#don’t mind me just visiting from the void

[theeveninghour]

All My Dreaming

Summary: You came to the Night Court as a fugitive and quickly became a valued member of the Inner Circle. Azriel’s love for you has burned brightly in his chest for nearly two centuries now, but when an unknown force threatens to take you from him, he must fight to keep you at his side.

Pairing: Azriel x Winter Court!Reader

A/N: I don’t use Y/N here just out of personal preference, but the IC do call reader “Little One” because she’s younger than them by like a century or so. Also, slight timeline deviation? I kind of just made the ACOTAR timeline work for me a little bit but the important bits are there mostly. If it’s not totally accurate, please suspend your disbelief and go with it. I also took some serious liberties with Prythian geography and Azriel’s shadows in this. I had to force myself to stop because I could’ve written five more scenes, so let me know if you all want a part two. I got nasty Azriel thots to spare, baby! 

WC: 16.1k  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

TW: 18+, Minors DNI, violence, death, descriptive gore, lots of time jumps, torture, smut, p in v, fingering, porn with plot, mating, slow burn, angst, friends to lovers, declarations of love, loving sexy times, miscommunications abound, Azriel being a big ole softie, Azriel being a big ole bitch to bad men, Azriel really going tf thru it emotionally, and Azriel being mouthy as fuck. Just girly things. 

Part 2

Azriel hadn’t seen you in four days. Nearly a week had passed since you’d left. Rhys mentioned a mission but no additional details, Cassian avoided the topic, knowing how frustrated his brother got when you were gone, and Feyre was decidedly unhelpful the few times he’d brought you up. His shadows searched aimlessly, they’d found nothing as far south as Winter Court, daring not venture into Autumn, and knowing damn well you’d never step foot into Spring. You were slowly driving him mad; the bond in his chest aching at the loss. Even if you hadn’t recognized the golden thread linking the two of you, he felt it. 

Gods, did he feel it. He’d often lay in his bed at night, eyes tracing the intricate foil patterns of the ceiling tiles. When sleep evaded him, as it frequently did, he’d grasp the thread tightly in his minds eye and tug it experimentally, begging you to see, to notice it was him that loved you with a ferocity that rivaled the sun. Try as he might, the responding tug never answered, his call into the void not returning an echo. 

The second it snapped for him, Azriel had resolved himself as unworthy, not of someone like you. You were powerful, breathtakingly beautiful, intimidatingly intelligent, and you regularly brought men to their knees, both in political circles and on the battlefield. Rhys relied on you as much he did Cassian and Az, you were a core member of his court, a valuable asset, and the love of Azriel’s life. Azriel avoided the latter subject entirely, choosing instead to silently stoke the ember in chest with unyielding affection; his own private paramour. 

When you’d joined the Night Court, you’d been on the run from both Winter and Autumn Courts. Your father was a high fae noble in Winter that had attempted to arrange a marriage to the second youngest Vanserra of Autumn. The family’s brutal reputation was legend and you were terrified. You were young then, barely a century old, and upon your introductory visit to the Autumn Court, Beron sought to make an impression by presenting a welcome gift. That gift? The public torture and execution of a servant he’d deemed traitorous. 

His gleaming eyes remained on yours with each cast of the fire whip he’d conjured using his cruel magic. He’d cracked it again and again until blood splattered and the servant was left flayed beyond recognition, flesh searing, and finger tips twitching from the remaining neurons firing in his brain. Only after his death did Beron announce his crimes. He’d stolen a parcel of food from the royal pantry to feed his wife and small child. Your stomach churned at the thought of the now widow and fatherless child waiting at home for the male that would never return. 

It had all been a test to see if you were worthy of the most violent and petulant of the broody sons, and you’d passed, holding Beron’s stare and keeping your back straight as you faced his wrath head on. You’d cried yourself dry in your room that night though, sobs wracking your form until your chest ached, grief for the male that was lost. Fear settled into your heart, terror of the family you were set to marry into. 

You’d ran at first light, leaving with nothing but the clothes on your back. Your Winter white blonde hair streaking across the red and orange forest as you bolted. Beron sent his dogs after you. You still had the scars lining your calves from where they’d gotten too close, brought you down into the dirt, jaws snapping and tearing at the muscly sinew there. But you’d fought. You’d kicked and clawed like a feral child of the woods, screaming with a sense of self preservation you’d never known you possessed. 

Rhysand had found you half dead, starving and a little savage in the mountainous border between the Day and Night Courts. He’d made a bargain with you then; he’d save you, if you worked for him. Word had already spread of the ousted Winter female and spurned Autumn princeling and Rhysand was impressed you’d lasted in the wilds undetected for so long. The small star flecked tattoo of the Velarian night sky that lived on your wrist since was the only evidence of his deal. 

You’d long moved past such a bargain. Rhys had offered to lift it half a dozen times in your first hundred years within his court, but you hadn’t minded. A reminder, you’d insisted, a mark of your loyalty to the family that didn’t lead you the wolves with such glee. 

You’d settled into a routine in Velaris, training with the Illyrian brothers and charming Amren with your intelligence and wit.  But you’d become the closest with Mor, who felt a kinship in your shared traumas. She’d soothed you in those first years, fiercely protecting her friend when Eris Vanserra had shown up in Hewn City as an emissary to inquire on your new position in the Night Court. It was that same night that Azriel realized how fucked he truly was.

Eris smirked at you and your back straightened, face growing cold. He spoke, “My brother was wondering where you’d scampered off to.” A laugh followed, “You couldn’t stomach our court, but found yourself bound to the Court of Nightmares? My my, what a wicked turn of events.” 

Rhysand had spoken then, wearing his High Lord mask well, “Watch yourself, Eris. You know not what our Little One can do.” Eris laughed, the sound laced with the dark spark of a threat. “Little One? Fugitive and Night Court whore, I must tell your father. I’m sure he’ll be proud to hear of his daughter’s fate.” Azriel’s wings pricked, then fluttered, he would’ve killed Eris right then for you. Your hand came to rest on Rhys’ arm as you stepped around the throne to level your accuser with a look that should’ve turned him to stone. 

“I am no male’s whore and I belong to no court except Night. Report what you wish to my father, to your father, your brother. May you all rot.” You’d spat at his feet then, and the room heated twenty degrees, Eris’ barely kept rage simmering under the surface, fire blooming on the fringes of his figure. 

He stepped forward and Cassian, Azriel, and Mor all shifted, prepared to take out the threat. Eris’ eyes tracked their figures, gauging the situation. He knew better. Any attack here would mean war on his court and his father have his hide for that. You stepped forward to meet him, knowing he could make no move without endangering his position. You kept your spine straight and narrowed your gaze at him with such contempt he would’ve been impressed at the show had you been anyone else. 

“I will say this once Eris Vanserra,” you held up one long manicured finger, and Azriel traced the action with thinly veiled obsession. “Leave my court or I will be the one to kill you. I’ll rip your spine from your body and I’ll do it with the same glee in which your father,” you’d spat that word, the hatred you held for Beron burning your throat as the words exited your mouth, “killed that male for feeding his family.” You took a step closer, summoning a dagger in your left hand, and rolling it your palm. “Trust that we have no tolerance for your family or your bullshit in these lands.” 

Eris had good enough sense to step back then, peering around your form to where Rhysand sat, legs spread, slouched in the throne, smirking at your display of dominance. Azriel to his right looked on in pure male satisfaction, you were a powerful little thing and he was rather fond of you in that moment. Eris spoke up, “Should I note that the Night Court threatens other Courts for sport?” Cassian and Azriel rolled their eyes in synchronous fashion, but it was Mor that spoke with the dark edge of a threat, “Only ones that deserve such brutality.” Her father, Kier, stood in the gathered crowd and sneered at the tone of her voice.

You’d done the unthinkable then, winnowing behind Eris, grasping the male by his red hair and dragging the dagger to his neck, digging in enough to cause the male’s heart to speed, a line of scarlet leaking from the press of your blade. You could feel the heat in his skin, the flame licked at your hand as you released him with a shove. 

You brandished your dagger as if it was an extension of your hand, the tip of the silver blade glinting with red from the now healing cut at Eris’ throat. “Come for me again and I’ll kill you.” It was then that Azriel noted the slight tremble in the hand at your right side and he wished on some distant star that he could reach out to you, soothe you, tell you that he was proud and you defended yourself and your court beautifully. 

As if his wish was granted, he felt his chest give way to a canyon of emotion, heart stuttering as the bond fluttered and snapped, thrumming with affection for the female standing at the center of the room. He had selfishly allowed himself to hope it would be you, in the dark of the night when he was alone and his shadows whispered to him of your whereabouts. Since he’d met you, he fostered that small romantic notion of soulmates. His most private desire. 

Eris whirled on you with a roar, grabbing your throat with hands of fire. Azriel felt the breath leave him, and he took two then three steps forward before he could think, hazel eyes alight with a fierceness you’d not yet witnessed. Your eyes found his and you held up your hand to halt his movements, the one that had trembled seconds earlier, now steady as a stone. You’d looked at Eris then, raising your chin defiantly, a slow smile overtaking your face as you once again spit at the Autumn male before winnowing back to your place in front of the dais. Rhysand raised to his feet then, taking steps down to meet you. His hand grazed your arm this time and his mind reached out, “Very good, Little One, very good.” 

“As the lady said, Eris, come to my court in search of her again, and she’ll be the one to kill you.” Rhys circled Eris, tracking like prey. “But not before I sanction it for laying your hands on a member of my house.” Rhysand spoke with such quiet cunning, it was no wonder he excelled as High Lord. Eris snarled then before winnowing out of the Hewn City and Azriel quickly set his shadows to following him, ensuring he was actually gone. 

You returned to Mor’s side and the shameless pride that set on your face the rest of the night made Azriel want to kiss you. Gods, he was fucked.. 

You’d flirted with him constantly in the first century you’d been in Velaris. You had laid it on thick too, dragging a long nail up his arm, your mouth sliding into a smirk after one too many drinks at Rita’s. Azriel had always feigned friendly indifference though, a mask he slipped on that was equal parts protection as it was self soothing. His only crack coming in the form of a slight tremble in his pinky as he tried to gather himself to avoid closing the space between you, touching, grasping, feeling.

He’d worn black leather gloves around you in your first few decades with them. His hands always held the most insecurity for him, the silver scars and warped skin a brutal reminder of his childhood. It was after training one day, as you all packed your small bags and threw towels into bins that you’d asked about it. 

“I don’t mean to pry, and feel free to tell me to fuck off, but why the gloves?” You asked quietly leaning against a wall less than ten feet from him. He’d stiffened and breathed tightly, “it helps with the work.” That had always been his excuse, wearing gloves when killing helped reduce the touch memories associated with the act, and it was partially true. But he wasn’t on a mission right now, and you called him on that, “are you spying right now?” Your lips quirked, “should I tell Rhys?” Your words were mirthful, but your eyes held nothing but empathy for the Shadowsinger, sometimes Azriel wondered if that was your Cauldron blessed gift. 

You’d reached down then, rolling up the left leg of your training leathers. You’d resumed your full height and rotated your calf outward for his eyes to survey the damage there. Ragged silver keloid scars marked the skin from your ankle to the soft back of your knee— a knee he’d admittedly fantasized about many nights in a row now. He’d selfishly thought about trailing kisses up your leg, pausing to nip playfully at the soft skin at your knee as he made his way north, up your thigh. He breathed deeply banishing those thoughts as he took in the site of your marred skin. Judging by the heavily keratinized markings, the injury had no doubt been painful when incurred originally. Azriel’s fingers twitched again, wanting to touch your face, hold you as he kissed away your grief. 

“From Beron’s dogs,” you breathed, rolling you shoulders, as if shaking the memory from your mind. “They wouldn’t heal when I was out there,” you clicked your tongue, “granted I was starving,” you sighed, “but that’s a story for another day.” You looked at him then, and he had to steady himself at the emotions pooling in your eyes. 

He’d already planned on killing Beron if the opportunity presented for what had happened with Mor, but for you, he’d make it hurt. He’d drag it out and make it slow. He’d torture him for days, flaying skin from bone, taking fingers then limbs and when at last he begged for death, Azriel would set the dogs on him and laugh as they tore him apart. He felt a long repressed need for vengeance creep up his spine, and he hated to acknowledge what its presence meant in regards to you.

“It’s okay, you know,” you’d said, head lolling to the side as you watched him, eyes swimming with a gentle affection, “I’ll never judge you for something like that.” Azriel squeezed his eyes shut as he turned his head from you and breathed in tightly. How did always manage to be so fucking disarming and vulnerable? That must’ve been a gift too.

He pinched the middle finger of the right glove and pulled it from his hand, grasping his now exposed fingers into a fist, knuckles cracking. He extended that arm out, palm up as he let you view his deepest insecurity, the thing he hated most in his appearance. 

You’d stepped forward, looking at his palm. Your hands went to reach but you’d paused, looking to his eyes as you silently asked permission to touch. He nodded stiffly, watching you with the same intensity of an animal being hunted, prey ready to bolt at any moment. 

Your fingers touched his hand, and he felt the connection race up his arm and to his chest, settling in his heart. Your eyes studied, and you rotated his hand, fingers gently tracing from his wrist, to knuckle, to fingernail in reverence. You covered his hand with your own, moving your eyes to his hazel ones. “Are they dead?” You’d asked seriously, and he stuttered a shocked laugh. “Yes, Little One, they are,” he answered, a small smile playing at his mouth. The two of you far too similar it seemed. “Good,” you’d said simply before kissing his knuckles and pulling the glove back on for him. The action was quietly intimate, and Azriel should’ve kissed you then. Mother knows he considered it, eyes watching you with rapt attention as his heart sped up and breathing shallowed. 

“If you two are done flirting, lunch is ready,” Cassian announced from the doorway, breaking the spell you were both under. You’d jumped and laughed freely at the large male smirking at the entrance. You grasped Azriel’s hand tightly in affection before releasing it to turn on your heel to exit the room, passing by Cass with an eye roll, thumping him square in the chest.

Cassian looked to his brother as he walked into the room and his face split into a shit eating grin. “Let’s go, loverboy,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. Azriel glared, scoffing as he followed behind you, praying to whatever Gods were listening that he’d get you alone again soon. 

In your second century with the Night Court, you’d lessened the blatant flirting and settled into loving, easy friendship. You regularly attended balls and galas in Hewn City, fitting into such pomp with practiced ease, but always with a dagger strapped to your thigh, ready to cut a male down in seconds. Those events were almost routine at this point: Azriel would save you a dance, and you’d move together in a slow ritual that you’d both perfected over the years, he’d bow as the violinist played their final note and resume his place on dais at Rhys’ right. His eyes would follow you the rest of the night, as you spoke in an airy manner to various high fae, glaring at any male whose hands ventured too close to his mate. 

Nights when the Court held parties at the House of Wind were different though. You were far less rigid, finding it easy to exist without scrutiny. Those were the nights Azriel’s eyes rarely left your form as he watched obsessively from the corners of the room. 

“You’re staring,” Rhys chimed from his place next to Azriel, eyes not leaving the crowd as he spoke to the Shadowsinger, mouth smirking. Azriel was staring. You’d worn cobalt blue tonight, a lovely color on your skin. His color on your skin. Mother above, the male possessiveness that crawled up his spine was unreal. Mate, mate, mate, his shadows had sang in his ear. He wanted to pluck the eyes from every male in the room for even glancing in your direction. He wanted so much more than that too. Your breathy sighs as he marked you, your moan as he made you come undone, his name crying from your lips as he ate his come from your cunt after. Azriel had a million and one scenarios running through his head. He yearned to make each one of them come to fruition too.

He hadn’t answered Rhysand, so the High Lord tried again, “you really should tell her, but please,” Rhys closed his eyes with a grimace, “quiet your thoughts first, for Cauldron’s sake.” That got Azriel’s attention, his back straightening and mental shield slamming down. His eyes squeezed shut, almost as if he was in pain. “I cannot burden her with that now,” he said, “not with war at our doorstep.” Indeed, the second war with Hybern creeped ever closer, disappearances of other high fae occurring daily. Whatever they were planning across the sea, it was going to bring Prythian to its knees. 

Rhysand sighed then, feeling older than his 500 years. “Be that as it may, we should hold those we love tighter.” Rhysand looked to Feyre at that moment, his eyes meeting his mate’s, as he sent a strum of warm affection down the bond. She smiled and returned it cheerily. He turned back to Azriel, “if it all ends tomorrow, I know my love and she knows me. That’s all we can ask for in this immortal life.” Azriel looked back to you, and your eyes were already on him, tracing the shadows that wound around his chest. You met his eyes and winked, before turning back to Mor and laughing freely.  

“I thank the Cauldron daily it was you that found her in those mountains, Rhys.” Azriel spoke quietly, admitting a small secret he’d not told anyone. Rhysand softened, and clapped his friend on the shoulder, “As I am, brother.” Azriel nodded, letting the conversation die between himself and the High Lord as he drained the drink in his hand and moved down the steps in your direction. 

You’d been in conversation with Mor when he approached. She was telling you of the seamstress she’d been seeing, and how happy she was. Azriel cleared his throat from behind the two of you and you turned to meet him, taking in his appearance with wide eyes. “Ladies,” he started, bowing to you and Mor, who snorted at the silly formality. “And that note, I’ll be taking my leave. I’ve got a lady to see,” she said with a wink and a flourish of her red dress. You laughed and shook your head before turning back to the Shadowsinger. He’d caught you staring earlier and your heart had nearly jumped into your throat, before Mor mocked you lightly, diffusing the tension. 

“Hi Az,” you greeted softly, before dropping your empty glass on a passing waiter’s tray and thanking them. Azriel watched you closely, noting the revealed skin that shifted with each movement, committing every angle and freckle to memory.

“You want to get out of here?” He dared ask, jerking his head toward the private balcony on the House of Wind. You raised a brow, Azriel? Asking you to leave? Together? You heart was back in your throat and you thanked the Mother that you’d taken your time getting ready that evening. Nodding, you grasped his arm as he offered it to you like a proper courtier. He walked the two of you up a round of stairs and away from the eyes he’d threatened earlier in the night. Voices dulled the more space you put between yourselves and them and you couldn’t help but start to sweat a bit at the thought of being alone with Azriel. 

You’d been friends for nearly two centuries, but you’d always felt a connection with the male. Your heart thrummed with a warm, golden affection when he got close. It made keeping a clear head during training hard. It made sitting next to him at dinner difficult. And when he’d looked at you like you hung the moon as you danced earlier in the night, it made you want to take him to bed and ride him until he moaned your name. You breathed deeply. ‘Focus,’ you chided yourself, ‘he is your friend, for Cauldron’s sake.’

He led you out onto to the balcony and stopped at the railing before looking up at the star flecked sky. “This is my favorite part of the House,” he said eyes scanning the sky before looking back to you as you watched him. A blush crept up his neck, before he cleared his throat again. 

“I’ve always wondered what it was like to be able to fly, you know,” you said quietly, removing your hand from his arm, rolling up onto your toes, leaning against the stone railing, and looking out on Velaris before scanning your eyes up to the three stars that shone brightly overhead. “When I was a child, I met a Peregryn from the Dawn Court and thought she had the most beautiful wings I’d ever seen.” You chanced a glance his way, “I’d not met an Illyrian yet.” You reminded with a smirk, bumping his arm with fondness. Gods, he was in trouble.

“I asked her what it was like and she said it was the purest sense of freedom possible.” You glanced down at your feet, “I spent the next year wishing for wings.”  He mulled on your words. He wanted to say something cheesy as Cassian would, like ‘I’ll be your wings’ but he couldn’t, so you continued on. 

“When I was a little older, I witnessed a blue skinned lesser fae’s wings ripped from his body as punishment and it was the most gruesome thing I’d seen at that point.” You took a shuddering breath, “I cried for him that night. The lost freedom. How maddening it must’ve been.” You looked at him then and he watched you with furrowed brows. “How does it feel for you?” You asked softly, eyes tracing the shine of his wing. ‘Magnificent things,’ you thought. You remembered seeing his wings for the first time and thinking the Peregryn had finally moved to second place in your mind. 

Azriel had to gather himself as he spoke, “It’s… everything.” He said quietly adjusting his body to extend a wing. “My ability to fly came in late,” he said, and your eyes widened, you hadn’t known that. “My childhood was… rough and I didn’t learn to fly until I was nearly grown.” He laughed, scuffing the toe of his boot, wings folding in behind him. “It was a lot of crash landings those first months.” You snorted, mental image of a younger Az, landing in a puddle of mud crossing your mind. 

“I was never a proud Illyrian, not like the others,” he continued, “it was hard for me to reconcile my heritage and our traditions.” He looked to the cityscape then, “but the stronger I got, the more I understood why flight was so crucial to my people.” He looked to you, eyes shining, “it’s the closest we can get to the stars.” 

You leaned over the railing again, staring wistfully at the night sky, the moon reflecting on your skin. “Will you take me someday? Flying, I mean.” Did you not know Azriel would give you the world? Of course he’d take you flying. He’d give you the moon, the stars, walk through fire and back, anything. He nodded, “you say the word, and I’ll fly you the the ocean and back.” The smile that broke across your face crippled him, his knees threatened to give way. 

“Yours are my favorite,” you murmured softly, eyes glancing from his wings to his face. Azriel blushed in full, pink speckling his neck and cheeks as he laughed. “Don’t let Cass hear you say that, he’s got an ego,” he said, a smile remaining at his lips. You liked him like this the most. Loose, smiling, free. You reached up then, cupping his reddened cheek, thumb stroking. “I don’t care,” you said smiling, “it’s the truth.” Azriel swallowed roughly, staring at your eyes swimming with an emotion he knew, but was much too stubborn and scared to name.

Just as your hand went to retreat, he grasped it between his own. “You can touch them,” he offered, knowing damn well the implications, “if you want,” he added. Your eyes widened. Mor had mentioned once that Illyrian’s wings were ‘sensitive,’ was the word she’d used. It was a sign of great intimacy and trust to allow another to touch them. You felt the air shift between you two then, as you nodded.

He extended a wing toward you. This felt so much like the first time he’d shown you his hands all those years ago. Your hand crept forward and gentle fingers met the red gold membrane that stretched between two metacarpals. Your fingers traced the membrane in smooth circles, then traced up to the crest. Azriel felt his breath gutter out of his mouth in a loud, choppy exhale, and he felt himself harden at the sensation of your fingers against the most sensitive portion of his wings. You gasped and jerked away at the sudden noise, before apologizing. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have gotten carried away.” 

Azriel shook his head, “It’s not that, they’re sensitive.” There was that word again, only it made you think of how they’d been shredded before the King of Hybern, and you opened your mouth to apologize again, but he stopped you short. “I haven’t allowed another to touch them freely since my mother.” The admission floored you, your gut giving way with a breath.

You looked to his eyes then, the air between you had shifted again and you knew this was it. This was the moment you’d waited for, he was going to kiss you. Mother, it felt you’d waited a millennia, and he felt just the same. But that kiss never came. Instead, Azriel went stock still, his eyes now on the House behind you. 

“Azriel?” You questioned. “It’s Rhys,” he said tightly, “he’s summoning me.” You understood then. He looked to you desperately, eyes a little wild and apologetic. “I’m sorry, I have to go to him.” You nodded, you both worked for the High Lord, you’d never get in the way of Azriel’s allegiance to his Court. “Of course,” you said quietly, taking a step back and swallowing down your disappointment. 

Azriel took three steps towards the entrance then stopped. “I’ll take you,” he turned around, backing his way to the arched stone, but keeping his eyes on you for a moment longer. “When I get back, I’ll take you flying,” he offered. Another smile etched its way across your face and Azriel took a long moment to memorize it greedily. “It’s a date,” you said confidently. He beamed then, turning on a heel to pick up into a jog, Rhys no doubt shouting to hurry up. 

That date hadn’t happened though. The second war with Hybern broke out days later and you both barely made it out alive. 

When Feyre had come to Velaris after Amarantha’s defeat, you’d accepted her with easy friendship. You saw Rhysand, your longtime friend, overcome with love for his newly found mate, and you couldn’t help but love her as well. You’d shared your story with her and the two of you bonded deeply over her art. She’d offered to teach you to paint, and you began taking lessons in your off time. Rhys had been Cauldron blessed with her and you reminded him daily. 

Later, when Feyre’s sisters joined their little unit, you’d been the first one to break Nesta’s tough exterior. The female saw parts of herself in you and you’d gotten her to crack a smile when you mocked Rhys’ High Lord voice at dinner one night. Elain had been a tougher sell, but you’d tried, along with Azriel, to bring the female out of her shell. The day she joined you in the library to read, you knew progress had been made, even if you two had only sat in silence a few feet apart, a small smile gracing her features. 

You left her book recommendations with small notes and she began to do the same. Your friendship playing out in the margins of the library’s tomes. You won her over with silent conversation. Nesta noticed, of course, and she looked to you with gratitude as she saw her sister’s eyes brightened and skin began to return to its normal, healthy color. The night Azriel mentioned it as you walked down the hall toward the dining room for the family meal, you’d shrugged. “I met her where she needed me to,” you’d said quietly, glancing to your feet. Azriel smiled, a Cauldron blessed gift indeed. 

Dinners at the House of Wind were by far Azriel’s favorite version of you. You’d laugh with abandon, smile splitting your face, showing every tooth as Mor cracked a joke and leaned against you for support, one too many drinks in her system. The first time he’d seen that smile, it blinded him, and he’d gone a little dazed, staring at you in wonderment. Rhys had interrupted his train of thought with an invasive insertion of “How quickly she reduced you to a puddle, brother.” Azriel had scowled at Rhys then, mental shields firming up, but not before he heard the distinct sound of his High Lord laughing at the Spymaster’s defensiveness. 

Indeed Azriel was gone for you. When Cassian finally confronted him last year about the truth of his feelings, Azriel saw no point to avoid it any longer, not after his brothers had also found their mates. “Our souls are one in the same, she’s my mate,” he’d said pensively, as if he was letting his deepest secret breath in the light for the first time in centuries. Maybe he was. He’d made Cassian promise on his life not to tell anyone, and despite being the biggest gossip in the Inner Circle, he kept his promise. He was thrilled for his brother, knowing you were the perfect match.

