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illyrianbitch · 5 months ago

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An Education in Malice — Part Five

Pairing: Vanserra!Reader x Azriel

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

Warnings: lots of bickering, some IC drama, underlying sexual tension, threats, forced proximity trope, brief mentions of abuse, the sickening sense of being vulnerable and being perceived, helion not being a snitch

Word Count: 8.9k

←Part Four | Series Masterlist | Part Six

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Azriel was many things.

It could take him years to list all of the attributes he held— characteristics that spanned between inherently good and inherently bad. Centuries of living had led him to creating so many different versions of himself, some more kind than others, some more wise. But none of them were weak.

Since the day he’d been freed from that basement, hands charred and shaky, a newfound anger burning in his chest, Azriel spent every minute ensuring he wasn’t weak.

Yet, your voice persisted in his mind.

You are weak.

It wasn’t physical strength you were referring to. Which, perhaps, made the statement even worse. Because deep down Azriel was troubled by the fact that you maybe were right. Maybe he was weak. Somehow, someway, you had gotten under his skin— buried yourself somewhere deep and hidden. As much as he tried, he couldn't dig you out, couldn't stop your voice from echoing tirelessly in his mind.

A slave to your anger.

Azriel’s fists slammed into the training dummy.

To your impulses.

He threw another punch.

to your High Lord.

A biting feeling nagged at his battered knuckles, at the ridged scars that marred them.

You have always been weak.

Azriel let out a curse as a streak of pain painted his arm.

This was an unusual form of training for him, the bare hands and hand-to-hand combat. Usually, he practiced with a sword, with his weapons, and it was often sparring with Cassian. But Azriel needed something more today— needed to feel the pain in his own hands, needed something to pull him back into his body, to tie him down from floating away in his thoughts that were plagued by you.

His wings flared, shadows whipping around him in a frenzied dance as he remembered the look on your face, the fire in your eyes. He replayed it in his mind over and over, focused on the hurt he had sworn he glimpsed there, a flash of vulnerability that you quickly masked with your anger. He couldn't shake the image, couldn't forget the rawness of your voice as you hurled those words at him. He’d begun to think he imagined it, that he’d somehow convinced himself that you’d shown some semblance of care.

Weak.

His self control was weak. Maybe this he could admit. He’d been working on it these past two years, working on how to control his temper, on how to be more approachable to those who hadn’t known him for centuries prior. A part of him had done it instinctively around Elain, scared to spook her like a terrified fawn in a forest. And then he began working on it for himself– to prove, in some sense, that he was still capable of being someone perhaps more deserving of a mate.

It wasn’t going all too successfully, but he was working on it. At least, he was trying to. But with you, Azriel had no control. There were only three emotions he felt with you, only three reactions that his mind registered: fight, flee, or fuck. It had become too difficult to separate them—

Azriel.

The voice echoed in his mind. He skillfully pushed it away. There was an emotion deep in his chest that didn’t belong to that group of three, one that burned hot, tasted vile and sour. He felt it whenever he thought of you.

He threw another punch.

Azriel.

His name was spoken with a tone much deeper this time, much more firm. It shot him back into a prior memory, into one of him staring into angry violet eyes with an icy defiance. Once again, he pushed away the force in his mind. The space that the call had occupied was quickly replaced by you.

Rhysand’s face was etched into his memory too, a disappointed and angry look of a newly made father. Azriel didn’t want to see it again, didn't want to bother pretending he felt sorry.

So he struck again. And again.

“Azriel.”

The voice was louder.

This time, it wasn’t just in his mind. It was real, commanding, and filled with an authority that made his shadows tremble for a moment, skittering to hover above his heavy, black boots.

Azriel paused, chest heaving, and looked up to see Rhysand and Cassian standing at the edge of the training ring. He gave no verbal greeting, opting to straighten his back and tuck his wings into the blades of his back.

Rhysand raised a brow, an edge of annoyance creeping into his voice. “I’ve been calling for you.”

Azriel only tossed a glance at Cassian before bringing a hand to wipe the sweat off his brow. Rhys sighed, a sound that was clipped in a sense of frustration. “We need to talk.”

Azriel looked at his hands, taking in the bloodied knuckles and the slight tremble in his fingers. His shadows slowly snaked around his forearms and he felt a tug deep within his chest.

He cringed at the sensation, at the feeling that had grown to something so routine as of late.

He assumed it was the nagging feeling of unfinished business, that he was restless and unsettled because, in any other case, he would’ve killed you, would’ve done something to keep you contained—but he couldn’t. He wasn’t allowed to. A beast wandering free and he was feral for you. Not that he’d ever admit it. Not even to his shadows.

“I’m busy,” Azriel finally said, his voice cold and final.

The tone of it felt so jarring that even Cassian’s eyes widened slightly in shock. From beside him, Rhysand’s jaw twitched. He stepped closer.

“Well then. Finish what you're doing and meet me back in my office within the hour.”

Something burned beneath Azriel’s skin. “I’m not your dog,” he snapped.

Something shifted in the air and Azriel didn’t need to look over at his brothers to know he was pushing their patience— he could smell it, the offense that radiated off them. It should have made him sick, made him feel guilty if anything, but it didn't.

It was Cassian who replied first, a flaring anger as he stepped forward, wings extending with the movement. “Az,” he said sharply, a warning clear in his tone.

Azriel almost laughed to himself. Your voice rang in his mind again, loud and entirely too overwhelming. If he was a slave to Rhysand, what did that make Cassian? A better brother, maybe. An even better-trained dog, too.

Rhysand’s face flickered with indecision, as if he were struggling between what role he should assume— that of the High Lord or that of a friend. Anger flashed in his violet eyes before he pushed it back.

“No, you are not,” Rhysand said, “But you are my family and this court’s Spymaster. And I am calling on you in regard to those two positions you hold.”

A moment of silence passed and the thickness of it prickled at Cassian’s skin. He let out a scoff, focusing his gaze on Azriel as he shifted his weight on his feet. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Azriel glared at him. “Nothing.”

Rhysand sighed. “Fine. You don’t want to leave this ring? I can work with that.” He beckoned Cassian to walk with him onto the ring, stepping closer to Azriel. “I’ve set up a meeting with Beron.”

Azriel’s head snapped up. “That is a bad idea.”

Rhysand raised his eyebrows. “You hid a prisoner from me and risked an entire alliance. I’m not asking for your approval.”

Azriel’s shadows wrapped coiled tighter against him.

“So why are you telling me?”

“Because you will need to be in attendance,” Rhysand replied. His tone left no room for argument. “And I expect you to be in control. Whatever issues you have with Y/N, you will not be repeating them again.”

Azriel cringed inwardly. His brother didn’t know the full extent of what had transpired. He only knew the story that Azriel had spun– one of you threatening to end the alliance if he didn’t help you with Renard, how he had claimed he couldn’t stand being around you anymore and ended it on his own terms. The beautifully and carefully constructed lie Azriel had fed him so easily that it concerned him.

Cassian watched the tense exchange with a furrowed brow. It only took a few seconds before his restraint broke, and he let out a small growl in warning. “Cauldron, Az, are you itching for a fight?” he said, “I would’ve expected you to be ecstatic now that you're not forced to spend time with that pretentious bitch of a—”

“Shut the hell up,” Azriel snapped, his head whipping up to glare at Cassian. The force of his words made Cassian step back, the frown deepening on his face. His jaw tightened as he took a step forward, as if to ready himself to strike.

Azriel quickly checked himself and took a deep breath. “This has nothing to do with her,” he said, his voice strained but measured— controlled. “Of course I’m glad to be free of that gods-forsaken arrangement.” He sent a glance Rhysand’s way, a flicker of defiance in his eyes. “It never should have been made.”

Cassian opened his mouth, his protest painted clear in his expression, but Rhysand clapped a hand on his shoulder, silencing him before he spoke. “Cass, I need a moment with Az.”

Cassian looked offended, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to form words. “What—but—”

“Go,” Rhysand said firmly. Once again, his tone held no room for argument. Unlike Az, Cassian complied, but not without a head shake and a scoff.

Cassian grumbled under his breath, casting one last burning glance at Azriel before leaving the training ring. Az made a mental note that he’d have to fix that later, whatever small crack he’d just created between them. He wasn't too worried about it, but he needed to do it before the wound festered.

Once they were alone, Rhysand’s eyes bore into Azriel’s in a scrutinizing gaze. It was heavy, curious, and frustrated at the same time. It felt heavier than usual. “What is this really about?”

Azriel stared at him, shadows swirling around his hands. He shook his head. “Nothing.”

Rhysand’s expression hardened. “Azriel. You have already kept too much from me. I have been graceful.”

A muscle tensed in the shadowsinger's jaw.

“And if I don’t say anything? What will you do then? Command me to be honest?” Azriel’s voice was sharp. While there was a clear challenge in his tone, Rhysand recognized something else in it, something that reeked of insecurity, of a male unsettled.

Rhys narrowed his eyes and his power crackled beneath his skin. “Careful.”

They stood locked in a silent standoff, both rigid in posture and face tightened in a stare. Azriel’s mind raced as he weighed his options, desperately searching for the best route to end the conversation. He settled on a half truth.

“Eris can be predictable. But Y/N is not. And now we have no read on her.”

Rhysand narrowed his eyes. “And whose fault is that?”

Azriel snarled, but Rhysand let out a small sigh that cut through the sound. “Let me worry about that alliance. Get yourself together.”

And then he began to walk away, a picture-perfect image of calm and control.

“When is the meeting with Beron?” Azriel called after him.

Rhysand stopped and shrugged, a faint, almost dismissive gesture. “Maybe in two days. Or two weeks. We will see. Either way—my sentiment still stands.”

Azriel knew Rhysand was right; he needed to get himself together. But the disaster within him, the tangled mess of emotions and unresolved conflict, was driving him more mad that usual. Your face, your words, haunted him still, and he wondered if he would ever find a way to fix the mess you had left in your wake.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

You made your way around the library, navigating through the rows of meticulously organized shelves, each one filled with hundreds of beautifully bound books. The scent of aged parchment and faint traces of magic hung in the air and you were almost tempted to linger and explore.

You'd always craved a day in the Day Court's libraries, a time to read and run your fingers along a variety of books. It was just as beautiful as you'd imagined, and you told yourself you'd return another day and appreciate it properly.

But right now, your focus was on a different kind of discovery. Skillfully avoiding the watchful eyes of Helion’s skilled librarians and guards—each dressed casually yet elegantly, exuding an air of quiet power—you moved with purpose.

It only took you a few more minutes before you found the heavy door concealed within a niche, its ancient wood imposing against the backdrop of polished stone. With a mixture of excitement and caution, you pushed it open, revealing a dimly lit chamber tucked away from prying eyes. There were countless shelves laden with dusty volumes lining the walls of the chamber. Small tables and ornate couches were spread throughout the room with faint, glittering faelights that accompanied them.

You could only imagine the type of people Helion had housed here, the conversations that must have unfolded amidst the quiet elegance that the space seemed to hold.

A smile tugged at your lips as you stepped inside.

And then you stilled as a prickling sensation bit at the nape of your neck.

You whirled around, seizing Azriel’s arm and slamming him against the wall. Surprise flitted across his face, replaced swiftly by a calculating gaze as he reversed your maneuver with effortless grace, pinning you back against the cool stone instead.

Before you could offer him a few choice words, a faint shimmer of light danced through the air. The large door through which you had entered shut with a heavy thud, the surface of it shimmering faintly, as if an invisible force sealed it shut.

"No, no, no," you muttered under your breath, pushing Azriel off with enough force to make him stumble. His eyes darted across the room as you pressed your palms against the door, trying to push it open again, but it remained resolutely closed. The air around you crackled with suppressed magic.

"What the hell was that?" he demanded, his voice tinged with urgency.

"It's a containment spell,” you bit out, “We're trapped.”

Some time passed in tense silence as Azriel moved methodically around the room. Your gaze followed his every move, your jaw set in a tight line as you swallowed down the insults that were itching to be thrown at him.

“Can’t you make them do something useful?” you snapped, nodding towards the black smoke that buzzed around Azriel’s form. “Send them to get help or something?”

Azriel rolled his eyes and his shadows seemed to mimic the movement, circling his arms in a fit of annoyance. “Thank you for that brilliant idea,” he said, tone dripping with sarcasm. “If you haven’t noticed, princess, they are shadows.”

He gestured to the sunlight flooding through the cracks of the grand door. “They can’t go out in broad daylight. And from what I’ve observed about this library, there's a lot of that. We’re going to have to wait until sunset.”

Helion’s libraries were bathed in perpetual sunlight, with large, open windows that invited the sun's rays to flood the space. It casted a warm, golden glow over the towering shelves in a way that made the space seem dreamlike, made it seem holy. The sunlight wasn’t just a feature; it was a constant presence— the library was filled with sunlight every hour of the day that the sun was shining.

This particular room, however, was the exception. It was windowless, the only light filtering in through the cracks of the large charmed door. The room was designed to preserve the unique and delicate books within, shielding them from the harsh sunlight that could damage their pages. You had come here specifically for this reason, to find a particular book in this carefully protected area.

“Sunset?” you echoed incredulously. “It’s nine in the fucking morning, Shadowsinger. You’re telling me I have to wait until either Helion finds us or until your little shadow dogs can finally go out and play?”

Azriel raised an eyebrow, his mouth falling into a tight line. “Well, maybe you should break into libraries at more reasonable hours of the day.”

