, perfect for sawing rope and wood.

“Where are you off to this time?”

Azriel had gone still, taking his time to shake away his thoughts before sweeping a handful of stoppered vials off his desk — sleep potions, draughts for pain and healing, subtle, painless poisons. You would know because you had helped make them.

“I’ll be back before you know it, Y/n,” He’d whispered, eyes boring into yours with a haunted look that hadn’t left him since that day in the market square.

Ten days.

Ten days of carrying around a heavy ache that every so often tightened with a feeling you couldn’t name. Almost as if it didn’t belong to you.

You paced back and forth in Azriel’s room, trying to calm a heart that hadn’t stopped racing for the last hour. You’d tried opening, then closing the windows as you curled up beneath the covers of his bed, mountain air blowing the curtains open and chilling your too hot skin. But none of it helped.

Chasing his scent in the sheets wasn’t enough anymore.

You tiptoed out of Azriel’s room, copying his silent steps and sticking to familiar shadows as you slipped through the House. Like Lucien, you tended to stay hidden whenever representatives from other Courts visited the River House. They were people Rhysand and Feyre trusted, but that didn’t mean you could erase centuries of wariness from your bones.

You heard nothing coming from Feyre’s studio, but you knew that if you were to sneak through the layers of air she’d sealed around the space, you’d meet a male carved from molten heat.

You waited in one of the spare studio rooms for the High Lord of Autumn to leave, eyes peering through the slit between the door and its hinges. If you stared for long enough, you swore you could see the air beside the door rippling with Autumn heat.

Finally, Eris Vanserra stepped into the hallway in all his striking glory, followed closely behind by Lucien. Violently red hair hovered over a pale, freckled face composed of angular lines — striking but not unkind. You thought he looked like a lit match with his wiry frame wrapped in resplendent browns, reds, and golds that spoke of forest riches. Or maybe he just looked narrow when standing next to Cassian. That was always a possibility.

“Thank you, Eris.” Feyre squeezed his hand reassuringly. She wore similarly decadent clothes. The moonstone and diamond crown perched atop her light brown hair was a rare sight, but Feyre wore it as naturally as she wore her paint splattered overalls. She was an artist and a High Lady in equal measure, and she sacrificed no part of one in favor of the other.

The newly minted High Lord of Autumn chuckled darkly, eyes flashing like a living flame. You’d heard horrible tales about Beron Vanserra, his cruelty, and his violence. But whatever traits Eris had inherited from his father he’d sloughed off like a second skin. The molting process had been full of its own pains, but as you assessed him now, you saw only the characteristics he shared with Lucien.

“Don’t thank me yet. Not until my feet have touched the Continent.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

Eris tipped his head, a smirk on his face, then disappeared in a flush of woodsmoke.

Spring, Winter, Summer, Day, Dawn, and now Autumn. The seven courts had slid into an uneasy alliance once more, weary but willing after decades of war. Feyre wasn’t sure how much more Prythian could take if this transformed into another bloodbath. But if the fledgling plan you’d all helped nurse came to fruition, it wouldn’t come to that… at least that’s what Feyre kept telling herself every night so she could sleep.

The High Lady jolted back when you slipped out from your hiding spot, cast in a halo of cool-toned light from the dying sun. Cassian shared in Feyre’s surprise. They hadn’t heard you come up the stairs or pass by the door. They hadn’t even sensed you until you made your presence known.

Maybe she’s picking it up from Azriel? Feyre said with some amusement.

Gods help us all. There’s two of them.

“Where’s Azriel?” You looked to the High Lady for an answer, hands held stiff at your sides. You felt that strange anxiety clawing at your throat. It had dripped into your feelings slowly since the morning, growing like a weed until you couldn’t stop clenching your fists. “I haven’t heard from him in days.”

Feyre felt a familiar coil of guilt settle in her stomach.

Don’t tell her about this, Fey. Azriel had begged her, his eyes hard and tired before taking off from the back porch towards The Warren.

He’d made all of them promise not to tell you about that place. About what he did. About what he was doing. But you weren’t a fool. You knew of his reputation as a Shadowsinger and a Spymaster and the work that came with it. You’d traced some of the scars on his body, plucking the stories from his skin whenever he let you, and you woke up when he did from his silent nightmares. The slightest change in his breathing pattern, the barest flinch of his arm wrapped around your waist was all it took for you to open your bleary eyes and shake him awake.

But there were some secrets he was still too afraid to reveal, and some secrets he’d buried so deeply he didn’t even know what their monstrous faces looked like anymore.

“Y/n—” Feyre began.

“I want to know.” You reached for Feyre’s wrist, grasping it so tightly your knuckles paled and Cassian stepped forward. It was a silent reminder that you had the power to take that knowledge from her if you wished. You loved Feyre. You considered her a friend. But the panic wasn’t leaving you. You stared at her desperately, pupils blown wide open. “I need to know he’s alright.”

Feyre opened her mouth to speak, then froze as Rhysand’s velvety voice entered her mind, strained to the point of breaking.

Feyre, you need to bring Y/n to The Warren.

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

______________

Author's Note:

85K+ WORDS AND FINALLY THEY'VE FUCKING KISSED HOLY SHIT

I really must applaud you all for your patience because hot DAMN I am FLOORED!!! And yes, yes, I know, I know y'all want Y/n to figure out their mates and I will simply be pleading the fifth and hiding in my room and not telling anyone of you when that will actually happen because I simply cannot! ASFDK;JABSLDFIGUH

*takes a deep breath* Thank you all so much for reading and for your engagement whether that be leaving comments or liking or literally anything because it makes my day and I'm just happy that my passion project/hobby is able to bring people some smidgen of joy because the world really sucks but hey at least we have fanfics

#the shadowsinger and the inkbird #azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #azriel x reader slowburn #azriel x you #azriel x helion's daughter

784 notes · View notes

honnelander · 1 year

Note

How did Sanji and reader meet the first time? What did they think of each other at first impression 👀?

hmm interesting question! i feel like it would go a little something like this (in my main "mutual pining" series):

You had originally joined the crew back in the beginning with Luffy, Nami, and Zoro when they were going up against Buggy. Since helping them slice that clown pirate down to size, you were a straw hat.

You never particularly had a dream of your own or knew where you wanted to be, but once you met Luffy and his endless optimism and kindness?? You knew it then: you had found your people.

So when did you meet Sanji? At the same time as everyone else, at the Baratie.

After Nami slipped the host some berry to get your crew a table, you all made your way down to the main dining area. Watching Zoro struggle to slide into the booth because of his swords was practically the funniest thing you've ever seen so you couldn't help the laughter that came out of you and in turn, that made the rest of the straw-hats all join you in poking fun at Zoro and laugh your asses off (much to Zoro's chagrin).

"Fuck you guys," Zoro muttered as he gave each member of the crew their own personal death glare.

When the swordsman locked eyes with you for your own personal Zoro Death Glare, you couldn't help but laugh louder.

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, everyone's favorite blonde-haired chef was busy making the infamous bluefin tuna special that led to him getting kicked out to wait tables that particular night.

As Sanji put the final touches on his off-the-menu special, wiped the edges of the plate clean, and confidently strode to the front of the line, all while bantering with Patty, he felt on top of the world.

Until Zeff crapped all over his dish and kicked him off the line.

"Fucking old man," Sanji snarled under his breath as he pushed the kitchen doors to the dining room a little more harsh than necessary.

As he walked into the dining room, slinging his suit blazer over his shoulders, he was fuming...until he heard a loud chorus of laughter come from his right. He looked up in curiosity as he buttoned his blazer in the little alcove next to the kitchen and scanned the dining room. Baratie was a more upscale, fine dining experience (especially for pirates), so for a table of guests to laugh as loud as he was hearing was certainly new to the cook. Whoever they were, they definitely must not be from around here.

His blue eyes immediately went to the table nearest to him, table eight, where he had his eyes set on the pretty blonde woman earlier in the night in hopes that she was the one laughing loudly but, no she wasn't. When he took the plate of pastries and took a few steps into the dining room, he heard the laughter towards his right and immediately looked that way with a cool gaze.