Little did Azriel know, everyone else was already more than aware of his affections. Amren had figured it out a century prior when Azriel had tended your needs as you’d recovered from an injury sustained during a mission. He’d fretted around you like a mother hen, buying you flowers, sweets, and books while you were bedridden. The female had watched and hummed with a raised eyebrow as Azriel exited your room for the fifth time in one day, wringing his hands with worry despite Madja’s clean bill of health.

Feyre had figured it out the same year she’d returned from the Spring Court, just before the second war with Hybern. She’d seen the way his eyes had followed you in the war room Rhys had created to host strategy meetings. Saw him lean towards you when you spoke, saw his wings flutter when you finally cast your gaze to him, eager for your attention. More than anything, she’d seen his shadows, desperate little things, sneaking across the floor each night, sidling up your ankles and wrists, begging for your affection. You always laughed and nuzzled them as the wound their way to your hair and Azriel went a little soft at the sight. 

When she told Mor, the blonde had laughed, “They’ve been circling each for two hundred years now, eventually one of them will cave.” Mor leveled a sardonic look at Feyre then, “and when they do, we’ll all have to relocate to the River House for a year lest we be subject to the frenzy.”

This mission should’ve been simple. Rhys had asked you to check out reports of rogue soldiers spotted making their way towards the border of the Night Court from the Day coastline. The intel he’d received had mentioned three to four maximum, all of them drunken ex-Hybern loyalists. It should’ve been a matter of locating them, spying for a day or two, then winnowing in to neutralize any threat. Gods, this was far from simple. 

When you’d arrived in the region, the hairs on your neck rose, the air itself feeling off. As you tracked them, you’d noticed intentional attempts to throw you off course. A carelessly trashed map, crudely laid tracks in the opposite direction, Dawn Court wine bottles that had been emptied and tossed about. They knew you were there, and you quickly realized that a trap had been laid. You backed off them then, staying further than you’d have liked, but trying like hell to make them think you’d given up. 

On your fourth night following them, you’d drifted away to an inn two towns over, desperately seeking a place to bathe and rest, even for a few hours. As you bathed, you felt watched in a way that discomfited you to your core, and your dagger stayed within arms reach the rest of the night. Suddenly, the role you’d played for the last two hundred years had left you entirely ill equipped for whatever was happening here. 

You’d left out before dawn, refusing to lose an ounce of daylight, but as you hit the tree line, readying yourself to winnow out, you’d noticed it. Hanging from a tree, a hundred yards away was a piece of clothing, your clothing. Clothing that should’ve been in the pack at your back. Your breath shuttered out of you as you opened your mind to Rhys, asking for back up. You were in over your head and you knew when to admit it. There was no pride in getting yourself killed. 

As you turned to move back to the inn where you could wait out contact from Rhys in a public location, you were met with a pair of shining blue eyes. You stepped back, keeping your grounding, readying for a fight. “You’ve been following us,” the stranger said calmly, beginning to trek in a slow circle around you. You opened your mind to Rhys again, “Help,” you called. Rhys answered this time, “Where are you?!” It was a frantic response, you never asked for help, Rhys knew this. “Just off the coast, beneath the mountain range, Day court border, 400 hundred paces from the inn” you spoke to Rhys in choppy thoughts, trying to establish a location before all hell broke loose. 

“I have,” you finally answered the stranger, whose lips quirked at your voice. He stopped circling and resumed his stance in front of you, blocking passage to the inn. “Why?” He asked and you tried to keep your mind steady as you answered. “You’re trespassers in these lands” you stated simply, shrugging a shoulder up. He grinned then, “had your lot not gotten in the way of our King’s plans, these would be our lands. We were promised them. I was personally promised the Court of Nightmares.”

“Well,” you shrugged feigning indifference, “that’s not how the war played out, so I will have to ask you to leave,” you offered in your most bored political tone. The same tone you’d used with High Fae that ran off at the mouth in Hewn City. The stranger cocked his head the side then, eyes twinkling, “I don’t think I will.” At that moment, one by one, additional soldiers appeared from the forest line. One, then four, then ten, until near twenty stood around you, looking on with hatred. 

Shit. 

“We’d hoped for the Illyrians, but it seems your High Lord sent us a treat instead,” the stranger said with mirth. You steeled your spine, looking down your nose at the stranger, “They’re going to kill you, you know.” He’d laughed at your threat. “I think not,” he said as as arrow was released from your left, finding purchase in your shoulder. You folded over on yourself at the blow, and looked up baring your teeth, before drawing your dagger and rushing the stranger with a feral sound.

Five more arrows hit you before your blade could find its target. One into your hip, two in your back, a fourth piercing your in your upper thigh, until the last burrowed into the back of your knee, bringing you down in front of him — forcing you to bow to the stranger. The arrows were laced with faebane you realized as you’d begun to feel its effects in your blood. Your power waning quickly, thoughts becoming murky. 

You released another shattered thought to Rhys then, “Tell him, please,” you begged raggedly. Rhysand came back with a rushed and tight, “Hold on, Little One, we’re coming.” You shook your head, there wasn’t time. “Tell Azriel I love him if I don’t make it, Rhys, promise me.” He responded but it muddled out, sounding like words shouted through a pool of water, then your brain fell quiet. The line severed. 

The stranger lifted your head, hand wrapped around your throat, as he bent to meet your crouched form. “I’ll be sure to savor this,” he smiled and the hilt of his sword came in fierce contact with your forehead. 

It was the early morning on your fifth day away when Rhys heard you. “Help,” it had come through so clearly that it startled Rhys awake and set his heart to racing. You’d only asked for help once, during the war when you were overrun and near death. You were in danger.

He’d sat up straight in bed, Feyre still sleeping silently at his side, hand resting on her pregnant stomach. “Where are you?!” He’d asked down the line, a little frantic, remembering the state he and Azriel had found you in last time. Gods, you’d been run through on a Hybern soldier’s sword, the damage was astronomical. Azriel had nearly killed everyone within a mile radius at the sight of you.

You recited your location in short bursts and Rhys focused on the bond of your bargain, using it to locate you with more precision. He reached out to Azriel then, “Get Cassian and meet me downstairs. Be ready to fly.” Azriel responded an affirmative and Rhys rushed around his room, grabbing his dagger lined belt, and using his magic to dress in his leathers quickly. He winnowed to the base of the stairs and was glad to find Cassian and Azriel waiting. 

“Tell him, please” you begged into Rhys’ mind then, words growing ragged. Rhys’ eyes slammed shut with a wince and he attempted to reassure you, “Hold on, Little One, we’re coming.” Rhys opened his eyes and looked to Azriel, who was watching him with anticipation. You responded again, words growing murkier, a little warbled. “Tell Azriel I love him if I don’t make it, Rhys, promise me.” Rhysand felt sick. “We will find you and you will tell him yourself,” he spoke but the bond was dead, silent, foreboding. Rhys thought he might vomit. 

He looked to Azriel again, “It’s her. She’s in trouble. We have to go.” Azriel’s face darkened with a thunderous ferocity. Mother help the males who’d harmed you. “Where?” He asked, voice deep with the threat of murderous violence. “The wilds on the border, off the coast of Day. I’ll winnow us as close as possible.” Azriel nodded his acquiesce and lifted a trembling hand to his hair, running scarred fingers through the strands. Cassian spoke then, “we will get her back,” he’d said softly as Rhysand put his hands to the two of them, preparing for the jump. “And we will kill every last one of them,” Cassian added darkly as blue-black shadows encased them and they disappeared. 

You awoke with a start, gasping like you’d been underwater. Your shoulders ached from your position. You pulled on your hands only to realize you were shackled to a tree somewhere deep in the forest, the same forest you’d been on the outskirts of earlier. You looked up to the sky, trying to find the sun to gauge how much time had passed. The sun had long moved past midday and was sinking towards the evening horizon. Your throat tightened. Where was Rhysand? 

“Nice of you to join us,” a voice spoke. It was the stranger again, he emerged from the camp set two hundred paces to your left, hidden by shrubs and underbrush. You got a good look at him this time. He was tall, leanly muscular in a way that reminded you of Lucien Vanserra. His hair was a dishwater blonde and lacked any sheen, falling in choppy dry waves around his shoulders. His face was gaunt, eyes sunken, bruised with a lack of rest, and his cheekbones were sharp, giving his face an angle that made him look harsh and unforgiving. Though he carried himself with confidence, you noticed a slight, barely there limp in his right leg, an old wound perhaps, one that never healed correctly. You noted that for later, if you ever got out of these shackles. 

You leveled a glare at him that you hoped looked more fearsome than you felt. Mother, your bones ached and your wounds throbbed. “I left the arrows in, but broke off the shaft. Didn’t want to have you healing too quickly.” He spoke with nonchalance, while polishing a dagger, your dagger, you realized as your eyes focused. You pulled at the shackles above your head, and the stranger chuckled at your attempt. 

“What do you want?” Your voice croaked, mouth dry from disuse. The stranger laughed, pointing the blade at you, “I want my fucking court and you’re the key to getting it.” You shook your head then, “I am nothing.” The words sounded foreign on your tongue, a lie on some level, you knew this, but you would be damned before you gave up your family. The stranger clicked his tongue at your response, shaking his head. 

“Surely you don’t believe that? The High Lord doesn’t trust easily, you’ve been seen with his entourage. The Shadowsinger’s whore.” He squatted a few feet from you, eyes tracing from your tied hands down to your face, pausing at your breasts, before trekking down your stomach, thighs, and calves. He was sizing up how much fight you had left.

Your brain had short circuited though, the Shadowsinger’s whore. Mother above, you’d never even kissed. How long had this male watched you and your family? How had none of you seen it? A bitter laugh wretched from your lungs, “sorry to disappoint, but the Shadowsinger isn’t mine.” No matter how desperately I’ve wished it so, you added silently. 

The stranger grinned then, “if you are truly nothing, then I’ll make this a little sweeter.” He took steps towards you, raising the dagger to rest at your chin, the blade pressing to the underside painfully. “You’re far too pretty to be nothing.” He ran the blade along the column of your throat, resting it against your sternum, between your breasts. You pushed yourself further into the tree, back protesting as the arrows burrowed deeper with the movement. You didn’t like the new angle this interaction had taken and your fight or flight instincts were screaming. 

You attempted to reach out to Rhysand, but the bond was dead silent. Your breathing hitched at the realization that you were truly alone in this. The stranger chuckled, dragging the blade down your chest, slicing the leathers, letting the fabric fall open and reveal your undergarments to his greedy view. Your legs moved to kick, but you realized quickly they too were tied. The blade came to rest at your bare stomach, and the stranger dug it in below the navel, causing blood to pool there. You winced, but made no sound. 

“Ah, I was hoping you’d be louder than that,” the stranger smirked, “I’ll have to try harder.” He backed up then and pulled a whip from his back pocket, unfurling it with a crack. Your eyes widened and you brain went silent, fear overtaking your senses. “There it is,” his smile gleamed with violent delight, “there’s the reaction I was hoping for.” He reared an arm back before cracking the whip in your direction. The leather made contact with your torso, a stinging slice appearing along your rib cage. You jerked, but bit your tongue.

He cracked it again and again until you were bloody, slices in your leathers, festering wounds along your breasts, ribs, and stomach. You’d counted to 25 lashes before your brain gave out and your vision blurred from the pain. You looked up to the sky wearily. The sun was gone and the stars were slowly appearing. You smiled at them, remembering Azriel’s words from that night all those years ago. 

You hoped he’d forgive you for not telling him. You hoped he’d understand your fear in revealing that secret, that the bond had snapped for you during the war. When that Hybern soldier’s sword pierced your armor, running through your body to the hilt, and he’d let out a fearsome bellow from across the field at the sight. You felt it then, the golden strumming taking the form of a fated thread linking you two. You been near death when he and Rhys had found you and the only thing you could do was smile. Such an ironic thing it was to die in the arms of your mate. 

Your head lolled to the side as exhaustion threatened to overtake you. “Azriel,” your thoughts ventured, calling down the bond he didn’t even know existed, “I love you.” Darkness swam in the corners of your vision but you swore you felt his responding tug. The Mother was kind for granting that hallucinative mercy in your final hours. Your body gave out, slumping against the shackles and darkness overwhelmed you. 

Azriel was furious. No, furious wasn’t the word, he was a walking time bomb. You were gone. His mate was missing and he was going to explode. As he’d arrived with Rhys and Cassian to the location you’d given them, he could smell you. His eyes searched frantically around the scene before him until they zeroed in on an item hanging from a branch a few dozen paces out. Cloth of some sort? He approached and could detect your scent on it, realizing quickly it was your clothing. A ripped cotton blouse. His fists clenched and he vaguely heard Rhysand speaking to his left. “They must’ve captured her here.” Rhys crouched down to the ground, two fingers swiping the dirt there, before bringing them eye level to examine sample. “Blood,” he muttered, rubbing the hand on the leg of his pants, “she was injured.” Azriel’s heart thundered, he was going to fucking explode. 

He set his shadows work, surveying the forest with rapid precision. They’d cover more ground this way, an army of three operating like a whole infantry. By the time the sun rose to midday, Azriel was ready to begin screaming. They trekked further into the forest, following a line of smoke that was miles deep, originating at a camp somewhere far into the wilds. His shadows murmured to him of a small band of males there, of you, shackled to a fucking tree, arrows buried in your back. He’d nearly lost the contents of his stomach at the information and set to a run alongside Rhysand and Cassian. 

As the three approached the encampment, the sun was nearing dusk. Rhysand had commanded the halt and strategize. There were roughly twenty-five men, all armed. They couldn’t enter this blindly and infuriated, they would lose if they weren’t careful. Azriel hated admitting he was right, his instincts screaming otherwise. Mate, mate, mate, his heart pounded. 

They backed off to a thousand paces out, close enough that they could hear if the troop vacated the premises. As Rhysand and Cassian spoke quietly, Azriel felt his heart thrum. The golden thread there had pulled him closer to you and he could tell you were still alive. Though Rhys couldn’t reach out through your bargain, Azriel’s bond was still alight and warm, he stroked it with gentle affection. You might not feel it, but Gods he would try. 

As the trio retraced their steps to the camp, stars were just beginning to light overhead and Azriel grasped his daggers tightly, knuckles cracking around the hilt. He was going to kill them. Kill them all brutally for taking you, for touching what was his. When they were within a stones throw from the camp he heard it, heard you. “Azriel,” you whispered into his mind. He went stock still, spine ramrod straight, fingers trembling as they gripped his knives. The golden bond vibrated in his chest, and he felt you reaching out through murky waters, against all odds. “I love you,” you said with a soft exhaustion before your side went dark. Azriel’s breathing guttered and he felt high on mirthroot, sick from fae wine, and enraged to the point of explosion all at once. His blue siphons flared brightly from the surge of power. He closed his eyes and reached out to you through the bond, tugging on the thread connecting your souls. He was coming. He was going to save you. 

Rhysand looked to him then, curiosity swimming in his eyes as he took in the Shadowsinger’s sudden stop. Azriel opened eyes, irises alight with fire and shadow, voice grinding with dark threat, “Let’s go.” Rhys nodded and Cassian drew his knives. 

They moved with brutal efficiency, killing male after male until none remained alive. Some had begged, others shouted and scattered their belongings as they set into a run. His shadows had caught them, twisting around their ankles and dragging them back to meet their fate, daggers slicing throats from ear to ear until blood poured like a prized hunt being slaughtered, the Illryian’s hands grasping and snapping necks like twigs. It was a practiced routine for the three of them, who’d trained since they were teens. 

As they stepped through the shrubs to find you, Cassian gasped and Azriel felt his lungs threaten to collapse at the sight. You’d been shackled to a tree at the wrists and ankles and whipped within an inch your life. Wounds glistened with blood along your thighs, soft stomach, ribs, breasts. There had to be thirty lashes. A knife wound was visible at your exposed navel. Your head hung forward unconscious and Azriel’s heart pounded. He wanted to vomit and his hands shook. 

“She said you’d come,” a voice said, emerging from behind the tree you were bound to. The male held a dagger to your throat. This new stranger had to be the leader of this band of idiots. Azriel’s eyes followed the tip of the blade up his arm to the male’s eyes and a growl escaped him as he bared his teeth. The male laughed, “to think she said she was nothing and yet I have both the Shadowsinger and the Lord of Bloodshed before me to save her.”

Azriel’s mind latched on to that piece of information, turning it over in his head. You’d told this male you were nothing? Did you not know Azriel would do anything for you? You were everything. You were his love, light of his life, keeper of his soul, his mate. How alone you must’ve felt, how scared. Azriel’s eyes narrowed, he was going kill him. 

Rhysand spoke then, emerging from behind the two Illyrian brothers, “And may I ask why you’ve abducted a member of my court?” He was in High Lord mode, tone bored, fingers picking at his sleeve. The Hybern male’s smile gleamed at the introduction, “just who I was hoping to see!” 

“Hybern, the old fool, made a few promises in his last days as King,” the male spoke, digging the blade down to your chest, where it rested over your heart. Azriel stared at the blade, eyes tracing to the the hilt. That was your blade, the one he’d given you when you first arrived in Velaris, the one you wielded against Eris, the one you kept strapped to your thigh. Your own knife had been used against you.

“One of which was that I would inherit these lands after your lot were annihilated.” Azriel wanted to laugh at the male’s words, was he serious? “A dead king cannot honor empty promises,” he ground out eyes shifting to the male’s blue eyes. “A dead and headless king cannot gift you shit,” Azriel spat. The male smiled then, a feline grin growing on his lips. “Precisely Shadowsinger, a dead king cannot give me my due, but this little thing can help.” You’d made a noise then, something akin to a whimper as you came to. Eyes wincing then fluttering open as your irises found Azriel’s immediately, some preternatural magnetism existing between the two of you. Then you looked to Cassian and Rhysand, and your eyes swam with apology.

“She awakens!” The male sang, looking to you. Azriel jumped at the opportunity to send his shadows out while the male’s attention was elsewhere. They traced over the ground to you, circling the tree and working at your binds. He sent two others towards the distracted male. “Who knew the Night Court was so attached to a whore,” the male laughed, “I want my lands,” he fixed Rhysand with a glare, “you can have your plaything back in exchange for my seat, High Lord” he sneered. 

Rhysand looked from you to the stranger to the shadow now creeping ever closer to the male. “You must be mistaken,” Rhys said then and Azriel’s shadows wrapped around the male’s neck and wrist simultaneously, whispering violence for touching their mate, forcing the dagger from his grasp and air from his lungs. Azriel tightened them until they heard bones crack in the male’s arm and choked sounds exit his throat, face reddening as oxygen was cut off. “I do not make deals with dim witted cunts,” Rhysand said darkness beginning to surround him, High Lord voice encroaching, “I do not entertain terrorists and I do not take kindly to threats on my family.” 

‘Finish him,’ Rhysand said darkly into Azriel’s mind and the Shadowsinger moved with lightening precision, dagger find purchase as the male’s neck was sliced open and his right hand was removed from his body. The male’s body toddled forward with a choked gurgling, before falling to the ground, lifeless, blood pooling.

Azriel’s gaze fell to you and he softened. His shadows finished picking the lock of the shackles that held your arms and they clicked open, allowing your body to fall into his. “Azriel,” you breathed, voice weary with exhaustion, “I didn’t— I—“ you stuttered, pulling a shaking hand to his face. You swallowed, tracing his cheek with trembling fingers, “I didn’t think I’d see you again,” you murmured, your watery eyes searching his face, memorizing the details of his visage.

Azriel picked you up in his arms and unfurled his wings protectively. “I will always come for you,” he said vehemently, eyes watching your face with intensity. You smiled, a weepy trembling smile as you nodded. Rhysand reached the Shadowsinger’s side then and your eyes moved to his violet ones, “Hi Little One, I’m so sorry we’re late.” You let out a single watery laugh before wincing as the sudden expansion of your chest burned the wounds littering your chest and back. 

“The arrows,” you gasped, “at my back,” you twisted in Azriel’s hold, “please get them out.” Rhysand leaned down to inspect the wounds. “Faebane,” he surmised, that’s why his connection to you had been severed. “We need to get her to Madja, now.” Azriel nodded, allowing Rhys and Cassian to move closer so the High Lord could winnow them home. 

Landing back at the House of Wind had been chaotic. Rhysand shouted immediately to get every healer available and the dining room table had been lined with a sheet, turning the warm family room into a medical ward. You were laid facedown on the table and Azriel took to your side, scarred hands touching your face, keeping you awake as Madja worked to remove the six arrows burrowed in your body. 

You’d screamed. The sound would haunt Azriel for centuries. You begged to make it stop and Madja had apologized softly as she worked faster to remove them while minimizing damage. “I’ve got you,” Azriel said softly, “eyes on me, alright?” He rubbed the hollow under your eye with a scarred thumb and you opened your eyes to lock on his. “No gloves,” you said, smiling tightly, before wincing as Madja applied local anesthetic to an arrow wound. Azriel smiled, eyes a little watery. “Not with you,” he whispered shaking his head, “never with you.” You smiled at him and the sight set Azriel’s heart to fluttering.

Later, after the arrows had been removed and wounds bandaged, you’d been given a strong herb tonic for pain that set your head swimming as exhaustion overtook you. Azriel carried you his room, laying you gently onto the mattress and covered you with the duvet. He leaned down then, breathing in your scent as he placed a kiss to your forehead, nuzzling his nose to the Winter white hair there. He would tell you. When you awoke, he would bare his soul to you. 

You woke with a groan. Fucking Gods, your body ached with the effort it took to roll over. “Easy,” a voice came from the corner of the room. Your breath gasped out of you as your eyes raced to the figure there. “Azriel,” you breathed. The male smiled warmly at you and stepped forward to rest at the edge of the mattress. You pushed up in the bed, the wound at your shoulder screaming from the exertion. Once in a sitting position, you rested your back on the headboard as you looked at him. “For taking out a small militia, you seemed to be decently uninjured,” you said smiling tightly, memories of the stranger and his whip haunting your mind. He snorted a small laugh, “Yes well,” he looked down then, thumbs fiddling with each other, chest heating, “I had something worth fighting for.” 

He looked back to you and your cheeks had grown pink, a small pleased smile at your lips. “I heard you, you know,” he said softly, turning enough to rest a hand on your thigh, thumb drawing small, soothing circles there. The heat generated in the touch sent a spark to your belly. Oh, you were fucked. “I heard you in my head, through the bond,” he said eyes watching his thumb as it traced on your bare skin hypnotically. 

“You know then?” You whispered, breath skittering out of you. You were scared to death of the trajectory the conversation was taking, your heart preparing for the best and the worst simultaneously. Azriel’s eyes dragged up your form to your face and a smile broke over his lips, one that caused your heart to ignite. Your Mother had once told you the heart was an organ of fire and you’d laughed, never having cause to believe such a statement. You understood now. 

“I—“ Azriel started, before clearing his throat, turning his body to face you in full, a knee pulled up on the mattress, touching yours. “In the whole time I have known you— two centuries, Little One,” he looked at you pointedly, “you have been my dearest friend, my greatest comfort, my confidant, and the person I admire most in this Gods forsaken world.” He breathed deeply, a whoosh exiting his lips as his hand tightened around your thigh. “The times when you were lost to me have been some of the most painful moments I’ve experienced.” 

Your eyes began to water, and you moved a hand to rest atop his own, thumb circling the scarred skin at his wrist. He took a breath then and the air shifted between you, his mouth opening and closing, as if he was gathering his confidence for what he was about to say next. “I have loved for you so long that I’d given up all hope of reciprocation.” The words shattered through you as all air escaped your lungs, guts swooping down as heat alighted there. “I felt the bond the night Eris came for you,” he continued, eyes watching your entwined hands. Your body went still and a startled laugh exited your mouth. Azriel’s eyes flew to yours questioningly. 

“Sorry,” you chuckled again, “I’m just realizing how fucking stupid we’ve been.” You lolled your to the side, watching him with loving eyes. “I’ve been in love with you for almost two centuries, Azriel,” you smiled, “I thought you wouldn’t want me.” Azriel’s eyes widened, his mouth opening and closing in disbelief, two then three times. You thought for a second to compare him to the guppy fish that swam in schools along the banks of the Sidra but refrained. 

He pushed forward then, hands coming to cup your face, pinky and ring fingers resting in the hollow below your ear, thumbs stroking your cheeks. “How could I not? You’re everything,” he whispered, searching your face, conviction showing in his eyes. You couldn’t stop the smile that overtook your mouth as you spoke, “and you’re my mate.” His eyes moved to your lips, glazing before they moved back to your eyes. “As you are mine,” he spoke confidently. 

Your eyes watched each other for a long second, “I really hope you’ll kiss me this time,” your hand trailed up his arm, fingers teasing. “Mother knows I’ve been dreaming of it for far too long.” He surged forward, lips meeting yours and you thought you might float away. You gasped and his tongue moved in, claiming your mouth, your taste with his own. 

He pulled away minutes later, a little breathless, “Sorry to have kept you waiting, my love,” he spoke, resting his forehead to yours with a smile, watching your dazed expression, pink cheeks, as your lips split into a grin. Your hand moved to the front of his button down, fisting in the material there, giving an experimental tug. “Kiss me like that again and I’ll consider forgiving you.” 

The laugh that came out of him was golden, and you pushed yourself to memorize it. Azriel, Lord of Shadows, Spymaster for the Night Court, Rhysand’s right hand and Illyrian warrior was soft for you. He loved you. He was your mate. You’d be giddy about it for the rest of your life. 

Your healing had been slower than you would’ve liked. The faebane had done serious damage but with Madja’s help, the scarring was minimized. The lashes at your front took two weeks to heal, the arrow wounds took three. Three fucking weeks. Meanwhile all you could think about was your mate. He hadn’t left your side in the interim. Helping you take steps, applying the wound creams that Madja had left in small glass pots, keeping you fed, making you laugh, telling you how much he loved you daily. Mother above, you were going to ruin this male. 