You resisted the urge to pull a book from one of the many shelves and hurl it his way. “I wasn’t breaking in,” you retorted, crossing your arms. “You made this a break-in when you followed me and set off some strange alarms.”

Azriel’s eyes narrowed and he took a step towards you. “I didn’t follow you, and I certainly didn’t set off any alarms. That was all you.”

“You didn’t follow me?” you scoffed. “Then what were you doing? Brooding from afar in hopes that I’d apologize for hurting your feelings?”

A flicker of irritation crossed his features. His jaw tightened and his eyes flashed with something close to anger. “H-hurting my feelings?” he said, his voice low, “You think you hurt my feelings?”

“Yes,” you replied, lifting your chin. “I think I bruised your ego by shoving the truth down your throat.”

“Oh, please. Don’t flatter yourself, ” he sneered. Azriel turned on his heel and took one step away from you before he was spinning around, lifting an accusatory finger your way. “And I don’t brood. I was surveying the area for threats, which, if I recall correctly, is my job.”

“Yeah, in the Night Court,” you snapped back, “We’re in the Day Court, genius.”

Azriel’s eyes narrowed with irritation. “The Day Court is our ally. That means ensuring their safety—and ours. If you weren’t wandering into places you don’t belong, I wouldn’t need to follow you.”

You let out a bitter laugh, stepping closer to him. “So you admit you were following me?”

Azriel stiffened as if he had barely registered the words he’d spoken. He blinked and then he strengthened himself, speaking to you in a voice that was steady and cold. “You’re a threat that needs to be monitored.”

Something burned in your chest.

“Is that what you were doing every time you slept with me? Monitoring me?”

The words seemed to hit their intended target. For a moment, there was silence. Azriel’s expression hardened and he held your gaze for a beat too long before looking away.

When you realized he wasn’t going to offer a verbal response, you let out a deep breath.

“I don’t understand why you can’t just leave me alone,” you growled through gritted teeth. “I’ve done nothing besides visit an open court. Helion has no problems with me being here. And now you’ve gone and trapped us because you’re an obsessive, paranoid, freak.”

He looked at you again, his eyes guarded and expression unreadable.

“This is not my fault. This is yours. Forgive me if I didn’t believe that you had innocent intentions.”

You rolled your eyes. “Of course, the all-knowing Spymaster assumes I’m up to something sinister. Maybe I just wanted to read in peace.”

“Then why all the secrecy?” he shot back, “Why the need to sneak into restricted sections?”

You felt a surge of frustration flickering in you like a hot flame. You curled your hands into fists, grounding yourself as your nails bit into your palm. “Like I said, I just wanted to read in peace. You don’t know everything. You don’t know what I’m doing or why. So stop pretending you do.”

Azriel studied you for a long moment.

“Okay,” He began as he took another step towards you, shadows flickering around him like agitated serpents. “Tell me exactly what you are doing here. What book are you looking to read?”

The shadows around him seemed to pulse. You held his gaze, feeling the weight of his scrutiny bearing down on you. Swallowing against the sudden dryness in your throat, you glowered at him.

“None of your business,” you said, your voice low, cold, and clipped. “Get off my back.”

“Not until I know you’re not up to something.”

“Paranoid bastard.”

“I have every right to be,” he said, “Especially with you.”

“You’re insufferable,” you shot back, feeling the heat of frustration rising within you — fast and unforgiving. It simmered at the edges of your skin. “It must be so exhausting living in that tiresome head of yours.”

Azriel didn’t respond immediately, his jaw tightening as he struggled to rein in his temper. “You have a habit of causing trouble. It’s my job to ensure that trouble doesn’t affect my people or our allies.”

“Your people,” You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest. You pushed away the urge to make a further comment on his choice of words. “If you stopped treating me like an enemy, I wouldn’t feel the need to act like one. Everything that I am is what you have pushed me to be.”

His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, you thought he might actually strike you. But instead, he took a deep breath as a shadow of conflict passed over his features. Before the silence between you could stretch any longer, Azriel straightened, his mask of indifference slipping back into place.

“Why not just tell me what you’re doing?”

Because you didn’t owe him an explanation. The thought echoed resolutely in your mind. Beneath your defiance, a familiar, almost comforting, surge of resentment bubbled up—why should you justify your every move to him? He was nothing more than an obstacle, an irritating shadow that refused to fade.

So you said nothing, gave no reply. The silence stretched between you and each passing moment seemed to exacerbate his agitation. You observed the cracks in his usual unbothered, stoic facade— the clenching of his strangely battered fists, the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. He deserved to be unsettled, you thought bitterly. His mistrust was a reflection of his own insecurities, his duty an excuse to assert dominance over you. You refused to be cowed, not by him or anyone else.

“Silence. Beautiful,” he scoffed. Azriel turned away and you reveled in the momentary victory, savoring the small triumph of making him fall into a state of unease.

He began to pace the room, muttering under his breath— you could hear it only slightly, a continuous complaint about everything from the sunlight filtering through the door to the layout of the library. You stared at him, noticing how his shadows mimicked his agitation, swirling around him in a frenzy. His wings twitched with every movement.

His pacing became more frantic as he moved closer to the door, placing his hand on it as if trying to force it open. “This is ridiculous,” he growled. “We’re trapped here because of your secrecy. If you hadn’t been sneaking around—”

He paused mid-sentence, his movements halting abruptly. As if the weight of your gaze was tangible, he turned to look at you, eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that almost made you twitch.

“What?” Azriel snapped, a strain seizing his voice. Even his shadows seemed to jump at the sound of it. “Do you finally have something to say, princess?”

You remained silent, meeting his gaze with a steady calmness that seemed to unsettle him further. After a long moment, you finally spoke, your voice cool and measured. “I just have a question.”

Azriel scowled. “And what would that be?”

You observed him closely, tracing every miniscule movement of his body. A wicked smirk tugged at the corners of your lips.

“What color collar would you like?” You asked, raising an eyebrow as if to feign impatience. You leaned forward slightly. “You know, to go with all of your bitching and whining? I’m thinking a sapphire blue to coordinate with your gaudy jewelry.”

Your eyes flicked down to his siphons, and as if in response, the siphons glowed angrily. Underneath them, his fists clenched tightly, his whole body seeming to vibrate with anger. If Azriel wasn’t angry before, he was fuming now. The atmosphere crackled with animosity.

“Shut up,” Azriel said through clenched teeth.

You tilted your head, a defiant glint in your eyes. “Why should I?”

With a sudden surge of aggression, Azriel stomped towards you, his footsteps echoing in the confined space. He came to an abrupt stop just a few paces away, visibly fighting to maintain his composure. His fists clenched at his sides, shadows swirling around him like black smoke as he took a deep breath.

“Until we’re out of this gods-forsaken room,” he said tightly, “Just shut your damned mouth and stay over here. I’ll stay on the other end, out of your way.”

You weighed your options for a moment. You gave him a nonchalant shrug. “Fine. Works for me.”

Azriel shot you a final piercing glare before turning away, his back rigid with tension.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

You weren't sure how long had passed, but it had certainly been longer than an hour.

The enchantment that bound you and Azriel to this room seemed to turn every minute into an eternity. You were suffocating.

The weight of time pressed down on you as you scoured the shelves, determined not to let Azriel and this infuriating enchantment thwart your purpose. This restricted area of Helion's grand library was vast, filled with more books on folklore and legends than you had anticipated—and a rather peculiar assortment of erotic 'vampire' poetry that you tried your best to ignore.

Despite your persistence, you had yet to uncover any clue as to the whereabouts of what you sought. Each book you pulled from the shelves yielded nothing but disappointment.

You sighed, turning away from yet another shelf of books when your eyes caught sight of a one that stood out amidst the worn and weathered bindings. It was a slender volume with a vibrant red leather cover, contrasting sharply with the tattered browns around it. Without fully realizing your own actions, you reached out and delicately plucked the book from its place, cradling it in your hands.

The cover felt smooth and cool to the touch, the red leather soft against your fingertips. The title was written in an elegant, swirling golden cursive. It wasn't what you had been searching for—a book of love poems wasn't going to help you find the edge you sought—but something about it called to you nonetheless.

You landed on one particular page. The corners were marked with a dog-eared fold, a simple act that nearly drew a smile to your lips at the thought of Eris’s disdain for such casual treatment of books. He would have scoffed, made some remark about how it marred the delicate pages and diminished their value.

Before the rift between him and Eris grew too wide, Lucien used to sneak into Eris’s room and borrow his books, delighting in folding the pages to mark his favorite passages. Eris would fume at the sight, scolding Lucien for disrespecting not only his belongings but the value of the books themselves. Lucien basked in the frustration and would laugh so hard— a bright, joyous sound that echoed through the halls until Beron wearied of it.

Lucien stopped stealing those books soon after. He quickly learned that his place was not in his brother's room— it wasn’t even in his own home.

You turned your attention back to the poem on the page before you, your heart skipping a beat as you recognized the title. Something as heavy as a stone settled in your stomach.

Your mother was a lot of things. She was quiet at times, yes, but it was more pensive than it was shy. She was unbelievably brilliant, to a point where it pained you to think about it, to let yourself wonder how different her life could have been had she married someone other than your father. How different her life may have been if she never had any of you.

When you were younger, she fed you her fascination of books. Besides Eris and Lucien, your other brothers never took to it as much. They much preferred sparring in rings and finding ways to appease your father. While they lived off of the praise they received like good soldiers, you lived off of the stories your mother could tell you at night.

It was during those quiet hours, after Beron had retired to his chambers and the River House grew still, that she would sit by your bedside and brush the hair from your face. She would whisper stories into the darkness, tales of far-off lands and brave heroes, of mythical creatures and forbidden romances. But there was one story she cherished above all others.

It was a short poem from the perspective of two lovers torn apart by war. They loved each other fiercely, but the cruel hands of fate kept them separated in life. So profound was their longing that they struck a bargain with Death himself, pledging their souls to be together for eternity in the afterlife. The poem spoke of their sacrifice, their undying devotion, and the bittersweet beauty of a love that transcended even death.

You loved it almost as much as your mother did.

Love was real. This you knew. But it wasn’t for people in Autumn. It wasn’t for people who shared your blood.

Your mother proved it. The way her eyes would glaze over as she recited the poem, the way she’d talk about a love that you knew was never referring to Beron. She longed for someone that wasn't your father, someone she could never be with. And Jesmindas death only solidified the fact that love wasn’t made for Vanserras.

You still heard her screams at night, still held the image of Lucien’s blood curling sobs.

Loving someone, as much as you craved it, was selfish. It was a death wish— not only for you, but for them as well.

You read the poem again and a heavy feeling itched itself into your heart— something like a dagger of melancholy, stirring emotions that made you feel small and weak. Your chest tightened and you gripped the book tightly, feeling a flicker of fire growing within your bones.

Your mothers poem was here. In a book that was so clearly loved, so clearly worn. It felt almost sacred, imbued with a history of love and loss, cherished by someone who, like you, sought solace in its verses.

In this spell-protected sanctuary, amidst the hallowed halls of knowledge and ancient books, a realization hit you with a chilling clarity. You fought to regain composure, blinking away the tears that brimmed on your waterlines.

A soft, feather-light sensation around your wrist startled you back to the present. You looked down at your hands, watching as Azriel’s shadows flitted around you.Their touch was so gentle, so tender that it made you itch. You snapped the book shut, shoving it back into the shelf with a loud thud.

“If you don’t stop, I will pin you and your wings to the wall like a fucking decoration.”

Azriel let out a growl, but he refused to look your way. He didn’t have the energy needed in him to properly reciprocate the threat, didn’t quite care enough to be bothered by it.

You let out an angry breath. “Can you please control your little creatures?”

Your hand swatted at the shadows that still circled your wrists relentlessly.

“What are you talking about—”

Azriel’s words died in his throat as he looked at you. His body stiffened, and within seconds the shadows were dissipating from your wrists. They curled around his body, a single tendril wrapping around his ear.

Azriel’s face softened slightly, a crease forming between his furrowed eyebrows. He held your gaze for a moment. And then he was stoic once more— no trace that he had felt anything at all.

He said nothing and turned around sharply, a wave of agitation passing over his features as his shadows swirled around him. You frowned at the abrupt change in his demeanor and watched as he paced back and forth, his boots tapping softly against the library's polished floor. The repetitive movement was starting to get on your nerves and you opened your mouth, ready to make a biting comment to make him stop. But you hesitated. Your mouth fell closed once more.

Something felt deeply wrong. You couldn’t place your finger on it, couldn’t explain why you felt it deep in your chest, but something was wrong.

Azriel’s shadows, usually dark and smooth like ink in water, appeared unsettled and disjointed. They moved with an unusual haste, swirling around him with an air of desperation. It wasn’t there— that seamless synchronization they usually held with him.

His hands were clasped together, fingers flexing and fidgeting, marred by various cuts and bruises. He lingered near the sunlight that poured through the door in sharp lines across the floor. He seemed almost drawn to it, yet hesitant, like a moth wary of the flame.

Perhaps it was the troubled look on Azriel’s face, or the tenderness of his shadows, or the memory of your mother— but something inside you settled. Whatever it was, the pointed edge in your voice melted into a more rounded, concerned tone. You threw a quick glance over your shoulder at the red leather-bound book you had clutched moments ago.

"What's wrong with you?”