And the sight he was met with nearly took his breath away. At table ten, he saw the most gorgeous woman he'd ever seen: you. There you were, sitting there at the table, laughing your ass off at the green-haired guy next to you, laughing so hard you were hitting the table with your fist, not a care in the world. It looked like everyone else at your table was laughing along with you, all except for mosshead (a stick in the mud, Sanji thought with a scoff).

Only one thought occupied his mind now, not Zeff, not the bluefin special, not being kicked out of the kitchen, just: you. You and your infectious laugh.

Everything after that happened in a blur. The two pirates at table eight both stood up enraged, yelling insults back and forth along with threats to kill each other, ripping Sanji's attention away from you and pissing him off all over again.

Could anything go right today?

Once he kicked those two pirates unconscious, he then smoothed out his suit jacket, let out a small exhale of satisfaction, and picked up the plate of pastries again. As he strode over to your table, he put on his most charming smile and placed the pastry plate right down on your table like nothing had just happened.

And to be fair? Pirates fighting did happen all the time, that was just another typical Tuesday night at the Baratie.

But meeting you? That was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and he'd do anything to hear you laugh and see your gorgeous smile light up that pretty face of yours again.

He stared right at you as he said, "Good evening, and welcome to our shitty little restaurant: the Baratie."

At his tone and choice of words, you couldn't help but look at your extremely attractive waiter in surprise and confusion and let out a surprised laugh. Didn't he work here?

He kept going though but his charming smile only widened at hearing your laugh, his smile reaching his eyes as he said, "My name is Sanji. What can I get for you?"

And in that moment, without the other person's knowledge, you were smitten with each other.

Taglist: @smolracoon25

#sanji #sanji x reader #asks #sanji x y/n #opla!sanji x reader #opla!sanji #idiots in love series #friends to lovers #mutual pining #thank you for this ask anon!#i had fun writing it #i literally can't get enough of them #this is the most productive i've been in days #once again i get carried away #go fish! au #blurbs

1K notes · View notes

buckets-and-trees · 1 year

Text

SALT (Bucky x Reader)

Fandom: MCU Characters/Pairings: mostly-dark!mob!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Word Count: 2.8k Summary: True achievement in the restaurant industry requires a relentless drive. No compromises. You've risen through the ranks, and when your mentor retires, you're rightly given the mantle of executive chef at Devour. On your night of ascension, the dining room is packed, and among the guests is someone equally as relentless to get what he wants.

Content Warnings: imbalanced power dynamics, bribery, workplace manipulation, NON/DUBIOUS CONSENT, explicit language, risk of being caught, food play, knife play, nipple/breast play, vaginal fingering, forced orgasm, edging, unprotected vaginal intercourse, non-graphic cream pie (not the food kind)

Additional Notes: Written for @the-slumberparty's April Mob AU challenge. Using dark prompt #23 (bolded in the dialogue).

tagging some peeps who showed interest in the preview for this little thing: @sidepartskinnyjeans @vonalyn @winterslove1917

“You’re not serious, Stanley.”

“I am.”

You laughed and shook your head. “Sure. Whatever. I don’t have time for customer meet and greets during a normal service, let alone tonight of all nights.”

“You will do it,” Stanley insisted, “because it’s James Barnes and he’s got more money and influence than any god. He owns the mob scene in this town.”

When your maître d’ didn’t say anything more, you turned to truly look at him.

You frowned but set down your pan with a huff. “Fine. Charlie, take over while I apparently go make an appearance.”

“Table twenty-seven,” Stanley said, handing you a clean dish towel, which you pressed against your forehead, cheeks, and neck as you headed for the door that led from kitchen to dining area, tossing the towel in the laundry bin under one of the counters.

You pushed past the kitchen doors and walked through the dining room towards table twenty-seven, one of the handful booths and tables nestled in small alcoves that offered a little more privacy for VIP reservations, set off on a small dais with walls of green plants strategically placed to create ambience while sectioning off the area from curious eyes and a plethora of potential phone cameras.

There were five individuals seated around the table, but he drew your attention first as you approached. He clocked your progress before any of his companions, and when he looked up, his stare fixed on you with such intensity that you took a brief pause before your next step, which he clearly noted, and the corner of his mouth ticked up in the slightest smirk. It made your blood heat with irritation, but you focused on remaining calm and professional as you stepped up to the table.

“This was an exquisite meal, Chef,” he said, drawing the attention of his companions to you immediately.

“Thank you,” you replied.

“Sam here hasn’t been able to shut up about it since the first course came out,” a blonde man sitting to his right said.

“And you haven’t left even a crumb on your plate through any course, Steve,” he chided back good naturedly.

Each of them had a girl tucked in next to them, but not the man with dark hair and steel blue eyes you still found it difficult to look away from who had to be the infamous James. His friends and their companions continued to rave for another minute or two about different parts of the meal’s courses. You expected them to be closer to the age of your parents, not much nearer yours.

“Well, thank you again,” you finally said. “We’re pleased to have you dining at our restaurant tonight. Devour is a dream for all of us on the staff. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to the kitchen to oversee final preparations for the dessert course.”

“I’m eager for what’s to come next, Chef,” he said, looking you up and down, his eyes darkening. You’d delivered the overture for your exit, but he somehow made it clear it was only with his approval that you would leave in that moment.

Twenty minutes later, you sprinkled a touch of flaky salt over the ribbon of whiskey-laced caramel drizzled over the chocolate mousse, Charlie adorned it with a perfect rosette of the Chantilly cream, and you slid the final plate across to Stanley, who put it on the final tray and sent the waiter on his way.

“That’s service, everyone!” you announced, and some of the staff clapped and whooped.

You smiled, truly satisfied. Charlie bumped elbows with you, and when you turned your head to look at him, you couldn’t help the genuine smile bursting across your face.

“Truly a triumph for you taking over,” Stanley said, loud enough for everyone to hear.

“You’ve more than earned your new title as the executive chef of Devour and this kitch–“

He was cut off as there was a burst of activity at the doors coming in from the dining room. “Everyone, clear the kitchen! Out the back, please,” came a booming voice that you’d heard speak much more congenially earlier in the dining room. It was clear this man was used to giving orders and having them followed without question.

“Excuse me,” Stanley turned to look, but on seeing who was sweeping in and ushering his staff out before him, but his tone shifted when he saw who was giving the orders – now guarded but polite, “Oh, Mr. Rogers.”

“And if I could have a word with you in particular,” Steve said, addressing Stanley and nodding towards the back.

“Of course,” he responded.

You and Stanley exchanged a glance, and you began clearing out with the rest, but Steve put a hand on your shoulder. “Not you,” he said a little more quietly. “You stay here.”

You frowned and tilted your head as you looked up at him. He only smirked at you.

“The rest of you, keep it moving, let’s go!”

You chewed on your bottom lip and let your hand drop to the silver surface of the counter where your fingers immediately began to drum impatiently. After a moment you turned to look over at the door to the dining room, and your breath hitched.

He was there, leaning up against the door frame, blue eyes fixed on you.

His face was unreadable, and so you tried to keep your face blank as well as he stalked toward you, coming around the plating area and to your side of the counter.

“What is this, Mr. Barnes?”

“I’m buying this restaurant. Steve’s arranging everything with Stanley right now.”

Your brow furrowed.

“I own this kitchen, and I own you, Chef.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he put two fingers to your lips.

“I’m tripling your salary,” he said as he stepped right into your space, backing you up against the counter, only a breath of space between you.

Your heart was racing for too many reasons – anger, incredulity, but also a thrill of arousal. You wanted to refuse him, but he also drew you in, and you could not deny that. You knew he was dangerous, you were infuriated by his audacity, and yet…

“You can’t turn down an offer like that,” he continued, “especially not after the years of hard work I know you put in for the executive chef apron in this kitchen. Our stories are not so different in that way. You earned this. You won’t walk away.”

“I can–“

“But you won’t,” he cut over you. You glowered, but he ignored your slow burning anger and instead reached around behind your back to tug at the ties of your apron. Then his voice dropped down an octave as he spoke again, “Don’t fight me. You will give yourself to me.”

“I won’t.” You cocked your chin up.

“You will,” he insisted. He pulled the black apron away from your body and tossed it onto the counter behind you.

“You will give yourself to me now.” He pushed forward, pinning you to the counter with his pelvis. You tried to suppress a shaky exhale, feeling his erection pressing into you. “Soon you will warm my bed,” he bent his head down to ghost a kiss at your temple, then another on your cheek, before he moved his mouth further down and murmured his next threat down the column of your throat, “and I promise it won’t be long until you will beg for me to take you apart without any coercion.”