You walked into the kitchen at the end of week three, the only evidence of your wounds now in the slight limp of your right leg and twinge in your left shoulder. The marks at your stomach and chest had diminished into barely there, silver scores. Cassian was sitting at the small table in the corner as you entered. “Hi Cass,” you greeted, “seen my mate around this morning?” It was fun calling him that, a small part of your chest swelling with pride each time. 

Cassian smirked, “He’s been…… out.” Your eyes narrowed, he was being evasive. “Out where?” You asked, grabbing an apple and hopping up on the counter to watch the male. He shrugged, “No idea, Little One.” You smirked, “I know where you sleep Cassian,” you started, “is it really wise to lie to me?” Nesta strode into the kitchen, “What’s he done now?” She asked laughing. “Hey! I’ll have you know I’ve done nothing!” The male exclaimed, “She’s interrogating me on the whereabouts of her maaate.” He dragged out the vowel of the last word mockingly. Nesta took her seat next to Cassian and laughed, “Ah, him.” She looked to you then, “he’ll be around to collect you soon.” 

You looked between the two, suspicion dripping from your features as you took another bite from the apple in your palm. “You two are being weird,” you stated. Nesta shrugged, nudging Cassian who smiled at her. “Just wait,” she said softly, “maybe cook yourself a meal.” Cassian’s mouth quirked with a laugh he restrained. “Right, I’m leaving, cause whatever this is,” you waved a hand at them, “is deeply odd.” You hopped off the counter and strolled to the exit.  You heard them laughing softly once you were out of the room, making you roll your eyes at their antics.

You’d gone to the library after leaving the kitchen and found Elain already there. Her eyes moved to you upon your entrance and she closed her book, middle finger marking her spot. “How are you feeling?” She asked softly, eyes surveying your body for lingering damage. You sighed, falling into the sofa across from her. “I’m better,” you said quietly, “the pain is gone, scars are minimal.” You turned your eyes to her, she looked brighter than the last time you’d seen her. “How are you?” You asked in return. She smiled sweetly. “Better,” she echoed you and you wanted to laugh. “I’ve been exchanging letters with Lucien,” she added and your ears perked up.

“That’s great, Elain,” you rest your chin on a closed fist, watching her. She shifted and sat her book to the side, page forgotten. “I want to tell you something,” she said quietly, fingers twiddling with each other. She looked... nervous? “I’m all ears,” you said softly. 

“I had a vision while you were gone,” she started and took a deep breath. “It was so muddled at first, I couldn’t tell who it was, but then I saw you. Your hair was longer, you stood taller, and your belly was round.” The breath left your body in a powerful exhale. She looked to you again, eyes watching yours, “You were pregnant and happy and in love,” she said quietly, as if the words in themselves were fragile. Your hands trembled and you moved them under your thighs, her eyes didn’t miss the action. 

“I couldn’t understand why the Mother would send me a vision like that, I saw Feyre’s pregnancy, but we’re sisters, you know?” You nodded. “Then I realized I recognized the tattooed arm I’d seen wrap around you, knew it was Azriel.” Your eyes watered, and you hiccuped out a small laugh. “I’ve known for a while you two were fated, but the Mother was telling me for certain. I hope you know how happy we are for you.” She finished and moved to sit next you, small hand touching your knee. 

“When they brought you in that night, I thought the Mother had lied to me, that it was a vision of what could have been, that you wouldn’t make it.” You’d never heard Elain speak at length in this way, and you thought you might stop breathing. “I’ve never been happier to see you than when Azriel brought you in to read days later, my sweet friend.” You surged forward, throwing your arms around the female and she returned the gesture warmly. 

You sat back and looked at her then. “Thank you,” you said, voice small, a little watery. She nodded before turning to resume her original spot at the end of the sofa, picking up her book and opening it to the page she’d left off. 

In the hours that followed, you’d returned to the kitchen, grateful to find Cassian and Nesta had left. You took Nesta’s advice, gathering the ingredients to build a small berry tart. It had just gone in the oven when your mate appeared in the doorway.

“Hello love,” he said casually, leaning against the door jamb. You startled, turning on your heel to find him smiling at you. “Where have you been?” You asked walking towards him and running your hands around his midsection in a hug, head resting against his chest. His arm came around your shoulders as he pressed a kiss to your hair, breathing in your scent. “That, my dearest one, is a surprise.” 

You looked up chin resting against his chest, watching his face. “It’d better be good, I baked for you,” you said, smiling softly at the Spymaster. His eyes moved to the oven then and back to you, irises darkening, as his pupils blew a little wide. “You… baked?” He asked disbelieving, “didn’t know you knew how to bake,” he followed up playfully. You gasped and shoved him, “for that, you can starve, have fun finding another mate to bake for you.” He laughed heartily and caught your hand, bringing your knuckles to his lips, eyes swimming with warm affection as he pressed a kiss there. Gods, the action made lust swoop in your stomach, heat spreading. 

“The fool I’d be to turn away such a female,” he said, voice deepening, lips running across your knuckles with each word. “Azriel” you breathed. “Yes?” He offered in return, still smiling, moving your knuckles back and forth against his hot mouth. “Please tell me this surprise involves you bedding me.” A growl creeped out of his throat, the thought of you under him sending lust racing down his spine and to his groin. 

“It might,” he said quietly, lips resuming their exploration, tracking small kisses from your knuckles, to the joint of your thumb, the inside of your wrist where Rhys’ tattoo lingered, up the soft skin of your arm, to your elbow, until he reached the skin of your shoulder. His lips traced over the raised skin there, a small nip above the scar as he traced north to your collarbone. You’d gone to putty in his hands, head rolling to the side to bare your throat. He pressed soft kisses there, pausing at your pulse point to trace the area with his warm tongue, a whimper escaping your mouth. 

“If this is going to become a regular thing, I’ll need you two to relocate to the River House,” a voice came from behind you and you jumped in shock, but your mate, he let out a possessive growl before turning on the intruder. Rhysand laughed airily and folded his arms over his chest. “Easy, brother,” he smiled, causing Azriel to roll his eyes. You blinked a little dazed, and pulled away from the Shadowsinger. “You’re gonna make me burn my fucking tart,” you shoved him with an arm and laughed as you turned to resume your place at the oven. 

Azriel instructed you to dress comfortably and be ready in a hour as he kissed your knuckles one last time and exited the kitchen. Butterflies roamed freely in your stomach at the thought of what he had planned. You’d returned to your quarters after removing the tart from the oven and portioning it into a small travel sized container. You were going to accept the bond, and your nerves were alight with anxious excitement. After you dressed in a lightweight linen dress, you packed a small bag with your remaining creams, and the boxed tart you’d prepared earlier. 

You descended the stairs to find Azriel waiting at the base, his wings standing proudly behind him, shadows skittering around his feet. At the sight of you they raced to meet on the bottom step, running up your legs, around your waist and into your hair. A laugh escaped you as one nuzzled into the space behind your ear. Azriel watched fondly. “They love you,” he said smiling, taking a step to meet you, “ever since the bond snapped, I’ve had the hardest time reining them back from touching you.” 

You reached a hand out to meet his, interlacing your fingers. “They’re cute, but you’re cuter,” you said with gentle affection. A shadow pinched at your waist and Azriel’s cheeks went a little pink as he laughed. 

“Will you tell me what the surprise is?” You asked as he walked you toward the training balcony. “I’m afraid I’m very poorly dressed for training,” you joked. He snorted, “no, we’re not training.” He came to rest at the railing and then turned to you, running a hand up your arm, fingers moving to hold the back of your neck, warm palm heating the skin there, thumb grazing your jawline. “Amongst many things I’ve been terribly late for recently, I realize I owe you a date.” 

Your face went a little puzzled and you looked to his eyes. “A date?” You questioned. He nodded, “I was supposed to take you flying.” Realization dawned on your features and a smile overtook your lips, each tooth shining in the setting sun. “I wanted to kiss you that night too,” you admitted laughing, remembering how desperate you’d been for his touch and attention. He smiled softly, “you have no idea how angry I was with Rhys for calling me away.” Your eyes widened, still in disbelief that this male wanted you return. It seemed both a millennia in the making and still so new and fragile. 

Azriel snuck an arm around your waist and brought you up into the stretch of his firm body. His other hand tracing down your hip, then thigh, to curve under your knees as he picked you up. His wings unfurled and he shot into the air. A shaky laugh startled out of you and you gripped him tighter, your arms winding around his neck. His wings flapped in thunderous bursts, taking you higher, until you could see the entirety of Velaris spread below, the Sidra flowing like a snake through the winding city. Your breath left you in awe. “The Peregryn was right,” you said loud enough for him to hear and he smiled, pressing a kiss to your temple.

The flight was short, but it took you to the rural banks of the Sidra on the outskirts of the city, just before it emptied into the sea. You could see ships sailing into the harbor, moonlight beginning to trickle across the water. This was undeniably special, you thought, no one would see you up here and you felt like this was the edge of the world itself. You turned to Azriel, finding his eyes already watching you. “Thank you,” you said softly, leaning into him, his chin meeting your forehead as you moved your body to rest alongside the length of his. His hand came to rest at the small of your back, pinky stretching to graze the curve of your bottom. Wherever this was going, you were very interested. 

He turned and grasped your hand, pulling you back up the hill and away from the view, towards a field of wildflowers and grasses. There, in the middle, a blanket had been laid out, small candles lit to illuminate the setting. A basket sat in one corner, a bottle of fae wine held within with an assortment of pastries, breads, and cheeses. You realized quickly that your mate, the male you’d loved for damn near two centuries, was courting you. The thought thrilled you. 

He led you to the blanket and motioned for you to sit next him. “I must confess, I never took you for a romantic,” you said looking from the candles, to the basket, and then to him. He was watching you again. He smiled, laughing a bit nervously, “I’m a lot of things,” he said and your eyebrow quirked. “Oh yeah? Like what?” You challenged him and he loved you for it. You made him feel easy to love, you made loving fun and freeing. Azriel had once only thought freedom could be found in fucking and flying, then he’d found you and he knew it was there too. In the smile of your lips, in the thrill of your touch, in the ease of your love. 

“Well,” he started, moving his wings to lean into you, pressing a kiss to your exposed shoulder. The action caused you to shiver. “I’m a spymaster.” You snorted, “no shit.” A laugh rumbled in his chest. “I’m a bit shy as you well know, I’m quite fond of dancing, I’m—” he hummed the last letter, pausing his thoughts and moving his lips up your neck. “I’m in love with you,” he said biting into the flesh at the juncture of your collarbone and throat, cock hardening at the sound that rolled out of your mouth. “I’m going to take you right here, on this blanket, under the stars.” 

You gasped, your hands moved find purchase in the hair at the back of his head, fingers winding through the strands, nails dragging at his scalp. His nose ran the length of your jawline before his lips found yours. He rumbled a small hum the instant his mouth touched your own. At first it was a gentle press, teasing you as he had done today in the kitchen at the House of Wind. The adrenaline racing up your spine made you feel like you might vibrate out of your skin. His hand reached up then, threading broad fingers into your hair as he took the kiss deeper. Tonguing the bottom of your lip until your mouth opened, his tongue stroking your own. Humming with contentment, he tilted your head, deepening the kiss at a new angle that had heat swooping down to your core. 

You brought your left hand to his shoulder, fisting your fingers in the fabric there and pulling him closer. He understood your intention and leaned you back into the blanket, pleasure alighting each nerve as his body pressed into your own. He eased up on your lips and began a slow trek south, pulling the strap of your dress down the curve of your shoulder, leaving a love bite there that had you gasping. He kissed down the bust line of the dress, laving his tongue at the swell of your breast. Your breath was coming in pants and you pressed yourself up on your elbows as he moved further south, fingertips tracing the hem of your dress that had risen to the middle of your thigh. 

He looked back to you and smiled, mischief playing in his eyes as he ran his hands up your thighs, the slow drag pulling the dress with it. “I’ve been thinking about your cunt for centuries,” he said, his lips on your knee, pressing insistently as they moved north. “I’ve been dreaming of making you come on my tongue since I met you.”

Your breath leaves you in one fell swoop as you feel his tongue at the juncture of your hip and thigh. His mouth was insistent at skin there, tonguing the lace of your panties before pulling them down your legs and off entirely. He picked up a foot, placing it to his chest as he traced the long line of your body with hungry eyes. You were panting already, dressed rucked up around your waist, straps fallen down your arms and breasts heaving. His gaze flowed south and landed on your pink cunt, glistening, begging for him. His eyes went back to your face then, and his titled his head to the side, “Will you let me eat your pretty little cunt?” He asked fingertips tracing the scars of your calf with reverence. He brought your foot up, kissing the inside of the ankle, then nosing his way over your scarred calf, suckling at the skin there. “Please,” he added, eyes moving back to yours as his mouth continued his ministrations. 

“Mother above, Azriel,” you breathed and a laughed startled out of you, “you are mouthy.” He chuckled darkly then, nipping at your knee, taking special care to press a gentle kiss at the new scar there. “Is that a no then?” He said softly and your head fell back with a groan, exposing your neck to his view. “As if,” you said, head pulling back up and lolling to the side to rest on your shoulder. “I’ve thought about it too, and if you back out now I will explode.” He laughed again, freely this time, forehead resting on your thigh. 

His eyes find yours again, and he kept them there as he traced his lips north. He nosed the juncture of your cunt and inner thigh, running a tongue along your mound. You gasped and eyes narrowed, watching him with rapt attention. He pressed a kiss to the top of your slit and his hands come up to open you to him, pulling the lips apart and tonguing the collected moisture there. Your head fell back as your elbows gave way, falling flat against the blanket. 

“You taste better than I imagined,” he said before wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking. The moan that left you had his hips pushing into the ground to find relief as his cock begged for release. His tongue flicked against your clit as he sucked and hummed. He thought this might become his favorite place in all of Prythian. He thought that every bad thing that had happened in his life seemed insignificant now that he was able to worship freely between your thighs. He traced fingers up and paused to wet them on his tongue, before pushing his middle and ring finger in to the second knuckle, pulling them out and scissoring them back in again. His tongue found your sweet little button for a second time that night and he laved at it, listening to your cries as he pushed you to the brink. Azriel’s life had been a nightmare, but between your thighs, mouth on your cunt, walls fluttering around his fingers, he thought he’d been blessed by the Mother herself. 

Your hips rocked up in time with his fingers and you cried as your gut twisted, the coil there tightening. “Az-“ you gasped. “Azriel,” you went a little whiny on the vowels of his name, and your hand reached down to thread your fingers into his hair, nails scratching and tugging the strands. He hummed, the vibration sending shocks up your spine. “Azriel, baby,” you gasped, coming up on an elbow again, rutting your hips into his face as he took you higher. He didn’t let up, suckling at your cunt, fingers finding the spongy spot on the backside of your clit that made the world go blank “Azriel!” you gasped again, hips stuttering out, “Fuck, fuck— oh.” In seconds you were reaching your peak, hips faltering, thighs twitching, toes curling into the hard planes of his back. 

He pulled his mouth off of you, pressing kisses to your pubic bone as he moved north up your stomach. He eyes were alight with desire, the male was pure want and you were his last meal. He pulled his fingers from your cunt and trailed them up to rest at your neck as he slotted his body between your thighs and kissed you. The hedonism of tasting yourself on his mouth made you wetter, cunt pressing into the hard line of his cock, still restricted in his trousers. He moaned at the contact, mouth leaving yours to rest his head against your chin and gather himself. The sound sent a pleasurable shock directly to your core. You grasped the hand at your throat and brought his fingers up and to your mouth, tongue laving at them before taking them to the knuckle, and pulling back slow, hollowing out your cheeks and sucking, keeping your eyes on his. He bared his teeth the sight and ground his hard cock into you, the friction on your clit making your thighs twitch. 

“My sweet little mate,” he cooed. “Love of my life,” he nosed your cheek, his fingers still in your mouth. “All my dreaming has been put to shame it would seem,” he pulled his fingers from your mouth and replaced them with his tongue, his hands flying to his belt. He growled in struggle and you ventured a laugh. His eyes found yours and his jaw ticked, “keep laughing, sweet girl, I’ll fuck your throat next and you won’t come.” Your eyes went a little wide and a feline grin appeared on your face. “Mouthy indeed,” you said with glee as he finally got the buckle undone and pushed the pants down and off. 

His shirt went next and your fingers traced up his exposed arms to his shoulders. “I’ve seen you shirtless a dozen times, and you still take my breath away,” you said softly, a hand resting on his pectoral. He laughed and went a little pink, before he pushed your dress up your body and over your head, leaving you bare. “I’ve always been impressed by your ability to so disarming,” he said, mouth finding the space above your breast as his hands came to cup them, fingers toying with the nipples. “It’s my favorite thing about you, you see me in a way I can’t even see myself,” he followed up. 

Your eyes watered at the admission and your hands found his face, bringing his mouth back to yours as you kissed him again, tongue entwining with his. Your hands grasped his shoulders, as your leg found his hip and you pushed him over, onto his back. Your hands came to rest on his chest as you settled your weight on his lower abdomen. You could feel his manhood standing to attention, insistent at the curve of your ass and you reached around to grasp it, pushing your chest out for his greedy eyes. Taking him in long strokes, you ran your hand up and down, circling your thumb around the head. His eyes screwed shut as his breathing shallowed. 

“Wanna know a secret, baby?” You offered, rocking your hips in time with your strokes. He whined then, the Lord of Shadows keened a little whine for you that had you ready to come right there. “Last time we hosted a gala, that night before Hybern,” you were panting, “all I could think about was taking you to bed.” His eyes opened and hazel was gone blacked out in pure desire. His hands found your hips and his own began to move in time with you. “I thought about riding you,” you said, twisting your hand in a way that had his breath guttering out of him. “I thought you might love me in the way you looked at me.” His eyes softened and he leaned up, hands tracing up your spine as he pressed kisses to your chest. 

“I loved you that night and every night since,” he said before tonguing a nipple and sucking it into his mouth. “That dress you wore, my color, had me hard for a week.” You laughed then removing your hand from his cock and bringing both to his face, so you could kiss him. His hands slipped to your ass then, palming the cheeks as his tongue moved in tandem with yours. When you moved back from him, a string of salvia still connected you two, you reached up to comb fingers through his hair gently.

“I brought you something,” you said quietly, looking to the corner of the quilt where your bag had dropped ages ago. His brow furrowed, confusion showing in his features. “You don’t have to, but I brought some of that tart. If you want,” you offered the statement nervously, as if there was still a chance for rejection. Azriel’s heart went soft and his brain turned to mush.

“You want to accept it?” He questioned, hands sliding up your back and to your waist. You smiled and looked at him incredulously, “Of course I want to accept it, it feels like I’ve waited a millennia for you.” You’d laughed a bit and that feeling of home raced through him again. Gods, he was fucked. 

You leaned off his lap, pulling the strap of your bag to you and unzipped it. There, packaged in a little glass container, lay a small slice of the berry tart you’d fretted over earlier in the day. “Nesta made some stupid comment about ‘cooking’ when I’d asked where you were,” you laughed in hindsight at the female’s leading words. “She knew because Cassian knew, he helped me with the food and candles,” Azriel murmured pushing your hair up and over your shoulder. 

He pulled the container from your grasp then and opened it before picking the pastry up with his fingers, the same fingers that had been inside you minutes ago. Eyes on yours he took the first bite, your heart thrumming as the golden thread of your bond lit up like the sunrise. His eyes never left yours as he consumed the pastry in four bites, swallowing and pulling his fingers into his mouth at the remaining sweetness there. 

The bond between you two was shining, strong and thrumming with love. ‘Hi,’ you tried, your thoughts reaching out to him. He smiled, laughing freely, and his voice came through clearly, ‘Hi, Little One.’ You choked out a laugh, eyes watering as you leaned forward to kiss him, tasting the berries on his tongue. ‘Can I make love to my mate now?’ He questioned down the bond and you laughed again. His hands were already tracing your hips as you leaned forward, hand reaching underneath to guide him into your cunt. Lowering yourself down, you rocked forward once then twice in order to take him to the hilt. 

Mother above, he was big. His cock was thick and filled you wholly, pushing against your cervix making your eyes flutter in pleasure. You thought of the comment Mor had made about wingspan once decades ago and you heard him laugh, “I’m flattered, truly,” he said playfully, reading your thoughts and nipping at your shoulder.

You rose up again and set to riding him slowly, hips moving in long strokes as his hands traced your ass, pulling at the flesh there in time with your movements. You gave a experimental squeeze of your walls, and he keened a loud moan that had you speeding up your flow. “You keep that up, Little One and I won’t last,” he panted at your throat. “That’s rather the point,” you laughed breathlessly, your own hand moving to cup your breast, the other sliding down to circle your clit. His eyes traced the view greedily, moving down to the point where you connected, watching your cunt take him in full, his cock glistening with your shared wetness. He bared his teeth at the sight, a rumble lighting in his chest. 

Just as your walls began to flutter with your impending orgasm, he grasped you and flipped you to your back, pulling your hands from your body and entwining your fingers with his own on each side of your head. He ground his pelvis in deep and your legs hitched higher around his waist. “Azriel, fucking Gods,” you called out at the switch in angle, the tip of his cock grinding into your cervix. He hummed at your throat, teeth marking you there as his hips pulled out and pushed in, grinding each time he bottomed out into you. His wings flared behind him and you thought you’d never seen a more beautiful sight. 

“You take me so well, my love,” he panted, “you were made for me.” You whined then, cunt fluttering around him as he bottomed out deep and held it there, grinding his pubic bone into your clitoris. The pleasure raced up your spine and you thought you’d never be able to leave this place, might have to keep him inside you forever. He growled, reading your thoughts. “You want me to fuck this cunt forever?” He asked aloud leaning up, pulling his hands from yours. 

You whined at the loss, but the sound died as he pulled your legs up his waist to his shoulders, kissing the scarred calf. He drew his cock out, only to slam back in. “Fuck,” you moaned out, voice going up two octaves. “You want me between your thighs for the rest of my days?” He said again, hips moving faster, your hands moving to your tits as they bounced from the impact. His eyes watched the movement and he bared his teeth again, turning his head to bite into the flesh of your calf. 

“Azriel!” You called out again, pleasure zipped up your spine and you felt your stomach tighten. “Az, baby, I’m so close.” He chuckled darkly. “Be a good girl and come on my cock,” he said as his fingers traced down your leg to find your clit, rubbing the bundle in quick, timed circles. “Az- I-,” you barely got the words out before your orgasm overtook you, a long moan exiting your mouth as your cunt tightened around him, he ground into you and worked you through it, before dropping your legs back to his hips and pistoning deeper.

“My sweet mate,” he gasped at the skin of your throat, mouth tracing up to find yours, hands finding purchase on your thighs as he pulled you open, allowing him dive deeper. “My darling love,” he moaned and his tongue moved with yours, your hips pushing up to meet his thrusts, walls fluttering against his velvet length with the remnants of your orgasm. 

You ventured your hand up his shoulder to the base of a wing and traced your fingers up the membrane to the bone. His eyes twisted shut, and he keened a low primal whine that had your cunt ready to come again. At the tightening of your walls, he groaned dark and deep, shadows seeping from him, as he pushed in, grinding against the innermost portion of you. His hips pulled out slightly and then pushed back in as his cock kicked, come spurting against your walls. He panted against your throat as his hands released their hold on your thighs and moved up your body before grasping your throat. He moved up to lean over you and his eyes found your own. He gave an experimental thrust of his hips and your eyes widened. Fucking Cauldron, he was still hard. 

He laughed then, nuzzling at your mouth as he nipped at your bottom lip. “I’m giving you five,” his voice was deeper than you’d ever heard it, “and then I’m eating my come from your cunt and fucking you until the sun comes up.” 

You gasped out a laugh as your arms wrapped around his shoulders. ‘They call it frenzy for a reason,’ you thought, kissing along his cheekbone and to his mouth. Gods, you were fucked. 

[targaryenluvs]

— TRAPPED (WORDS NOT SAID)

pairing: dark!coriolanus snow x fem!reader

warnings: cold!corio, murder, nc kissing, possessiveness, very controlling thoughts and actions, arranged marriage, cheating, dark-ish themes since he’s literally insane HAVE U SEEN THE BOOKS? not proof read

summary: after the 10th hunger games, coriolanus set his sights on a girl from his younger years to be his wife. disgusted by his actions and scared by the rumours your family agreed. as you realise he wasn’t the same boy from before, snow finds himself intrigued, especially when you seem to be visiting a friends house too often.

word count: 1.9k words

a/n: i don’t usually write toxic shit but like that’s the definition of snow and his cute lil intrusive thoughts so here u go 😘 this man is a bad man especially after lucy. so i find it so funny when he’s super sweet in some fics but he’s super like ooh she needs protection, oh she’s fragile you get me???