Azriel’s eyes flicked towards the sunlight again, and you saw a wave of something you couldn’t quite place—fear, perhaps, or deep discomfort. His shadows recoiled slightly as if the light was pushing them back.

“Nothing,” he muttered, but the word rang hollow, lacking conviction.

“Bullshit,” you shot back, not unkindly. “You’re pacing like a caged animal.”

He stiffened at your words and his movements came to a halt.

You knew what Azriel's past had been like, not fully, but enough.

Vanserras were talented in making it their business to know everyone else's, and you had made it your point to ensure you knew everything about one of your family's greatest enemies— the male standing before you now. You knew what his brothers did to him, even made pointed comments about it recently, ones you fully meant in the moment. But you had never thought deeply or long enough about it, never truly imagined a younger Azriel. Now, as you watched him pace back and forth, his wings tightly folded, his hands fidgeting near the sealed door and the sunlight, you couldn't help but see a different side of him.

Azriel had been confined to a basement, a place likely with little light and minimal freedom. Now, he was trapped here, in this room, with you. Your heart tugged with a mixture of empathy and unease, a wave of nausea rising in your throat. Before you fully comprehended what you were doing, you spoke.

“I suppose since we’re both here, I should thank you.”

Azriel spun around, caught off guard by the unexpected tone in your voice— one that was uncharacteristically gentle. His brows furrowed in suspicion as he stared at you, eyes narrowing slightly. “Thank me?”

You nodded, swallowing back your pride as you continued, “Renard came back to Autumn. I don’t know what my father did to him after, but his story was that he’d fallen into bed with a female and got lost in the pleasure — drunken bender and all.”

Azriel’s expression remained guarded, but you detected a sweep of something in his face— a wave of release as his tension visibly faded— only slightly, but enough to where his wings shifted behind him, flaring out to occupy more space.

“So thank you,” you repeated, your eyes not leaving his. “I know it was Rhysand who influenced his mind, and I know it was you who asked him to do it.”

Azriel shrugged, a terse gesture that seemed to dismiss the weight of your gratitude. He looked away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You hummed and annoyance simmered beneath your attempt at gratitude. "Fine," you said curtly, turning away to inspect the nearby bookshelves. But after a few steps, you stopped yourself and pivoted back toward him. "Actually, no. Why didn’t you just kill him?”

Azriel’s eyes met yours as you continued.

“Renard, I mean. You could have. Probably would’ve been easier. I assume it would’ve saved you a lecture from your owne-'' You stopped yourself, and within the same breath, corrected the word you spoke. “Rhysand.”

Azriel hung onto your hesitation, his brow raising in silent inquiry as he fixed you with a penetrating stare. He cocked his head at you. “Well, that could have gotten you killed, couldn’t it have?”

You blinked and your chest tightened. “I wasn’t aware you cared if I lived or died.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t either,” Azriel said quietly. As the words left his mouth, he stiffened and took a deep breath.

“What I mean to say is,” he started, his voice now strained with a different tone. “You’re no use to me if you’re dead. It would be hard to maintain an alliance with your brother if I got you killed.”

You snorted, a smile playing on your lips as you absorbed his words “Right.”

But the smile you wore wasn’t bitter. It was amused if anything, which seemed to ease Azriel’s mind enough to where he was saying your name in an attempt to gather your attention. You met his gaze.

“What are you really doing here?”

There was no use in hiding. You glanced at his shadows, noting their restlessness, and realized they might even help. You decided to tell him the truth. The air was still, the room still locked, but you no longer felt suffocated. Looking at him, at the hazel in his eyes, you began.

"Renard did tell us everything we needed to know," you said, your voice steady. "He doesn't know anything because Beron doesn't know anything. He's trying to find any information on how to get power. I just thought that if I could learn more about Koschei, I could figure out how to step forward."

Azriel watched you intently. Something burned in the hazel of his eyes.

You sighed, the weight of his gaze heavy on your shoulders. "I know Helion has a special interest in folklore and legends. And I know somewhere here is a very old, very special book that has the story and origins of that stupid death god."

You thought of Eris, of your mother, of how Autumn had been these past two weeks. Beron's temper had grown more volatile, his punishments more severe. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw the flash of his cruelty, felt the sting of his whip. Your stress was a living thing now, coiling around your chest, making it hard to breathe. You were exhausted— so exhausted that you couldn’t muster the energy to be angry at Azriel as much as before, couldn’t find the effort to hide your vulnerability.

You waited for him to say something dismissive. Instead, he simply said, "Okay.”

He glanced at his shadows. They darted out from him, spreading around the room like wisps of smoke seeking the smallest crevices. You frowned, watching as they probed the shelves and corners.

“They’ll find it,” Azriel said. His tone was casual, but the burning in his eyes betrayed his focus. You held his gaze as it seared into you. You already knew that this look would be etched into your memory, that it would surface at times you wished it would not.

A clear hesitancy found its way onto your face through knitted brows. He was too quiet, too nice. It made you wary.

“Unless you're eager to search hundreds of books one by one?” he added, raising a brow at your silence. “I’m happy to sit back and watch your unsuccessful search resume.”

You scowled. "No. This works."

Azriel gave a small nod and resumed his pacing, though this time, it seemed more purposeful.

You watched as the shadows flitted from shelf to shelf, their dark forms moving with an eerie grace— slipping into the gaps between books, brushing over spines, and teasing open pages.

Your mind wandered back to the poem you had read earlier, the love and sacrifice it spoke of. For some reason, your mind wandered to the shadowsinger that walked a mere few feet from you. As much as his cold exterior suggested otherwise, there were moments—fleeting, rare moments—where you saw a flicker of something more than just anger in his eyes. You wondered if Azriel understood such depths of emotion, if he had felt such love for Morrigan— if that was what blinded him into his deep loathing of you and your family.

The minutes ticked by, and you found yourself glancing at Azriel more frequently. The tension in his posture had eased, his wings now slightly unfurled as if he too felt some semblance of peace.

It was odd, being in this situation with him, and suddenly not feeling a burning, biting hatred at his presence. You were so used to that feeling of anger, that fierce, consuming rage that burned so hot it turned into desire. That you understood—the satisfaction that came with knowing he was hungry for you despite everything he hated about you. The push and pull, the electric tension, it had always defined your interactions.

You wanted to shred your skin because this female now, this emotional, open one, who was beginning to see Azriel as something more than a male to fuck and a dog to rile up, wasn't you. It made your skin crawl with a kind of vulnerability you had long since sworn off.

You forced yourself to look away, to focus on the task at hand, but the unease lingered. The minutes stretched into an eternity before Azriel spoke again, breaking the heavy silence.

You looked at him, noticing the shadows curling around his wrists. He was holding a book, its cover worn and ancient, and he lifted it slightly. "Here it is."

You quickly strode over, reaching for the book, but he lifted it out of your grasp. You clenched your jaw. "Give me the damned book."

He stared at you, his expression unreadable. "We can look at it together."

"Are you kidding me?" you snapped, "Are you seriously so afraid of me that you won't allow me to read a book in your presence?"

Azriel's eyes darkened slightly, but his voice remained calm. "You're not the only one seeking information about Koschei and his origins. We're on the same side about that—unless you've forgotten."

“Fine,” you said, then added with a sarcastic edge, “I’m honestly surprised you can even read. You lack so many manners that I figured you were as slow as the rest of your kind.”

Azriel growled but handed you the book anyways, and a small smirk of satisfaction tugged at the edges of your lips. You took it from his grasp, fingers brushing against his.

A strange jolt of something—recognition, perhaps—passed between you. You ignored it, focusing instead on the text before you. You placed the book on a nearby table, feeling Azriel’s presence behind you, his shadows hovering around the pages. You resisted the urge to swat them away, recognizing that they were probably relaying the information to him.

Time went by, and frustration began to mount as you found nothing new. “So he’s deathless, has no body, is powerful, confined to a lake, and has a thing for trapping females. We know all of this,” you muttered, snapping the book shut with such force that the shadows flinched. “He’s a powerful freak with a fetish for holding women captive.”

You glanced over your shoulder, a mocking smile on your lips. “He’s basically an Illyrian without wings.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened as he stared at you. His eyes darkened for a moment, and then something flickered in them. He raised an eyebrow. “We should just offer you to Koschei. One day with you and he might be tempted to kill himself just to be free of it.”

Your eyes widened as a smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. Despite sensing his expectation for your anger, you let out a laugh. Azriel blinked in surprise and his shadows stilled momentarily. He felt it again, that strange chill that ran down his back at the sound leaving your lips. His wings shuddered for a moment and he traced the movement of your mouth as it curled into a grin.

"That was actually kind of funny, Shadowsinger," you remarked, meeting his gaze squarely. "Who knew you had a sense of humor under all of that self-loathing and impulsivity.”

Azriel glared at you, his expression carrying his usual intensity, but there was a subtle softening in his eyes. The sharp edge that usually accompanied his gaze seemed to dull slightly, hinting at a glimmer of amusement. Under the weight of his gaze, you turned your head back towards the book in front of you, finding a place for your eyes to settle that wasn’t his hazel ones. Still, the heat radiated off his body— he was too close, entirely too close.

Ignoring him, you glanced towards the door and noticed the sunlight had lessened. "I believe your little creatures are safe to wander," you remarked coolly, "I think you could do us both a favor and send them to get us the hell out of here."

Azriel let out a grumble, but you observed as shadows flitted across the floor and through the cracks. Relief washed over you at the thought of soon being free from this place, away from Azriel's unsettling presence.

Yet, you could still feel him staring at you.

"Why go through all of this trouble?" His voice was steady, probing. "Search for a book you weren't even sure had any answers? Without my shadows, you could have spent hours going through each shelf to find it."

You gritted your teeth. "Gods, do you always ask so many questions?"

"Humor me," he replied evenly.

"I think I've done a bit too much of that recently," you retorted, a hint of exasperation coloring your tone.

You sighed, feeling his intense stare burning into your back. Turning around completely to face him, you gripped against the table, trying to control the heat rising within you. Azriel’s eyes were already on you when you found the will to look at him.

"You admitted it yourself a few weeks ago. You'd go to extreme lengths for your family, too.”

He raised his eyebrow slightly. “All of this effort for that cruel brother of yours?"

Your anger flared and you felt your body tense as the ember of your powers simmered beneath your skin. But as you glanced at Azriel, his gaze unexpectedly open, you recalled your last conversation with him, how angry you were at the realization that Eris deserved better, that no one would ever let him live down his past. But here, staring at Azriel, in a space that felt so intimate, maybe you could push a new perspective even harder, force a seed of understanding.

Taking a breath to steady yourself, you decided to reach out beyond the walls of your blinding anger.

"The only difference between your brother and mine is that Eris won’t try to write off his actions as for the greater good. Sometimes bad things are just bad things. And we all have to do bad things to survive."

Azriel scanned your face, his gaze lingering so long that you immediately regretted saying anything. The feeling rose in your throat like bile and a simmering heat spread through your chest, a fire you almost wished would consume you.

“I’m sorry,” Azriel finally said, “That you couldn’t find anything. That you wasted a day here.”

His tone was so soft that you were almost tempted to believe that he meant it— that he was being sincere. Your chest tightened. That reality was unlikely, and you quickly let your defenses kick in, looking away with a roll of your eyes.

"Don’t mock me," you snapped.

Azriel's expression hardened as he frowned. "What?"

Meeting his gaze angrily, you reiterated, "I said, don't mock me. Pretending to care is cruel, even for you."

You released your grip on the table and turned to walk past him, but he reached out, grabbing your hand firmly, pulling you to him. The touch sent a chill through your arm.

“By the Cauldron, must you fight me on everything?” He said through clenched teeth. “Can’t you just let me say that I'm sorry?"

You stared at him, taking in his troubled expression, the way his eyes seemed to hold a storm of conflicting emotions. Pulling your hand from his grasp, you rubbed the spot where his touch lingered, as if trying to erase his imprint on you.

"I'm just supposed to believe that you've suddenly had a change of heart?"

Azriel ran a hand through his hair. "You are infuriating, you know that?"

"Ah yes, a supposed genuine apology followed by insult. Hypocritical as usual, Shadowsinger."

Exasperation flickered across Azriel's face. "If I wanted to insult you, princess, I'd do a much better job than calling you infuriating."

You held his stare, anger and suffocation swirling within you. Your hands curled into fists as Azriel's troubled gaze continued to burn into yours.

He followed the line of your neck as you swallowed, his eyes lingering on you in a way that felt too intense for the confined space. Perhaps it was the lack of his shadows, the absence of his usual watchful companions, but Azriel found himself moving closer to you despite your recoil.

"What is it about you that drives me insane?" he murmured his voice barely above a whisper.

Your brow furrowed in confusion and your stomach twisted into a knot. "What are you talking about?"

"These past two weeks," he continued, his tone tinged with something raw and unguarded. "You have not left my mind. I hear your voice, calling me weak."

You scoffed and looked away. "So I have hurt your feelings. A bit pathetic, don't you think?"

Azriel shook his head. "No. You didn't hurt my feelings, Y/N."

The sound of your name on his lips sent a shiver through your body and your chest tightened. His gaze flickered down to your mouth briefly before meeting your eyes again. You found yourself unable to look away.

“You want Eris to be High Lord,” Azriel stated, “I will help you make that come to fruition.”