When his tongue darted out over the sensitive spot just under your jaw, a whimper escaped from your chest before you could stop it, and you felt him smile against your skin.

You squeezed your eyes shut. “Please, anyone could catch us.”

He chuckled. “Sam and Steve are preventing that,” he said, pulling away just enough to start unbuttoning your black chef’s jacket. “But,” he continued, “if you make too much noise, you’ll confirm that we’re doing anything more than talking.”

Once he had finished with all the buttons, he pushed the coat open. Your eyes were still closed until you felt the cool edge of a knife on your sternum, and your eyes burst open again, fear and adrenaline rushing through your body, but luckily he wasn’t looking at your face, focused instead on your chest where his metal fingers skimmed lightly over the bared skin for just a moment before they gripped the fabric of your black camisole and bra while his other hand tore his knife down in a swift movement, splitting your undergarments down the middle, putting your chest on full display for his hungry eyes. He pushed the clothing out of the way fully only over your left shoulder.

He lifted his gaze to meet your eyes again. “Dessert was exquisite, but it didn’t satisfy what I wanted.”

He reached for a nearby saucepan, which still had a ladle in it, and smiled as he gave it a stir. You watched as he took a scoop of the caramel sauce and poured a little over the round swell of your breast. It was warm, and started to slowly spread, but not enough to drip and make a mess. You imagined in his line of work, he knew how to be precise, not leave anything extra to clean up. He set the pan back down on the counter, and then reached for something else, returning with a pinch of the flaky salt that he then sprinkled over the caramel.

For a moment he merely admired his handiwork. then his warm hand came up to cup the underside of your breast, and then his mouth descended to lap up the salted caramel from your tender flesh. Heat bloomed across your chest and straight to your head and your core, his ministrations eliciting a low moan from you. He hummed in approval, then took your nipple into his mouth. Your nipples were always very sensitive, and he was not careful with his attention there, sucking, nipping, and licking until you whimpered and tried to push him away. He kept mouthing painfully at your nipple another moment longer.

He leaned back for a moment to look own at you, scrutinizing your face. You were not sure what he saw there, truthfully you didn’t know how to feel and what front to put up, but whatever he assessed didn’t deter him.

He lifted one hand to your neck and then trailed the back of his fingers down your sternum, between your breasts, over your stomach, a light touch that wasn’t rushed, knowing he could draw a shiver of anticipation from you with the purposeful action. He unbuttoned your pants, and as he slipped his hand into your panties and cupped your mound, he leaned in close to your ear and softly said, “You earned this, too, Chef.”

His fingers sought your folds. “And you are wet for me.” You didn’t need to see his face to imagine the satisfaction that must be there – it was evident in his tone. His breath was hot on the shell of your ear. “Close like this,” he whispered, “I’ll still hear even the small pretty noises I’m going to draw from you with my fingers in your cunt.”

And even though you were expecting it – dreading it? – you gasped when he quickly thrust two fingers inside you, knuckles deep, and moved them expertly in and out of your tight heat, questing and quickly finding the sensitive spongy spot on the front of your pelvic wall. You bit your lip to keep keening as quiet as you could, and your arms gripped his biceps, looking for an anchor to reality. He played your pussy quickly, nimble and knowing fingers familiarizing themselves too easily with your body for your comfort.

His thumb went to work expertly drawing tight circles over your clit, still thrusting his fingers inside you, and the additional stimulation forced you into an intense orgasm you didn’t want to give him, burrowing your face into his neck to smother your small cry of ecstasy.

You didn’t want to see his face – undoubtedly haughty knowing he’s pleased you despite you wanting to refuse him the satisfaction – and in this you are spared at least for the moment as without pretense he abruptly spins you around and tugs your pants and underwear down your thighs. You heard the quick unbuckling of his belt and unzipping of his pants as he freed his hard length. You had only a second to brace yourself against the countertop as he gripped your hip with one hand and used his other to guide his tip to your thoroughly slick and ready opening. One full and quick thrust had him fully sheathed inside you, punching the air from your lungs. He leaned forward against your back, his mouth close to your ear again. “Feel me in there? Stretching you to the limit.”

He rolled his hips ever so slightly, slowly, and your head fell back against his shoulder.

“Yes, Chef. Just like that.”

He pulled his hips back, then gave another slow and powerful drive into your cunt. “Feel as smooth and velvety around my cock as that caramel sauce was on my tongue.” While one hand remained on your hip, as he began to pick up the pace with his thrusts his other hand brushed up your spine, then moved around to grasp your breast, the one he’d overstimulated just a few minutes before. You whimpered and tried to jerk away, but you’re met with his strong chest up against your back. He chuckled and then began to tweak and roll the nipple between his fingers.

You tried to pull his hand away, still whimpering.

“I intend to leave you feeling me for days from this, Chef,” he growls in your ear. His thrusts become rougher, faster, slamming into you over and over again. Your hands pulled at his wrist torturing your nipple, but your strength was nothing to his, and soon tears were spilling down your cheeks. When an audible sob escaped your throat, he finally relented and released your breast, but then he gripped your hips with both hands, showing no mercy for your pussy as he chased his own pleasure.

Without the pain, your body focused only on the pleasure mounting in your core now. This felt good. He felt good. His cock filled you exquisitely. You tried to rock your hips just slightly to where you know he’d hit that pleasurable spot in you again, but he controlled the movement and forced you to stay at the angle he wanted.

“This one is for me, Chef, not you,” he grunted.

Still, you pant together, lungs heaving, and you’re hurtling toward another orgasm. His hips stutter for a moment, and with a groan he releases his spend inside you, slowing his movements.

You couldn’t hold back a needy whine as he pulled out of you. You looked over your shoulder at him incredulously, edged to the very moment before but then denied your second release.

He paused after tucking his softening cock back into his boxer briefs and gripped your chin, demanding an abrasive kiss from your lips. “When you come apart on my cock, I want to watch your beautiful face and hear you beg for me.”

Years in the kitchen have taught you to hold back your words when there’s even a shade of uncertainty, and you are uncertain if you will give him what he wants or not, because you can’t deny that your body absolutely wants him, and part of your spirit does, too. Relentless power recognizing another like its own, and you hate that you’re more than a little intrigued. You don’t want to just give him what he wants, but a tiny sliver of you whispers that you shouldn’t cut off your nose just to spite him.

You pulled up your pants while you heard him zip and buckle his own pants again. One he had tucked in his shirt, again with swift precision, he turned you back around to face him. He reached for your apron, wiped his hands, then set it back on the counter. He didn’t mess with your torn shirt and bra other than to adjust them well enough so he could close your chef coat and button that back up over your chest.

He gazed right into your eyes again, brushing his thumb over your lips, parting them slightly, then pushing them closed again.

“I’ll be back for more soon,” he finally said, then walked away without another word.

Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

LINK TO PART TWO: FAT

#mob!bucky barnes x reader #dark!bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes smut #navy and roo's sleepover #navy and roo sleepover #bucky smut #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #mob bucky barnes x reader #mob boss!bucky #mob boss au #mob boss! avengers #f!reader #aspen wrote something #female reader

2K notes · View notes

ruh--roh-raggy · 10 months

Text

Run Rabbit Run (William Afton x Fem! Reader SMUT)

Hello hello! I felt the need to work on something a little different from Home Sweet Home just so I wouldn't get burnt out, here's the product of that. Porn no plot, established relationship and boundaries, be sure to check out the warnings on this one folks! Thank you all so much for reading, if you'd like to be added to my tag list please let me know!

WARNINGS: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, MDNI, 18+, established relationship/boundaries, primal play, knife play (no actual cutting), mentions of stabbing, slight physical violence, chasing, shoving, reader elbows William a few times, William wrestles reader to the floor, CNC sort of, cutting off clothes, ripping off clothes, threats of violence, some degradation but not really, biting, marking, possessive!William, choking, size kink, penetrative sex, p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, fingering, crying, clit slapping, reader being pinned down and forced into positions by William, hair pulling, spitting, nipple play, age gap (reader in early 20's, William in 50's), aftercare and fluff at the end (please let me know if I missed any!)