PLEASE READ WARNINGS

there was no point in crying.

you knew that.

but at the prospect of marrying a man whom you barely even knew scared the hell out of you, and the thought of not being with your albeit secret boyfriend, not getting to marry him, start a life with him? it was unbearable.

your dress was crisp white, like snow. of course.

the memories of that day were jumbled in your head, you remember being stuffed into a dress, your hair and face being pulled every which way and holding coriolanus’s hands as you listened to his vows, void of emotion in the eyes but with a slight smile on his face. you couldn’t even recall what happened afterwards. and you didn’t want to. coriolanus hadn’t even let you properly bid your family farewell before he’d sweeped you away to your new home, courtesy of your parents and the plinths.

and even if your home was cold and distant you tried your best to be nice and easy with snow. you’d wear what he wanted, did what he wanted and everything else. you could tell he found comfort in control, knowing what was happening, being able to tell people what to do. even if you hated to admit it, it suited him.

in a rare moment, his mask would slip. the mask that kept his true thoughts and emotions neatly stored away, it would fall. and you revelled in them, a genuine smile, across his face. but as soon as it slipped, his walls were back up and he was straightening his red coat and out the door.

over the next months you’d learnt to keep yourself in check, there was no point in trying to bond with coriolanus, he knew his boundaries in your relationship? marriage? whatever it was, it was just on paper. you were mere passing acquaintances at best. you’d have breakfast together, he’d leave the house, you’d occupy yourself with the house, the library, entertainment, shopping, he’d come home, dinner and then off to your rooms.

but over a few weeks ago you’d met someone new.

andrenis was insanely gorgeous, his eyes shone in the sun and his brown hair reminded you of chocolate. he was breathtaking and he loved you. it’d been so long since you felt love, pure and devoted love to someone. the vacant halls of coriolanus’s and yours home were at the back of your mind in his presence.

at first youd started of friends of course and as you continued you felt, alive. every time he looked at you, talked to you everything faded to the back of your mind. but what you didn’t know was that snow had taken note. he’d noticed you skipping out on breakfast at times, your maids always claiming that you’d been reading late, working late and so on.

working late? you were married to him, what work could you possible have? why were you sleeping so late? could you not do your reading during the day? what was taking your attention, who?

even if you didn’t talk much, let alone see eachother you were a constant in his life now. something that gave him comfort of sorts. small talk with you in the morning and night, seeing you in the halls, your laugh echoing through the halls as you talked with staff, your scent lingering in the library and the drops of blood on his roses, since you were the only person whom he allowed to tend to them.

for him, you were security.

he knew you wouldn’t leave since you had no reason to. there was no love holding you to this relationship, you had a comfortable life, your friends and family in your reach and the luxury that you lived in. you were free, in your eyes. but in reality the second your own pen touched that paper and you signed the certificate your life was taken from you. even if you didn’t know it, coriolanus had been monitoring you from afar.

keeping track of what you did, where you went, what you spent. it was all to make sure you made it home of course. nothing less, nothing more.

so imagine his surprise when he heard reports of you sneaking out of the house and returning in the early hours of the morning.

for some reason he couldn’t help the pang of jealousy in his heart. why on earth would you be sneaking out? was this home not enough? the roof over your head and the food in your stomach? the bed you sleep in and the man you call your husband. your loyalty should be unwavering yet here he was, watching you creep out of the house through the servants quarters.

his jaw clenched and his fists curled as you laid your hands against his chest, foreheads against the others. “i’ve missed you my love.” the man’s voice echoed through his head.

words he’d never said to you.

“i know, but we are together and that is all that matters. i love you andrenis.”

words you’d never said to him.

“i’m to visit district 12, my father wishes for me to visit my brother. you know what he did, his punishment was to be a peacekeeper. but his time is up and mother misses him terribly. i do not know how long i will be y/n, but i will bring you back whatever you wish.”

“and what exactly will you get from district 12 that my dear wife will will not be able to get here?” it wasn’t a question, even if it was said as one. there was not a single thing that he wouldn’t give his wife. to keep up your appearances of course, he couldn’t have you going without something you wanted.

your heart was racing and your hands sweaty as you instantly pulled away from andrenis. snows eyes bore into his, andrenis breathed deeply before speaking, “coriolanus. you look good, rising above the ranks, marrying up are we?”

andrenis layworth. not only did coriolanus despise him but he knew how he truly acted. he should’ve stayed away from things that weren’t his, never were and never would be.

“andrenis!” you scolded him, it was already embarrassing in your eyes to be caught with him by your husband but you wouldn’t let him mock coriolanus.

your husband reached his hand out towards you, and you accepted as he spoke up. “i hope your travels are safe, andrenis.” the two of you walked away, him placing you into the car before shutting the door. he tapped on the back as you drove back home, without him to your surprise.

andrenis was taken aback. in all the time he’d been with you, you’d failed to mention your husband was him. and as much as andrenis would hate to say it, snow did intimidate him. nowadays at least. he rarely showed emotion, he was always proper and dressed appropriately, but all that didn’t matter when snow had his mind. his wit, intelligence and cunning was far more impressive than most.

he’d always kept himself in check.

but as coriolanus snow walked towards him with certainty he backed himself all the way into the dark alley as he was grabbed by his collar and slammed into the wall. “my wife. she is my wife, no one else’s. just because your pockets may be deeper than mine does not mean that i won’t hesitate to get you out of my way. you could never be worthy of her and if you so much as look at her, i will make sure you will never see the light of day. perhaps you’ll have a fall, or a crash with your traitor brother?”

the mask had fallen and the only thing left behind it was pure rage.

“or maybe we’ll hang? what would that be, three deaths on your hands?” andrenis smirked as coriolanus’s face dropped. he grabbed andrenis and shoved him infront, pushing him to walk. “you’re going to district 12 and you will never come out.” andrenis laughed loudly, “such terror you impose, poor coriolanus, clawing his way to the top. marrying a woman by force-”

“on second thought.”

a single gun shot rung through the air.

“district 12 isn’t low enough for you.” snow spoke as andrenis tried to crawl away from him. “no place on earth deserves the dishonour of having you waste their resources. the air you breathe is a privilege, that should not be taken by you.” coriolanus pulled him up by his hair, “the second you decided to be with her, was the day that you died.”

andrenis’s eyes were closing, fear swimming around. but corio couldn’t bring himself to care. his mind was clouded, for once he wasn’t thinking clearly. as he walked back into the house he saw you, sat with your head in your hands, jumping up at the sound of him entering. “corio.”

his heart was beating erratically at the sound of your voice, so soft and welcoming. why hadn’t he noticed your sweetness before?

“i’m so sorry, i- i was weak. we rarely speak to eachother, let alone allow ourselves to love. with andrenis, he reminded me of it, reminded me how it felt to love and to be loved. i won’t see him again, i promise.”

so submissive, rather than standing your ground. getting angry at him for forcing you into the marriage, for not talking to you, you were apologising. whilst you may have been disloyal he saw it only as a weakness. a bad habit to which he could help, he could fix. and he knew you’d keep your promise, not because you’d try your hardest but because andrenis was a cold stiff body in the bottom of a construction site. a mugging victim? an accident? it didn’t matter how his passing was seen as, he was gone and he’d never return.

he’d made sure of it.

as he walked towards you the scene from before replayed in his head as you walked backwards with every step you took, and in your eyes he saw what he craved to enforce, terror. and you were so small to him, something fragile, in need of control and order.

“don’t worry, i’ll keep you safe, i’m all you need.” corio spoke as his face got closer. the rise and fall of your chest was rapid, your eyes were wide as you realised what he was trying to do. you quickly turned your head but he quickly forced you to look at him, fingers digging into your face, “i give you everything, i will always give you everything. you deserve nothing but the best and i am the only one who can give it to you, you need me. do you understand?” he questioned as you began to cry, you’d never seen him so unhinged. his hair was slightly out of place, a strand infront of his eye.

(zayn malik vibes)

his coat was off, most likely hung on the door way and his sleeves were rolled, his usually pristine white shirt was crinkled, dirty. what had he been doing after you left? you’d gotten your answer as your teary eyes blinked away the tears, focused on his bare arms,

blood.

“corio, please. what did you do?” you cried as his hand made its way to your neck as he pressed your forehead to his, your stomach swirling and head spinning as a sense of deja vu crossed you, andrenis.

“what i had to, i will always do what i have to. nothing is ever handed to me.”

“you didn’t-”

he laughed, “snow lands on top, in life and on you.”

(going to puke why did i write that it’s so cringe)

the kiss was nothing like you ever had. it wasn’t sweet, passionate, rather hungry, as if he was chasing you, afraid you’d run. as if you could, he’d let one girl get away and with how he looked at you in this moment?

you were trapped.

[anakinstwinklebunny]

JAMES KELLY HEADCANONS 🧰

TW: at some point it contains filthy, crazy sexual content, so if you're feeling uncomfortable with it, please do not read

James Kelly who met you during his work. At first he gave you few glances here and there but as you started to appear more often something started to stir in his heart

James Kelly who, from that time, always offered you his services and tried to bargain his friends so they would give him you as his new customer;

From the very first moment James saw you in his workplace, something shifted deep within him. It was a sensation that swept through his heart and stomach, enveloping his senses in a way he couldn’t ignore. Every time you visited the mechanical engineering shop, his ears would perk up at the sound of your sweet, melodic voice. He found himself irresistibly drawn to you, stealing furtive glances as you nervously tried to explain the issue with your car to his friend and coworker.

As the days passed and your visits became less frequent, a hollow emptiness settled in his heart. The absence of your presence left a noticeable void, making him long for your return. His thoughts were consumed by you, turning over the idea of you being his customer rather than just someone who came in occasionally. So, what's better way to make it happen than to persuade his friends to let him take over your case? “C’mon, please,” he sighed, trailing behind Jackson who headed toward the sink.

“james, I’m working,” Jackson replied, turning on the water to wash his hands, a splash of soapy bubbles momentarily obscuring his skin.

James leaned casually against the sink, his arms crossed over his chest, his posture radiating both confidence and a touch of impatience.

“Come on, man,” he said, his tone a mix of desperation. “Just once. I’ll owe you a favor, I swear.” He tilted his head slightly to the side, his eyes pleading in a way that made it clear how important this was to him.

Jackson glanced over at him, a hint of skepticism in his expression. “And what’s in it for me if I agree?”

A knowing smirk tugged at the corners of James' lips. He was on the brink of winning this argument and he loved it. “You name the price,” he said, his voice steady and assured.

Every time you stopped by the shop, James felt a flurry of butterflies in his stomach, as if his entire body were electrified with anticipation. His heart pounded so fiercely against his chest that it seemed to echo in his ears. He didn't understand it. He didn't even know you that much to have some kind of 'crush' on you. But maybe that's the case? Maybe people don't have to know each other so much to be attracted to them. He just wished he'd not mistake himself in thinking about you more as some customer, more as just friend.

Yet it felt like he won a lottery; you were beautiful, seemed so sweet and kind, had a sense of humor.. and the moment you appeared, a wide, genuine smile would spread across his face. He made a concerted effort not to stare too long, but even his best efforts couldn’t entirely tame his wandering gaze.

“Um… hi, is Jackson here?” your sweet voice chimed, cutting through the noise of the shop.

At the sound of your voice, James' heart skipped a beat, just as it did every single time you came around. He looked up from his work, his blue eyes instantly drawn to your figure

“Ah, no, he’s not in today,” he replied, his voice warm and inviting. “Can I help you with something?”

“Oh… he was supposed to check my car,” you said, a hint of disappointment in your voice when you pointed to the black machine behind you

He noticed the subtle disappointment in your voice and gave a small nod, seizing the chance to spend more time with you.

“Well, I’m not doing anything important right now, so I could take a look at it if you don’t mind,” he offered, his tone both casual and eager.

You thought about it for a moment. Jackson's not here, yet he promised to be there, your car in huge need to be checked out, a tall, handsome-looking guy with veiny hands in oil.. “Sure,” you replied, a hint of relief in your voice at his offer. It was important for you. So your car would have a proper care it needs and if someone offers you help and seems genuine about it, why refuse?

He pushed himself up from the hood of the other car he’d been leaning on and looked at you, taking in your slender form once more, your striking (e/c) eyes, and those plump lips that always seemed to captivate him.

“May I get your keys?” he asked, extending his hand in an attempt to appear as nonchalant as possible and forget about the awkward moment

You handed him the keys, and as he took them from your hand, he felt the soft warmth of your skin against his. His gaze followed the gentle graze of your fingers over his palm, which seemed to send a shiver through his body. He swallowed thickly to brush it off. He didn't want to make you uncomfortable and think of him as a perv

“Alright, I’ll take a look at it,” he said, already heading toward your car with a sense of purpose. Over his shoulder, he called out, “And you’re… Y/N, right?” He feigned uncertainty, though he obviously knew your name perfectly well

“Yes, did something happen?” you asked, your curiosity piqued with hint of worry

James inserted the key into the ignition, but he didn’t start the car. Instead, he popped the hood and peered inside at the engine.

“No, no,” he began, his voice thoughtful as he leaned over the opened hood, his tongue briefly touching his lower lip as he considered his words. After a moment, he sighed. “Jackson’s been swamped with clients lately, so he handed off a few to me… and you’re one of them.”

“Oh…” you replied, a bit surprised by the news.

He leaned further into the car, reaching for something under the engine. In this position, he had an unobstructed view of you—one that made his thoughts wander more than he cared to admit. He grasped a specific tool and began working on the engine, trying hard to focus on the task rather than the fact that you were so close.

“Yeah, I hope you don’t mind that it’s me taking care of you,” he said, attempting to lighten the mood. “I mean, not you personally, but… your car.” his tone slightly nervous. Yet to his surprise, you giggled at his awkwardness, the sound bright and uplifting his slightly crashed mood from moments ago

James Kelly who dyed his hair when he found out you like guys with darker hair at the beginning of your relationship (although you were sad that he did it and felt bad for somehow 'pushing' him to this decision)

James Kelly whose evenings often involve hanging out in his garage. It’s where he’s most at home, and he loves having you there with him. You might sit on a stool, sipping coffee while he works, occasionally handing him tools or just enjoying his company as he explains the nuances of car repair in his unique, enthusiastic way.

James Kelly who has a 'mechanic’s touch'. His hands, skilled and gentle from working with delicate engine parts, translate into tender, careful touches when he’s with you

James Kelly who has a soft spot for personal projects, especially ones that involve old, classic cars. He loves restoring vintage vehicles, and he often involves you in these projects;

James' eyes widened in awe as the old car was wheeled into his workshop. It was a vintage marvel, the kind of machine that whispered tales of a bygone era. The worn, weathered metal seemed to glow under the workshop lights, and his fingers twitched with impatience, itching to trace every curve, every detail of the car that had captured his imagination.

“Hell yeah,” he murmured, his voice a low, reverent whisper. A satisfied grin crept across his face as he took in the car's elegant lines and timeless design. “Look how beautiful this baby is.”

You glanced at the car, a little less impressed. “It’s… okay,” you mumbled, your voice lacking the enthusiasm he clearly felt.

His head whipped around to face you, disbelief etched into his features. For a moment, he just stared, as if trying to comprehend how anyone could see this masterpiece as merely okay. Then, with a snort and a roll of his eyes, he let out a soft chuckle.

“Okay?” he echoed, his tone almost incredulous. “This baby is a classic masterpiece. You’re looking at a piece of history, something built with passion and precision. There’s nothing just okay about it.”

His eyes sparkled with excitement as he turned back to the car, already envisioning the work he would do. To him, this wasn’t just a car—it was a labor of love, a chance to bring a piece of history back to life.

"Jimmy," you sighed, wrapping your arms around his waist and resting your head against his chest. "I’m just not as into cars as you are."

He felt himself soften at your touch, almost melting into your embrace. But before he could fully surrender to the warmth of your hug, he let out another amused snort. With a gentle hand, he lifted your chin, tilting your face up toward him so your eyes met.

"You’re hopeless," he teased, his tone light and playful. He leaned down and pressed a quick, affectionate kiss to your forehead, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"At least tell me I’m more beautiful than this car," you quipped, your voice laced with a hint of mock seriousness.

He chuckled softly, his hand moving to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing tenderly over your skin. His eyes, a deep and vibrant blue, gazed into yours with a warmth that melted your insides. They were filled with soft, gentle affection, a look reserved only for you.

"Oh, doll," he murmured, his voice full of sincerity. "You’re way more beautiful than this car. You’re more beautiful than anything in this world."

You smiled when your lips connected in a soft kiss. Every time he was around you, it felt like fireworks were exploding in your stomach, a rush of excitement that never faded. The sensation of your skin against his, the softness of your form wrapped in his embrace, and the subtle, enchanting scent of your hair—it was all intoxicating. You were his personal addiction, a perfect drug he couldn’t get enough of, and each touch, each kiss only deepening his need for you.

“So…” he murmured, reluctantly pulling away just enough to rest his chin on your shoulder, his breath warm against your neck, “…what color should we make this car?”

A playful grin spread across your face. “Pink.”

Anakin chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest although something changed in his expression, “Pink? Really? Not red, orange, or yellow, but pink?”

“Why not?” you shot back with a teasing glint in your eyes.

"It's just… wrong on so many levels. Sorry, baby, but this is not a damn Barbie car," he muttered with a shudder, a grimace twisting his features as if the very thought of turning a classic car pink physically pained him.

"But it'd be pretty," you replied with a sweet smile, undeterred.

He stared at you, still processing the idea that you seriously wanted to paint this car pink. His mind struggled to reconcile the vision of a tough, masculine machine with the image of it decked out in pastel colors.

"This car is supposed to be badass," he said, his tone laced with disbelief. "A tough, masculine car. And you just… want to paint it pink?"

You bit your lip, holding back a laugh, and then smiled up at him with wide, innocent eyes. "A cute, baby pink shade… with glitter and jewels."

His soul practically left his body as you listed all the things you wanted to do to the car. He couldn’t believe you wanted to turn a classic, vintage masterpiece into something straight out of a fairytale.

“Are you kidding me? This is a vintage car, baby, and you want to make it sparkle like some kind of princess carriage?” he pleaded, his voice heavy with disbelief. He let out a long, weary sigh, already feeling the inevitable pull of giving in to your whims. Was he really going to agree to this just because he was hopelessly in love with you and couldn’t bear to see you anything but happy?

“Oh, please!” you chimed in, your tone sweet and persuasive.

He looked at you, a pout forming on his lips, his heart caught in the tug-of-war between his love for the car and his love for you. The way you didn’t quite grasp his distress—and the way you so innocently asked for a pink car—left him unable to say "no" outright.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, y’know that?” he grumbled, running a hand through his hair in exasperation.

Your innocent smile only widened, the sparkle in your eyes growing brighter.

He just stood there for a moment, staring at you, trying to find the strength to resist. But finally, he let out a sigh so deep it almost sounded like a defeated groan.

“i am not going to spend hours trying to make this car look decent in freaking pink,” he muttered, shaking his head. “And I swear to god, if you even mention glitter or jewels one more time, I’ll lock you in this workshop and won’t even think about letting you out.”

“Now that’s rude,” you pouted, crossing your arms

James mirrored your stance, crossing his arms over his chest as well, his gaze fixed intently on you. He raised an eyebrow, feigning annoyance, though the small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips betrayed him.

“Oh, and it’s not rude to demand that I paint this car in the most atrocious color and slap glitter on it?” he shot back, his voice dripping with mock indignation.

“If not this car, then another one? Pretty please?” you countered, your tone softening as you tilted your head and gave him those puppy-dog eyes that always seemed to work like magic.

He let out another sigh, the kind that hinted at resignation, but there was no hiding the fond smile that crept onto his lips. You knew he could never resist when you looked at him like that, with those wide, pleading eyes and that sweet, hopeful tone. It was his kryptonite.

“Which other one then?” he murmured, his voice softening as his resolve melted away completely.

James Kelly who loves to show off his work to you since he feels like you're really proud of him

James Kelly who's your one and only engineering. If anything is broken, you call Anakin. If anything needs repair, you call Anakin. If you have to put new furniture together, you call Anakin

James Kelly whose protective nature extends to ensuring your safety. He would always check your car to make sure it’s in perfect condition;

“jimmy, the last time you checked my car was three days ago. Nothing has happened since that day” you said, watching as he anxiously inspected your car, determined to ensure it was in perfect condition.

He straightened up, his expression serious as he leaned against the car with his arms crossed. His eyes held a flicker of concern, betraying the worry he tried to hide.

“You can never be too sure,” he replied firmly, though it was evident he was slightly exaggerating. He ran a hand through his dark hair, ruffling it as he sighed with frustration.

“I just want you to be safe, you know? Let me take care of the car and make sure nothing happens to you,” he muttered, each word underscoring his deep protectiveness.

“You make me think about riding a bike,” you said, rolling your eyes at his overprotectiveness.

“You’d look hot on a bike,” he responded with a wide smirk, his blue eyes locking onto yours with playful admiration.

“Oh, stop. Just—check the car and let’s go,” you said, trying to cut off the conversation.

“Sure, my lady"

James Kelly ho loved to test his motorcycles he fixed;

James had just finished working on the engine of the motorcycle, his hands smeared with grease and oil stains. He wiped them on a dirty cloth, a satisfied grin spreading across his face. There was something about being surrounded by machines that made him feel like a kid again—pure, unbridled joy bubbling up inside him. His eyes traveled to the shiny, black motorcycle, admiring the way the lights danced across the gleaming metal. His body buzzed with excitement at the thought of taking it for a spin.

“Now, it’s for your safety,” he said firmly, as he carefully placed a helmet on your head. “I’m not risking your health nor your life.”

The very idea of something going wrong on the ride—the possibility of an accident—sent a wave of anxiety crashing through him. His stomach tightened, and his heart clenched with worry. He couldn’t bear the thought of anything happening to you, not when you meant everything to him. So, even if you were just sitting behind him, he wanted to make sure you were as safe as possible.

He swung his leg over the seat, straddling the motorcycle with practiced ease, and settled in comfortably. With a quick flick of his wrist, he started the engine, the loud, roaring rumble filling the air and sending a powerful vibration through his entire body. “Hop in, pretty girl,” he called out over the noise.

You climbed on behind him, wrapping your arms tightly around his waist. The moment he felt your body pressed against his back, and your arms encircling him, a sense of contentment washed over him. The warmth of your breath against the back of his neck sent a shiver down his spine. It was one of the best feelings in the world—having you right there with him, close enough that he could reach out and touch you whenever he wanted.

“now hold on tight, doll,” he shouted over the roar of the engine, his voice laced with excitement, as he revved the motorcycle, ready to take off on the open road.

James Kelly who has little rituals that revolve around his work and you. For example, he would always start his day with a quick text to check in on you, and end it with a call to check if youre alright or just to hear your voice

James Kelly who made matching necklaces for both of you

James Kelly who's a big dog person. He'd very often stop by to stroke local dog (if it doesn't have an owner by itself) or gives food if some are wandering around his workplace

James Kelly who used, to your dissatisfaction, shower gel 3 in 1..and even if you've bought him more suitable and better shampoo, he had never used it due to his opinion that 'his shampoo is better and costs less'

James Kelly who had become completely devoted to you, giving all his attention and heart to you. He would do anything to see a smile on your lips and a sparkle in those beautiful eyes of yours. He'd do anything to make you happy, no matter what's the cost. He'd even go against everything and everyone for you if he'd have to

James Kelly who definitely talks you through it

James Kelly who loves to make love to you (obviously) however he, as much as adores sex in bed, he also likes the thrill of making it in the empty workshop..;

"someone could see us" you - tried to - say between moans, your cheeks flushed pink while you held onto James' arms

As often as he does, James ignores your concern, his eyes locked onto yours as he continues to pound into you with no care in the surroundings. "Shh, just let go, sweetheart. No one's around. We're alone out here". he grabs your hips and starts slamming into you harder, the car hood creaking beneath you.

His breath hitches as he feels your nails digging into his skin, his thrusts becoming even more frantic. He almost takes as his goal to hit this sweet spot of yours like he always does. He leans forward, his forehead pressing against your neck as he speaks in a rough, desperate voice. "Yeah..just like that baby..gonna mark this car with your little pretty body..and--oh god--" he groaned after feeling your walls clench and hug him so deliciously "when we're done..whenever I'll look at this car I'll just see your pretty face, those beautiful legs all spread out and waiting for me--"

James Kelly who has a habit to just have you in his lap, while your naked, and play with your breasts. Enamoured by your deliciously perfect taste, he can't help but trace the puffy skin to delicately spread his saliva all over your nipple before taking it back again for the hundreds of time to his mouth, as if almost worshipping your flavour

James Kelly who would definitely finger you while watching TV;

"So wet for me, baby" his fingers glide over your folds, spreading your slickness around in slow, teasing strokes. "Do you want me to touch you here?" his voice rumbled against your ear

"mhm--"

His grin widens, and he slowly slides one finger inside you, his touch gentle yet firm. "Just one to start, alright baby?" He begins to slowly move his finger in and out, his thumb circling your nub. "You're so tight...you like that? Just one finger?"

He tuts disapprovingly to your nod, slowing down his touch although his tone turns into chiming-mocking. "Eyes on the screen, love". He punctuates his words with a slow thrust of his finger "Good girl.." he praised after seeing you submit to him and to give you a prize, he sped up his touch once more, adding another finger and curving them inward to hit that spot. His actions elicited more gasps and moans from your mouth

"Shh, baby...quiet now". He adds a third finger, scissoring them inside you as he rubs your clit with his thumb. "Gotta hear the dialogue..." He whispered directly to your ear

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @ysrjune (sad about her not being her anymore..) @divineani @erosmutt @haydensprettyprincess @mistress-amidala @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @literally-izzy @anisluvrgirl @slutforfinnickodair @xhunnybeeex @fuckmyskywalker

(if you want to be removed or added then don't be shy and let me know 💋)

[wh0reforcoriolanussnow]

“Are you gonna be a good girl?” || Young President!Coriolanus Snow x reader

Summary: Coryo's friends have always been and probably will always be condescending towards you. When you refuse to stay home when he invites them over for dinner, you become aware of the intricate control that Coriolanus has skillfully woven around you, highlighting a sense of submission in your actions.

Warnings: reader smoking, age gap (r is 18 and Coryo is 25), manipulative, controlling, toxic!coryo, power dynamic, condescending behaviour,

Wc: 740

A/n: crap summary but i kinda got inspired by Priscilla and I lowkey imagined cailee as Priscilla in this but u don’t have to. I LOVE THIS MOVIE SM 😭 also pretend Arachne is still alive.

"I want to visit my family later today, Coryo," you mention, casually flicking the ashes from your cigarette into the nearby ashtray. Coryo looks up from his newspaper, his gaze fixed on you. “What?”

"I want to see my family later today," you repeat, "I haven’t seen them in weeks." The sentiment is laced with a tinge of longing. With a cigarette delicately held between meticulously manicured nails, your painted lips articulate the words, the smoke swirling into the air.