You stared at Azriel, momentarily stunned. His words hung in the air, mingling with the charged, suffocating atmosphere between you. The intensity of his gaze made you feel exposed, vulnerable, and yet there was a gleam of something else—it felt like hope, buried deep beneath layers of mistrust.

"Why? You hate Eris.”

"It is one cruel leader for another. But at least this way, it will benefit my home. And then I can be free of you and work to take down Koschei."

His words sunk in slowly. He can be free of you. You tried to read his expression. Azriel extended his hand towards you, palm upturned.

"We seal this bargain," he said solemnly, his eyes searching yours. “No more sneaking around and I will help you. You get what you want.”

You hesitated. But something inside you—a desperate need for a way out of this predicament, a glimmer of hope for a future where Eris could be High Lord—compelled you to reach out. You placed your hand in his, feeling the warmth of his palm against yours.

As soon as your skin touched, a surge of energy coursed through you both— a burning sensation, starting from your intertwined hands and spreading outward. Azriel's eyes widened imperceptibly, and you sensed him searching for the hidden markings that sealed your pact. He found nothing on your exposed skin.

You withdrew your hand slowly. There was a newfound weight to the air. You opened your mouth to speak when a burst of sunlight pierced through the dimness of the room.

You took a large step back, gaze darting to the entrance of the room. Helion strode in with characteristic grace, his presence commanding the room effortlessly as tendrils of shadow snaked towards Azriel, winding their way up his body.

Helion's eyes swept over the scene before him. His expression gave away nothing as he observed you and Azriel. After a moment, he finally spoke.

"Out of all the collectables in this room, I have to say seeing you two together is the rarest thing I've set my eyes on.”

You shot a quick glance at Azriel. You offered Helion a small smile. “Helion–”

Helion lifted a hand gently. "I'm not sure I want to know," he said. His gaze settled on you. "Have you done anything I need to be wary of?"

You shook your head firmly. "No."

"Then that's all I need," Helion replied casually, his attention now turning to Azriel. "Am I correct to assume Rhysand has no idea you're here?"

You frowned, head turning to look at Azriel, who managed to meet your gaze briefly before looking back at the High Lord that stood before you. Azriel said nothing, opting to clench his jaw.

“Alright.” Helion let out a small breath, pursing his lips in thought. "I'm known to keep a secret or two.”

He did, indeed. You knew this now more than ever.

You took advantage of Helion’s presence to observe him closely, taking in his chiseled features and the graceful stature in which he stood. Despite the reputation both you and Eris had garnered, Helion had always been fair to you, not quick to judge. You wondered now if that was due to something beyond an innate sense of empathy he held— if he had a sense of loyalty to you because of the blood that ran in your veins.

"Let me escort you both out," Helion offered finally, breaking the silence that had settled between the three of you. Without waiting for a response, he turned towards the door.

As you walked with him, you heard a faint shuffling behind you. From the corner of your eye, you glimpsed Azriel adjusting his posture, the tail end of his movement obscured as he tucked his wings further and clasped his hands behind his back. His shadows coiled around him more tightly than usual. He fell into line behind you.

You felt a peculiar sensation in your chest. Instinctively, your hand rose to settle over the spot just above your heart. There was a subtle sensation of heat— a tingling warmth that lingered beneath your touch.

You ignored it as Helion led you out of the library.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

enemies.... to enemies to with benefits.... now to tentative allies....dare i say.... friends?

this is a lil turning point for our two cunty losers bc now their bickering is less cruel and vile and its just teasing ugh my HEART

permanent tag list 🫶🏻:

@rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon

@glam-targaryen @cheneyq @darkbloodsly @pit-and-the-pen @azrielsbbg

@evergreenlark @marina468 @azriels-human @sarawritestories

#azriel x reader #azriel #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #azriel x reader angst #azriel fanfic #azriel fanfiction #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel acotar #acotar fanfic #azriel angst #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fanfiction #acotar #acotar x reader #malice series

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draconic-desire · 9 months ago

Text

A Dance With the Dragon III — Opera

Yandere Neuvillette x Reader

[Part I] [Part II] [Part III — You are here] [Part IV]

Neuvillette enjoys bringing you to the Opera Epiclese. You, not so much. The result; a clash of tides.

Warnings: Implied past NSFW, typical yandere tendencies and obsessive behavior

You had grown to loathe the opera.

When Neuvillette first suggested it, you had perked up immediately. You ignored his rare smile at your excitement, knowing he believed to use this as a stepping stone to winning you over. You didn’t care; the Chief Justice was delusional if he thought you wouldn’t abuse this opportunity to escape.

Your plan, of course, was a complete failure.

Neuvillette kept a firm, guiding hand on your lower back the entire night. Even the slightest movement on your part would earn you a warning glower. He wasn’t even challenging you to act out; no, he was demanding your compliance. Bastard.

And Archons, the stares you got for it.

You knew that Neuvillette had worked his way up to being a well-respected and renowned figure, but you never expected the fanbase he had acquired. He was barraged by women and men alike, all hoping for a chance to woo, interview, or befriend Fontaine’s Chief Justice. He responded to all of their inquiries with aplomb, though you noticed his grip on your waist tighten every time an individual would glance your way, whether out of curiosity or envy.

Standing off to the side, you swirled the champagne glass clasped in your hand, opting to remove yourself from the conversation. Honestly, you were shocked he had allowed you to indulge in any alcohol with his obsession over your health. Such regulations included eliminating certain foods from your diet (“Why would anyone ever eat food that’s been deep fried?”) and drinking an ungodly amount of water each day, usually with a long conversation about its flavors.

Oh, and the physical activity, too.

With a scowl, you tipped the flute back to imbibe the rest of the champagne. Maybe if you got drunk enough, you’d have some respite from both the spotlight and your memories with him. He already seized every moment of your reality; you didn’t need him plaguing your thoughts, too.

But luck was never on your side these days.

A particularly nosy group of women had been giving you the stink eye all night, until one of them strutted up to your “date”. Despite being multiple paces away, you could hear their entire conversation. She curtsied, batting her long lashes flirtatiously. “Good evening, Monsieur Neuvillette. I am Trudaine, daughter of the Duke of Romaritime Harbor. I’ve been meaning to approach you for some time now, for who could resist such a handsome and powerful man?”

You rolled your eyes and kept chugging as Neuvillette beckoned you towards him. Before he could answer, you reluctantly closed the distance between the two of you, feeling his hand caress your lower back. Trudaine sneered as she looked you up and down. “I must inquire, who is the lady you’ve brought as your accompaniment tonight?”

Neuvillette tipped his head politely. “Greetings, Lady Trudaine. While I appreciate your flattery, I must decline your advancements. You see, Lady (Y/n) here is my wife.”

You choked on your drink.

While Neuvillette rubbed your back in a concerned manner, believing you had simply had too much to drink, Trudaine’s lip curled in disgust. “Her, a Lady?” she barked in disbelief. “Come now, Monseiur. She’s clearly nothing but a commoner, and not even one from Fontaine.”

Neuvillette’s judgmental gaze flicked down to the woman with a dangerous flash. “Lady Trudaine, I suggest you take your leave before I lose my temper.”

The Judicator’s expression must have spooked her, for she quickly shut her mouth and scurried to the safety of her friend group, no doubt to continue the gossip about you.

“My dear, are you alright?”

You waved Neuvillette away, coughing up the last bit of alcohol. “I’m fine, I’m fine.” You placed the empty glass on a nearby table; alcohol had been ruined for you for the rest of the night. “Though I don’t recall accepting your proposal, husband.”

Neuvillette ran a gloved hand through his bangs. “Ah, forgive me. Your human customs sometimes elude me. If it is a ring you seek, I’m more than happy to oblige.”

You gaped at him. “You seriously think I’m upset because you didn’t buy me a damn ring?” You pressed yourself against his chest, jabbing a finger into his robes. Neuvillette sucked in a breath, marveling at the proximity. You were actually touching him. He didn’t care in what context; he could feel your warmth, sense your heartbeat in tandem with his own. It took every ounce of his might not to rip that dress off your form and bury himself inside you.

“Let’s get one thing straight,” you whispered so as not to draw attention, “I am not, and will never be, your wife. I do not, and will never, love you. You may think us a couple, or mates, or that what you feel for me is love, but you have seaweed for brains. You have taken everything from me—my freedom, my career, my family, my vision. You have forced yourself on me and molded me into some hollow version of myself.” You gestured to your attire, all lace and frills to replace your preferred pants, to emphasize your point. “Delude yourself all you want with titles like ‘wife’ and ‘dear’ and ‘mate’, but they are nothing but empty monikers.”

The enamored look on the Justice’s face only served to prove your point. Stretching his cane horizontally behind your back and cupping your chin with the other hand, he trapped you against his form. “All in good time, my darling. Rocks may appear unbreakable, but the sea erodes them all eventually.”

~*~

Then there was the most recent time he had taken you.

Neuvillette’s idea of a ‘compromise’ was to forgo the formalities of chit-chat for simply sitting in your (private balcony) seats until the opera began. This development saved you from the crowd, but at the cost of being alone to fend off his intimate touches. You practically snarled at him when his hand snaked up your thigh.

“Try that again in public and you’ll lose that hand.”

“Later, then.” He muttered the promise as the lights dimmed.

The opera’s plot centered on an ancient monster rescuing a sacrificed maiden. Instead of devouring her, the creature took her into his care, and their love led to the creation of the Melusines. You nearly throttled Neuvillette at the climax, when the maiden denounced the humans who sent her to die in favor of becoming an immortal with the creature. The so called “monster”, then, transformed into a handsome god of the sea.

As the curtains fell and the lights rose, you glimpsed his subtle smile. Standing abruptly from your seat, you moved towards the exit without sparing him another glance. “Don’t even fucking start.”

~*~

This time, however, you found an opportunity to turn the tables.

This time, Neuvillette had permitted you to mingle alone within the crowd in the Opera’s foyer prior to the show. Pointless chatter with the other opera goers was preferable to being alone with him, though you really knew that Neuvillette had agreed as a test of your loyalty. Although it seemed you could roam as you pleased, you knew the Iudex kept one eye on you at all times. A note slipped into a hand or a whisper for help into an ear would be detected immediately.

While you refrained from approaching others, that didn’t mean you could prevent others from approaching you.

Others like the exceptionally handsome individual striding towards you.

His azure irises soaked in your form as he ran a gloved hand through his fiery-toned hair. Once before you, he delivered a playful bow, lips pulled in a smirk. “Ah, and might I ask why a lady as stunning as yourself is standing by herself?”

You lowered the champagne glass from your lips, taking in the man’s appearance. Based on the thick fur coat slung over his shoulders and the single red earring flashing on his left ear, he certainly wasn’t from Fontaine, though he clearly possessed a good deal of wealth nonetheless.

Your eyes shifted towards the hydro vision on his hip. Your hand instinctively went to your neckline, where your own vision would have been. The only reason you hadn’t gone mad from its absence was because it was never truly far from you—that is to say, because Neuvillette was never far. Your heart ached, and somehow the fact that this man shared a hydro vision made you trust him. “And might I inquire as to who’s asking?”

The man offered you a coy smile. “Call me Tartaglia.”

Returning the smile, you sketched a brow cheekily. “That’s quite a unique name. You aren’t from around here, are you?”

“Am I really that easy to pin?” Tartaglia chuckled, blue eyes sparking mischievously. “Seems I’m losing my touch.”

“Not at all. If you ever need someone to get you acquainted with Fontaine, I’d be more than happy to oblige,” you shot back with a wink, your implications clear. Of course there was no world in which Neuvillette would ever let that happen, but you missed how fun it was to flirt—or just to even talk with—someone who wasn’t the Iudex. You’d take your fun when you could.

Tartaglia’s grin only grew at your suggestion. He offered you the second glass of champagne he held. “I noticed you might be needing another one of these, though really I just took whatever excuse I could to talk to you. Are you really here all by yourself?”

Before you could respond, your gaze subconsciously flicked around the room until it landed on the one who had brought you here. And it was then you noticed the Chief Justice glowering at you, his knuckles turning white around the goblet in his fist. The group of officials around him, though they kept prattling on, went completely ignored as his silver glare flicked between you and the mysterious redhead.

Oh, this would be good.

As Neuvillette excused himself from the conversation, your eyes met his own and a wry grin graced your lips. Blame it on the alcohol, but you were feeling bold and invincible. Like you were the one in power for once. Maybe that’s why, before Neuvillette could reach you, you leaned towards Tartaglia and purred, “It’s just you and me.”

Then you tilted your face up and kissed his cheek, the barest hint of your lips brushing against his porcelain skin. And yes, it was petty in every sense of the word, but you reveled in the furious spark of Neuvillette’s lilac irises.

No more than a second later, a shadow loomed over the two of you. Neuvillette stepped between you and Tartaglia, forcing the other man to take a large step backwards. You, on the other hand, were now partially hidden by the Chief Justice’s large frame, his left arm out to hold you behind him. His cane cracked against the floor in front of him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Tartaglia quickly recovered, looking more entertained than anything. “Woah, comrade! We were just having a bit fun! No need to spoil the mood,” he laughed.

Neuvillette’s eyes simply narrowed as he maintained his calm facade. “You will stay away from my wife.”

The redhead tipped his head, trying to get a better look at you past the Iudex. “Didn’t know I was chatting with the Chief Justice’s lady! Any chance I could convince you to share?” He laughed again, flashing sharp teeth.