You can find my Masterlist here!

Word Count: 3,736

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

You pressed yourself against the cool tile wall, your hair sticking to your sweat drenched forehead as you tried to quiet your breathing. You closed your eyes, struggling to listen for any sign of his approach as your pulse thundered in your ears. You could hear it at the other end of the hall, the steady ‘tink…tink…tink’ of a stainless steel blade against tile. You sucked in a deep breath, your only chance of him not catching you is if you could manage to hide. You pressed yourself into the small alcove, hoping the shadows would shroud you just enough to keep you out of the golden rabbit’s sight. A bead of sweat trailed down your temple, dripping off of your jaw and splattering on your bare shoulder. His heavy footsteps echoed down the corridor, the subtle creaking of the suit accompanying every loud thud.

“Run rabbit, run rabbit, run… run… run…” Your blood ran cold at the sound of his voice. He knew you were nearby. That was the thing about him, he never wanted to sneak up on you, he wanted you to know that he was coming, leaving you desperate and scared as you had nowhere left to run. The fear in your eyes would be delicious, if he was lucky enough maybe he’d get the chance to lick the salty tears from your cheek.You caught sight of his massive form shuffling past the opening to where you were tucked away. Your whole body shook as you tried to remain as still as possible, you were finally able to release the breath you were holding as he fully passed by to the other side. You listen to him trudge off, waiting for him to get a considerable distance away before making you move. As carefully as possible you tip toes to the edge of the alcove, peering around the edge to see how far from you he was. You saw him take very slow and deliberate steps, fully dressed in his normal day to day attire save for the addition of the yellow rabbit head and the massive blade in his hand. Deciding you more than likely wouldn’t get a better opportunity you booked it in the opposite direction down the hallway. “Rabbit!” You hear him snarl as he quickly turns on his heels, stomping after you. You stumble around a corner, seeing the door to the main dining room.

You slam against the rusty push bar, throwing the door shut behind you as you stumble into the pitch black room, the only source of light coming from the front door at the opposite side of the restaurant. You sprinted off, hiding yourself under a booth. The golden rabbit crashes through the door, the wooden frame splintering as the latch is ripped from its pocket. He scans around the room, shoulders heaving as adrenaline coursed through his veins. “I know you're in here, rabbit.” His voice deep and gravelly as his eyes scan around the space. “You can't hide forever.” You shuffle yourself away from him, hoping he would wander further into the room, giving you the chance to push back through the door you originally came through and down to the exit. If you could manage to beat him outside you would be able to escape. As you thought of your plan you hadn't realized you lost where he was. Your eyes widened in panic as your ears filled with nothing but silence. You couldn't hear his footsteps anymore, the one indicator of how much danger you were in, gone.

Your blood turns to ice in your veins as you feel his hot breath against the shell of your ear, his dark chuckle making you shiver. “Found you.” He groans as your shoulder connects with his chest, shoving him to the floor before scrambling in the opposite direction. He growls as he chases after you, bounding after you like a crazed animal after its prey. You threw open the door, sprinting down the long dark corridor, sickly yellow light flickering from the dying bulbs as they struggled to illuminate the small space. You slip as you round a corner, managing to catch yourself on the wall in order to recover quickly, you didn't have a fraction of a second to lose. Your pursuer's brown leather shoes slid across the slick tile floor, his body slamming into the opposing wall with a crushing force. You were going to make it, the door was only a few steps away. The glowing red exit sign is a beacon of hope as time itself seems to slow down around you. You hear the golden rabbit let out a guttural growl, charging forward with a new found strength. Your fingers slid against the cool metal of the door, hurrying to push it open, only to find it was locked.

“No.” Your voice shook as you realized he had thought ahead, he knew you would try to get out this way. You shriek as two large hands grab onto your shoulders ripping you away from the door. Your face feels hot as tears begin to flow freely from your eyes. Well, if you had no chance of escape your only hope was to fight your way out. All of your breath gets knocked from your lungs as your back slams into his strong, broad chest. You had to think quickly if you wanted a chance at getting away.

“You're a clever little rabbit, aren't you?” You feel his hot tongue run over the shell of your ear. “Good thing I remembered to lock the door or you would have escaped.” You wind up, sending an elbow flying backwards into his ribs, managing him back with your smaller frame. You bolted for the security room, a large calloused hand catching your arm as you were yanked back to him. You struggled, smacking your hands against his chest trying to kick him, pushing at his masked face as he pressed into you. You gave one violent shove, sending the rabbit head tumbling to the floor. The dilated pupils of William Afton stared down at you, his gray streaked hair stuck to his forehead with sweat. A muscular arm wraps around your waist, you feel one of his legs slip in between yours as he sweeps an ankle out from underneath you, both of you smashing to the ground with him on top of you. You bared your teeth as you fought to push him off of you. He grabs ahold of your wrists, slamming your arms to the cold floor as he pins you down with his legs. “Fuckin’ brat.” He growls. He wraps both of your small, delicate hands in one of his, the other wrapping firmly around your throat, locking your jaw in place so you were forced to stare up at his sharp silver eyes. “You just never know when to quit, do you?” He smiles broadly as he notices the knife you had knocked out of his hand was right at his side. His hand releases your neck, fingers slowly wrapping around the handle of the blade as he picks it up. You struggle against his grasp, your body thrashing wildly underneath his. “Better hold still, bunny. We wouldn’t want someone to get cut, would we?” He drags the dull side of the blade up your clothed stomach.

Your breath shudders out in the silence, watching the shiny steel blade glint in the low light. “You put up a good fight bunny.” He chuckles, gathering up the fabric of your shirt onto the edge of his blade before slicing through it. “Your struggling is only going to make this that much sweeter.” He smiles dangerously at you. He slides the flat side of the blade under your bra, between your breasts, twisting the knife upwards to quickly cut the thin strip of lace between the cups. Goosebumps littered your skin as a chill settled over your exposed body, the thin veil of sweat that covered your torso quickly stealing all your heat away. William breathes out a raspy groan at the sight of your naked form, leaning down to take one of your hardened nipples into his mouth. You can't stop a soft gasp from escaping your lips as you feel his tongue swirl around the sensitive bud. He catches it between his teeth, making you help, before pulling off of you. “I've barely touched you and you're already making such cute sounds, rabbit.” You can't help but blush as he traps you under his gaze. “I can only imagine how fucking pathetic you'll sound whimpering on my cock.” He chuckles. He presses the tip of the knife to your skin, just light enough that it wouldn't puncture your skin. “I wonder how loudly I can get you to scream for me.” His head dips into the crook of your neck, lips fluttering over the sensitive skin. You shudder as he pops off the button of your jeans with his blade, the metal clattering against the floor as he roughly rips your pants down your legs, grabbing both sides of the zipper he rips the denim down the seam, splitting the garment in half. He roughly runs at your clit through your panties with his thick fingers, causing you to cry out from the sensation.

“Already so fucking wet for me.” He growls, pressing against your entrance, making you squirm. “You liked being chased, bunny? Do you like knowing that I'll do absolutely anything to hunt you down and get my hands on you?” Hearing his gravelly tone made heat pool in your core. He hooked a finger into your panties, pulling the fabric back before letting it snap back against your clit, making you moan. “What was that rabbit?” He repeats the motions, making you let out another broken moan. He grabs the thin lace, ripping it with a loud tearing sound before fully removing it from your body. “Such a pretty little thing, I can't wait to fucking break you.” His breath was hot as it bounced against your cheek. Sharp teeth grazing over your skin before he presses a kiss to your temple. He cups your sex, you whimper as you push yourself against his hand, in desperate need of any type of friction. He coos at you, giving you a mocking pout. “Needy thing.” You yelp as he delivers a sharp slap to your clit, making tears prick at the corners of your eyes from the mixture of pleasure and pain. His fingers grow slick with your arousal as he rubs his fingers firmly over you in an attempt to ease the sting. His middle and ring finger dip inside of you, the ice cold metal of his wedding band paired with the delicious stretch of his thick digits making you yelp. He gives you no time to adjust, thrusting in and out of you at an animalistic pace, making you scream in absolute ecstasy as he rapidly works you right up to the edge of your climax. You sobbed as he suddenly pulls out of you, delivering another sharp slap to your clit, dulling your pleasure as you feel fat tears begin to streak down your cheeks. “Poor bunny, don't cry.” He smirks, licking away the salty trail that coated your skin. He pushes his fingers back inside of you, immediately picking up the same pace as before.