A hush settles in the air until Coryo’s voice breaks the silence, his tone void of emotion. “You can’t. Not today,” he asserts, his attention returning to the newspaper. Your eyes fixate on him. “And why not?” You try not to raise your voice, but a hint of urgency slips through.

"Because, sweetheart, we have guests coming over for dinner." You roll your eyes. "And I want you here, yes?" he adds, pointing to you. “Who’s coming?” Coriolanus sighs deeply, dismissing the question with, “Does it matter?”

“Yes, it does matter. Who’s coming, Coryo?” Your tone grows more agitated. He casually shrugs, “Just a few of my friends, that’s all.” The harsh stubbing out of your cigarette emphasizes your displeasure.

"Your friends?" you question, annoyance evident in your tone. Sensing your irritation, he casually discards his newspaper to the side. “Yes, does that bother you?” he spat in response, his words carrying a tinge of defiance.

You let out an exasperated laugh, “You know how I dislike your friends, Coryo. They’re horrible to me!” You grip the armchair tightly, leaning towards him. You can practically feel the irritation radiating off you.

Coriolanus dismissively rolls his eyes. “Please. They’re not horrible to you. You’re being dramatic—” The room is charged with tension as your hand forcefully slams on the table. “Yes. They are. They belittle me, Coryo!” The weight of your words hangs in the air, your chest heaving from the emotional intensity of the outburst.

It's true. Whenever you're around Coriolanus' friends, it's hard not to notice the condescending vibe they throw your way, the snarky comments about anything and everything about you.

The memory of your wedding day remains vivid in your mind, etched with indelible images of raised eyebrows and skeptical glances from all of Snow's friends as you walked down the aisle. The collective gaze left you with a lingering sense of embarrassment. You were only 17, and he was 24.

You were well aware of the swarm of thoughts buzzing through their minds every time they saw you with Coriolanus. According to them, you were too young, too naive, too quiet, and perhaps even too unintelligent to hold the title of First Lady.

The unsolicited opinions seemed to echo a common sentiment: Coriolanus should have chosen someone closer to his age, someone who shared more similarities with him.

Conversations with his friends were always filled with subtly belittling comments that Coryo either didn't notice or chose to ignore.

Arachne stood out as the harshest among them all. Her comments, in particular, were cutting and had a way of driving you out of the room, often leaving you with tears streaming down your face.

In their eyes, you were just weak. A wife who sat there and looked pretty. But you were more than that, you knew that, hell, even Coriolanus knew that, but he never spoke up.

"They just like to tease you. Don't be so sensitive," he scoffs, the nonchalance in his tone amplifying your frustration. You gnaw at your lips as Coriolanus rises with a sigh, leisurely stretching his neck before heading to the nearby table to pour himself a glass of alcohol.

"I don't want to be here," you whisper loud enough for him to hear you. "I want to see my family, Coryo," your voice trembling with the urgency of your plea. "You can't deny me of seeing my own family," you exclaimed, the words escaping your lips with an urgency that surprised even you.

His response was swift, harsh. He took hold of your chin, his fingers digging into your flesh as he forced you to look at him. "You are to stay here, do you hear me?" he commanded, his voice cutting through the air.

The forcefulness of his grip left you momentarily breathless. Your attempt to pull away was futile as his gaze bore into you, a mix of anger and expectation in his eyes. Tears welled up, blurring your vision as a wave of helplessness washed over you.

As your gaze meets his with glassy, doe-like eyes, Coriolanus can't help but be overcome with a sense of remorse. His hold gently eases, his fingers transitioning from your chin to delicately trace the pad of his thumb along your cheekbone.

"Are you gonna be a good girl and stay, hm?" His voice was softer now. You swallow hard and you find yourself nodding, silently surrendering to the intricate web of control that Coriolanus deftly wove around you.

Coriolanus tenderly brushes away a stray tear that had dared to escape, his touch as soft as a fleeting whisper. Leaning in, he draws closer to your face, placing a gentle kiss on your cheek. The warmth of the kiss lingers for a brief moment, a delicate embrace, before he gently withdraws. "Now, go get ready," he says, his back turned to you as he pours himself another glass as you wordlessly leave.

[lqfiles]

PAY THE PRICE — 29. a moment of vulnerability

(wc: 2.281)

much to your surprise, haechan’s door was already left unlocked by the time you reached it. your hand halted at the immediate unlock of it, and you hesitantly moved it open afterwards, your confusion growing more prominent with each step inside. it wasn’t typical for haechan to leave his door unlocked, especially at night from the experiences you’ve had with him.

as you entered further into the apartment, an unusual sense of eerie and a strange stillness hit you. a muddle expression formed on your face, and you looked around the dark living room, a feeling of familiarity following as you did so. your first thought was to look at the spot you remembered haechan to be seated at last time you had visited him during the night hours.

“haechan?” you didn’t expect the tone of your voice to be so soft as you called out his name. haechan, who was sat on the couch instead of the floor, didn’t acknowledge your words, letting them echo into the void. “i know you have my stuff, asshole.” you lightly complained, attempting to stir a reaction out of him who had yet to look up.

he remained strangely silent, barely moving. you took more careful steps into the place, slowly making your way towards the middle of the room where he was. standing next to the couch, you contemplated on what exactly to do. “are you asleep?” you whispered carefully, somewhat worried that you’d wake him up. you’ve never seen haechan this silent, let alone this motionless.

haechan shook his head, breaking the motionless trance he was in. his hands were still crossed over one another and his head was still looking down at his lap. “are you.. you okay?” the question felt foreign as it left the tip of your tongue. it remained in the air and was left unanswered for approximately 10 seconds. you didn’t expect haechan to talk, but he did. “i don’t know.. maybe.” his voice croaked. you don’t think you’ve ever heard such a sound come from haechan.

you expected him to dismiss it, and now you were put in an awkward position. were you the right person to ask him to elaborate? you’re relationship with him wasn’t that strong, let alone anything friendly in your eyes. still, you had already intruded his place without his consent, maybe the least you owed him was an ear to listen. “wanna talk about it?” you sighed out with reluctance.

haechan’s sigh followed soon after as he finally looked up, making eye content with you. the first thing you took notice of was the tired look in his eyes, almost as if he hadn’t been sleeping for the past few days. before you could analyse his face any further, he spoke. “i just got a lot on my mind.” he started, fiddling with his fingers.

“about what?” you reluctantly asked again. realistically, you’re not sure if you cared or wanted to know the answer. but based of his body language alone, you could tell something was bothering him, and call yourself foolish, but if there was anything bigger than your foolishness, it was your sense of empathy.

“life? i’ve just been very.. what’s the right word.. lost?” haechan continued. you eyed the empty spot next to him, contemplating the decision on whether or not to take the seat. you obliged, if you were to stick around for a story time, you at least deserve to actually sit through it. you sat down and nodded for haechan to continue. “what about life?”

“i’m just.. I don’t know, i’ve just been wondering where i’m heading to with life.” he confessed, and the answer took you by surprise. “why’s that?” you questioned, growing intrigued. haechan pondered for a moment, his hands now limp on his lap. “it’s stupid.. i think seeing jaehyun do well in life just has me questioning my own course in life, i guess i feel somewhat discouraged?” haechan admitted and the mention of jaehyun piqued your interest, though you tried to not show it.

“i don’t get it, do you want to be like jaehyun?” you asked in confusion. your conclusion behind haechan’s sullen mood seemed to bother him. he shook his head with a soft groan. “no, i don’t want to be like him, but i also do. its not that i want to have the fame jaehyun has or be known as an outstanding singer.. it’s more like.. i want to stand out too.” haechan explained, gnawing his lips.

“why do you think you don’t stand out?” you inquired with your head tilted in confusion. haechan glanced your way before shutting his eyes softly, re-opening them shortly after. “well, now i stand out yeah, but i don’t like the way i stand out, it’s not me.” haechan groaned in exasperation, yet you remained confused.

“i don’t get it, what’s the issue?” you questioned once more, growing more intrigued by his complaints.

“of course you don’t get it, because you don’t know me (—). you probably think you do, but you don’t.” haechan deeply sighed, it seemed like he was really tired, whether it be in general or because of your continuing questions. you remained silent, not sure how to respond back to his words. haechan took the silence as an opportunity to continue.

“i’ll let you know a bit about me then. did you know that the only reason why i’m even attached to my guitar is because i believe it’s the only reason people show interest in me?” haechan stared ahead of him, arms loosely crossed. “i do know what it’s like to not stand out because i had always remained as the one everyone would choose second because i had nothing to offer. does that make sense to you?” with a slight twist, haechan shot you a quick glance before turning his gaze back to it previous focus.

“its funny because i thought, maybe, if i pick up on a trait such as learning the guitar, people would take more interest in me and i’d get their validation. which worked in my benefit, surprisingly. who knew everyone could be so into the rockstar boyfriend fantasy?” he chuckled almost bitterly. you slightly gaped at the confession, too stunned to form a proper reaction.

“its why i liked to be called haechan, and why no one aside from yangyang jaehyun and renjun get to call me by my real name, because they don’t actually care about the real me. they like haechan.” haechan’s arms unwrapped from each other, gesturing up and down the length of his body to emphasise his point. “they like haechan, the guy who plays the guitar and is nonchalant, not donghyuck, the guy behind him who always comes second.”

haechan’s tone was undoubtedly bitter, and he paused for a moment. “so, do you get it?”

“..i’m sorry to hear that.” was all you could come up with in the moment, your expression doing enough to showcase your honesty. haechan didn’t response, instead he brushed his fingers through his hair with a lack of energy. “but what about karina? she calls you donghyuck?” you wondered. haechan let the question hang in the air for a bit before he answered.

“because i never told karina any of my issues, why would i? she was a short talking stage, i was still figuring myself out as donghyuck and cut her off once i wanted to start fresh. i didn’t want a memory of the old me to be left behind, except for those i actually care about. i don’t care about karina.” haechan answered truthfully with no hesitation.

once again, you weren’t sure how to carry on from that. what was an appropriate question to ask in such an instance? there was an underlying hostility in his words, yet you could also sense the rawness and misery in them. your empathy truly got the best of you, and you prepared yourself for the speech you were about to give.

“this is probably going to sound weird coming from me.. but i’m sure there are many people who admire you.” you started. “i won’t lie, i hate your guitar, a lot, but you’re not bad at it, i guess.. you could say i admire that, or something.” you averted your gaze, staring ahead just like he did.

“i dont know, it seems to me like you’re scared of people liking you for who you really are which is why you’re putting up this front.” haechan’s face contorted into a frown. “now you’re just twisting my words.” he laughed, and you softly chuckled too. “what i’m trying to say is that i doubt people wouldn’t put you first if you remained true to yourself, for all you know, someone could’ve been madly in love with you for being donghyuck. why change yourself for others if it doesn’t make you happy?”

silence overlook again and you believed that you had hit a sensitive topic. “but it does make me happy.” haechan admitted after a minute, his voice merely a whisper. “so you’re happy being someone you’re not?” you repeated bewildered and haechan shrugged. “maybe.” he answered honestly.

“and you’re happy talking to girls as someone you’re not?” you continued.

“i like the feeling of being wanted.” haechan responded.

“okay, but playing with people’s hearts is not nice.” you argued back. haechan shrugged again. “i never said i’m trying to be nice, life hasn’t been that kind to me either.” he stated simply, crossing his arms over each other again. his persistent mindset shocked you, and you swiftly turned your body to face his.

“listen, i know we’re not that close for me to tell you what to do, but, stop doubting yourself, it’s weird.” you sighed in annoyance. “you’re interesting as you are and i don’t think a guitar would change that much. you’re scared that people will put you second, but you’re not even giving people the chance to put you first by being yourself. wouldn’t it be worse if people found out you’ve been putting up a persona this whole time? that you’re name isn’t even haechan?”

“what are you trying to say (—)” haechan had turned his head to look at you “you’re too harsh on yourself. whether you’re haechan or donghyuck, it shouldn’t matter. if people don’t like you for who you really are, then they’re not worth your time. also, you’re leading girls on by seeking their attention, it’s not nice.” you stated with determination, and haechan couldn’t hold back the smile that was forming on his face.

“why are you getting all serious about that.” he scoffed out a laugh, and the room started to feel more lively. his face seemed to have softened, and you internally let out a sigh of relief, for some reason. “i think everyone has their destined person that’s perfect for them, it’s kinda sad that you’re leading these girls on and making them think you’re their perfect match when you’re not even serious.”

haechan let out another soft laugh, and this time, he sat himself up more proper before turning to face you again. “okay, do you think you’ve met your perfect match?” his stare felt strong as they locked with your eyes and for a moment you remained speechless, lost in the intensity of them. “i don’t know.” you answer back truthfully. haechan nodded his eyes, keeping his eyes locked with yours. “and do you think we could be a perfect match?” and the question took you by surprise, your mouth ajar as you tried to come up with an answer.

“god forbid.” haechan chuckled at your response, and the rapid beating of your heart slowed. “i’m surprised you told me all this, you know. i thought you didn’t like me.” you admitted. haechan’s eyebrows raised at the assumption and he swallowed.

“i just wanted to be vulnerable for the night, knowing i wouldn’t confess to this stuff any other day. its nice to get stuff off your mind from time to time.” it hit you then why everything felt so weird this particular night. because haechan, the guy who barely crossed the friend status, was being vulnerable, with you of all people.

“we aren’t exactly friends.. but you can get stuff off your chest with me if you need to.” you offered haechan, and genuine surprise overtook his features. “why would you do that?” you shrugged, looking down at your own intertwined hands. “isn’t it better to tell someone who couldn’t care less about you than someone who does?”

“i didn’t know you could be nice like this.” haechan chuckled after some time. you scoffed in offence, looking back up at him. “I don’t know what image of me you have in your head, but i’d never make fun of someone’s vulnerability.” you defended yourself. haechan shook his head. “that’s not what i meant.” he corrected.

“i know, but being nice doesn’t have to be limited to friends. its nice to be nice… even towards insufferable people like you.” you continued to defend yourself and haechan’s perked up at your words. “are you saying we can’t be friends?” he wondered, his surprise masked by the tired look that had returned.

you attempted to remain unbothered by his inquiry, nonchalantly shrugging your shoulders. “do you want to be friends?” you proposed with hidden curiosity. haechan stuck his hand out towards you, silently waiting. you hesitated before essentially gripping onto it, his own hand shaking your clasped hands.

“i‘ll give you your utensils when i wake up, i’m tired.” haechan yawned before getting up from his couch and walking towards his room. you got up yourself, making your way towards the door with your mind in a haze. your hand was on the handle of his front door, and before you could open it, haechan’s voice called for you.

“just.. you can call me donghyuck too, if you want, since you know it already.”

previous — master list — next

notes ; angsty… anyways sozz i was kinda living life and had no motivation but i’ll try~ proofread this once so sozz for any grammar mistakes

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[cumikering]

Neighbour Ghost x reader 7

2.3k | angst, drinking irresponsibly If Simon could do it all again (part 1) (part 8/end)

“You don’t look good, sir.” The sergeant stood at attention, looking straight into his lieutenant’s eyes.

Simon had to commend the balls of Kevlar required to walk right up to him to point the fact out unprompted, but that was why he liked Sgt. Eric Jefferies the most. You had no time to waste when you raced with death on the regular - he would tell anyone they didn’t look good.

He knew he didn’t - it was the same bland face he had the pleasure to look at in the mirror each day. Annoyed, but not surprised by the darkening circles under his eyes, stark against his pale complexion. It didn’t help that he nicked himself in the jaw shaving that morning.

“Dining hall, sergeant,” he grunted.

“You’re barely eating, Riley,” Lt. Ramsay said, the same bloke who’d catch him sneaking back to his room. “You know you’re contributing to the food waste when you don’t ask for seconds, yeah?”

It was true, and the table chuckled, but Simon continued to shove whatever was on his plate into his mouth. It was enough to not starve.

“He never leaves his room anymore, not even on the weekends,” another lieutenant quipped, but was promptly elbowed by the officer next to him.

That, too, was true.

Simon had nowhere else to be, like how it always was before his mum came to Hereford. These days his flat was too empty and cold with the hole in his chest. He never came back after that night.

It wasn’t like he was thriving in his quarters either, but it was still a little better – at least it was untouched by you. Though his nights were dreamless at first, he kept waking, and waking until the dreams started.

It was a glitch in the universe, wasn’t it? That the memory that played in his mind to insanity was the last time he saw you, about crawling back to your door with limbs that didn’t feel like his, vision swaying with the lights, coming on and off, his heartbeat ringing in his head.

It’s not supposed to end this way… I want to try…

He sighed at another disturbed night. Tea would slow his mind. Instead, he found the box of Darjeeling you gifted him to take back to base. ‘So we can have the same tea over the phone,’ you’d said.

Was there a way to escape you, make you stop haunting? He needed an exorcism.

He put it back in his drawer. One day, it wouldn’t have to hurt anymore.

And the nightmares came back. It was once, then twice, and thrice a week of waking up in cold sweat in the dark.

Simon’s performance slipped. There was a reason sleep deprivation was a popular torture method. He requested sleeping medications - his career was the last thing he had and he wasn’t about to let it go. Any unrestful sleep interrupted by the vivid images his sickly mind conjured up was still better than no sleep at all.

Quitting you was impossible when the thoughts still followed. If pushing you away didn’t work, maybe basking in the memories would, even if it hurt more. Aching for your warmth, the scraps of it, he’d go anywhere you’d been to see your ghost. The pain was better than the void.

“You lads are volunteering at the soup kitchen this Saturday,” he announced to Sgt. Jefferies after hours.

“Saturday, sir?”

“It’s good for you. Reminds you why you’re doing all this.”

“Can’t tell me what to do,” he teased. “You’re not my L.T. on the weekends.”

Simon’s stare didn’t waver and the other bloke’s smile dropped.

“Copy, sir. I’ll tell the others.”

When the four burly SAS soldiers entered the kitchen, chatter and clanks stalled as all eyes turned to them.

“May… May I help you young lads?” one of the middle-aged ladies said.

Simon recognised her from his last visit, but he quickly realised this was a silly idea. He was out of place, knowing no one there.

He flashed half a smile. “Just wanted to give a hand. Got any lifting to do?”

The lieutenant and his sergeants hauled the food items to the kitchen, including the bread which he taught his sergeants to half and butter. They were offered to peel potatoes, but Simon decided it was wise to leave it to the pros instead.

People still avoided his gaze while his boys exchanged pleasantries with the other volunteers; Eric even got called handsome by the group of older ladies he impressed with his strength as he hefted the sack of potatoes. While the night was as pleasant, it wasn’t the same if you weren’t there to hold his hand and laugh at his jokes.

When the boys invited Simon to the pub at the end of the night, he said no. He thought he was ready, but even after weeks, coming back to his flat was just as sickening.

The silence pierced. Despite all the lights flicked on, the place made his skin crawl, the space too vast and empty. But he didn’t become a lieutenant from succumbing to his emotions.

As he lay in bed, he recalled that you too slept there once. That the mattress once dipped with the gentle weight of you, but unlike the bed that bounced back, you’d left a lasting imprint that disfigured his soul.

Simon wondered what you were up to, if you knew he was there drowning, miserable in his cold room. He couldn’t decide if he preferred your door to be closer or further: closer so he could catch a glimpse of you without meaning to, or further so he wouldn’t be so tempted to go over and get on his knees.

You said begging only reduced you to nothing, but for you, he’d beg and beg. There wasn’t much to lose when he wasn’t much to begin with. He was a stray for a reason.

He tossed and turned, and was granted a wink of sleep before the same bloody dream flashed in his mind.

I don’t care how hard it gets…

He sat up, feet thudding on the floor as he rubbed his face with a heavy sigh. It was always that one moment, like a broken record. Why couldn’t it be you on a night out, or kissing you on the kitchen counter, or simply, you smiling? It was a curse. If only the heart could follow where one’s feet went.

With no plans on coming here, his sleeping pills lay on his desk at base. He looked through the cabinets to distract himself, finding various bottles of dusty, unopened spirits he was gifted. They weren’t his cup of tea.

So he packed, to get his mind off you, from spiralling and digging a deeper grave for itself.

It was time for a change. With the accommodation he was provided, he never needed to rent, but he did anyway in case his mum ever needed the place. It was a good call he did, but with the divorce on the way, keeping it was pointless. He’d rather spend the extra money on his mum and nephew.

Yes, he came to remember- not to forget, but you wouldn’t leave, would you? In the dead of night, when he pulled the hoodie he’d forgotten about out of his wardrobe, he decided he’d had enough of his bloody flat and drove back to base.

He still had another weekend to before his next deployment, a two-month mission. He’d finish packing then.

“You’re right, sir, it feels good volunteering.” Eric grinned at his lieutenant. “We’re going again tomorrow. Also one of the ladies is introducing her daughter to Sam. See you there then?”

Never again. “Dining hall, sergeant.”

Simon was a fool for not finishing his lunch sooner and bolting, instead lingering for the announcement. With how atrocious he did on his tests, he must have been beyond high to still hope for a miracle, that despite everything, he still had a chance at a promotion.

He didn’t make to the top 3.

Amidst the wishes from the table, Lt. Ramsay’s turned to him. His grateful smile faltered.

Simon’s fists clenched. It was supposed to be him, his. But who was he to be mad. It was the fruit of his incompetence. He knew this was coming. Things were going to shit. The unforgiving truth was staring right at him mercilessly: he had nothing else.

He left for his office.

“Sir, sir!” Sgt. Jefferies called. “We’re heading to the pub tonight. Come with us.”

He gritted his teeth. Word travelled too fast.

“Let’s get out of the base for a bit,” he continued when he caught up to his long strides. “It’s the last weekend before we ship out.”

Simon eyed the display of vibrant bottles behind the bar as he listened to his sergeants’ orders, the names foreign to him. Above, the telly showed a rugby match rerun no one paid attention to.

“Jefferies, how much you reckon it takes me to get pissed?”

He chuckled. “You, sir? At least 10,” he said before taking a swig of his beer.

“Nah, 15 sounds more like it.” Richie, the designated driver for the evening piped up.

Sam downed his first two shots, hissing as he slammed the glasses on the bar. “Agreed. Do you know how much he lifts?” He nodded at Simon’s biceps, bulging under his loose black shirt.

It was a genuine question. Simon didn’t want to get pissed, he only wanted to forget. He didn’t mean to go over his limit he had no idea was at seven.

Drunk Simon was a weeping, blabbering mess. It didn’t help that he was massive, because his sergeants had trouble getting him to the car before Richie drove him to the address of his flat he barely managed to gurgle out before passing out.

“Sir, you’re paying for the bloody cleaning if you get sick in my car!”

Why did he think this was a good idea? He was never a drinker, barely even touched alcohol socially. It was the poison that turned his dad into a demon, and it too became his downfall. The only thing he thought he would always have – his resolve, let him down too. He’d lost you, his mum whom he was supposed to protect, his future, and now his dignity.

Desperation was a lethal sentiment.

And that dream came again, that he stumbled to your door. Legs wobbly, his vision in and out as the world spun in slow motion.

“Luv… Luv, it’s not supposed to end like this,” he slurred, the same line he always opened with.

A marionette, a prisoner in his own head, it was a loop he couldn’t escape. The awful show had to commence to end the same way each time.

“I’m sick of losing and I wouldn’t know what to do when you leave, after how much you’ve given. Instead, I left when you needed me. I should have been there for you, gone through all this with you, no matter how hard it got.

“If you would give me a chance, I’ll quit the SAS. I’d start all over again. I’ll butcher the carrots and apples with the bloody peeler, I’ll let the steakhouse mess up our reservation and eat a dozen soapy tacos… If you ever show up at my door with your pie again, I swear I’d kiss you, not scare you. And I’ll never let go. If it has to hurt, I want it to be you.”

The door clicked open, and like how it always went, it meant the dream was coming to an end.

“You make it worth it,” he muttered as his vision faded.

…

Simon gasped for air, this time staring up at blinding lights. He shielded his wet eyes, chuckling to himself.

“Bloody hell, I think I’m sick on the inside.”

“Only your past, but you are not your past.” Your voice echoed in the distance.

His body was too heavy to move. “Could you forgive me, for all of this?”

“Could you? You need to forgive more than you need to be forgiven.”

He laughed as another tear slipped.

Simon woke on his couch, still in his clothes from the night before. Dreaming of you always drained him, leaving him hollow and out of touch with his body.

He sat up with a groan, rubbing his face as the dizziness settled. He didn’t remember much after getting dragged to Richie’s car. Judging by the gnarly bruise on his arm, he probably fell last night, but he was glad he found his way back to his flat in one piece.

Stumbling to the shower, he hissed when his toe stubbed one of the boxes on the floor. It was a horrendous decision to drink so much, still having to pack the rest of his stuff. He leaned over the sink, staring at his bloodshot eyes.

His sergeant was right. He didn’t look good. He never did. What the fuck are you doing to yourself, Riley?

With his hair damp, he made his way to the kitchen. As he realised he’d packed all his tea stash in one of the bloody boxes, a series of knocks echoed in his flat.

He grumbled. It better be important for someone to disturb his peace, especially with the pounding of his head. He couldn’t be bothered putting a shirt on before he swung the door open.

It was you, a pie in hand like the first time he met you all those months ago.

“Hi, is Simon in?”

His heart lurched as he crushed you in a hug.

“Thought you said you were going to kiss me.”

@tiredmetalenthusiast @shadofireshinobi @keegansshark @two-gh0sts @eve-lie @lyenera @luvecarson @jaguarthecat @knight4xmas @unwrittenletter @mxtokko @reaperxxxxzz @footyandformula @opalesquegirl @audisive @sparrowgalaxy @fanficreblogs @strawberrystargal @damalseer @onlineoutcast @alright-i-guesss @maresoleil @mehjustalasshere @rrtxcmt

[circeyoru]

Loyalty of The Shadow

[Sung Jin-Woo x Friend!Reader]

Part 1 (here) — Part 2

“Huh?” You blinked with a questioned gaze while Jinwoo tried his best to get you to see something that wasn’t there. You wondered if he hit his head or if he still wasn’t back to his senses from the double dungeon he survived. There he is, trying to tell you about some system that would help him level up and sent him to the desert just because he didn’t finish his daily quest.