Neuvillette was far from amused. “You should hope to never cross paths with me in court, Harbinger.”

Wait. Did he just say Harbinger?

You may have been locked away for four hundred years, but you’d still been informed of the Snezhnayan group of Delusion bearers and their influence (whether for better or for worse) across Teyvat in recent years. You barely had time to process that revelation as Neuvillette firmly clasped your wrist and dragged you outside.

Heavy rain had started to fall, battering the Court with its relentless downpour. Both you and Neuvillette were quickly soaked to the bone, and while you were shivering in your light gown, the Iudex whirled on you. “What exactly did you think you were doing?”

You gave a nonchalant shrug, knowing it would twist the knife even further. “What do you mean?”

“With that man,” Neuvillette said, gritting his teeth. His composed, human mask was slowly slipping, and you were in the mood to provoke the dragon beneath.

“What, I’m not allowed to talk to other men? You were the one who said I could mingle tonight.”

Neuvillette’s eyes flashed dangerously. “Talking? You kissed him, (Y/n). In front of your husband.” His tone slipped into a deep growl. “Your mate.”

Anger flaring, you went in for the kill. “Despite what you keep telling yourself, we are not actually married—”

“Silence!”

Thunder rumbled across the court so violently you swore you felt the ground shake. You gasped as the leviathan tattoo on your arm resurfaced, illuminating your face with blue magic. The authority in his voice cascaded down your spine, soaking your entire being as if you had been submerged into the depths of the darkest ocean. But no, it wasn’t just that—the rain had started to fall even harder, accompanied by gusts of wind that threatened to knock you to your knees. You could barely see five feet in front of you, but the visibility didn’t matter, since Neuvillette’s figure was as clear as day.

He was glowing.

The Hydro Dragon’s horns sparked with blue light, and his robes seemed to have expanded to create flowing waves on either side of his form. Tendrils of azure power snaked through the air around him, forming intricate patterns that resembled water droplets spiraling around one another. Blue seeped from the bottom of his cane and formed cracks through the ground that pulsed with raw energy, threatening to unleash the waters below. His irises burned as bright and silver as moonlight on a midnight sea.

Neuvillette might have been the most composed individual in all of Fontaine, but when his anger bubbled over, it was no mere flood—it was a tsunami.

You gaped at his appearance, the closest to his true draconic form you had seen to date. You suddenly felt like provoking him was your worst idea yet, but that wasn’t what scared you the most. “Did you…can you control…?”

“I am no mere water nymph or Melusine,” Neuvillette replied curly, power dripping from his body as smoothly as water. “I am the Hydro Dragon Sovereign. Water of the earth and the skies bows to me. As will you.”

You weren’t sure when you had started shaking. For the first time in a long while, your anger was doused. You looked between your tattoo and his matching glow and realized just how powerless you were without your vision and within this dragon’s clutches.

Despite all his flaws, after all your years together, Neuvillette knew how to read you. He immediately stilled, a look of panic contorting his handsome features. The ethereal glow around him faded, and the rain began to subside into a dull mist.

He wrapped you in his arms, squeezing you with desperate abandon. “My love, I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me—please, forgive me.” Another shiver wracked your form, which prompted him to hold you tighter and bury his nose into your hair, exhaling deeply. “I have made a grave transgression by frightening you so dearly, but I pledge to never lose my temper in such a manner again.”

Neuvillette caressed your cheek and tilted your chin up to gaze longingly into your eyes. “You are my entire world, and I just couldn’t stand the thought of losing you.” He swiftly picked you up bridal style, placing a chaste kiss on your forehead. “Come. I’ll draw you a warm bath with fresh sea salts. I believe we’re done here for tonight.”

Wordlessly, you let him take you home. You can’t argue with a dragon.

#yandere neuvillette x reader #neuvillette #yandere genshin x you #yandere genshin impact #reader insert #yandere #opera epiclese #fontaine #guess who makes a surprise appearance #childe #tartaglia

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clanborn · 2 months ago

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star climax that i would personally enjoy: splashtail's got frostpaw pinned in their final confrontation, he's this close to finally killing her, and all of frostpaw's fears culminate and leave her frozen, unable to struggle free. curlfeather, through sheer willpower ignited by this immediate threat to her daughter's life, summons all the energy she can muster to project her image into the physical world, visible to both splash and frost. her sheer fury, her mangled corpse--here, present, clawing her way out of splashtail's dreams and into a waking nightmare, here to drag him down to hell with her--spooks splashtail to the core. this either frightens him so bad he suffers cardiac arrest, or he instantly bolts and abandons the clans forever (for the case where he could be brought back as a villain who is ideally no longer lame). once more, curlfeather saves frostpaw's life, this time from beyond the grave, so great is her love for her daughter. with the image of her bloodied mother burned in her mind, frostpaw's conflicted feelings bubble to the surface, feelings she's desperately forced underneath a layer of anger and resentment. frostpaw faces the truth: that her mother manipulated her for her own gain, but also that her mother loved her, and ultimately cared for frostpaw more than her own life. curlfeather was not entirely good or bad, she was simply just a cat, a flawed one, one capable of both good and bad things. hidden in all of her misdeeds was a cat that could be forgiven--and in turn, frostpaw too could be forgiven, and no longer needs to blame herself for every misfortune that had befallen her and her clan. frostpaw is also just a cat, a child under incredible duress, forced to make decisions that no child should have to make. she thinks of every cat that pushed that responsibility onto her--yes, her mother, but also splashtail, her older clanmates, every clan cat around the lake that turned a blind eye to her desperation. even starclan--her all knowing, benevolent ancestors--had stood by while she suffered, had caused her suffering, had used her not unlike the way curlfeather had. what made them different? why was curlfeather punished by cats who were no better? why was frostpaw punished for doing everything right? what distinction did starclan make between "good" and "bad" when all cats were capable of both, including starclan, in all its alleged, unerring kindness?

frostpaw once again does starclan's bidding, touches her nose to the moonpool and receives her nine lives. with each life, cats flash before her vision--harelight, riverstar, jayclaw--but they aren't the cats she sees. in her mind she sees curlfeather, blood on her paws and love in her eyes, and newly named froststar decides what sort of leader she will be. this is the last time she will follow starclan's path, no more will riverclan be subject to their will and their hypocrisies. relying on starclan is what destroyed them, their ancestors standing idle as riverclan tore itself apart for their favor. no more will riverclan force warriors and apprentices in certain roles, no more will it allow complacency, letting desperate voices go unheard. splashtail rejected starclan, but that is not what drove his bloodthirst and desire for power. under froststar's leadership, power would not solely lie in the paws of her and starclan, but shared among her clanmates, unable to be ripped away by a lone instigator, shattered by a single break in the chain.

maybe she'll be the kind of leader curlfeather wanted to be. maybe she'll be better. either way, froststar will lead riverclan into a golden dawn.

#when your clan goes starless #something came over me #curlfeather #frostpaw #asc

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pinkcarnatixns · 8 months ago

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leah williamson | on your side

synopsis your girlfriend gives you enough attention to last a lifetime when you wake up with your period [2K] contents more bf! leah, menstrual pain, slightly suggestive?

Waking with piercing abdominal pain and the morning sun barely shining through your curtains, you dreaded the familiar feeling in your gut.

Even worse than the dull ache of your abdomen was having to leave the warm cocoon your girlfriend had created around you while you both slept. Propping yourself up on one elbow from where you had been laid on her chest, you tried to jostle her sleeping form as little as possible. At the slight adjustment, she let out a series of angry grumbles, your body freezing up at the sound.

You waited for a tense moment, subconsciously holding your breath as the crease between her eyebrows softened back out and her hands relaxed where they had been touching your naked waist. Peeling her arms off your body carefully, you took care to watch that her even breath didn’t change as you manhandled her enough to let you escape unnoticed. Watching her calm expression, golden hair splayed out manically around her, you felt a flash of frustration at the time with your girlfriend that biology had robbed you of this morning.

Slipping out of bed, the change of temperature nipped at your exposed skin, clad in only a bralette and small shorts so as to not burn up next to your personal space heater. Desperate to return to your koala of a girlfriend and the affection you had been promised for the day off, you opted out of a sweatshirt and briskly padded over to your adjacent bathroom. What you hadn’t accounted for was the lightheadedness that accompanied the action, and as black spots danced in your vision, you grabbed onto the cold counter for support as you guided yourself down to the floor.

Anticipating passing out, you were surprised at the familiar, tender caress of Leah’s hands on your arms. Her touch helped ground you, and as your vision cleared it was to the sight of her crouched over you, looking terribly worried. Her next words were so gentle you nearly missed them, not wanting to spook you. “Hey love, you back with me?”

You slowly nodded your head, not wanting to be any dizzier, and let out a shaky sigh. “Yeah, I’m sorry I woke you Lee, just stood up too fast and got a head rush.”

Usually being the one to coo over her and adoring taking care of the girl, you always hated making her worry. On many occasions, if Leah thought there was anything slightly off with you, she would drop anything and everything to dote over you- usually meaning that her dignity was the first to go. You were constantly teased for her actions when that side of her came out at training, quick to blush at your teammates’ poor caricatures of your girlfriend’s sappiness.

Truth be told, you still got nervous butterflies when your girlfriend’s full attention was on you, even with nobody else around. However, you had both agreed to a time where you needed extra attention- your period. Leah, also dealing with debilitating cramps and other side effects of her endometriosis, knew what you needed and was quick to drop anything for you the same way you had done countless times for her.

Her eyes flitted around your body, like she was looking for what was troubling you. Normally she knew when your period was going to come before you even did, but for it to come at this time was highly unusual. “What’s wrong honey?”

“I think I’ve got my period. I wanted to just deal with it and go back to bed.” You sighed, eyes welling up a bit at the embarrassment of having to be rescued from the bathroom floor and the frustration of it having to deal with it when you weren’t due for another week.

She took you into her arms, and you let out a relieved shaky breath at her just smelling like Leah. The faint scent of her shampoo and soap helped greatly to ground you, but as she pulled away slightly you kept your eyes on the tile, shy under the weight of her worried gaze. Her nail tickled the underside of your chin as she prompted you to meet her eyes, yours still a bit misty.

Taking her appearance in, you giggled wetly and wiped away the few tears that had escaped. Your girlfriend, for all of her beauty, had her fringe sticking up wildly at different angles- looking like she had been electrocuted. To her chagrin, this had upped your mood greatly, the confused look that graced her face at your uncontrollable laughter spurring on your giggles even further. Calming down, your lips stay upturned in what you’re sure is a horribly lovesick smile as you reach your hands up to tenderly brush her hair back into place with your fingers. Letting them fall to the side of her face, you can’t help yourself but to drag the blonde into a heartfelt kiss, leaving her to bracket your legs with her arms to avoid toppling over at your sudden enthusiasm.

Pulling away, her face is left rosy at her realization of her previous appearance and at the tender act of affection so early in the morning- breaking out in a matching dopey smile. Delicately removing herself from your intermingled bodies, she stands and holds her hands out to you. “All right giggly, how about you get cleaned up and we can still have some cuddle time?”

You nod as she delicately helps you to her feet, leading your hands behind her back and letting them go to wrap around you once again- fondly kissing the top of your head as you embrace. In a similar state of undress to you, her bare skin feels wonderful against yours and staves off the slight chill from the cold bathroom tile. Reluctant to break apart, she looks you up and down once again before kissing your cheek for good measure and leaving you. “Let me know if you need anything, okay? I’ll be in the kitchen.”

You snort at the thought of your girlfriend’s cooking abilities, and can hear her yell as she makes her way through your shared apartment. “I heard that!”

Exiting the bathroom, you feel warm at the sight of the bed made, your favorite sweater of hers perched atop the endless blankets that are normally kicked off in favor of your lover’s body heat. Slipping it on and already missing the blonde, you’re happy to find her exactly where she promised.

“All set?” She's stood in front of the stove, and your hands snake around her middle, nodding your head from its resting place between her shoulder blades. Trying to glance at what she’s making from your position, you tiptoe to look over her shoulder but can’t quite get a glimpse. Finding that venture useless at her height and your unwillingness to detach from her to get a proper view, you nuzzle back into your previous position but miss the earlier feeling of her skin on yours.

You’re suddenly very glad for the oversized nature of the sweater she slipped on, as you suddenly slide under the back of it, making her jump at your cold hands. Letting out a satisfied hum at her soft skin warming your forehead, you’re jostled at the way her laughs echo throughout her whole body. “Someone’s clingy today huh?”

You pinch her, making her jump, and your voice comes out muffled from under the fabric. “You promised me cuddles and are now depriving me of them. Don’t think you’re so funny.”

“Come on out grumpy, you have to eat first and then I promise you can get all the cuddles you want.” She coos at you, and you consider pinching her again for her condescending tone but leave the warm cocoon you had created anyways. She turns around, resting her hands on your hips and stunning you with her sly smile that gets her out of the trouble she always finds herself in.

The content that spreads all the way through to your toes is broken when she abruptly places her hands much lower, on your thighs- and hoists you up against her before placing you gently on the counter. You yelp at the action, and smack her arm. “Leah! A little warning would be appreciated!”

The cold bite of the countertop is quickly quelled by the heat emanating from the stove she’s sat you next to. You’re about to complain further before she shuts you up with a hand on your thigh, causing you to suddenly feel much warmer. She shoots you a smirk at the way your words die on your tongue, and you half-heartedly roll your eyes at her, not very convincing with the way your lips can’t help but curl up at the edges. “No more complaints from the missus I see!”