“Oh my fucking God!” You manage to yank one of your hands free, it immediately latches around his wrist as he mercilessly fucks you on your fingers.

“So fucking pretty rabbit, my little slut getting fucked dumb on my fingers. Look at how pathetic you are, you're already drooling.” He releases your other hand. He cups your cheek, his thumb running over your bottom lip before he pushes it into your mouth. You eagerly lap at it with your tongue, groaning around the digit as he repeatedly hits the spongy part inside of you that had the edges of your vision going white. “Fuck, you're so beautiful.” He groans, pressing the heel of his hand to your clit as he continues to fuck into you. Your eyes roll back in your head, biting lightly onto the thumb you held in your mouth. You could feel your orgasm welling up inside of you, your moans becoming desperate and needy as you felt yourself preparing to tip over the edge. “Don't you fucking cum.” He growls, not slowing his pace in the slightest.

“Please,” your voice was thick with tears as you begged him. “Please let me cum, ‘s too much.” Your words slurred as you struggled to form a sentence, your mind numb with pleasure. “I want to cum on your fingers please.” Your hips stuttered as he suddenly pulled out of you, your pussy clenching around nothing as your orgasm quickly faded.

“You haven't earned it.” He whispers gruffly against your ear. His strong hands knead your thighs, you hear a soft groan leave his mouth as he admires your glistening sex. His fingers ghost over your swollen clit, making your legs tremble as the sensitive bundle of nerves ached to be touched. His eyes hungrily scan over your body, the way your chest rapidly rises and falls with every breath, the tears that streaked down your face, your lips puffy and pink from you chewing on them in an attempt to keep quiet, to hide how good he was making you feel. The sight alone was enough to ignite something feral in him. You yelp as his teeth sink into your shoulder, hard enough that you knew there would be a perfect imprint of his bite left behind. William marked you as his in any way he could think of; dark love bites in every inch of your skin he could get his mouth on, crescents where his finger tips dug into your his as he fucked you senseless, the smell of his musky cologne permanently saturated into your skin from how closely he kept you pressed to him. You belonged to him and no one else, his pretty little rabbit. He fumbles with his belt and the fastenings on his pants, eventually managing to free his long, thick member. He taps the hot skin against your clit, making your whole body jolt. He pushes his hips fully against your cunt, making you whimper at the pressure. He releases his erection, letting it slap against your stomach. You swallowed thickly, his member appearing impossibly large to fit in your body but you knew he somehow would manage.

“Such a tiny little thing.” He groans. “I'm going to fuck my way into your stomach.” His voice comes out in a growl, he traced a line just under your navel where his pink tip ended. He ruts his hips against you a few times, letting out a gruff moan as he lets his cock get coated in your arousal, the friction of the firm muscle sliding over our aching sex making you mewl. He teases your clit a few times before lining up with your entrance, your hips jolted from him barely pushing inside of you. He curses under his breath. “You feel so fucking good.” He wraps his hand around the shaft, simultaneously stroking himself as he watches the tip of his cock disappear inside of your tight entrance. He gradually works you open, managing to push himself deeper inside of you with every thrust, your walls spasming around the intrusion as you cried out in pleasure. Your nails dig into his biceps, one hand still roughly holding your hips in place, making it impossible for you to squirm away. He takes his time pulling out of you to the tip only to push himself entirely inside of you, his hips pressing firmly into the plush of your thighs. You couldn't think straight, incoherent nonsense falling from your lips as you tried to formulate a string of words to beg him to let you finish. Your whole body burned with your impending orgasm, the feeling of him nestled right against your cervix making you see stars as you tried to fight through the nearly incomprehensible fullness of him member being stuffed inside of you. He roughly grabs your jaw, forcing your mouth open. He leans over you with a smirk, spitting directly onto your eagerly awaiting tongue.

“My slutty bunny.” He purrs, giving your face a small shake before letting your go. His grip on your hips grows impossibly tighter, he pulls all the way out of you before slamming you back down on his cock. You scream his name, your back arching off of the floor. The force he fucked you with was almost inhuman, his hips snapping perfectly against your clit as he bottomed out in you with every thrust. You clawed at him, bright red marks covering his pale skin. You didn't have any time to even ask for permission to finish, your orgasm ripped through you so quickly, you nearly blacked out from the intensity. You yelped as he delivers another sharp slap to your clit, this time it only added to the aftershocks of your orgasm that ripples through your body. “You wanted to cum on my cock that badly, hm?” He asks as he maintains his relentless pace. You could only nod in response, your brain utter mush as you felt your walls stretch around him. “I’ll make you cum then my dumb bunny.” He pouts. “You're going to keep cumming on my cock until I've decided you've had enough.” He snarls, thumb roughly swiping over your clit, the coil already beginning to tighten in your core. He noticed the pitch of your voice get higher, your cunt fluttering around him as he hit all the right places inside of you.

“Fuck, can I cum?” You whimper.

“That's not how we ask, rabbit.” He grabs a fistful of your hair, jerking your head back in order for you to look him in the eyes.

“Please can I cum, you feel so fucking good.” You manage to bed through gritted teeth. He grants you permission, your body goes rigid as you sob, your legs desperately trying to push yourself off of him but it was no use, his strong hands holding you exactly where he wanted you. The wet squelching noises you made were embarrassing, your cheeks darkening as you only heard yourself grow wetter with his every action. He flips you into all fours, your knees digging painfully into the tile as he hikes your hips up to line himself up with your entrance. Your legs gave out underneath you as he pushes inside, a string arm wrapping around your waist keeping you upright. Tears flowed freaky down your face, dripping from your chin and splattering onto the floor, you felt the heat of your next impending orgasm settle in your stomach, your body still utterly spent and overstimulated from your last one. One of his hands slip in between your legs to rub tight circles on your clit with his calloused fingers. Your moans echoed off the walls, sweat dripping down your spine, you struggled to keep your eyes open as you let yourself fully fall to William’s mercy.

“What's the matter bunny? Did I fuck you stupid?” He chuckles as he notices you're reduced to a whimpering, spasming mess below him. You clenched around him, your body struggling to keep up with his animalistic pace, his massive cock stretching you to your absolute limit. He buried his face in your hair, you feel his lips place a soft kiss to your neck. “You did such a good job sweetheart.” A whine leaves your throat at the sudden praise, your body going completely limp as he tears one last orgasm from you. His hips stuttered as he empties himself inside of you, his hot cum pooling deep in your core. He holds you close to him for a few moments after, the heat radiating from his chest keeping you warm as the sweat rapidly cooled down your body. He carefully pulls out of you, trying his best to avoid any discomfort. He scoops you up in his arms, cradling you against his chest. He carries you into the security office, pulling a blanket out from one of the desks drawers. He wraps you up in it, setting you down on the desk for a moment so he can pull his boxers back on. He settles you in his lap as he collapses back into the office chair.

He gently combs his fingers through your hair, untangling any knots he came across. “Are you okay bunny?” You nod, knowing he would want you to verbally respond to him.

“I'm just really tired.” You admit with a small laugh. “All the adrenaline wore off.”

“You were a tricky one this time.” He responds proudly. “I'm really glad I remembered to lock the back door this time or you probably would've won.” He presses a soft kiss to your forehead.

“I'll beat you one of these days.” You beam as you cuddle into his chest, allowing you to place a chaste kisa to his lips.

“Are you sure you're alright? I wasn't too rough with you, was I?” You could see the concern in his eyes. You had indulged in this little game because you knew it was something he enjoyed, he would never forgive himself if he ever hurt you, even accidentally.

“I'm perfectly fine honey.” You reach up and languidly rubs your thumb over his cheek. “I actually had a lot of fun.” The two of you share a loving smile.

“How about I help you get dressed so we can go home, I think we both need a nice hot bath.” He offers, tucking some hair behind your ear.

“That sounds wonderful.” You grin back at him in response. William is very careful with you, wanting to make sure that he took care of any soreness he had caused by massaging your muscles as he helped you into a spare set of clothes he kept around for when he destroyed the ones you were wearing. He kisses you softly as he places you in the passenger seat, your tires gaze of adoration making his heart beat quicken. “I love you Will.” Your lips brushed his as you kept him close.