Though, with how desperate Jinwoo was, you just nodded and tried to understand and sympathize with him. Even when you lack the knowledge of what was going on and what he was talking about. What you thought was a phase turned out to be wrong as he continued his ‘daily missions’ from the system. When you urged him to rest, he told you ‘no’ and continued even though he was exhausted. So you stood by him and encouraged him when he was about to give up. 

It might have been a few days or maybe a week or so when you were too busy with your life that you missed some visits to Jinwoo here and there, but when you got back to him, he was different.

No, that was an understatement.

He was taller, buffer, and more handsome? Well, he was cute before, but now he was all mature and hot. Not that you’ll admit it. When you first saw him again, you blankly told him, “Sorry, can I have your number?”

“Huh? It’s me! Sung Jinwoo.”

“Haha, nice joke. But I’m going to snatch you up before anyone. Jinwoo would understand, I’m sure.”

Until now, he still thought you were playing a joke on him and didn’t recognize him. Since his sister recognized him and just said he gone abs and got taller. Your reaction was unexpected and it got Jinwoo fearing. If you were to meet another person more handsome than him, would you do the same advances. 

You’re not that shallow, while you would ask for numbers, you don’t actually do anything with them and just let it be a moment where you refreshed yourself. You knew handsome people were out of your league. It was funny, however, when Jinwoo was calling to ask if you had someone in mind from time to time. You told him countless times that you never made romantic advances to anyone (including him sadly). 

But back to his little secret of leveling up. You believed it when he showed you how strong he was at a training center, destroying all the dummys and targets with ease. That wasn’t the best part. To you, the best part was that he had someone to rely on while he was in battles and raids. 

You’ve long heard of the rumoured ‘lizards’ among the Hunters, them using weaker and lower ranked Hunters to use as bait for the monsters within the gates, then keeping the benefits and money for themselves. Truly wicked people. 

As Jinwoo’s title as the weakest was latched onto him for the longest time, you can’t help but worry everytime he went to a raid. Abusing your connections, you’d keep an eye out for Hunters that would take advantage of Jinwoo, luckily, he soon found a crew that would welcome him and help him. You were furious when those same people felt Jinwoo in that double dungeon.

Now, Jinwoo has a loyal group that would stand by his side. The Shadow Army. 

When Jinwoo first summoned them before you, he told them they have to listen to your commands as well. You hummed and made them do silly things, even had them acting like slaves and to treat Jinwoo like the king he is. Even though they would do so without your demands. Jinwoo didn’t stop your madness but he did question why you were doing all that. 

In the end, you voided all your commands and had them all kneel before Jinwoo while he was seated in an armchair. You stood by his side and smiled while you poked Jinwoo’s cheek, “Please watch over Jinwoo in my stead while he’s in battles I can’t join. You guys are the ones he can truly rely on everywhere and anywhere.”

His Shadows all bowed their heads while Jinwoo looked at you with an expression you can’t understand. 

The day came and Jinwoo was reevaluated for his rank, no surprise that he made an error of things. Korea’s 10th S-Rank Hunter, you already knew the headlines would be a buzz with such a talented man. You were waiting for the day that people would name him the strongest and not the weakest. And laughed like mad did you when his silly expression was broadcasted to the news. 

“Igris! He looks so silly!! Hahahhaa!!” You laughed to the point you nearly fell but the loyal knight caught you, still you didn’t stop laughing your head off. “Look at that face!”

With that reveal and look, you forgive him for not telling you about his little mining incident with the Hunters Guild. While it wasn’t his intention to reveal himself, he did catch the attention of a certain S-Rank Hunter. You egged him so long if he felt anything for her, to which he said no and told you to drop it. You shrugged and that was the last conversation you two had before he went for another dungeon raid arranged by the system he has. 

You were in the hospital looking after Jinwoo’s mother when he suddenly appeared with a serious look on his face, in his hand, he held something. You left the room and let him have his time with his mother, you stayed in the hallway and just waited. You waited until an hour or two passed before you entered the room again, you nearly dropped the beraverage in your hands when you saw what you did. 

“Sh.” Her angelic figure gave you a soft smile while a finger was raised to her lips to make a shush motion, you noticed her other hand combing through Jinwoo’s hair meanwhile the man was out cold by his mother’s side. 

You nodded and turned to manage the paperworks so Jinwoo could leave with his mother without delay when he wakes, you also called Jinah and just said ‘come to the hospital’ without any elaboration. Truly, it’s a day to celebrate. 

“This is a giant ant.” You stared at the ant Shadow in front of you named Beru.

“Kekekeke…”

“Can I leave him with you and maybe have you teach him how to act normal?” Jinwoo asked as you turned away from the Shadow. 

“Why does he need that? He’ll listen what you say anyways.” Your head tilted with confusion. 

“He was a killing machine before and I just… It’s a pre-caution.” Jinwoo sighed. 

You smirked, “Hmm… No take backs though.”

Jinwoo nodded, “I have full faith in your teachings.” And with that he left you with Beru.

You turned to the ant who was still standing and towering over you. “Hmm, so the first thing you need to understand.” Beru’s head tilted, “Is that Jinwoo is a King above all Kings.”

“Kekekekekeke!!” 

“Jinwoo is the only one that can save the world if it’s ever in anymore crisis.”

“Kekekekekeke!!”

“So, you need to address him with the right he has. Since you’re the only one he can talk to at the moment, you must lead by example.” 

“Kekeke!”

You smirked, “Let’s start with some titles.”

Well, teaching Beru was a bit hard since he only communicates with monster, or insect, tongue. But you had this feeling that Beru was an excellent student and he learned everything that you taught him. You knew Beru doesn’t disappoint. 

“So, is there a reason why Beru calls me ‘My Liege’ and speaks all… weird like to me?” Jinwoo questioned while you two were enjoying a lunch at his usual spot, Korean BBQ.

“Hm? I just taught him the normal stuff.” You spoke as you cooked a piece of meat. “I don’t exactly know what he says as a response since it’s all insect noises that comes out for me.”

“Huh?”

“Huh?”

“You can’t understand them?” Jinwoo looked at you in disbelief.

“You don’t know I can’t understand them?” You looked back at him in confusion.

“I thought you could understand all this time.” Jinwoo exclaimed in mild panic. “Because you were understanding them so well and they were following your words easily!”

Your head tilted, “I just read the mood. Plus we all have one thing in mind.”

Jinwoo’s face twisted to a look of denial. “What thing?”

“Serving you like the king you are!”

Jinwoo could feel the Shadows shifting and cheering from your words while you remained ignorant of what you’ve done. He was thankful that you can’t understand them while you were peacefully cooking your food and bumping some into his bowl and he was trying to calm down from the words of his soldiers. 

“The Queen is right!”

“When are you going to make a move?”

“I want to serve the Queen!”

“My Liege, your Queen is perfect!”

Jinwoo would agree that you’re perfect and he has been waiting for the moment he confesses to you, but he can’t seem to find the right timing or place when he was that busy with his S-Rank. He knows that more than just calling you his, he wants to make you his.

“Soon.”

“Huh? You said something?” You looked up to see his smile. 

Jinwoo chuckled and gave you a toast, “Nothing, just answering something my Shadows said.”

Note: Haha. Shh. I'm in another fandom. Originally I wasn't going to post this story until my writing motivation stayed longer and I had more pieces, but I was encouraged by a friend of mine @forbidden-sunlight to. And here it is! Hope you enjoyed this~

Circe Y. 

My Works: MASTERLIST

[wwilloww]

sh. | chapter twenty two | pjm

PAIRING ot7 x reader RATING Explicit. 18+. GENRE smut. fluff. angst. nonidol au. wildnerness au. roommates au. friends to lovers. SUMMARY Six months of quarantine have kept you apart. Somehow the distance sparks something new in each of you: questions, unfinished conversations, threads once chased now left cold. So when your roommate invites you to come with him to a mysterious house in the mountains with your friends, how could you even think of saying no? WC 4.8k WARNINGS AND TAGS no use of gendered pronouns to refer to reader. consensual objectification. d/s dynamic. over the panty sex (is this just called dry humping?) fucktoy-ification? teasing. orgasm denial.

AN hi :) i'm so sorry i made you wait so long for this. it's been a rollercoaster these last two years, and i hope you can forgive me for my long absence. if you enjoyed this chapter, i'd love to hear from you: what stuck out to you, what you're hoping will happen in future chapters, or just how you've been. i've missed you. and, as always, thank you for reading <3

← || series m.list || →

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO: RULE BREAKER

You don’t talk or think much about your childhood. You like to imagine that when you turned eighteen those years whispered away into the ether of time, as irrelevant and dusty as the old photobook that stays on the shelf, eternally unopened. 

As a child, home was multiplied and many. It was the many places you lived, as you moved often, following your father around with his job. But it was also many in the sense that you learned at a young age that home didn’t have to be a place you lived. Home was between the worn and finger-marred pages of the books you fell in love with, home was the wisping scent of fresh (if not often burnt) pastry in your grandmother’s kitchen each time you visited, home was the place you yearned to travel to but never made the time to visit. 

But as you close the book in your hands, the words echo in your mind: 

Are you going to come home? 

You feel far away from home, even though you find a great deal of comfort in the walls of Namjoon’s mountain house. Ahem, mansion. Confusion riddles little holes of worry through you. Where is home, anyways? The small apartment you left empty in the city? The question opens a void in you. Why bother with home anyways? Sure, home could be anything if you tried hard enough, but couldn’t the opposite be true too? That if you tried hard enough, you wouldn’t need a home?

Still, void and all, the question nudges you. 

Unsettled, you clamber down the tree and make your way back towards the house. The sun has risen higher in the sky and breaks through the chill ever so slightly. Worried that you’ve just abandoned Jimin this morning and that he’ll wake up alone, you quicken your pace. You creak the door open, waving at Jungkook and Jin and Taehyung in the kitchen, who are huddled over the coffee, waiting for it to finish brewing. 

“A watched pot never boils,” you call out to them, noting that Jungkook looks a little cheerier than he had the past several days. Jin’s hand rests on Jungkook’s lower back and a little wave of joy jolts through you as the older man throws you a little smile. 

“Watching it actually makes it go faster,” Jungkook says, his eyes glued to the coffee. “A little motivation and encouragement always lends a helping hand.” 

You smile at that and continue making your way towards Jimin’s bedroom. You pass one room—a gym of sorts filled with a few cardio machines, a set of free weights, and a large mirror, and you’re surprised you didn’t notice it before—and pause. 

Namjoon is spotting Hoseok as the latter bench presses what looks like an unreasonably heavy weight. 

As you watch them, the dream from last night floods back to you. 

The music filtering through the night. The tightness of each man’s grip on you as they spun you through the ballroom, the floorboards creaking beneath you, the high of attention sitting heady in your chest. 

And too, you can’t forget, the way they stared at each other in single-minded competition, hackles raised, teeth gritted. You can’t forget the darkness that swirled at their feet, and you wonder too, if you’re letting your dream drift into the world of the living too.

But here they are, fondly smiling at one another. Had you made it all up? Well, of course you made it up. It was a regency-era dream for god's sake. But the tension? The competition? As Namjoon helps Hoseok lower the weights to the bar and hauls him to his feet, you’re sure it’s all in your head. 

“Nice, man,” Namjoon says, grinning and clasping Hoseok on the back. 

Before they see you, you continue on. Just as you’re about to open the door to the bedroom you’ve been searching for, it swings open before you. Jimin steps out. 

“Oh. You’re awake!” you say.

“I am indeed.” 

“I’m sorry I left this morning—“ 

“It’s okay,” he says, but there’s a tinge of sadness in his voice, a little dust mote of it that you catch. 

“I went to go read in a tree,” you offer quickly as an explanation, hoping it will make up for the disappointment of waking up alone after not spending a night together in a while. 

“In a tree?” 

“In a tree,” you confirm. 

He chuckles. “That seems like a good enough reason to abandon me. I gotta be honest though—“ He steps closer, lets his gaze flicker down, and toys with the hem of your shirt. “I was looking forward to waking up beside you.” 

“Were you?” you smile. 

“I was. I was even looking forward to potentially getting to wake you up.” He says it with a mischievous grin. 

“Oh? And how would you have woken me up?”

His hand drifts lower, beneath the band of your leggings. “You know, it’s really easier to show you, rather than tell you—” His hands pause. “What’s this?” Jimin sends you a knowing look. 

“What?” Your mind sputters as you struggle to come up with what he might be talking about. But he steps closer to you, a hand drifting down to your hips, a finger pulling your shirt up. With his other hand he plucks at the band of your panties. 

“This,” he emphasizes. 

“Oh.” 

You’d nearly forgotten the promise you’d made to Jimin. But now it all comes rushing back, how he’d made you promise in those early days in the house to forgo any underwear. At the time it’d been a silly dare, but the seriousness in his eyes makes you reconsider. 

“What? Do I have to remind you every day?” he says gently. “Or perhaps I haven’t been spending enough time around you, and you’ve forgotten your promise to me?”

“N-no,” you say. “I mean maybe. Maybe I want you around more.” You sidle up to him, running a finger up his chest. “Maybe… I want you to remind me.” 

Jimin steps closer to you, pressing you against the bedroom door. You gasp when he leans in close, close enough to kiss you, but doesn’t. 

“I think you forget too quickly that  I told you there’d be a punishment if you ‘forgot’ about our little rule.” 

“Oh?” You tilt your head as you look at him. “What kind of punishment?” Panties or not, it seems like you win. 

“Like I mentioned earlier, I think I’d rather show you than explain it to you. Let’s just say I’m a hands-on kind of teacher.” 

You think he’s going to kiss you, but instead he presses close, his lips a centimeter away from yours, his hands cupping your cheeks before wandering down to explore your body. You reach for him, struggle to bring his lips to yours, but he shifts his attention elsewhere, leaving you hanging. His hands rove over your body, his lips dip out of reach. So you change your plan of attack too. You let your hands wander over him. When you feel his breath quicken against you, you release him, dipping your head below his chin.

You glide your lips down Jimin’s neck, slow and intentional; a calculated move. You let your breath whisper against his skin, and you can’t help but think back to that night with Yoongi and Namjoon in which sensation—even the lightest of touches—had meant so much to you. To your body. You want to play Jimin like they played you. 

His hands tighten in your shirt, knuckles whitening. 

“Inside,” he gasps, and the desperation in his voice makes you think that he’s lost a bit of his fine-tuned control. His eyes are blown wide. He looks like he could eat you up. “Inside,” he repeats, but enacts the command himself as he pulls you through the door with him, making it sound a little more like a plea than you think he intends.

The pair of you tumble onto the bed, a mess of limbs and lips, teeth, hands. 

He captures your lips, finally, kissing you. The kiss is anything but gentle, nearing the edge of pain, his teeth knocking against yours, nipping at your lips. You groan into his mouth as his hips cant against you. 

It’s not long before he begins to tug at your clothes. 

Then he pauses, lifting your head from his lips. You’re sprawled atop him and you lift yourself up on your hands. 

“What?” you inquire curiously.

“I’m going to ask you to do something.” 

“Alright.”

With a leveled gaze, he says, “Strip.” 

He pushes you off of him, and you kneel at the foot of the bed, pausing a second, before making the executive decision to stand and undress. It’ll be more, well, graceful that way, you think. The alternative is flopping around on the sheets like a beached hammerhead shark trying to get your pants off. 

So you do as you’re told. There’s something about undressing before him, as he leans back against the headboard, watching you. There’s something about undressing for him, while he watches on, his gaze drinking you in that has sparks running through your body.

Slowly, slowly you slip off your top, and wiggle your leggings off your legs. You try to make it a little sexy, glancing up at him from time to time, to find that warm darkness swirling in his gaze that you love so much. You trip once, because you’re staring too much. 

“Keep the panties on,” he says when you go to pull them down.  

“Oh. Okay.”  Your brow furrows and you can’t help but let a little bit of the disappointment you’re feeling into your voice. You’re a little confused why he would ask you to keep them on when they were the problem that started all of this. 

He stands then, walking towards you. You hold your breath. He finally arrives before you and places his hands on your hips. His fingers toy with the trim of the panties, and goosebumps race along your skin from the delicate touch. 

“What are you going to do?” you ask, your voice breathy.

“You’ll see.” 

With that he hooks a finger under the band of your underwear and lets it snap against your skin. You cry out, more in surprise than anything else. 

“Did that hurt?” 

“No, not really.” 

“Good.” He grins. “Now, I want you to be honest.” 

“I’m always honest.” You correct yourself: “Most of the time. Most of the time I’m always honest.” 

Jimin chuckles at that. 

“Fair enough. But I need your most-of-the-time-always honesty now.” You nod, your hand drifting upward to grip his forearm. 

“Of course.” 

“I want to try something out with you. Something new.” 

“New?”

“A new kind of play.”

Your mind reels with the possibilities. What could he possibly suggest? Chastity kink? Tittyfucking? Technojizz? Ballcuzzi?  

“I want to use you like a toy,” he whispers. “I want to fuck you like a toy. I want to talk to you like a toy, treat you like one.” Your eyes widen when he says it. His eyes go wide too, drinking in your every microexpression, as he waits for you to respond. 

“A toy?” 

“Yes.”

“Where did this come from?” you say it with a little smile, and trace your finger along his jawline. He relaxes at the touch. 

“I saw the way you reacted during group play. When Jin was talking to you, saying things like, ‘You want to be our slut. You want to be our whore.’” Just hearing Jimin repeating Jin’s words sends a shiver through your body. “He didn’t say it like I would have said it, but I knew he wanted to.” He presses his lips to your ear while his hands rove over your body. “You want to be our toy, don’t you?”  

The answer is easy. “Yes.” 

“You want to be used by us, don’t you?” 

“Y-yes.” 

He chuckles. “That’s what I thought. So tell me. Tell me what you want to be.” 

“I want to be your toy.” 

“Good.” He grins. 

He lets his hand drift down to your underwear again, fingers trailing along the inside the elastic hem before plucking at them once more. He seems to like the way you flinch. 

His fingers wander down your skin. He traces your hip, before flicking his fingers beneath the hem that circles your thigh. Slowly, he creeps closer to where you want his fingers most, but before he can touch you, he pulls his fingers away. You nearly groan, and a fleeting grimace crosses your face. Jimin catches it. 

“Patience would look so pretty on you,” he says, and the sting of his words is delightful. 

“Hmph.” 

His fingers continue to explore the thin piece of fabric that separates you from total nudity. They’re not a particularly pretty pair of underwear: they’re nothing more than a tan color brief. 

You say as much to Jimin, and tell him you wish you were wearing something sexier. Lace, maybe. Something black. 

“True,” he replies. “But you know why I like these?” 

“Why?” 

“Because I can see you dripping through them.” 

You warm at the implication.   

“And when I push my cock against them, I’ll see me on them too. I’m a visual man, you know.” He kind of chuckles at that last bit, like it’s some sort of inside joke with himself. 

When he drops to his knees, like that first day in the forest with him, you gasp. Finally, finally, he’s going to touch you. 

But when his tongue presses against you through the fabric of your underwear, it’s only half the sensation you need from him. Still, it feels good, a gentle warmth spreading through your abdomen as he licks and presses against your clit and vulva. 

“You taste so good,” he murmurs against you. 

“I’m—“ 

“You’ve soaked your panties through.” 

You warm at the thought, such little stimulation getting you so ready for him. You wonder if he’ll fuck you hard and fast or if he’ll take you sweet and slow. If he’ll take his time with you. Whatever he decides to do, you know you’ll be happy to have him fill you as you currently clench and tighten around nothing. It’s an empty feeling that sifts through you. 

When he’s thoroughly soaked your underwear with his mouth, he stands and kisses you. You can taste the ghost of yourself on him, and it reminds you of the smell of first summer light hitting the ground at dawn. A space when it is neither day, nor night, but some third plane of existence. Like that, in this moment, you feel like some third kind of creature. Neither yourself entirely, nor Jimin, but some other, third thing that you could only become in his presence. You can feel the shit-eating grin that glides across his lips and presses into yours as he walks backwards, leading you back to the bed. 

There’s something different, too, about all of this, about the way he kisses you today. There’s an edge of desperation, of frustration that you can taste on him. His movements are quicker, less languid. His lids are lidded. His breath comes quicker.  It’s delightful. 

But it’s also brand new. It feels like he has let a part of himself loose from under his usual state of control, and you wonder if your most recent conversation with your friends—where you discussed emotionality and feeling—had anything to do with what he was going through. What he wanted. 

An edge of anxiety tickles at your throat as you think of it. Does he want something more? 

He seems to notice your hesitation. 

“I just want you right now,” he says, as if he’s read your mind. He stops you at the edge of the bed, turns you so that the back of your knees hit the mattress.  You’re not sure if he’s a mind reader or what. 

You fall back into the bed, Jimin leading you down gently with a hand against your back until you sink into the soft bedding. You can’t help but giggle at the gentleness. Not that you have anything against it, but in this moment you feel anything but a toy. The way he looks at you makes you feel, well, precious. 

He breaks his gaze to kiss you again, tongue pressing against your lips. 

“Open up for me,” he says. “Like a good kitten—Like a good toy.” 

You do as you’ve been told, opening your mouth and letting him swirl his tongue through you, swiping at the roof of your mouth and sending tingles down your spine. 

His hands drift down your body before slipping beneath your panties. You glow, so eager for his touch, groaning as his fingers swipe against your clit. Just once. But as if he’s just realized a mistake he’s made, he rapidly pulls his hand out. 

“Oops. Got a little caught up.” 

You pout. “What, you’re not going to touch me like that? There? At all?” 

He pulls back enough to flick his gaze between your eyes and your lips. “Be a good toy and just do what you’re told.” 

“Oh?” The bratty part of you flickers and rises up.

He silences you with a kiss, his fingers circling around your clothed entrance before trying to press in through the thin fabric of your underwear. It’s like he’s trying to finger fuck you through the wet cotton, pushing it into you with his fingers. The pressure surely is something, but it’s not even a hint of enough, and you find your hips bucking up against him, seeking more attention, seeking more pressure. 

“So needy. So desperate.” 

He continues until the yearn within you aches.

“Stop playing,” you gasp. “Just give me your cock. Want you. Want your cock. I’ll be your toy, just–just use me like one.” 

“Don’t good toys say please?” 

“Please, sir.”

He freezes above you. 

“Sir?” 

“I—I… It just slipped out!” 

He grins. “I kinda like it.” He hums, as if contemplating it, then nods. “And since you’ve asked so nicely—“  

Jimin leans back enough to begin unbuttoning his shirt. He takes his time, while the knot in your belly begins to recede. You sit up, eager to help him out of it, but he quickly swats your hands away. 

“Patience, kitten.” 

You don’t say it, but your crossed arms and pout say, “Fine, sir,”  loud and clear. He laughs at your expression. 

“Don’t you worry,” he says, tilting your chin up. “I’ve always taken care of you, haven’t I?” 

He takes his cock out, stroking it once, twice, his hand gliding expertly over the soft and sensitive skin. 

“I’m going to use you like you’re good for.”

“Like I’m good for?” You echo, desperate for him. 

“All you’re good for,” he whispers in your ear and the words send a shiver of pleasure down your spine.  

With one hand, he takes your ankles and pushes them over your head.

“Hold them.” 

He then settles between your legs, hand wrapped tightly around his cock. With a movement that seems far too familiar to him, he slaps your pussy with his hard and dripping cock, and you groan. Fuck. 

Lowering himself to you, so your thighs press into his shoulders, he finally aligns his cock with your clothed vulva. 

And then with one careful movement, he grinds against you. The simple movement is enough to make you cry out. 

“Fuck, Jimin.” 

At first it’s slow, his cock pressing against your vulva in rhythmic pulses, your clit. At one point he pulls back and presses the head of his cock to your clothed entrance and presses in. 

You whine against him, but he doesn’t acknowledge you. He simply returns to continuing his thrusts. You’re just as wet as he is hard, soaking your panties, his precome painting them too. 

“Maybe I would have woken you up like this. Wouldn’t you have liked that? Waking up to my hard cock pressing against your clit, me ready to come, just from rutting against you? Wouldn’t that make you happy, to know how good you make me feel?”

You look down to where your bodies are pressed together. His cock rhythmically pokes up, the head dark and heavy. Sometimes though, the head of his cock gets stuck on your underwear, pushing the fabric higher and tighter around you. You groan at the sight. 

“Don’t you love how good you make me feel?”  

Your hips buck together, finding a desperate, shared rhythm. Your breath, too, matches up. 

For a moment, your eyes lock. All you can think about is how damn pretty he looks when he fucks, his dark hair falling into his face, his cheeks flushed, his plush lower lip caught between his teeth. And he looks back. 

But then his eyes flicker away from yours. 

He fucks you over your panties, murmuring how good of a toy you are for him, how he wishes he could fuck you properly, fill you up.

“Please,” you gasp, desperate for more. “Fuck me.”

“When you behave,” he grunts. “I will.” Another thrust. “When you follow my rules, I will.” 

When he comes, he presses the head of his cock to your clit. You can feel it twitching against you as he groans and sighs, his come painting your panties white. 

With the head of his cock pressing so rhythmically against your clit, you’ve built up to a delicious pleasure, so close to coming. 

“Jimin, Jimin, I’m so close. Please.” Your hips tilt up, searching out the pleasure he keeps denying you. 

But Jimin just grins at you and sighs dramatically. His breath still comes a little quickly, he seems a little winded.  

“If only you hadn’t been so intent on misbehaving earlier. Maybe I could have let you come.” 

“Oh, come on,” you groan, about a second away from throwing your fists on the bed in proper tantrum form. “You’re in charge. You write the rules. Who said you can’t let me come?” 

“The rules I wrote say so, actually.” 

You huff. 