She smiles wider at your lack of response, beginning to rub circles into your skin with one hand, as she turns back to stirring with the other. You glance over at what she’s making and are pleasantly surprised at what looks to be a pretty good assortment for breakfast sandwiches. You soften at the sight of cut up avocado adorning your beat-up cutting board, the girl forever hating anything green but paying attention to your love. Your gaze drifts back to your girlfriend to find her staring intensely at the eggs she’s stirring around, clearly trying her hardest to not let them get too… crispy.

You admire her in the comfortable silence that’s instigated by her concentration, furrowing her brow while placing ingredients gently atop one another. Momentarily, your gaze is brought to her hands as she turns the stove off, moving to dexterously put everything into place. You Blame your heightened hormones for your momentary distraction, as if you aren’t always smitten for the other girl no matter what she does.

Broken out of your daydreaming, she appears in front of you proudly, plate in each hand. You resist the urge to laugh at the way yours is teetering slightly, stacked with almost everything in the kitchen that she knows you enjoy. “Voila! A meal fit for a queen.”

Grateful for her work but also just wanting to be close to the girl, you peck her lips gratefully while stealing your own plate and traveling over to the dining table- her hand gripped tightly in yours. Standing next to her, she quirks a confused eyebrow at you as you prompt her to sit down first. As she does, you place your plate next to her, and promptly sit down right in her lap.

She laughs, but is quick to steady your hips with her hands, maneuvering you onto one of her thighs so that she still has space to eat her own breakfast. “Well hello there beautiful lady! A hello would’ve been nice but I’m sure not complaining.”

“Well I guess when I see such a handsome woman I really just can’t help myself! You can’t blame me!” You punctuate your jest with a pout, moving to place a sweet kiss to her lips before turning to your food. She melts at the gesture, frozen in a stare at your preoccupied form. At the weight of her loving gaze, you once again pinch her, a lot softer than your earlier attack. Snapping out of her stupor, one of her hands reaches for her fork while the other creeps under your sweater- returning to soothing motions over your aching muscles.

Barely able to keep your hands off each other, you both finish your meals in record time, the plates abandoned as you drag her back to your bedroom. Needless to say, she more than fulfills her earlier promise, and for the rest of the day you only leave her arms when she insists on getting you medicine or water. Falling asleep after the fifth movie of the day, you’re sure that she’s the best medicine on the market.

a/n: happy leah day everyone!! this was a super sweet request i couldn't help but to write. they are still open!

#leah williamson #leah williamson fluff #leah williamson x reader #woso community #woso imagine #woso x reader #woso one shot

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mikichko · 1 month ago

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paciencia y fe

cw: gn!reader, sexual acts with gn!reader, unedited

for my sister, @wraithdance , and my sister wife, @gardenthatneversleeps 💕 a thank you for the patience and love you’ve given me 🤍

Johnny swears your paths have crossed for the sole purpose of teaching him patience.

He doesn’t lack it. If anything, patience has saved his life multiple times.

But with you? It’s almost like Johnny’s never known what it’s like to be patient.

He’s never experienced the itch in his fingertips before. Fingers flexing continuously as he eyes you from across the room. His eyes trail over you, half listening to the conversation around him while he observes.

You laugh with Gaz. A full body motion that has you leaning up against him, shoulders pressed together as you grip your sides. Gaz leans into you just as much, face coming closer to yours as he chuckles before you both pull back.

Johnny can feel his face turn. Eyebrows creasing, eyes narrowing, the corners of his lips pitching downward as he observes you both. He doesn’t even get the chance to subdue his reaction when Gaz’s eyes flick towards him. Realization flashing across his face before it melts into a sly grin.

Johnny brings the drink up to his lips. He’ll need the strength to survive whatever Kyle’s cooking up.

Kyle tells him you’re skittish, with a tendency to run like a feral cat. A defense mechanism.

Johnny tries not to dwell too much on what could have driven you to need such defense. If he ever finds the cause, it’ll be Soap that’ll handle it. He’ll make sure Johnny isn’t ruined for you.

He treads lightly around you. Circling within your vicinity, ignoring the magnetic pull that taunts him whenever he’s close to you. If he were a more naive man he’d think this is what hell was like. Within vicinity of something so beautiful but unable to have it within his grasp.

He knows true hell would be not having you at all.

The thought makes his blood run cold. Drives fear through him so fast that his patience is always restored. So he takes his time. Watering, feeding, and shaping your relationship as it grows.

You circle each other for months. Completely unaware of the game Johnny’s playing at until you’re always at his side. Naturally gravitating towards him whenever your friends come together. He’s got you in a box.

You don’t hiss, it wouldn’t be appropriate he thinks, but your eyes are wary of him. Sizing him up to determine what threat he poses, or if you can trust him. Again, he takes his time. Not in a rush to have you skittering away.

His warm breath tickles the curve of your ear as he mutters low and soft to you, only you. No matter the setting, he treats every conversation with you with such delicacy. Keeping his voice leveled to a point only you can hear. He’s not concerned with the rest of them. As long as his words reach you, they’ve carried purpose.

It’s like this at any function and often you find yourselves tucked into a corner, locked in conversation. Even tucked away, Johnny talks softly into your ear. Invading your space just enough to push his scent towards you, but not enough to spook you.

He reaps the reward for his efforts when you lean into his space, unknowingly following his scent. At the same time Johnny pulls back just a bit and turns his face towards yours.

For a brief second your lips brush against each other, but it’s enough.

Johnny’s breath stutters, eyes dropping to your lips instinctually. You shudder, a low noise escaping your parted lips as your body reacts without your permission. His eyes flick towards yours, only to find them dilated and on his own lips.

Truthfully he doesn’t know what happens first. If you lean up, pressing your lips to his or if his hand curls around your hip to pull you to him. In the end, it doesn’t matter. Not when you press your body against his, pressing him into the wall while he pulls you to him, as your lips slot together for the first time.

It’s slow, he wants to savor what he’s been chasing for months.

He makes love to you like this too.

Slow and languid as he opens you up. Taking his time to cherish and care for you the way one does with something of delicacy. Handling you with care as he focuses on pulling delicious sounds from your body. Prideful as your body reacts to him. Opening yourself up to him in a way you’ve denied others.

You give him access to the most delicate parts of you. Gently parting yourself for him to sheath himself in you, joining you together at last. His hips roll into you at a slow pace.

Hand clutched in yours, he whispers breathlessly against your lips. The warmth you provide pulls his innermost thoughts and they spill against you.

He’s wanted this for so long. Since he’d seen you all those months ago. He’d dreamed about you. How your skin would feel against his. How your body would fit against his. The way your nails would feel raking across the skin of his back.

He loses himself more as you squeeze him, back arching off the bed. You pull him down onto you with your free arm as you orgasm, desperate for as much of his skin as he can give.

A dam breaks. And suddenly there are words of adoration spilling from his lips. He kisses you deeply after each confession, pushing his words into you the only way he knows how.

Though the passion overtakes him, he’s smart enough to hold his tongue, even if just a little. After all, there’s nothing patient about murmuring “I love you” so soon.

#.mine #.cod #.soap #i wrote this half asleep so…#the johnny that cal jules and i love #this is OUR husband #lets try the general tags and see what happens #soap x reader #john mactavish x reader #soap fluff #john ‘soap’ mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish x reader

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sassydefendorflower · 2 months ago

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There is this common misconception in the fandom that to get the "fullest" Fullmetal Alchemist experience, you should watch the first 20 or so episodes of 03 (up until Hughes' murder) and finish the show watching Brotherhood.

I think that's bullshit.

Not because I have anything against 03. Oh, I think 03 is a perfectly valid interpretation of the text with a few absolutely genius moments thrown in there that make Brotherhood pale in comparison.

But it is an interpretation of the text.

Don't get me wrong, so is Brotherhood.

And while Brotherhood is a lot more faithful to the text, especially later on, that anime as well cuts out a lot of important worldbuilding in the beginning. Which is where this idea of inter-cutting those two animes even stems from.

But these two stories have wildly different interpretations of the same characters! The depth of characterization in both 03 and Brotherhood gets undercut by a mix and match that does both a disservice.

Ed is a lot more vulnerable in 03 - he is the tragic hero we follow who will make horrible choices in order to save his brother only to suffer and fail and break. The anime establishes this by introducing him to us at the age of 12, when he's only just starting in his journey. Many of his first adventures (the train, meeting Hughes, Nina and Alexander) take place at a point where Ed is a lot softer, a lot less hard, a lot less broken - they are what breaks him in a way. What eventually leads him down the path he takes.

That is a hugely different interpretation of the text as Brotherhood offers it to us.

In Brotherhood we meet Ed when he's at the top. The priest of Liore is no problem for him, he's been doing this for years, he's internalized a lot of the hurt he grew up with. Getting hurt doesn't faze him, his biggest hindrance is his urge to finally get this done and over with. He's cocky and self-assured and oh, so insecure. Which is why we need Nina, to remind him of the fragility in life and his own powerlessness. In Brotherhood Nina is the linchpin that leads to Ed finding out about Philosopher's Stones.

In many ways this interpretation of the text is a lot closer to the source material, but, yes, it is still an interpretation. Someone once said the biggest mistake Brotherhood made was include the Elrics' backstory in episode two and I agree - it is often what hooks first time viewers with the stark horror of what these kids went through, but it stands at odds with the original purpose of the backstory only being revealed in vol.6 of the manga.

Because in the original story, up to that point, we don't know why Ed and Al are the way we are. We've seen flashes, we know Ed has nightmares, we know certain things spook them, and we know they committed a taboo whatever the hell that means. And only when we meet Izumi, only when Ed has to forcibly drop all the walls he spend the last three years building, do we see what actually happen. It's also the closest Ed comes to crying - clinging to Izumi and begging her for forgiveness.

These are three very different ways to tell the same story.

All of these are valid. All of these can be fun.

But they hold fundamentally different approaches to the characters within them, which makes them not interchangeable.

The same is true for Hughes, who - in 03 - is a presence in the Elrics' lives from the very beginning, their friend and confidant in ways not even Mustang is. He helps them during the train hijacking and Elicia shares Ed's birthday.

That's a significant switch-up from the manga, where Ed and Al only meet him once they go to Central to search through the First Library - and in which only Winry ever really grows close to Hughes as a person, and not as a mistake made by the brothers.

And Brotherhood tells a different story again, by having Ed and Al meet Hughes in the first episode, as they visit Central to catch the Freezer and befriend Mustang's ally who invites them home - placing that relationship somewhere in the middle of coworkers and close, intimate friends.

These are three different characters, who are connected to our main duo in three different ways.

There's overlaps and I am not keeping anyone from having fun (03 Roy Mustang being the one to kill Winry's parenty, my beloved) but to really enjoy these stories, they need to be understood as three different texts.

03 stands strong in its originality, Brotherhood in its closeness to the source material, but if you want the OG experience just read the manga. It shouldn't stop you from enjoying the other two as well.

If anything, it should be more fun to have three similar - but different - worlds to play in.

#fma #fullmetal alchemist #fmab #fullmetal alchemist brotherhood #fma 2003 #edward elric #maes hughes #alphonse elric #fma meta #meta text #happy third october #happy fma day #character analysis

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jyoongim · 8 months ago

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Heya! I found your account a couple of days ago and I am obsessed with your soft Alastor fics, they're just so beautifully written! You are crazy talented, I love your writing.

I was wondering if I could request a soft!Alastor x reader fic where Alastor does something scary like threatening someone in his big demon form, and reader witnesses it and just gets a little fright. When he finds out he's really apologetic and holding them and it's all just really fluffy.

Thank you, and have a wonderful day!

- a new anon: 🌻

🌻 anon that’s so cute! Welcome to my shit show!!!

Your request was so cute! And just what i needed to get out of writer’s block.

——————————————————————————————-

You walked beside Alastor as the two of you trailed behind Charlie as she showed Lucifer around. You hadn’t noticed Husker behind the two of you until he called out to Alastor.

”Hey boss a word” You paused and watched as Alastor’s eye twitched. He spun his neck like owl to acknowledge the cat

”What is it?”

Husker’s eyes drifted to you and Alastor turned his attention to you “Dearest why don’t you go on ahead without me, ill catch up in a few”

You smiled and nodded, letting them have their privacy.

You hadn’t gotten too far when you heard Husker talking about Mimzy’s sudden appearance at the hotel.

”Me and you both know Mimzy only show her ass when she needs you to clean up her mess. That bitch is trouble”

you hear Alastor laugh “Don’t worry about it Husker! Its nothing I can’t handle besides who would dare cross me?”

The flickering of the hallway lights caught your attention and Husker’s yelp made you turn back.

Rounding the corner, your eyes widened as you see Husker cowering on the floor and Alastor is pissed.

He has a green chain in his hands and he’s slowly approaching Husk, wrapping the chain around his arms

”If you EVER mention that again I will tear your soul apart and broadcast your screams FOR EVERY DISRESPECTFUL WRETCH WHO DARES CHALLENGE ME!”

Alastor transforms just big enough to fill the hallway and towered over the shaking cat

”Do you understand?” He tilted his head

Husker nodded frantically and in a flash Alastor was back to normal “Lovely” before he could turn around you ran.

You were shaken up. Alastor had joined you again and you couldn’t help but distance yourself from him.