“And I love you, rabbit.”

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Tag List: @yellowbunnydreams @zoey5252 @loudchaosking @redflowery @weirdoartist21 @residentevilbeast

908 notes · View notes

remotewatch · 11 days

Text

make that mfer BAM 💥🥣

Jack Schlossberg x reader | 1k wc

Summary: Jack doubts his speechwriting skills. You tug that nonsense right out of him.

cws: emergency handjob, food play, cum eating, he cum in he got damn soup idk what else to tell ya !! dear readers please make sure you’re registered to vote and do try to get involved with the Harris campaign in any way you can (it’s what Jack would want, after all 😁)

hats off to my darling editor @mystardustmelodyyy as always 🩵🗳️

minors dni in fact don’t even glance at it

Light-footed staff weave around your path as you track the length of the house to check on tonight’s finishing touches. Your shoes clack against the mirror-polished foyer tile in time with the cadence of your speech repetition.

A text had just come in from your assistant: everyone was having a splendid time, they were on their way to your place now, and a smidge of traffic might push the start of dinner back, ten minutes at the most. Everything was falling into place, but you couldn’t turn down a free moment to go over your words one last time.

“As you all know, my grandparents were lifelong patrons of the arts… honored to present our new exhibition at my fiancé’s library… we thank you all for your generous…” you lose your train of thought when you spot Jack pacing frantically in an alcove, hands twitching as he stifles reflexive hang loose signs. He jolts at the hand you place on his shoulder and defaults to an uncharacteristically strained smile when he sees it’s you.

“How’s the rehearsal going?”

“Well, I think I hate it.” He bites a knuckle and squints exasperatedly at the tiny font on his phone. “There’s so many jokes in here. Why?!” Jack getting cold feet was the only thing you hadn’t planned for; usually he’s the one swooping in when you’re in such a state. There’s absolutely no time for rewrites, so you need to shut this shit down before he decides to start editing anyway. You squeeze his shoulder a little bit, and his head snaps up to see your most convincing faux-worried face.

“Can you help me with one thing real quick, and then we can get it sorted?”

That breaks him out of the fog long enough for you to drag him through the dining room and into the kitchen abuzz with steam and roving caterers.

A curt “Out!” scatters them, and then it’s just you two and the gentle hum of the convection ovens. You guide Jack over to where tonight’s soup is already plated, then to his bowl placed off to the side, accompanied by a post it stuck to the counter: “JS NO SWEET POTATO”.

He’s still lost in thought as you nudge him closer and move behind him.

“I already tasted it, it’s fine,” he mumbles as you start undoing his pants. His voice trails to a sigh when you take his cock out.

“You loved that speech all last week. What’s going on now?”

“I just-“ he doesn’t comment when you start stroking him, but you can feel the muscles in his back loosen slightly, and some of the tension leaks out of his voice. “I really want this to go well for us.”

Your unoccupied hand slides up his lapel and grasps his to stop the fumbling with his tie.

“It’s already going well, and we’re going to keep it that way.” His brow is still furrowed, but that cute little fuzzy edge his voice gets when you take control is seeping in.

“Won’t they be here soon?”

“Not for at least twenty minutes.” The slippery noises your movements make as he starts to leak echo off all the stainless steel and sound almost amplified in the empty space. It’s just warm enough in the kitchen for your brain to flirt with the idea of calling the whole thing off and spending the night here. “Don’t worry. I won’t let the clock run out on you.”

You can feel his grip on his doubts loosening with every deliberate stroke, and soon he’s bucking into your hand as much as the space between you and the counter will let him.

Jack’s posture sags as he relaxes against you, the sudden movement nearly bobbing him close enough to dip his tip into the soup.

“Keep moving around like that and you’ll burn yourself.”

“Sorry.” He sounds a million miles away from the ball of nerves you found a few minutes ago.

“On your toes. You’re making a mess.” And he does, of course, so you have a proper angle to aim him down at the bowl and prevent the twin rivulets of precum from sliding down your wrist onto his trousers. His mouth falls open when the first drops break the surface tension.

“That’s all I want you to focus on. You know you’ll do well, I know you’ll do well, just do this for me, okay?”

He nods wordlessly.

“Say it for me,” you croon softly into his ear, watching the goosebumps blossom down his neck when your lips graze it.

Jack’s head slumps to the side for a better look at you, but his irises are wandering like bumblebees and working against him.

“I’m focusing.” he slurs.

“I know, I know.” Your hand speeds up to match his breathing as he white knuckles the counter. It’s hard to keep your wrist steady when you feel his ass start tightening up.

“It’s gonna make a mess,” he gasps out.

“No it won’t. Stay still for me. You’ve got this. I know you do.”

Jack’s whole body tenses up, and his protests fade into little pants at your ambiguous encouragement. He throbs in your hand one, two, three, four times as you hold him just a whisper above the steaming bowl. No splash; the rest of him is trembling with the effort, but his hips stay locked in place to neatly spill into his meal.

As soon as his heels are back on solid ground, you’re stretching up to kiss right above his eyebrow. A hand cradling his jaw eases him back to reality.

“It’s a great speech.”

“It’s a great speech.” He can't stop himself from smiling, finally relaxed enough to let it reach his eyes.

-at the table-

From the beginning you’d insisted Jack should speak after you; he was much better at settling everyone into dinner conversation following your more formal remarks. Of course, your guests are utterly captivated by him; he manages to get even your sternest donors chuckling in under five minutes. So captivated, in fact, that you’re free to ogle at him from the other end of the table without worry. You’re crossing and recrossing your legs watching his mouth move, realizing for the first time tonight how fucking hungry you are. When the soup is served, you scarcely blink watching his first mouthful. He stares back just as entranced, completely forgetting his table manners and using his thumb to swipe an errant drop into his mouth.

#jack schlossberg #jack schlossberg x reader #freak nasty #if you voted for soup nasty let me hear you scream #the debate was the least arousing 90 minutes of my life but we locked in #for democracy

62 notes · View notes

gravehags · 5 months

Text

give me mercy no more

Pairing: Cardinal Copia x f!Reader x Cumulus

Rating: Explicit, 18+ ONLY MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Tags: masturbation, voyeurism, panty sniffing, breaking and entering, pussy eating, dick riding, this is starting to read like a rap sheet, unexpected romance, threesome, antichrist reference

Words: 3,790

Summary: He should know better than to pine so desperately after what is not his, but the way you look at him makes it so hard. So he takes action in the only way he knows how.

a/n: being in a throuple with cumulus and cardinal copia would save me, clear my skin, and give me a reason to live. hallelujah. also reference to copia being the antichrist.

divider by the lovely @ghuleh-recs!

This is Cardinal Copia’s little secret.

He adores you. He’s long admired you, would see you standing in the crowds at his rituals gazing up at him…and also at one of his keyboardists. Cumulus’ new girlfriend that the ghoulette excitedly introduced to him, unaware of his long-standing infatuation. It was fine, he told himself, he was happy for his beloved ghoulette. Seeing her smile made him smile. But the more he watched you two in the dining hall, caught glimpses of the two of you kissing in secluded little areas of the abbey, the more he needed…well, more.

He cannot believe his luck after charming the keys to your quarters off a maintenance worker and sneaking in while you are at Nihil’s mass and while he is supposed to be in a meeting with Cardinals von Schreck and Bergoglio. No matter, he is head of the Ghost project now, he can do as he pleases. Your room is sizable - not a surprise considering your position as a more senior sister - but even he doesn’t have a closet as spacious as yours. One that would make a perfect little spot for him to kneel and watch you both. He tucks the idea away and focuses - you could come back at any time. It takes a moment of fussing to access the hamper in your absurdly large closet but when he looks down at its contents he smiles wide. Perfetto. Right on top is a mesh thong in cardinal red - almost as if you put it there just for him. His gloved hand is trembling as he reaches down and gently picks it up. With some hesitation, as if the garment is going to burst into flame, he raises the gusset to his nose and inhales deep. The forbidden smell of you floods his brain and he collapses against the doorframe. Frantically he lifts his cassock and fumbles for his button and zipper and by the time he takes himself out he’s already hard and drooling. His body sags against the wood as he smears the pre with his thumb then spits in his hand.