“Well then. Maybe I’ll just have to take care of it myself.” 

In a swift action, Jimin leans over you, pinning your hands above your head. Your breath leaves your lungs in a quick gasp. 

“Wha—” 

“I think you know you’re not even supposed to be thinking about that, let alone doing it.” 

You tilt your head.

Jimin laughs, a hint of playful hardness in his voice. “Don’t you remember?” You shake your head. “You’re forgetting all of your promises today, aren’t you? Jin had you promise that you wouldn’t be coming unless it was because of one of us.” 

Your eyes widen. 

“Shit. I forgot.” 

“I know you forgot.” 

You throw your head back and groan. “But I thought you said you’d always take care of me.” 

“I did. And I do. But sometimes it’s good for you to wait a little for your reward. Today you took your punishment—” He tilts your head up so you’re looking at him and the pout that had taken over your face fades a little. “And tomorrow, I’ll give you your reward.” 

You roll your eyes. 

“Fine.”

“You think you can do that? Wait until tomorrow?” 

“Yeah.” You sigh. 

“You’re so good for me,” he says, pressing a kiss to your lips. His hands glide down to your hips, dipping beneath the band and you think, oh, maybe he’ll do it now. But your hopes are quickly dashed when he tugs on them and says, “Maybe it was a good thing I had you wear these afterall.” He shimmies your come-stained underwear down your thighs. “Easy cleanup.” 

You can’t help but laugh at that, always surprised when Jimin’s practical side pops out alongside his gregariousness. But he balls the panties up, and before tossing them into the laundry basket near the door, holds them up in his hand, shaking them, as if directing attention to them. 

 “I should remind you why I asked you to do this?” 

“I know why you asked me to. You liked the secret of it—?” You think back to what he had said to you, all those days ago, though it feels like a lifetime ago:

“I like walking around, knowing I’m the only one who has your sweetness on my tongue. I love talking to the others while getting to taste you still. Getting to remember the way you squirm underneath my touch. I do it because I want to.”

You still shiver, thinking of those words. But that had been before everyone knew about you and Jimin. 

“I did like the secret of it,” Jimin says, breaking through your reverie. “But there’s more than that, too.” 

You raise an eyebrow, prompting him to go on. 

“There’s knowing you do it for me.” 

He grins, before strutting to the bathroom. You watch his ass as he goes. Plump, you think. When he returns, he’s cleaned up and still grinning. Mulling on what he’s said—”for me”—an image of all eight of you on the living room floor arises. What are the boundaries between one person and another with this set up? What are the lines? What is owed? Your head spins, and you settle into the pillow. You’re still humming in the sensation of your dwindling pleasure, receding far away from your orgasm, and you sigh. 

“If the only way people are going to punish one another around here is by giving them blue balls, I’m going to get tired reeeeal quick,” you murmur to yourself.

“Is that so?” Jimin says from behind you as he collects your clothes. “If that’s the case, we better start coming up with new forms of punishment.” 

“Yes, maybe you should,” you say, mock-grouchily. 

“I’ll start thinking up new and innovative ways. Maybe I’ll consult Jin—he seems creative when it comes to this stuff—especially if you’re going to be so quick to forget what you promised him.” He helps you into your clothes again, but remains naked himself. 

“But—” 

“No buts.” He seals your silence with a kiss. “Just do what you’re told.” The statement stings through you like a bolt of electricity. As much as you hate to admit it, you love when he tells you what to do. Even if you love fighting against it just as much. “You know why you should do what you’re told?” He continues, as he kisses down your throat.

“Why?” 

“Because then I can reward you. I can make you come again and again until you’re crying to stop, or hold you at the edge long enough that when you’re finally ready to tip over, it’s the best fucking orgasm in your whole life.” 

You can’t help but giggle. “Are you saying you’re the best fuck of my life?” 

“No. Not yet. But I can be.” He pulls away from you enough to see the shit-eating grin on your face. 

“I think some of your friends might fight you for that position.” 

“Maybe they should.” 

“Maybe they should what?” a voice comes from the door. 

“Hoseok—” 

Hoseok stands in the doorway, a confused look on his face. You imagine what he must be seeing, a naked Jimin in bed, and you, now entirely naked, too, now that Jimin stripped you of your panties, tangled up in each other. 

“What’s going on here?” Hoseok asks. 

“Do you really want to know?” Jimin asks.

“Um. Not really.” Then his gaze focuses on you. He lingers on your face, reading you, trying to figure you out. But then he catches himself. “Uh, maybe I should come back later.” 

“No!” you say, perhaps a little too eagerly, sitting up. “What is it?” 

“I just was looking for you,” Hoseok says, a little shyly. “I was hoping to steal you away.”  

“Let me get dressed.” 

You stand up, and pull your clothes back on, noting how Hoseok’s gaze flickers to you just in time to see you pull on your leggings without any panties on underneath.  

Jimin sits up quickly, pulling a pillow over his crotch for the sake of Hoseok’s modesty. “Just so you know—if you’re going to go together—I already said that if someone was going to wear panties that someone wasn’t going to be able to come.” He turns to you. “So don’t you go running off to lover boy, thinking you can get your rocks off.” Jimin turns his attention back to Hobi. “This one is very much not allowed to come. At least for the rest of the day.” 

Hoseok coughs. 

“Oh, I, uh, I wasn’t, I wasn’t presuming.” 

“Yes you were, asshole,” Jimin laughs. “We’re all presuming.” 

Hoseok flushes red all the way to the tips of his ears at the implication, but you find it charming. 

“You didn’t answer my question,” Hoseok says.

You glance at Jimin, who leans back with his hands laced behind his head. He looks like the perfect image of relaxation and… is that pride? There’s a soft smile curving at the corner of his lip, a kind of jesting smirk. 

“Go on,” Jimin says. “I’m already taken care of.” 

You roll your eyes. 

“Asshole.” 

But you stand and make your way to Hoseok nonetheless. 

“You have time?” he asks.

“I have all the time in the world.” 

← || series m.list || →

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[cosmicdream222]

What is “the state of wish fulfilled” or “feeling the wish fulfilled”?

(Explained in my own words cuz states tumblr is a shitshow)

When I was in HS, I was obsessed with Japan and wanted to visit, and eventually move there.

My dream life = living in Japan, doing the things I wanted to do

My life at the time = living in America, not being able to do the things I wanted to do

Was I sitting around feeling sorry for myself and whining “boo hoo poor me, I wish I was in Japan. Why did I have to be born here? It’s not fair I’m missing out on so much.” HELL NO!! That = the state of lack

Instead, I was excited. I didn’t see going to Japan as such a big deal, it’s not like I wanted to go to outer space! All I had to do was save up some money and buy a plane ticket. It was totally realistic in my mind, why couldn’t I do it?

Sure I wasn’t there now, but I KNEW I could go there eventually. So I spent my time studying & practicing Japanese, enjoying my hobbies from afar, researching & planning my future visits. That = the state of wish fulfilled.

(And yes, I did end up visiting many times and eventually lived there for 5 years.)

Here’s another scenario:

Imagine right now that you won the lottery for an extremely large amount of money - let’s say 1 billion dollars. You have the winning ticket in your hand and you’re at the lotto office right now. They tell you it’s gonna be a few weeks of processing and paperwork before you actually receive the money, but it is yours. It is done.

It doesn’t matter if you’re currently broke, in debt, hate your job, hate your living situation or have any other unfortunate circumstances. In a few weeks, you will have more money than you will ever be able to spend. You will never have to work again. You will never have to worry about money again.

You might not currently know what it “feels like” to be a billionaire, but you know that your current circumstances don’t matter anymore because everything is gonna change soon.

Now, if you are reading this, you have learned about loa/void/shifting - and that is even better than any lottery you could ever win. You found out the truth, my dudes! Reality is an illusion and you can have anything you want. ANYTHING anything, not just materialistic earth things!

Yes we have been programmed with opposite beliefs our whole lives. It might be hard to wrap your head around at first. It might be hard to let go of all the victim-based thinking that society encourages. It might take a week or a month or longer to manifest your desires - but does it matter? Time is an illusion, and you WILL succeed eventually. You didn’t find out about the truth only to fail.

Sitting around on tumblr scrolling for more methods, asking every blogger the same questions, complaining that you don’t have your desires yet = the state of lack

Knowing that you WILL have your desires NO MATTER WHAT and not letting your current circumstances affect you = the state of wish fulfilled.

Have patience and persist! I have faith in you, so have a little faith in yourselves! ILY all and want you to live your best life ❤️

[mosneakers]

Alex: [Smiles warmly] Hi Coraleye…

Coraleye: [Smiles back] Hi Alex…

Alex: Ready for one last take before we officially call it a wrap?

Coraleye: I guess so! Alex: So how’s life treating you now? You adjusting okay?

Coraleye: Oh… well it's been a whirlwind, to say the least, heh. But I’m finding my footing again. Finally finishing up school. Just barely keeping my head above water some days, but yeah, I’m getting by. Trying to find my new normal.

Alex: [Nods thoughtfully] I want to talk about that a little bit. You’ve had to deal with the aftermath of everything that happened on election night. Do you remember when Cam and I came out to visit you in Brindleton Bay?

Coraleye: Mhm. I sure do. You interviewed some girls I went to school with.

Alex: So, Mackenzie, Briella, Logan… I’m not sure how much you’re aware of, especially with how quickly the media coverage was shut down after election night. But I’ve gotta ask—have you reached out to Coraleye at all since then? Offered any kind of support?

Logan: [Quickly glances at Mackenzie] I’m not sure if we got the chance to reach out yet, have we? Mackenzie:[Feigning innocence] She hasn't filled us in completely, but we’ve heard bits and pieces... Briella: We heard about her and her boyfriend. They broke up, right? [Big grin] Life has a cruel way of teaching us lessons!

Mackenzie presses her lips together, appearing to hold back a laugh, but finally cracks as a sharp cackle spills out.

Mackenzie: Oh my mod, Briella, stop! You can't say that! I just love you. So sorry about her, she's so crazy. Anyways, yeah. We wish her the best. I hope it all works out for her, I really do.

Cam: Well, I think that will probably do it for now, thank you ladies. Alex: Cam's right, thank you for your time. We'll be in touch. Have a happy Harvestfest.

Several weeks later, Britechester-

Alex: Cam and I try not to get too involved with work matters, but I'll be honest, that interview was upsetting. I wonder if they'd still be snickering if they saw what you've been through in these past few months.

Coraleye: Nah, they're the least of my worries. Pretty sure I got the last laugh when it comes to them. [Mischievous grin]

Alex: I'm in awe of your optimism, Coraleye. After all this, you’re really not bitter? I mean, look at Tycho—he lied, tried to erase your memories. And you still take the high road?

Coraleye: Oh no, please don’t get me wrong, Alex! I definitely went through—and sometimes still go through—my naughty phase, from time to time. Alex: [Leans in] You have my attention... Coraleye: Maybe it was for revenge, or a way to cope, or maybe deep down I was just really lonely and had a void to fill. Either way, it got me through some dark times. Perhaps you should book a follow-up interview with Briella, ask her if she found my panties in her boyfriend's room yet. [Waves at camera, winks, and mouths, ‘Hey, Pierce!’] Alex shakes his head amusedly and softly chuckles.

Alex: Damn! You really don't mess around. I'm guessing this doubles as punishment for Tycho as well?

Coraleye: Nope. Actually, his punishment is even better. I'm giving him exactly what he wants. After this documentary is over with, I'm erasing all of our shared memories together. He wanted to mess with my mind so badly, I'll do it for him. Alex: And how do you do that?

Coraleye: Through a spell, of course. You didn't forget that I'm a spellcaster, did you? I'll put the memories in an amulet and give it to our sage of untamed magic. They'll perform a ritual to destroy the memories. Alex: Wow. Remind me to never break your heart... Coraleye: [Smiles] Oh, I will. Alex: [Sighs] Well... Last question we're asking everyone else: Is there any question that you have, after all of this, that still haunts you?

Coraleye: [Tilts head, as she pauses to think] Hmm… I’ve still got to write that paper on my ten-year plan, and somehow I feel even more lost than before. I guess it’s time to start figuring that out now.

[hey-august]

The Tide Comes and Goes | Buggy x gn!Reader

Summary: Stuck in a relationship and a life that you don't want, you're given the chance to get out. WC: ~1k Warnings: pretty much SFW, just a hint of spice, buggy x GN!reader, cheating / infidelity - reader and their partner cheat on each other, profanity, angst, no happy ending A/N: I had this ready for Angst August but forgot to post it oops. I have one more that I want to write, plus an optional comfort ending that will fit into any of the Angst August stories I wrote.

“You could come with me, you know. All you have to do is ask,” Buggy teased. Every visit from the pirate ended with the same offer. A solution to your loveless marriage.

You had hoped to fill the void other ways. Extravagant shopping with the money your partner sent home, volunteering with the fake righteous busybodies in town, pouring bottle after bottle into the emptiness, becoming a temporary port for sailors who needed to wet their dicks. Some of it was fun, but the ache was always there when the morning sun hit your eyes.

The only relief you found was through a clown, of all people. Through his stories and jokes, his sleight of hands, and the bawdy atmosphere he and his crew brought to town.

Buggy was fun. Listening to his adventures, watching him embody the spirit of the story - it was enthralling. When his voice dropped, as soft as the incoming tide, you’d lean in closer. When he slapped the table and shouted with all the air in his lungs, you’d jump in excitement.

Sometimes when only the moon and you were awake, when you laid in a bed too big for one person, you replayed his tales in your mind and allowed yourself to imagine that you were in them too.

Over time, you shared stories with Buggy. About jobs deemed more important than feelings. A familiar stranger whose visits you gave up tracking because they were so infrequent. Of rare calls with laughter in the background and distraction in your partner’s voice. You told him about a life on pause indefinitely.

But when Buggy visited, it felt like the pause was lifted. Like that time was for you. So you took it. You took the freedom he sailed on. You took his taste, his lips pressed against yours. You took his requests for assurance and promised it was okay. That you wanted this. You wanted him.

It felt different, at least to you. Every other time you brought someone to bed, there were no feelings attached. Your heart pounded in your chest and between your legs, drumming away any negative feelings for the moment. With Buggy, the ache only ever dulled. It stayed behind to whisper something different. That you shouldn’t be alone anymore.

You did anything and everything to quiet the voice entirely. Every time you straddled the visiting pirate and his waves, every time you were caged beneath his sweaty body, every time he pressed you into a mattress that didn’t belong to him, you ignored the whispers. You waited until they went silent. Even when you curled into the snoring figure, sharing sheets until the tide came, the inner-voice stopped talking because you stopped listening.

One morning, you woke up after Buggy. He was quiet and gently stroking your arm. Shifting slightly, you looked up at the captain. His facepaint was smudged and faded, no doubt smeared into the pillow he slept on. Your pillow. His hair was loose and a little dirty at the roots from his exertions the night before. Stubble clung to his jaw and neck. It was longer than usual and you liked it.

Buggy looked down and returned the goofy grin that you were wearing. He felt so close. He was within reach.

But his ship would be leaving soon. And he would make that empty offer that you could go with him, even though you would never ask. It was routine. A part of the play.

“You should come with me.”

Wait, that was wrong. That’s not what Buggy was supposed to say. The smile was gone from his face, but the softness wasn’t.

“I want you to co-”

“Stop. Don’t say it,” you interrupted, pushing back from him. You sat up too quickly, bringing sparks of light into your vision. The pounding of your heart was in your ears, drowning any rational thoughts.

This was not how it was supposed to go. You were supposed to be the one to ask. But you never would, because this was your life. This empty fucking house and empty fucking bed were yours. All this loneliness and sadness is what you knew. It hurt, but it was familiar. It was comfortable.

“I’m not going with you, Buggy. I won’t, so don’t ask.”

“Seriously? Haven’t you thought about it? Don’t you want to leave this shit behind?” Buggy asked, torn between wanting to understand and wanting to convince you. He gestured around, his movements hard and rough.

“Stop! You don’t know what I want. Do you even understand what you’re asking me to do? Give up my life, abandon everything, and join a circus?” You laughed loudly. It was ridiculous. It was stupid. It wasn’t for you.

“Fuck, just listen to me f-”

“Stop begging,” you spat, “it’s pathetic.”

Buggy’s jaw tightened. “Fuck you.”

Pushing off the blankets, he got out of the bed and started pulling on the clothes he left on the floor.

You stared at the bottom of the bed, listening to the rustle of clothes while Buggy got dressed. “Why did you ask? Why did you have to do that?”

“Because I wanted to.”

You picked up on the past tense. Wanted. Your chest was burning. It was too full.

“Aren’t you tired of being left behind?” Buggy continued with a sneer that pierced your chest and allowed your toxic insides to drip out.

“Wow…don’t you get it? You were always just entertainment for me, Buggy the Clown. Like I’d want to join you or your fucking freaks.”

Buggy turned to face you so quickly that you couldn’t help but look at him. And the anger on his face. He stared at you, the ocean in his eyes dark and murky. His fingers twitched. Then, without another word, he left.

You listened to his heavy stride, until the front door jingled and slammed shut. Hard.

And you were alone once more. Just like it’s supposed to be.

[merbear25]

Can I request Priest! Doffy fucking his little innocent reader? :3 Doffy calling his victim "little lamb" 🤭

AHHH Kari 💜💜💜💜💜💜 Thank you so much for requesting something, my lovely! I'm always happy to write something for you, especially when it's something dark and kinky 🤭 I really hope you like what I've written for you 😘

After so many lingering eyes tempting you, wanting to pull you into sin, you sought out advice from your congregation leader in hopes of him guiding you back on the path to righteousness. However, you come to realize that even those who are meant to be holy deliverers are no different from the common man.

CW: NSFW, MDNI, fem!reader, blasphemy, corruption, abuse of power, age gap implied, rough sex, vaginal penetration, bukkake 

Leading his devoted follower into sin (Priest!Doffy)

You spent many times praying on your Rosemary, sitting on the pew in front of the towering cross. The number of prayers you were advised to bestow onto the religious symbol always seemed to be climbing to rid you of your newfound sinful thoughts.

You hadn’t asked for this: the wandering eyes from others both in and outside of the congregation. Then why did you enjoy how it made you feel? Despite how wrong you knew it to be, you were left imagining what could happen if you returned their advances, most of which crept into your mind during the late hours of the night. These thoughts clouded your better judgment, rendering you helpless under such temptation.

Perhaps the Lord would understand, just this once, if you crossed the line into self fulfilling pleasure. With your unskilled touch, you were only left frustrated and unsatisfied, thinking that you’d brought disappointment upon yourself with no rewards of gratification.

Visiting Father Doffy directly seemed like the most logical next step; he had been a part of the Church for much longer than the other priests, meaning he had the most experience. Standing outside his office door, you hesitantly knocked, secretly hoping he wasn’t in so that you wouldn’t have to explain your shameful behavior to him.

“Come in.”

Peeking out from behind the door, you saw him working earnestly on documents. Sighing, he looked up at you and welcomed you into his office. “Oh, please come sit, my child. What brings you in here?”

Feeling a bit of warmth to his invitation to sit, you did as he requested. Nervously, you twiddled with your thumbs, unsure how to approach the topic of last night’s endeavors.

Picking up on your hesitation, he motioned to the other side of his desk and leaned against it to give this visit a more personal touch. “What’s on your mind?”

“Father, I’m afraid that I’ve been pulled, coaxed if you will, into sin. I just don’t understand how this could have happened. I attend mass regularly, as well as confession and I’m still filled with these overwhelming desires.” 

You looked up at him with desperation on your face, pleading for him to guide you back into the light, “Please, Father, help rid me of these thoughts.”

Such a delicious display of devotion and trust you held whetted his appetite and intrigued him—just how far would you be willing to go to earn your place in the Lord’s good grace again? 

His relaxed tone hid his dark intentions perfectly, leaving you blind to what was to come. “Have you given into these shameful urges?”

With the recollection of last night, you hung your head, “Yes, and I am most ashamed of it.”

Letting out a soft exhale of what he disguised as disappointment, he began pulling your puppet strings, “It is true that our Lord is forgiving, although willingly throwing yourself to sin is rather serious.”

As your body trembled at the thought of eternal damnation, he couldn’t help but lick his lips in the anticipation of tasting your sweet nectar. “Show me what you did,” the tone was void of its supportiveness, now being replaced with demand.

Your eyes were wide with disbelief and as you began to question him, he stopped you in your tracks, leaving you to linger in a limbo of confusion. The discomfort of exposing your body to him was being outweighed by your fear of disobeying one of God’s most devoted.

Taking off your pants, you positioned yourself on the chair, spreading your legs to reveal your slick coated folds. His gaze burned into you, leaving the feeling of hell fire singeing your immortal soul. You let your unskilled fingers show him just how useless you were at pleasing this pent-up lust. 

When he chuckled to himself, the heat on your face deepened. Leaning towards you and repositioning himself directly in front of you, he guided you through it, “This is the most sensitive part.” His finger hovered over your clit. Even without physical contact, the rush of him being so close made you tremble. “Be sure to give it attention by swirling your little fingers around it.”

As you followed his instructions, the difference was night and day. You started panting and squirming from the shockwaves of euphoria. 

“Such a beautiful display of obedience, my little lamb,” he let out a low chuckle the more your legs shook. 

Seeing you in such a helpless state was too good of an opportunity to resist taking advantage of. Standing over you, he unzipped his pants to expose his own sinful arousal. The confliction in your eyes, your quaking form: his cock ached to feel your pure touch on it.

Stroking slowly and steadily, his voice was stern, “Give me your hand.” Placing your hand on his length, he made you grip it to his liking and guided it up and down, demonstrating how best to please him. “Don’t stop playing with yourself.”

With each thrust he bucked into your hand, you could feel this burning urge for more. The succumbing to ecstasy was all over your delicate features. He leaned down, his breath hot on your sensitive skin as if taunting you, “Do you wish to give yourself to me, little lamb?”

“Please, show me the light, Father…”

The devil showed himself to you through the sadistic grin that stretched across his face. Without any warning, he angled his hips and plunged into you as deeply as he could. Even with your shrieks from the sudden waves of pain, he paid them no mind. You were his to do with as he pleased, to drag down to the pits of hell with him.

Playing with your clit, he reveled in your shocked expression; having never before been subjected to one of the greatest pleasures the Lord bestowed upon his people, you were perfect for Doffy to have his way with.

With each shudder, each spasm of your walls clamping around him, he continued being relentless until he was satisfied. Reveling in the fervor forcibly pushing you over the edge, you unraveling on him made him quickly follow suit.

Pulling out, he grabbed you by the throat, pushing you against the back of the chair as he hastily chased his own orgasm. With low, guttural grunts, his hot seed drenched your defiled innocence.

Trying to catch his breath, he grinned at the state of you: that sweet face being coated in his cum was a delectable sight to soak in.

Throwing a washcloth at you, he told you to clean yourself up. Doing so with shaky hands, he smirked at you, “Don’t worry. Our Lord is a forgiving and understanding one, remember?”

[licorice-tea]

Don’t Fall In Love With Me (Yet)

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x reader

Content: strawhat!reader, gender neutral reader, feelings and fluff (my faves🤞🏽), so much tension, no resolution of that tension… yet😏, lowkey “i hate everyone but you” trope, very brief mention of some canon typical violence, but no actual violence <3

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: lalalalala i love law😇 i actually wrote about twice as much as what’s here to begin with, but i felt like it was too long for one post, so i might upload it as a second part later if anyone wants that! as always ty for the love, and i hope you enjoy! (did i write this instead of finishing part 3 of my Zoro mini series? perchance. (that will be up soon though!))

Part 2

It’s a day like any other on board the Thousand Sunny- calm waters, music, occasional shouting, and just one abnormality. Law, captain of the Heart Pirates, is a guest on board the Strawhat Crew’s ship in the aftermath of Dressrosa. And despite their hospitality, he finds practically everything about life on board their ship to be draining…

Every potentially quiet moment is interrupted by the crew’s shenanigans.

For starters: the cook and swordsman argue over every little thing, and most of their arguments escalate into fights. The navigator is actually a petty thief or a con-artist at best, and her double, the sniper, takes it upon himself to cause dangerous explosions at least once a day. The musician is an incredibly loud pervert, though the shipwright is somehow even louder and more dramatic. The archeologist is alright- she’s quiet, but Law finds her constant observation more eery than comforting. And the captain is still somehow convinced that his doctor could be used as a source of “emergency food.” Then there’s you; the one who brings whatever you’re working on at the time up to the deck so you can work in the sunlight, wears your weapons like they’re accessories, who only takes breaks from working to visit with your nakama, and always offers a charming smile when you catch Law staring… which happens multiple times in the course of the day.

Law is often irritated, rigid, and cold- so different from your own optimistic and nonchalant demeanor. At breakfast, he doesn’t talk much. Just eats his meal and thanks Sanji before excusing himself to go pour over anatomy books from the ship’s library. He does so for hours, not once joining the Strawhat Crew on deck or even taking time to explore the ship on his own. Nami frequents the library, as well, but she’s taken to drawing maps in her room or on deck since their guests arrival. When night begins to settle overhead, he may return to the kitchen for a cup of coffee, before going right back to his work.

At first, one might have been inclined to think Law didn’t like y/n at all. They can often see his gaze trained on them form from the corner of their eye, but chooses to ignore it sometimes and address it with a smile others. He almost never speaks to them if possible, only offering a nod or a mumbled response to whatever they says. But, he goes out of his way to sit by them at mealtimes and to find himself in the same narrow hallways as them, so that their arms brush. Those are the moments he obsesses over in his mind while he dozes off from his textbooks- the feel of their skin against his, and their kind acknowledgements- always void of harsh judgment.

It’s not just the lack of cruelty in essentially eveything they do, to Law; it’s the presence of love. Love for their nakama, their work, people and places they barely know, even him. He doesn’t recall ever having met someone so full of love that goes beyond superficial kindness- because they can be sarcastic and moody at times- besides perhaps Corazon.