You didn’t understand what had made him so angry to threaten Husker.

You had never seen Alastor upset and you didn’t like that he acted like nothing had happened.

It was rather late when Lucifer had left and everyone had gone off to do their own thing.

You usually spent your nights with Alastor in his radio tower, but you opted to be alone in your room.

A knock at your door pulled your attention from your book and the door opened to reveal Alastor.

“I thought you would be keeping me company tonight my dear” he had a soft smile on his face as he approached your bed.

You scooted away from him before he could pull you to him and he quirked his brows, confused.

”Darlin? What’s got you so spooked?” He asked as he settled on your bed.

You felt guilty being afraid of Alastor, the Overlord had never once made you feel scared, but his actions towards Husk made you feel unsure of him.

”You scared me earlier” you said softly, fiddling with your hands. “I had overheard you talking to Husk and-and I saw you. You were scary Al”

Alastor's eyes widened. He didn’t know you had witness him lost his composure and now you being distant the whole night made sense.

His ears furrowed against his head as he took in your nervous expression.

He reached for your hands, bringing them to his lips and letting out a soft purr to soothe you.

You softened as you let him pull you into his lap.

”Oh my dear I’m sorry I gave you a fright. That you had to see me in such a distasteful light” he apologized nuzzling you.

You giggled as he peppered kisses all over your face.

“Just never get big and scary unless absolutely necessary” you poked his chest, trying to be stern.

Alastor let out a low laugh, nodding “I will do my best to not let my anger get the better of me”

You held out your pinky “Pinky promise”

He looped his claw around yours bringing it to his lips, bright green smoke swirling around the digits

”Deal”

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #jyoongim #alastor the radio demon #alastor x y/n #alastor hazbin hotel #Hazbin hotel fluff #alastor fluff

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604to647 · 10 days ago

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Photocopies

2.2K / Javier Peña x fem!reader

Summary: You catch Javi off guard in the embassy photocopy room.

Warnings: Angst (sorry!), longing, some hurt (no comfort). Previous relationship, mention of past infidelity (or is it??). Mainly Javi's POV. Nicknames as usual (Pretty bird, baby).

A/N: This is a direct follow-up to Birthday Present, taking place S1/S2 Narcos, ~2 months after reader’s birthday; I don't think you need to read it but it gives some context. I'm sorry, there is no HEA for these two dummies yet, this is just another little one shot (not quite ready to commit to writing another long series!), but I hope those of you who remember them from Birthday Present will still enjoy seeing them again 🥹🥰

Dividers by @saradika-graphics / Tagging @milla-frenchy who knows why 🥹😘

Mierda.

Javier can see the consecutive flashes of the photocopier’s green scan light accompanied by the hum of the machine in repetitive use as he walks down the hall towards the U.S. Embassy’s main floor copier room. It sounds like whoever’s occupying the photocopier is in the middle of a big job – he sighs with an air of unjustified frustration. Such would be his luck when he’s already running late for his meeting with the CIA attaché.

He rounds into the room chest first, ready to barrel over whichever unfortunate intern stands, however unintentionally, between DEA Agent Javier Pena and something he needs to hopefully get ahead of Escobar, when he’s stopped dead in his tracks.

It’s you. You, with a thoughtful look on your face as you adorably chew your bottom lip while counting the sheets in your hand, surrounded by neat piles of paper covering every available flat surface in the copier room.

Mierda.

Still preoccupied by your collating project, you haven’t looked up to notice that you’re no longer alone in the small, stifling room – out of consideration or cowardice, but most likely both, Javier loathes to disturb you. He hasn’t spoken to you in nearly four months - he’ll be damned if the first time he does so causes you inconvenience. He’s already done so much worse to you.

Fuck it - those spooks can make do with one copy of his Satellite Repositioning request. If the CIA needs a second copy so badly, let them come down and make it themselves, he convinces himself. Javier steps back silently, slowly backing out of the room.

“How many copies do you need?”

Stunned by the sweet lilt of your voice, Javier remains motionless. He suspects that you don’t know it’s him, but rather you had felt another person’s presence in the room and your considerate nature simply offered what you intuitively knew was needed. But to his surprise, your eyes meet his directly when he looks up; he searches them for any sign of distaste or distain now that you recognize him as your intruder, but sees nothing except sincerity. Your hand is already outstretched, waiting for his form.

He should leave. Say he changed his mind about needing copies. Say he got lost in this building that he’s worked in for years. Say something.

“Don’t want to interrupt you. I’ll come back.”

You throw an easy, encouraging smile his way and wave your still reaching hand dismissively in graceful sweeps that only serve to remind Javier of how effortlessly charming you are; your voice an enchanting song with its lightness, “I’m going to be forever. Come on, gimme.” You wiggle your fingers playfully, beckoning Javier to give over his paper - not knowing you also call for his heart with this enticing gesture.

He can refuse you nothing, though you could never know that, and hands over his single sheet readily, “Just one please.”

You take his form and titter to yourself as you diligently set aside the stack you were organizing, careful not to lose your place before laying his paper face down on the glass to copy, “I’ll make you two, just in case.”

Though the sound of the copy machine whirling to life fills the room, the silence between the two people in it somehow rings louder. Javier looks around awkwardly, his eyes taking in the goliath of paperwork that you were in the middle of taming – should he apologize for interrupting? No, it would likely ring hollow to your ears; he’s committed worse transgressions for which he still owes you an apology. But the lump in his throat compels him to engage you; he’s a man starved, ready to beg for any meager scraps of attention you’re willing to throw his way.

“I thought you had a secretary to do all this admin for you – is Renee away?”

You laugh and the sound chimes in Javier’s ear like a chorus of cathedral bells; he never thought he’d have the honour of drawing such music from you again. “No, she’s here. But when it’s big booklets for interdepartmental meetings, I just like to do it myself.”

Right - Javier knows this about you. You take such prodigious care with everything, of everyone. Any fool at the embassy, and there were many, could see you’re a powerhouse, work ethic and dedication unmatched, and completely deserving of the respect and praise you reap – he’s always been proud of you.

Handing him his two copies and original, you toss Javier another soft smile before turning back to your task. Whatever this interlude was, whatever grace granted him a few moments of cordiality with you is gone now, and Javier takes the papers from you with a genuine, but melancholy, “Thanks.” He heads out of the room, feeling somehow happier and yet just as lost as he has been these past few months.

“Javi?”

He’s stopped again, this time not just by your melodic voice, but the song of his shortened name on your lips – his own heart longs to sing back a response in duet. Turning, he finds you already looking at him, the irises of your knowing eyes swirling with tenderness,

“Thank you for my birthday present.”

How did you know? Javier had been so confident in the stealth of his actions, he’s silence by the revelation that you know he left a gift on your desk two months ago.

“I wear them all the time,” you turn your elegant neck slightly to show Javi the silver hair clips, each adorned with a small, delicate bird, tucked prettily behind your ear.

He manages to choke out a confession, “I know.”

He does know. Like a lovesick magpie, Javi’s heart would leap every time he caught the flash of silver in your hair at the embassy: during the meetings you expertly lead that he had the privilege of attending, via quick glimpses of you as you hurried towards the breakroom with your colleagues for a much-needed cup of coffee, when he stole longing glances at you from the DEA’s offices down the hall from the windows that ran alongside your desk in Treasury. Each time you wore them, it gave Javi a surge a pride (and some relief) to know that amidst all the pain he had caused, he could still bring you some joy.

You’re looking at him now, eyes shiny and full of emotion, “I love them – they’re so beautiful. Thank you for having thought of me.”

Javi’s body carries him across the small room and into your waiting arms of its own accord. All the strength he strains to wield on a daily basis in order to stay away from you evaporating under that tender gaze he thought had been forever lost to him.

He holds you close but not too tight, unable to tear his eyes from the sweetness of your expression. How could you still look at him with anything other than disappointment, hate? Despite what he did, you remain good. Kind. Feeling. You wash over him like an inevitable wave and Javi wants more than anything to drown in you again.

“You’re welcome, baby.”

Baby.

Drinking in his soft utterance of the endearment, you earnestly study the man who was once yours. Javi looks apprehensive and guarded, like he can’t quite settle into the tenderness of this moment – expecting at any second for you to shove him away, curse him. Your heart aches to witness his anxiety – he’s still the man you knew, believed in: one whose bravado and tough exterior harbours a sensitive and deeply feeling heart, one who never thinks he deserves good things even when he extends himself for the sake of others. You take Javi’s face into your hands, feeling the flex of his strong jaw beneath your palms as he inhales and swallows deeply at the loving gesture, still convinced this unexpected peace will be ripped from him.

“Do you miss me, Javi?”

How can he possibly answer but truthfully? Even if you weren’t looking at him so tenderly and with such vulnerability, Javi’s never been able to hide from you, lie to you. Insinuate falsities, yes. Mislead, perhaps. But outright lying? Never. How could the moon ever lie to the sun?

“Yes, pretty bird. Every day,” Javi closes his eyes and presses his forehead to yours, sealing in the truth of his words.

He’s being selfish. It’s selfish to want to pull out the knife that’s lodged permanently in his chest; the one he placed there himself when he broke your heart, to stab and remind him with every breath he takes of what he’s lost. What he’s broken.

If he could remove the blade for even a moment, then for that moment he can be your Javi again. The one you trusted to take care of your heart. The one who was ever grateful that an angel like you saw something in him, something he thought had long been snuffed out by the savagery of the Columbian sicarios and the cruelty of Escobar. The Javi you had patiently nurtured back to life with your compassion and gentle touch. The one whose vow of love you never questioned; he hadn't thought himself capable of such devotion, but you had easily unlocked it from within him with your own.

Selfishness wins today. Javi removes the knife and lets himself be that man again with a tentative press of his lips to yours. Immediately, he’s overtaken by the honey of your kiss – every brush of your pretty pout reminds him of all his favourite kisses with you: soft, secret kisses in hidden corners at the office; hard and heavy make outs outside the embassy walls away from prying eyes; tender kisses of promises intended to be kept while on dates or just laying in bed; possessive, dangerous kisses used to muffle moans of pleasure not meant for the ears of any other; hungry and urgent kisses heralding toe-curling, earthshattering orgasms; and sweet kisses of affirmation after every declaration of I love you.

Javi kisses you to make up for every single kiss he’s missed since he kissed you last. He kisses you like he has the forever with you he threw away so cruelly all those month ago. He tightens his arms around you as you melt into his kiss, momentarily forgetting how to let you go again. Your soft whimper of surrender into his mouth jolts him back to reality. He doesn’t have forever with you. You aren’t his, and you shouldn’t be his. He’s been warned.

It’s time to put the knife back in and Javier knows it won’t just be his own heart he wounds when he does so.

“Baby, we can’t.”

“Javi…” The way you say his name now has none of the harmony that invited him in earlier; this is a plea.

“Pretty bird, I’m no good for you. Look at you – you’re perfect and you have everything going for you. Everything you are is beyond my wildest dreams – you’re destined for the kind of future that has no place in it for a guy like me. You deserve someone who can give you the best things in life. You deserve someone better than me.”

You’re shaking your head, ready to argue and Javier thinks, no – he knows you would prevail. He’s come over to your side of every argument the two of you ever had - won over by your intelligence, your passion, or simply for the joy it brought him to give you anything you wanted. He has to put a stop to this before your eloquence and kindness can disarm him, so he pushes the knife in further, “You deserve someone who can be loyal to you.”

Javier can physically feel the flow of air that rushes in to fill the space created between the two of you as you shrink away from him.

It’s as if he can see the cinema in your eyes replaying that horrible scene from four months earlier when you caught him bare chested and pants unbuttoned, with a half naked Vanessa on his couch. And just like that, the ache of his betrayal is renewed and your hurt rolls off your frame in lines so thick Javier thinks he might be able to pluck them out of the air with his fingers.

He twists the knife, even though it kills him to do so, “I never got the chance to apologize for that. I’m sorry.”

You nod, otherwise unmoving - stilled by that old pain you thought you had buried dead threating to crawl up your tightening throat.

Javi’s shoulders hunch, drooping with a defeat of his own making, “Thank you for the copies.”

“You’re welcome, Agent.”

Agent.

And just like that he’s Agent again. Not baby, Javi, or even Javier. Just Agent.

This third time he goes to leave the copier room you don’t stop him and Javier is thankful; unable to trust himself should he look back at you, he doesn’t – Agent Pena sets his face to a grim scowl and stalks down the hallway away from the best thing that ever happened to him. Grateful that you had the forethought to give him an extra copy of his form, Javier discards the top sheet before going into his meeting – it’s completely unusable: the words on the page blotted and blurred from tears he didn’t have the strength to prevent from falling, the ruined, damp paper evidence of his failures.

#javier pena #javier pena fic #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier pena x f!reader #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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mira-s-bookclub · 6 months ago

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Past Time Nightmares

Azriel x Reader

Note: Weird way to write?

Warnings: Burning (Hehe), nightmares, past trauma.

Summary: Being mates means sharing a lot, including trauma.

Words Count: 1,3k

. . . . . ╰──╮ ╭──╯ . . . . .

Everything went in a blur of sights. One second the disoriented but wonderfully peaceful dream was exchanged for another.

It came in flashes of hot white and blackness.

Her throat had closed. Her feet -bound, chained she found out, restricting her movement. She couldn’t breathe. She really fucking couldn’t breathe.