“Cara mia,” he moans the moment leather meets flesh. His eyes slip shut and his jaw hangs open as he bunches your underwear under his nose with one hand and strokes his cock with the other. He thinks of the generous curve of your hip in those tight black pencil skirts you favor, the way the fabric clings to your belly. Those days when he’d be lucky enough to catch you in the library bending over to pick up a stack of books and he’d have to hurry off to his office to address the tent in his trousers he desperately tried to hide with the drape of his cassock. How you looked in that chilly little alcove the other day pressed up against his ghoulette, her tail wrapped around your thigh as you traced her lips with your tongue. Cumulus almost caught him that time but he darted behind a statue of the Whore of Babylon, quick as one of his rats. There’s a thrill in his heart in that moment however, the fear only further igniting his passions. There’s a sound outside from the hallway, a sibling’s laughter, that causes him to jump and remember where he is. His cock twitches in his firm grip and his mouth is open, drool pooling in his jaw as he looks down and squeezes, imagining it’s your cunt instead. He won’t last long, not with the sweet smell of you driving his fist forward and back at a punishing pace as he moans into the fabric. His eyes dart over to your bed and he imagines you and Cumulus, tangled together kissing lazily, your hands brushing over each other’s curves. What sweet noises his ghoulette could tease out of you with her talented fingers. He’s panting like a dog now, your smell all but overwhelming him and his hips spasm once, twice and he’s cumming in desperate spurts. His spine feels like it’s made out of jell-o as he finally lowers your underwear from his face. Stars bloom behind his eyelids and idly he remembers he’s still fisting his cock. He opens his eyes and sighs at the mess on his glove…and on your closet floor.

“Ah, shit,” he hisses, briefly dropping your most sacred underwear so he can rummage in the hamper for a shirt or a towel or something. When he finds a slightly damp hand towel he’s filled with relief, wiping off his fingers first before tucking himself away and lowering his cassock. As for the floor…eh, it’s wood and you shouldn’t notice once he scrubbed his mess away. In his haste to hide the towel, he almost leaves behind his treasure crumpled on the floor. As he reaches out for it he hesitates for a moment, but the insistent little devil on his shoulder is cooing so sweetly in his ear in your voice. She won’t miss it. She would want you to have it. He’s never been one to say no to the Devil. And if he finds himself fingering the fabric stuffed in his pocket during his delayed meeting…well he certainly will not confess. His prize lasts for a week before the smell of you fades and he’s more than made a mess of the garment after hastily wrapping it around his cock one night while pleasuring himself. It now sits in his hamper - he’ll return it to you after getting it thoroughly cleaned. He briefly considers stealing another pair the next time he’s in your quarters but then he remembers how spacious and cozy your closet was. A perfect little spot to hide.

And watch.

It’s bolder than anything he’s done before but that only makes him more aroused by it. He knows you spend Friday nights with Cumulus in your room and his blood sings at the prospect of witnessing what the two of you get up to when you think you’re alone. He plans his day perfectly - manages to get to your quarters and smuggle himself away in the dark behind your habits, the door open just enough for a generous view of your bed. He’s not wearing his cassock tonight - just his simple black suit - so he has less fabric to fuss around and can get straight to business. When he hears your lock make a click and the door squeaks open, he’s momentarily flooded with fear. What if you opened the closet door and saw him, the de facto leader of the Ministry, crouched on his knees with his cock out? His fist flies to his mouth as he bites down on a moan at the thought, his dick twitching in his pants. He peers out into the room and wonders if either of you heard him, but the two of you are quite preoccupied. He doesn’t know how Cumulus has disrobed you this fast as you work the buttons of her shirt and ease her suspenders off her shoulders. With a playful shove she pushes you onto the bed where you bounce, grinning up at her.

“Bossy tonight, babe,” you coo, scooting your body up the mattress as Cumulus removes her pants and underwear. With a snort she slingshots her bra at your head and you skillfully dodge it with a laugh. His heart aches as he watches the two of you, so carefree and intimate, and for a moment jealousy and sadness flood his veins. The feeling is mercifully brief as he watches you beam at the ghoulette settling between your legs. The two of you are so…so…lovely. His mustache twitches as his lips curl into a smile watching you wind one of Cumulus’ white curls around your finger. Idly the ghoulette leans down and places a gentle series of kisses to your belly before sliding her body lower. When he finally gets a view of the treasure between your spread legs his breath comes out in a shudder. You’re already so wet, your curls glistening as your lover teasingly blows her cool breath over you. Your eyes slide shut and your head tilts back to expose your throat as she lowers her mouth to where her thumbs spread you open and hovers.

“‘Lus if you don’t–”

“If I don't, what?” she asks airily, placing a cheeky kiss to your mound. She looks up at you and must mouth something that he can’t see or hear because you let out a giggle and tug on your lower lip with your teeth.

“Understood,” you sigh and Cumulus arches her back, giving him a delightful view of her own dripping cunt.

“Good girl,” she purrs before diving in. He’s so caught up in the moment he realizes he hasn’t even freed his cock from his trousers, and the head is leaking profusely against the fabric. Hastily he pulls himself out and sighs as the blessedly cool air hits his heated flesh. Once in hand he turns his attention back to the two of you and…oh.

Cumulus’ tongue lazily circles your clit as she moans into you. Your head is thrown back, chest flushed as you fist her curls.

“Mmmfuck ‘Lus, yeah right there.”

The whine in your voice makes Copia bump his head on the doorframe in his eagerness to get a better view from his hiding spot. The two of you are all soft, undulating skin as she loudly laps at your cunt, her finger teasing at your entrance. The sheer decadence of the image before him makes his breath come in pants as he once again runs a hand over his throbbing cock. When Cumulus slowly, achingly slowly slides her finger inside you your moan is borderline pornographic.

“Just like that, baby. One more.”

Obligingly she slides another digit inside you and grins.

“You take me so well, don’t you? Doesn’t she, Cardinal?”

It takes him a second before he drops his dick in shock, it comically bobbing in front of him as his face is flooded with red. He takes a couple deep breaths before once again peering out into your bedroom to see you looking right into his white eye, your head cocked and a teasing smile on your face. Cumulus is propped up on an elbow, also watching him, looking amused.

“Are you going to come out, your Eminence, or shall we drag you out by your ear?”

Something about the way your lips wrap around his hardly used formal title as you gently humiliate him sets him on fire. Fuck it, he thinks as he stands, not even bothering to tuck himself away before opening the closet door and stepping out. Your eyes widen and eyebrows shoot up when you behold him with his hands perched on his hips. Cumulus lets out a low wolf whistle and his stance falters slightly.

“I don’t quite know what to say, Cardinal,” you breathe, reaching down to idly scratch behind Cumulus’ horn. “Other than are you going to put that to use or not?”

“What?” he asks flatly, anticipating a shaming or degradation, hell even being chased out by a feral ghoulette. Said feral ghoulette instead smiles wide at him and gestures to you.

“She asked you a question, Cardinal. Are you,” she rises from her reclined position as she speaks, slowly stepping over to him, “going to stuff my girl full of your pretty, fat cock or are you going to leave her wanting? I don’t recommend it. She’s very vindictive.”

His eyes dart over to you where you coyly grin at him and flutter your eyelashes.

“I…eh…I don’t…”

“You’re going to say no?” you pout exaggeratedly, “After I’ve spent all this time wanting you?”

He can almost hear a record scratch.

“Wanting me?” he hoarsely half-shouts, which makes Cumulus snort loudly. “But you…you and Cumulus…”

“Mmhmm, me and Cumulus,” you nod encouragingly, “and I think there’s room for one more. Wouldn’t you agree, love?”

His ghoulette runs a claw down his arm and he shivers.

“I think I can manage to share,” she grins, “with my Cardinal. After all, he works so hard. And I know you’ve seen the way she watches you during rituals. How could I deny her this?”

“I’m only disappointed he didn’t wear the white suit tonight,” you say mischievously, propping yourself up on an elbow with a wink. “But there’s always next time.”

“Darling, he hasn’t even agreed to this time,” Cumulus chuckles. He looks at her and at you, on the bed. The two of you deliciously bare and you, so eager for him. His head spins and he wonders if too much blood rushing to his cock would knock him out.