And to y/n, there’s just something about Law that peaks their interests. Maybe it’s the feeling of having someone new around, or something even more indescribable and foreign to the pirate.

Zoro is asleep in the men’s cabin tonight, so y/n is keeping watch. It’s the usual arrangement for the 2 night owls of the crew- when Zoro has truly exhausted his body, he sleeps below deck with the others, and y/n has no trouble staying up through the night.

They turn on some quiet music on their speaker, a must have for any music lover. For a while, they just watch the sea and sky. Nights at sea are like a blackout. But, there is no need for light with strong eyesight and the even stronger moon and starlight.

So it’s no surprise that they see, just out of the corner of their peripheral vision, the top of a white and black speckled hat bobbing up and down as it moves toward the kitchen. Y/n’s eyes widen ever so slightly and their breath catches in their throat. The guest makes them feel silly, in a way, for not being able to discern their own feelings toward him, nor his toward them. They get so caught up in their thoughts about him that eventually they give up. Y/n shakes their head, mentally chastising themself for even being embarrassed or flustered in the first place. And with that confidence boost, they decide to go talk to him.

Next thing they know, y/n is standing before the kitchen door with no plan in mind for what they’re going to say to their crew’s ally. They open the door, but he doesn’t look up from the coffee brewing on the stove.

Y/n clears their throat to announce their presence, and Law whips his head around to see who it is. They offer a friendly smile and a little wave.

“Hi.” They speak softly, as if afraid to break the peace of the night.

A beat passes with no response from Law. Internally, he wishes they hadn’t walked in on him at this moment. The light from the overhead lamp catches in their eyes, and he feels entirely too seen. Not in the way he feels seen by someone like Robin, though, whose constant observation makes him feel uncomfortable; like one wrong move and he’ll have hell to pay for. No; y/n sees him and he’s scared that he might start spewing nonsense to avoid revealing his feelings. And suddenly his cheeks are on fire, and everything is quiet, and all he can focus on is the stars in their eyes that he tries so desperately to look away from.

They tilt their head, likely in concern, and he pulls himself out of his thoughts to mumble, “Hey.”

“Cant sleep?” y/n questions, their starry eyes (as described by Law) flickering over the coffee pot on the counter and back to him.

Law shrugs, then pulls his hat lower over his eyes to hopefully hide his warm face. “I wasn’t trying to sleep.”

“Hm…” they hum in response, “Want to keep watch with me then? If you aren’t busy.”

He thinks they’re just being friendly, like always. When they first met, Law was confused. It made no sense for someone so mild mannered to have a bounty of well over 500 million (now almost double that amount in the time that’s passed), though he didn’t doubt that looks could be deceiving. But even in the midst of battle, of which the two had been in several together, they refused to take kill shots or anything of the sort. So he was still unsure of how they had earned such an impressive reward for their capture. Still, they clearly had a high regard for life, and he had come to learn that they truly were just that kind hearted, not to mention witty and generous. And judging by the “Sora: Warrior of The Sea” sticker he’d noticed on small a journal they carried, which was one amongst many; a bit of a nerd, too. All of these things and more had made Law secretly impartial to them. Or at least, those were the reasons he has listed in his mind to make sense of these feelings.

So he nodded, much to their surprise, and mumbled again “Sure.”

The curve of their smile opens up into a grin, and y/n leaves while fully expecting Law to follow (whenever his coffee was ready.) Which, he does.

[floofanflurr]

Meet Ink Frisk and Chara, an UTMV redraw

(Ink Sans belongs to Comyet)

My friends helped me figure out a whole bunch of character mashups for me to draw! I’ll be doing the rest of UTs main cast as different UTMV characters.

(Bonus image and more ramble under the cut:)

@humankk and @bee-the-aroace-dragon said that Ink Sans would take Ink Frisk and Chara under his wing (and would keep them away from the more 18+ AUs) so have a sketch of that. Because I love the thought of Ink Sans mentoring little Color Drop.

Now for ramble! This was supposed to just be a reimagining of Ink Sans’s role in the Multiverse, though I’ll admit that I’ve named them and have a few head canons… so for anyone curious, here we go!

Color Drop:

- They prefer going by Frisk and Chara, but if there’s multiple Frisk or Chara around, they go by Color Drop.

- If you have need to refer to only one of them, (Why would you, though? We’re pretty much the same.) Chara answers to “Color,” and Frisk answers to “Drop.”

- Similarly to Ink Sans, they come from an abandoned AU, where Frisk was the main character, and Chara was attached to them as a ghostly narrator. Frisk was the only completed being with a soul in that world, though Chara was also fully aware.

-Frisk, however, was not originally aware of Chara’s presence as an aware being, as Chara was stuck only narrating things.

- By nature of Chara’s death, they do not have a soul of their own.

- When Frisk almost destroyed their soul in hurt and confusion and despair, Chara latched on and took it for safe keeping. It’s now stored in a recreation of their locket. This was when they both fell into the nothingness.

- Being stuck in the nothingness is where Frisk learns more about Chara and that they are aware.

- Neither of them know how to return Frisk’s soul.

- Frisk can still feel because of the proximity of their soul, but it’s more numb than they were used to. They need the paint to feel as strongly as they once did.

- Due to Chara’s lack of soul, they use the paints to help them feel things. Being closer to Frisk also helps them feel because of their mental link.

- Chara is tangible in the doodlesphere, void, and antivoid (when they want to be)

- When visiting AUs, Chara is intangible. They can also go back to just being in Frisk’s mind where no one else can see them if they want.

- Frisk is the one who makes most of the choices and actions, but they don’t talk a lot. Chara prefers to leave things to them, and mostly narrates and provides commentary.

- Chara and Frisk share a mental link where they can talk telepathically.

- Despite having different and distinct personalities, sometimes they struggle to figure out where “Frisk” ends and “Chara” begins.

- Frisk is selectively mute and uses ASL or a tablet to write out what they want to say. They speak aloud on occasion, but it’s rare.

- Frisk’s colored hair isn’t consistent. It’s constantly changing which strands are highlighted.

- Frisk’s favorite character in the AUs is Papyrus. It’s why they chose the red scarf.

- Chara’s favorite is all of the Frisks. (They also love Sans and his jokes and pranks, though they won’t admit to it, especially considering how many Sanses out there hate them)

- If you manage to separate them somehow… Things will not go well. For anyone.

[crowwritesaway]

Yandere Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Pt.2

“Come on, Y/N. Get inside the car.” Bucky told you, laying a hand on his car. You shook your head. “Let’s go.”

“Bucky.” He tilted his head. “Y/N.” He followed you. How else would he have known you were at some party. “I’m here with some friends.” He raised a brow. He moved his hand from the car and walked towards you. “What friends?”

“Friends that you don’t know.” He scoffed, shaking his head. I know everything.

“Bucky. Seriously. I’m gonna go back inside.” You turned away. Bucky reached out and pulled you into his arms. He wrapped his arms around you. He snuggled his head into your neck. “I’m lonely.” He mumbled, his breath tickling your neck.

You bit your bottom lip. You placed your hands on his. “Then…then join me. Let’s go.” He grumbled. He didn’t want to go back into the club. It was full of people…of men. He saw them stare at you. He didn’t blame them. You were gorgeous.

“You don’t even like crowded spaces.” He said, turning you around to face you. He held onto your hands. “I thought why not try something different.” He narrowed his eyes. “When exactly did you meet these so called friends?” You looked at him. “Last week.” He couldn’t believe it. You put yourself at risk. “Y/N.” He scolded you. “Why would you do that?”

“Does Steve know about these friends?” Your eyes went wide. “No. He wouldn’t freaked out.” He raised an eyebrow. What about me? I’m freaking out. Ugh. “Obviously, you too. I can take care of myself. I’m not a damsel in distress.” He chuckled. I’ll show you. Just wait. “We’re leaving. Now.” Fine. You reluctantly followed him to the car. He opened the passenger door. You sat inside. He closed the door and walked over to the driver side. You tugged against the seatbelt. It was stuck. Just what I needed. You groaned.

He opened the door and sat on the driver’s seat. He heard the noise of the jammed seatbelt. He smiled. She looks so adorable. You were huffing and puffing. You blew your hair away from your face. His lips were so close to yours. He reached over and pulled the seatbelt and clipped it. You looked away, clearing your throat.

He moved away. My damsel. My doll. Mine. All mine. “Thanks.” You mumbled, your face heating up. “Anything for my damsel in distress.” You put your hand over your face. I bet he’s smirking.

He was. Bucky smirked while glancing at you. He ignited the car and drove out of the parking lot. “What’s your plans for tomorrow?” He knew what they were but it wouldn’t hurt to ask. You looked out the window. “The usual. Work. Eat. Sleep. Might throw in a little surprise visit to…” You sat up. “Just the usual.” He frowned. To who…surprise visit to who?

“What about you?” You asked Bucky. He sighed. His mind was screaming at him. Who were you going to see? And why didn’t you tell him? “Nothing.” Except follow up on whoever you’re visiting. A surprise. And for what?

“You might as well go on a date.” You told him, he deserves to be with someone. He was pretty lonely. Not that he needed someone to fill in the void. His head snapped towards you. “Why? I have you.” You furrowed your eyebrows. “Yeah, but it’s different.” He looked back on the road. “Different how.”

You licked your lips. “Well, ours is platonic. I’m talking about love. At your age, shouldn’t you be settled down with one or two kids or pets.”

“My age.” He said in a cold tone. “I mean, you know what I mean. “I’ve been on dates. For your information, they just don’t have what I want.” They’re not you.

“Is marriage something you want?” He asked you. Because if that’s what you want. He’ll have the ring by tomorrow. Everything could be arranged within a week.

“I don’t think so. I haven’t met the one.” The one you approved of. You rolled your eyes. “Really. How do you know that?” You clicked your tongue. “How about the boyfriend I had two weeks ago?”

“No.” He refused. I’m taking about me. I’m right here. “Sooner or later, one of us is going to be in a relationship.” You crossed your arms. “Yeah, we’ll see.” He gritted his teeth.

Stay around for more of Yandere Bucky Barnes x Reader

[thisismeracing]

Twisted Love | MS47

― Pairing: Dark Angel!Mick x fem!reader ― Word count: 3.3k ― Warnings: +18; suggestive content and a quick description of sex (p in v); mentions of a fallen angel, assault, and stalker behavior; description of horror situations and death (but not too graphic). ― Summary: The rule is clear for all celestial beings: to love the Almighty beyond everything. They can’t share the feeling. It is perpetually prohibited for angels to get fond of humans, especially the protector angels. They are the ones who will follow their human on earth and protect each one. Those Angels and the humans are the same pairing throughout time. Mick watched Yn die and come to life in different forms each period, and he fell. In love and from Heaven. Years after searching for Yn, he found her again, and he’s ready to get what’s his.

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“I slithered here from Eden, just to sit outside your door.” — Hozier, From Eden

He knew the rules. He had friends who disobeyed it and had to pay the price: to leave Heaven. And nobody wants to leave the Heavens. Mick never judged them, but he always questioned himself as to why would someone freely give up their position, their friends, their home, and their God, for something that could only be classified as temporary when put side by side with the world known by the celestial beings.

Up until he met you.

Up until he watched you die and come back to life.

Up until he protected you in every lifetime.

Up until he couldn’t resist but visit your dreams.

Up until he finally realized he was in love.

With a human.

Mick Schumacher was in love with you.

A guardian angel was in love with his human.

He was cast out of Heaven by the Almighty who did it with so much mourn and pain, that the other celestial beings almost tried to change His mind. But nobody questions the Almighty's orders. Rules were made by Him and they were meant to be followed. It doesn’t matter if it was one of His favorite angels.

Mick still remembers what he said to him before judgment day.

“Son, you can still regret your sin. You can still change your mind, and the Heavens will forgive you,” the powerful voice echoed around, and Mick kept his head low.

He could only think of you. And how your skin felt against his. How beautiful you looked sleeping. And how angelical your laughter was.

“Father, you always talk about love, so why don’t you let your beings love?” he asks, and though if the question came from any other Celestial the Almighty could read it as some kind of disrespect, it came from Mick, so he only sighed.

“You can love me, I’m your creator, your ruler. I made you the way you are Mick.”

“Then why are you punishing me for following my instincts and feelings? If you created me the way I am, then it’s your fault I’m choosing this path!” he retorted, finally lifting his eyes to the sky. The most beautiful sky to ever exist. The kind of thing that no human eyes would support.

“Enough!” the Almighty’s voice reverberated around the void and clouds. “You’re being cast out of Heaven, son. And your human? She just died. You’re gonna have to find her again. Good luck, Mick.”

And so he walked around the earth, he flew around the sea, he looked at each corner until he could finally find where you were reborn. Where you had reincarnated.

And when he finally did he followed you like a shadow. Just like he did when he was your guardian angel.

And Oh- you were so beautiful, so perfect. Mick loved staying by your side while you worked, spooking a male coworker here and there. He would walk home with you, just observing as you smiled widely to everyone who passed by, how you were so full of life, how you were still the woman he fell in love with. The one he fell for. Quite literally.

–

It was a Friday night, it was a happy hour from work at a bar three streets from your building. You weren’t in the mood to party, but your friends insisted, and your boss was always so adamant about having everyone together, you did not know how to say no to the invitation.

That’s how you found yourself sitting at a barstool, your lips a bit numb from a shot of something you didn’t know. Your body was lighter and the tipsy feeling made you giggle at everything three of your coworkers would say.

Mick was watching from the shadows, a mask of invisibility around him while he assessed the dangers around the place. And his blood boiled when he saw the guy who was eyeing you from the beginning buying you a drink from across the bar, tipping something on your cup before asking for the barman to give it to you.

He transported himself to a dark hallway and walked to you just when the drink was put on the wood counter, the contents of whatever the man had added settling at the bottom of the cup. Mick took advantage of the place where you were sitting and pretended to sit by your side, accidentally knocking your cup.

“Oh- oh my, I’m so clumsy, I’m really sorry,” he used his best mask to pretend it wasn’t his intention. To draw your attention to him.

You turned ready to complain, but the second your eyes met his big blue orbs your voice died down, trapped in your throat along with your heart from how fast it started to beat. He was so beautiful, you couldn’t help but let your eyes wander from his angelic face to his white button down, some of the top buttons opened showing just a hint of blonde chest hair. You gulped. He was wearing blue jeans too, and a pair of Converse shoes. What a marvelous view, you thought.

“I can buy you another drink to make up for it,” he suggested after some seconds of silence, and you gulped, before giving him a nod with your head. “I’m Mick, by the way. It’s nice to meet you.”

He extended one of his big hands and you shared a glance with your coworkers behind you, one of them giving a thumbs up as if approving the way Mick looked. You giggled, and turned your body fully in his direction, taking his hand in yours and feeling the chills run down your body.

“You seem familiar,” you muttered.

“I’ve read somewhere that blonde guys are starting to catch up with the brunettes on statistic numbers,” he joked, lifting just the corner of his lips while his eyes attentively scanned you.

You let out a chuckle, finally touching his hand with yours and stopping for a beat. His skin felt warm, and it was like her whole body was lit up by a simple touch, “I’m Yn.”

“Sorry for your drink again, Yn. Though I think I may have saved you, it looked awful from what I saw,” he pointed to the glass that only had a small sip, the liquid a strange green shade.

You made a face at the contents, “What are you having?”

And Mick grinned internally. You were being forward. You wanted his company. He knew you didn’t usually try to make conversation like this. He knows you prefer your silence most of the time. Knows you like the back of his hand.

“Whatever you’re having.”

“Well, I had a few glasses of gin and cola, but I can totally follow you with beer if you want.” Oh, you were so sweet. And so thoughtful.

Mick smiled and shook his head, “I don’t like beer,” because you don’t like beer, Yn. And I’m the perfect guy for you, “I’ll have gin and cola too, sounds tasty.”

Your eyes lit up, and a small smile graced your lips.

And so he kept you company for hours. Drinking and talking. You were so carefree, laughing at all of his jokes, and cracking a few too, to which he would throw his head back and present you with the perfect view of his milky neck. You so wanted to kiss and lick it.

From his peripheral vision, he saw the guy who tried to drug you walk to the bathroom. Mick excused himself and followed him. His wings were twitching on his back, begging to be set free so he could fly to the highest spot and drop that little shit from there.

When he opened the door, the guy was washing his hands and turned to him, instantly recognizing Mick as the man who stole his victim of the night.

“Your motherfucker, I was-”

Mick furrowed his brows and stared deep into his eyes.

There are things that the human eyes aren’t ready to process yet. And that’s exactly the form that he showed the guy. The form that shut his mouth, making him gasp with utter terror. Mick smiled, closing his eyes and coming back to his blonde skin, eyes now completely dark, inviting the man to jump into the unknown darkness. Something that would certainly kill him.

“Please,” he tried to plead, but nobody messes with you and lives to tell a story. Mick was still your angel. It was still his duty to protect you.

He felt satisfied when the guy dropped at his feet, mind haunted by the worst demons earth could house, and body a few seconds from death.

Mick brushed invisible dust from his shoulders, before walking back to the bar. An enchanting smile on his lips when your eyes found him in the crowd.

“That was quick,” you jabbed and Mick chuckled, fitting his body right beside yours instead of sitting at the barstool.

“I missed you, had to make it quick, or else my heart wouldn’t take it.”

You giggled, turning to him. One of your elbows at the wooden counter. Mick turned too, fitting between your legs that parted just right for him.

Looking up at him it was like you were the angel. His angel. His goodness.

He loved you. He worshiped you. And it felt heavenly when your hands reached for his shoulders, bringing his face down to yours and crashing your lips in a tentative kiss. You flicked your tongue shyly, and Mick almost moaned, holding your jaw and your waist, and opening his mouth for you to deepen the kiss.

The material of his shirt was soft against your palms, and so was the skin of his neck when you moved your hands there and threaded your fingers between his blonde strands.

Mick tasted like alcohol with a hint of something sweet and fresh, and you almost moaned when he sucked your bottom lips into his mouth, grinning into the kiss.

You stayed like this for a bit, kissing here and there, talking, and sipping your drinks. Your coworkers were long gone. And when you got ready to leave, Mick offered to walk you home which for some reason you accepted.

His hand laced yours while you walked down the dark streets, and you never felt so protected in your life the way you felt at that moment.

You had just met him. You had no justification to trust him. To show him where you lived. To ask if he wanted to enter your apartment. But he had such inviting eyes. Such a way of holding you. Of you speaking.

He looked like an angel.

And that angel waited right at the threshold waiting for whatever you would say after you got inside.

Mick wanted to do it right.

He had entered her house so many times, but now it would be different. You would invite him. You would house him. He remembers one of the verses of the Book of Life where the Almighty says that he’s at your door, and he’ll only get inside if you ask him to.

Well, he’s ready to be your everything, but he wants you to invite him to do so first.

You turn around, a hazy smile on your lips, “C’mon, Micky, don’t be shy about me now. Get inside,” you finally verbalize. “This is my house, I don’t share it with anybody, no roommates, I promise. You’re welcome to get in.”

You’re welcome to get in.

I don’t share it with anybody.

He grinned. You share it with him now.

Mick walked inside.

He took his shoes off and walked to your kitchen watching you try to heat some frozen pizza.

That night Mick fed you, bathed you, and laid with you in bed, making sure to leave just before you wake up and pretend he slept on the couch.

That morning he made you breakfast, adding an extra strong black coffee to help you with your headache. He also asked you on a date and kissed you when leaving – which he didn’t do, because he was always there. He wasn’t from Heaven anymore, but he was still your angel, he would always be your angel.

That month he asked you to be his girlfriend. You discovered his surname, and that you had more things in common than you thought that night. You discovered that he was a biker and that he spoke several foreign languages. He had gone to the military, but never into war – his skin was too flawless for someone who had, no scars, except for two on his back, which he explained were from a car accident.

Life with Mick was perfect. It was like he could read your mind. He knew what you needed at the right time, he would order you food when he wasn’t around, and cook for you when he was. He would show up to pick you up at work with flowers. And he would whisper the dirtiest things in your ear while maintaining the purest face.

Just like he was doing now.

“Tell me who you belong to, Yn,” his order was smooth, just like the skin of his stomach that was gliding over yours while he thrusts into you at a slow and deep pace.

You whimper, hands going to his back, fingers finding his scars, and gripping his body closer to yours, “I- I’m yours, Mick. All yours. Only yours.”

He paused with his lips in front of yours, breathing you in right before tasting you. It wasn’t long until you both dissolved into pleasure. His fingers trace your curves, while you lay your head on his chest.

He was so good at aftercare.

He was good at convincing you.

He was good at everything.

You never thought he was good at murder too.

It was a Saturday night and you were walking home from the same bar you met Mick. You had just met with some coworkers and decided to walk home. And you would have texted your boyfriend for him to pick you up, but your phone died, and you didn’t want to bother Mick, he was probably fixing the new bike he got last week.

What you weren’t expecting was a guy to come out of nowhere in front of you. He was huge, and he smelled like alcohol. You don’t even understand whatever he slurred. When panic finally kicks in, and you’re ready to scream, but his hand finds your mouth, while the other one grips your neck.

You remember your mother telling you that you must have a strong guardian angel, remember her telling you about the day you were born, and how they almost lost you. And so you pray for him. Pray for whatever bigger force could hear you.

And he shows up.

Mick shows up.

You called for him. Granted, you had no idea he was a fallen angel, an angel nonetheless.

Your angel.

And you were so innocent, so vulnerable, you needed Mick, that’s what he would tell himself, mainly because he was already following you. He always was.

You reminded him of his portrait in a mirror years ago, back when he was innocent too. Just an angel. One of the Almighty’s favorites.

But he wasn’t innocent anymore. He had fallen. And fallen angels don’t mind killing people that get in their way. So that’s what Mick did. He gripped the guy’s neck and held his face in front of his making sure his own back was turned to you. Mick showed him what the worst things on earth could look like, and how they looked in hell. The guy tried to look away, tried to close his eyes, but he had glanced at Mick’s black orbs, it was too late. Before his heart would stop, before his mind would get too hazy to understand everything, Mick twisted his neck and threw his body to the ground.

When your boyfriend turned to you, your eyes bulged still trying to grasp what just happened. You pointed to the guy on the ground, and Mick just nodded making you even more scared. How could your Mick kill someone? The sweet and kind Mick. The attentive, and soft-spoken blonde guy had just made whatever magic and killed someone.

“Love,” he called, and you shook your head trying to make your legs work. “Don’t be afraid,” he tried to reason, but your mind finally caught up with your body and you started running unsure of where you were heading since he had the keys to your place. Hell, he basically lived there!

“Yn, don’t run from me,” it was one of his soft orders, but this time they didn’t bring butterflies to your stomach but rather made your body prickle with fear because the second you turned your head Mick was flying in your direction.

He had big black wings with some golden feathers. It was beautiful, but scary somehow, just as everything new is.

You ran as fast as you could but it was nothing compared to how fast he could fly, and when Mick reached you he laced his hands around your body and flew up. You watched the gleam on his blue eyes, the way his milky skin seemed lightning, his dark wings enveloping you. He was still beautiful. Still, the whole moment felt like too much and your mind shut on you.

–

Waking up to Mick watching you wasn’t new, but this time it felt different especially because he still had his wings. They had retreated somehow, looking a bit smaller than earlier, but they were still here, and your breath hitched when you realized that it wasn’t a nightmare.

“I- What are you?”

“I’m an angel,” he stated, and your brows furrowed. “A fallen one. I was your guardian… still your guardian somehow,” his simple and direct explanation made you sit up and dig your hands into the bed cushion feeling dizzy all over again.

“An angel?!”

Mick nodded.

“You killed a man…” you shuddered.

He huffed, fingers going through the golden strands of his hair, “He’s not the first.” Mick’s confession makes you scramble to get up, “In my defense, they all tried to do you harm, and I would never let someone harm what's mine.”

He was so calm about it you wanted to laugh in disbelief.

“And you learned it at what… the third book of the Bible? No wonder you’ve fallen.”

His features twist.

“I was cast out of Heaven because I chose you instead of the Almighty.”

You tremble, head shaking in denial.

“Not possible. That’s sick…”

“I love you.”

“You don’t love me! What kind of twisted love is that where you kill people for me?”

He grins, “The best kind. You said so yourself you love me back, you also said you’re mine. You welcomed me here into your life, and I won’t leave.”

You gulped. “Mick, please. No.”

His eyes softened for a second, and you felt for yourself because he somehow looked like your Mick. The one you loved. And if he asked you something you would do it.

“You want me to prey on you?” he smirked. “You know you can’t run from me.”

Your love castle came crumbling down in the blink of an eye and along came your tears rushing down your face.

“Please,” such a mournful sound. Mick shook his head. “You’re a monster!”

“I’m your monster, love. You can’t deny it.”

With his wings fully retreated Mick appeared in front of you. When his lips find yours you try to push his shoulders and bite his lips, but he moans into your mouth, and the feeling of his muscular form and soft lips makes your brain shortcut. You’re open for him like his favorite meal on a silver plate.

“I waited too long for this. You’re mine, and I’ll hunt you down if you ever try to leave me, Yn.”

And your mom was right. You had a strong guardian angel, however, nobody accounted for the fact that he would be obsessed with you. Looking for love you ended up stumbling into something close to there, but also close to hell.

────── ⋆🪩 VOICEMAIL: Hi, besties! I hope you liked the piece! This is the last one from the spooky pieces I tried writing hehe hopefully this is as good as the previous ones. I wanted to add a huge shout-out to Coffee (my coffee emoji anon here on Tumblr) for proofreading this <3.  Let me know your thoughts on this and make sure to reblog and leave a comment because Tumblr is being a btch and not delivering my stuff properly :( *mwah*.  

Ps. You'll notice that I make a lot of references throughout this piece, but none of them are intended to hurt beliefs or represent my vision of things. This is purely a work of fiction, and I tried my best to avoid using specific elements, choosing to go with "Almighty" in some moments and be a tad vague. I hope this doesn't come across as some kind of disrespect or anything. *virtual hug*

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