“Belle donne,” he finally says, with a little bow, “I am at your service.”

Copia didn’t know where this night was going to end an hour ago but he certainly hadn’t imagined it like this. Cumulus is on him in an instant, much to your glee, stripping him of his clothing. In a flash he’s nude, save for his gloves, and Cumulus kneels before him taking his hand in hers. She looks up at him knowingly before he exhales and gives her a tight nod. Gently she slides the leather off each hand and when she sees the inflamed flesh at the centers of his palms she bows her head in deference before kissing them. You’re on your knees on the bed, watching curiously but you don’t inquire further - just nod your head at him - and he is thankful.

“Come here, beloved,” you say, outstretching your arms and with Cumulus by his side, he reaches the bed. Just as tenderly as his ghoulette had treated him, you reach up and brush back a piece of errant hair, your thumbs gliding along his cheekbones.

“Huh. I never knew you had so many freckles,” you say with a soft smile, “Cute.”

When your small hand drifts downwards to card through his chest hair you smile even wider at the tattoo on his pectoral.

“Aren’t you full of surprises? A tattoo, a peeping tom…oh and I would like that pair of underwear back, by the way. It is my favorite, after all.”

He has to force himself not to choke in humiliation but in an instant your hand has drifted lower. He’s only half-hard now but the way your fingertips brush against his shaft makes his head fall forward. Slowly, you stroke him to full hardness as he pants into your ear.

“Nice and ready for me, Cardinal,” you murmur, swiping a thumb over the head of him, making his hips buck. He hears Cumulus make a soft noise of appreciation from behind him and he turns his head slightly to see her splayed out in the overstuffed chair in the corner.

“Don’t worry about me,” she smiles as her fingers dance between the curls at the juncture of her thighs, “Focus on her.”

When he turns his gaze back to you, you lean in and nose along his jaw.

“How do you want me?” you whisper, placing a sweet little kiss to his neck. The question makes him throb and he thinks of all the times he’s watched you during mass, during your duties, and the myriad of ways he’s imagined having you.

“Ride me, cara,” he breathes, “I-I want you to ride me.”

He can feel your grin against his throat as you shift to the side and pull him down to the mattress. Cumulus is up in an instant and walks over to the two of you to settle in on the bed with her back against the headboard and her legs spread. She crooks her finger at Copia and he crawls to her before settling in with his head on her belly, breasts tantalizingly close. When she brings her hands to his shoulders, rubbing at the tense muscle, he sighs.

“Good boy, Cardinal,” Cumulus purrs, making his cock twitch. She looks up at you, still perched at the bottom of the bed.

“Come on, honey. Come show us how pretty you’ll look riding his cock.”

You beam at the two of them before shuffling onto your knees and maneuvering your legs to straddle him. When your cunt, still soaked from your earlier activities with Cumulus, brushes the underside of his dick a shiver runs through him.

“Perfezione,” he murmurs, gazing at you adoringly as you slide yourself back and forth against him.

“Mmm and you haven’t even been inside her yet,” Cumulus says, running a clawed hand through his silver streaked hair. When you raise yourself and wrap your fingers around his cock to position him at your entrance, he holds his breath. You look to Cumulus and then to him before slowly - achingly, tortuously slowly - impaling yourself on him. He nearly cums on the spot when he hears the sweet little whimper you let out after taking him to the hilt and feeling the way you stretch around him.

“Copia,” you breathe, uttering his name for the first time that evening. It makes him want to weep. Cumulus chuckles behind him but her voice comes out rougher and lower than usual.

“How does he feel, sweetheart?”

Experimentally, you raise yourself halfway off him and slide back down.

“So good, ‘Lus. Filling me up just right.”

She hums in contentment and then places a kiss to the top of his head.

“And you, Cardinal?”

“She’s p-perfect, like I always imagined her to be. Hot a-and wet and–fuck–tight.”

You close your eyes and smile, lifting yourself off him once more and bringing your hips down with much more force this time. He lets out a broken moan as you repeat the action, setting an eager pace for yourself. You feel his eyes lingering on your face, the bounce of your tits, and the way he disappears inside you.

“Touch me,” you whine, “Please, Copia.”

“C-can I?” He knows his voice is desperate as he cocks his ear towards Cumulus, who lets out a laugh.

“Of course you can, she’s yours too, remember?”

She’s yours too…for the second time that night he almost cums on the spot. His hands shake as he tentatively places them on your thighs. He freezes, too hypnotized by the way your skin feels under his fingertips but Cumulus is watching and reaches to place her hands over his.

“We’ll do it together,” she murmurs against his hair as she guides his hands onto the curve of your hip. Your pace slows slightly as you revel in the way your lovers knead the flesh of your ass, smiling down at Copia. He’s mesmerized as Cumulus places his hands onto the curve of your belly so he can feel the soft skin there before sliding them upwards to palm at your breasts. Your head tips back and you keen beautifully as his thumbs circle your nipples. When Cumulus guides him to pinch, he’s worried that it’s too hard but the way your cunt clenches around him and your mouth falls open says otherwise.

“Bellissima,” he rasps out, “again, please.”

The way your smile scrunches your nose makes his heart sing and you appease him before continuing to slide your hips up and down. Your pace begins to get a little less languorous, a little more frantic and he fucks up into you eagerly.

“Copia,” you pant, thighs clearly burning from the effort, “fuck, Copia, s-so good. ‘Lus he feels so good.”

“I know, sweetheart,” the ghoulette purrs from behind him, eyes hungrily watching your coupling. Copia feels Cumulus slip a hand between his body and her own to rub at her clit and it makes him groan.

“Come on, Cardinal, make her really feel it,” she pants as her fingers dip into her slick. When she takes them out and holds them up to his lips he greedily sucks them in, lapping at the taste of her. His hips jackrabbit upwards, making you throw your head back and cry out.

“Don’t stop, Copia, please, please, please, do–ah!”

Your walls spasm around him and his breath comes in broken stutters.

“Cum for her, Cardinal,” Cumulus breathes into his ear, her own hand returning to her clit. “Cum for us both.”

“Cara!” he shouts, hips rutting desperately into yours as he fills you up with rope after rope of his seed. At the same time he hears Cumulus moan low and long into his ear as she efficiently brings herself over the edge.

“So good, Copia,” she pants, “so good for us.”

When you collapse against his chest, trying to catch your breath with his cock still inside you he smiles against your hair. Lifting your head you give him a tired smile before gently, sweetly placing your lips against his in a slow kiss. You pull away only for a moment to lean upwards and slot your mouth against Cumulus’, the two of you giggling as your tongues tangle. When you finally pull away, a string of saliva connects the two of you and he raises his hand to wind a finger in it and bring it to his mouth.

“Ragazze mie,” he whispers, “Belle e meravigliose ragazze.”

“Our Cardinal,” you murmur, placing a soft kiss on his tattoo. With some effort you slide off him and he scoots over so you can join him between Cumulus’ legs.

“So,” you begin conversationally, fingers carding through his chest hair, “is this what you expected when you came here to watch us tonight, you filthy pervert?”

He laughs and shakes his head.

“Eh, truth be told I hadn’t thought further ahead than getting in your closet. How…how long have you both known I…I was…”

“Watching us?” Cumulus supplies, her fingers stroking up and down his arm. “Ages. I knew she wanted you as well the moment I started pursuing her. And, well. I’ve always thought you were handsome, Cardinal. When this opportunity popped up, we couldn’t resist.”

“Mmhmm,” you agree, tilting his chin over to look at you. His lipstick is smudged on your top lip and strands of hair stick to your sweaty forehead. You’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“The feeling is mutual,” you grin and it dawns on him that he said that statement out loud. “Second only to her.” You give Cumulus a wink and then your eyes travel over her breasts. As he watches you lean upwards and suck along the underside of one before slipping her nipple into your mouth he growls.

“I’m eh. Not quite ready for round two,” he admits after clearing his throat, toying with a strand of your hair.

“Don’t worry, my love,” you smile, “You can watch. You don’t even have to get back in the closet, either.”

#cardinal copia x reader #cardinal copia x reader x cumulus #cardinal copia x female reader #cardinal copia x female reader x cumulus #cardinal copia #cumulus ghoulette #the band ghost #the band ghost fic #rachel writes

129 notes · View notes