Everything was disoriented, blurry and clear at the same time. Her heart couldn’t take anymore, her breath coming in short and fast.

A set of hands before her came through. This is how I die, she thought. There was a sharp smell, something oily poured over her hands, still bound.

Everything went by so fast: a click there and a flick of light in the darkness.

She couldn’t see clearly, oblivious to the tears streaming down her face, her eyes, still clad in darkness.

When the flame came before her, she stilled. A threat. There wouldn’t be a pain quite like this one, she knew. Even before the flame set fire to her oil clad hands, she knew it would hurt her in ways that couldn’t be fixed.

She started trembling. Her nose clogged, her breathing coming to a stop. Preparing. The hands before her held the flame. Strong, mighty hands, holding the flickering flame, as if the flame, too, wanting to burn out.

She couldn’t do this. Her body lurched in the chair. She couldn’t. A strong set of hands held her. No, no, no. Four hands. And as she panicked and screamed at them to stop. Crying out for mercy. As the steady hands dropped the lighter. She wished for nothing but the darkness to take her away.

She lurched up from the bed. Hit something hard and fell back again. Twisting, turning, and hitting everything in radius.

She couldn’t breathe, her throat clogged full of the smell. That smell. Burning flesh. Right of the delicate bones, bubbling, sizzling. Strong hands gripped her again, shaking her.

She couldn’t do it again, wouldn’t. She’d rather die.

There was someone yelling in the background, gripping her arms so tight she knew she would notice the marks right away. Shaking her again, yelling at her.

She could still feel the phantom pains, the fire so hot it felt like ice was digging its way through her very soul. She was going to be sick. Gagging and choking, the person dropped her arms.

Taking the opportunity, jumping, crawling over and down on the floor. A pile of limbs, crumbling.

She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see anything.

Her name was shouted from across the room.

She was in a room.

Strong, hard barked hands gripping her cheeks, nimble fingers clearing the fog from her eyes. Her tears, she noticed, lay in a puddle on the floor. Hardwood floors, clad in small scrapes and cuts.

“For the love of god, look at me!” There was an urgency in his voice, scaring her- “Come on!” he yelled, lifting her face to face his. She gasped. Azriel. “I-I..” she tried; her voice almost too soft for his Illyrian hearing.

His arms wrapped around her, steadying her. She hadn’t even noticed the trembling; she shook so hard her teeth clattered. He leaned back. Azriels eyes was full of panic, his grip on her arms never faltering. “What happened?” he said, looking her in the eyes. His voice a little rough.

She curled into his arms again, both sitting on the floor, almost in his lap. “I was burning,” she said into his neck. Her voice hoarse, her throat sore from screaming.

That was how he had found her.

She had laid screaming and thrashing in her bed, completely safe, his shadows had made sure of that. There wasn’t a threat in sight.

He knew she had nightmares, he had them himself.

“Azriel,” she cried in his arms. He knew what she was going to say before she did, knew her own nightmares never spooked her much.

“It was you burning,” she whispered, a statement. They’ve done this before, but his heart still skipped a beat. Knew her own heart probably skipped it too. Together.

Her skin was sweaty, but ice cold. He rubbed his arms up and down hers, trying so hard not to think about her nightmare.

He had moved on, tried too at least. “I know sweetheart, I know.” He would never forget. Neither would she.

His breathing was ragged, a clump forming in his throat. “Come on,” he whispered in her ear, “let’s find something to eat.” There wasn’t much to do when either of them had a nightmare. The worst thing to do was go back to sleep, the nightmares always came back. Food and quiet was the best medicine.

She hesitantly unfastened herself from him, carefully taking his hands in hers. He knew she had to see them in full light, see how they had healed. She would hold them and any part of him she could for hours after a nightmare like this.

Azriel looked deep into her eyes. Knowing she was shaken but would be okay. It shook him to his very core when she was screaming. He knew she was fine, but it didn’t matter. He held her hands, kissed her cheeks, her lips. “Come now.”

She laughed at his antics. He had refused to let her walk down the short flight of stairs, giving her only one option: to be carried bridal style downstairs. Her hands lay around his neck, giving him quick kisses everywhere she could get to. His arms were wrapped under her thighs and lower back.

It was still dark outside, the sun wouldn’t be up for hours, she remarked to him. He just gestured to the light around the room. “Good thing we have lamps,” he said, tickling her stomach. “Stop,” she laughed again, “I would never tickle you in such a situation.”

He grinned at her, knowingly. She knew he wasn’t oblivious to her self-deprecation, but it was what she did to lighten the mood.

He sat her on the counter in the kitchen, gently stroking her thigh before turning towards the fridge. “Anything in mind, Love?” he said with such softness, she knew his brothers would laugh at him should they ever know.

She wouldn’t mind ice cream, she told him. Her voice was a little shaky, but if he noticed he didn’t say.

He came over a little later, two bowls of chocolate ice cream in hand. Shaking his head at her when he found her on the sofa instead, hand stuffed into a bowl of chocolate. He was smiling down at her with such love, she knew he really didn’t judge her.

She patted the cushion beside her, a request for closeness.

There were times were neither of them craved physical contact, needing only their presence to feel safe.

He sat down beside her, and she moved. Turning her back against the side of the sofa, her legs sprawled over his lap. He sat farther back, gently stroking her legs up and down.

This was exactly what she needed. Though the nightmare had scared her, she knew he was safe. His hands were not hurt anymore. His blood brothers were awful creatures for what they did to him. Such a difference from his found brotherhood with Cassian and Rhys, who would do anything for Azriel, she knew. He would always be scarred. Not only on the outside, but the inside too, mostly there. She knew she had healed some part of him after they got mated, knew he wasn’t as dark minded as before.

Fingers tapped against her leg. She looked up to find his eyes on hers, one eyebrow quirked up. He nodded his head towards the melting ice cream on the table and though he didn’t say anything, she knew what he meant: “You wanted ice cream, I made it. Eat.”

. . . . . ╰──╮ ╭──╯ . . . . .

To be added to the Taglists, comment:

All ACOTAR - 🌹

All Azriel - 🥀

All TOG - 🌼

#acotar #acotar fic #azriel x y/n #azriel x reader #azriel #spymaster #acotar series #acotar x reader

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ddejavvu · 1 year ago

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Love to Lie - Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader (Part 4/FINAL PART) / Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

Summary: Your worst fear is recognized when Bradley’s jet goes down with him in it. You’re not sure why you’re still his emergency contact, you’d broken up two weeks ago, but when you rush into the hospital room, you discover that you have a chance to fix the mistake you’d been cursing yourself for. The only problem is, you have to lie to Bradley, and you discover that you love doing it if it means you get to be with him again.

Contents/Warnings: fem!reader, Mitchell!reader, angst, angst with a fluffy/happy ending, amnesia trope, hospitals and their subsequent medical details, memory loss, goose and carole are still alive because i say so

WC: 4.1K / navigation / inbox

A/N: the real last part! i sincerely hope you enjoyed this series, it's very dear to my heart and so is all of the wonderful feedback you've given me on it. I love hearing what you think, it keeps me motivated to write more for you and I'm just so happy that I got to share this with you all. Thank you to anyone who's enjoyed this, I'm privileged to have shared your time and gotten your love in return. <333

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

You feel like he’s gutted you. Like he’s plunged the hand holding the ring right into your stomach, twisted it so that the gem inside slits your insides into ribbons, and wrenched it back out dripping and glistening in crimson.

He looks so hopeful, eyes earnest and shining as he stares at you, that damn ring held between you like a life preserve. Like if you let him toss it over your finger, reel you in with his tender heartstrings, you wouldn’t drown. You’d escape the dreadful ocean of grief that’s been slowly filling your lungs since you’d left, you’d give your tired legs a break from treading water if you could just say yes. The word is on the tip of your tongue, and your achy heart begs you to say it, but you can’t.

Not when he doesn’t know.

“Bradley,” You whimper, reaching out to lay a gentle touch over his hand. You wrap your hand around both his own and the ring, squeezing tightly, “I have to tell you something.”

Bradley’s enthusiasm wanes. He hadn’t waited long enough. You’re not in love with him yet; he rushed into things just like he had before and he’d ruined it. How did he manage to ruin it two times? The best thing in his life, and he’s fucked it up twice in a row now.

You’re looking at him with eyes full of sadness, and he catches a flash of pity in them; just like he’d feared. His stomach sours and he balks, spooking like a startled horse.

“No, no. No, it’s okay, you’re- you’re not ready yet, sweetheart, that’s okay. We can wait,” He babbles, wrenching his hand out from your own and jamming the ring back into the drawer, like if he can just get it into a safe zone, it’ll hit undo on the entire fiasco.

“No, baby,” Your face screws up, a barely-withheld sob behind your frown, “Baby that’s not- we really need to talk. Okay? I promised we would today.”

“I- I know, but-” He stammers, trying to evade your gentle touch as you pry his hand back from his dresser drawer, the ring still clutched inside and lining his palm with a layer of sweat.

“Let me talk,” You plead, “Brad, I need to come clean. Please?”

He’s sure you can see his Adam’s apple bob in his throat as he swallows what little saliva there is in his mouth, “Okay.”

“Two weeks ago,” You start, and the words feel leaden on your tongue; impossibly heavy. “-before your crash. You- you remember Javy’s crash, yeah?”

“Yeah,” His breath catches in his throat, visions of his teammate's poor girlfriend swimming in his mind. Visions of the woman he never wanted you to have to be.

“That really-” You choke on a sob, “That really freaked me out, Bradley. I realized that you could go down like that. I- I’ve always known, y’know, ‘cause of your dad. But I just- I was so young when that happened, and it wasn’t fresh, so when Javy went down… I had this revelation. That I could-” Your voice tampers down into a weak whimper, “I could lose you, Brad. I could say goodbye to you one morning and not get to say hello again in the evening. I just- lost it,” You admit, brushing away stray hair from over your red-rimmed eyes, “I’m sure you noticed I wasn’t the most pleasant to say goodbye to in the mornings. But- but baby, I was always so happy when you came home, because it meant I had more time. It felt like some awful time bomb,” You recall, “Like every time I said goodbye to you would be the last, and I couldn’t rest until you were back home. I’ve never felt like that before, I’ve always had confidence in your abilities. Even on deployment, I know you’re working with people who have your back,” You sniffle, “I’ve always known you could die, but it’s never felt that much like you would before. But then- Javy wasn’t the one who crashed,” You explain, voice thick with blubbering tears, “I mean- that was just his jet malfunctioning. And then all of a sudden I- it was like I remembered that I could lose you in some freak accident. Like it wouldn’t have to be your fault, it could just happen, and you could die. Like your dad, Bradley, I- I didn't wanna lose you like we almost lost your dad."

“That is,” You collect yourself, swallowing a heavy sob that leaves your throat achy and gutted, “My nightmare, baby.” You tangle your fingers with his where you’re still clutching his hand, squeezing tight enough to probably bruise the guy, “I don’t know what I would do if I lost you. I would die if I lost you, Brad. Even if I was alive, I’d be dead inside. I need you, I need you in my life, Bradley.”

What you’re saying sounds good to him. Terrible, of course, if he didn’t come home one day. But he is home, and you’re telling him you need him, and he can’t figure out why in the world you’ve said no twice to putting on the ring.

“You have me,” He vows, squeezing your hand right back, “Honey, you have me right here, right now. Why won’t you let me keep you?” He presses the ring into your palm, and you both feel the metal band burning your skin like it’s been superheated.

“You asked me to marry you before you crashed,” You blurt, and even though slamming a wrecking ball into your reverie of late feels like stabbing yourself in the chest, there’s something gratifying about telling the truth. About finally coming clean, about telling him exactly why you can’t say yes.

“You sat me down, and you gave me the sweetest speech in the world,” You recall with tears thick in your voice, “About how you loved me, and how you wanted to spend the rest of your life with me, and- and you proposed, and I said no.”

He chews on the inside of his cheek, analyzing the grief in your voice. You sound anguished, like you’re upset with yourself for saying no, but you didn’t say yes this time around, so he can’t believe what he hears.

He takes a deep breath, cutting off whatever you’re going to say next, “I know.”

It feels good for him to come clean, too. Even if he's dreading what'll happen, even if he thinks there's a good chance you'll march out the door, he's glad to be done with the lies. He'd loved them while they'd lasted, but they went down in flames just like his jet.

“-and-” You stop, blinking twice, “What?”

“I know,” He admits, “I- I remember, honey.”

“You- what?” Your eyes widen, and you lean forwards, gazing imploringly at Bradley, “Brad, you- you remember? You remember everything now?”

“Yeah,” He nods, watching as you process the information.

You feel sick. You’re not sure why, because you’ve already told him the truth. But memories are different than retellings, and you both know that. No explanation on your part would have conveyed the crushed, betrayed look in his eyes when you’d declined his proposal; there’s not words in the english language suitable to describe how desperately he’d pleaded for you to stay, even in just the simplest of touches to your waist, trying to pull you back to him that night.

Now he remembers that, now you’re on the same page, and when you turn it, you’re not sure what you’ll see.

The end of a chapter? The beginning of a new one? Or the blank back cover of a book, perhaps, if your luck has run dry.

“When did your memories come back?” You ask, your voice sounding faraway and dazed in the back of your mind. You’re not even sure you’ve really said it, you’re too wrapped up in worrying about what he’s thinking. If your confession had spurred on his memories, you’re not sure you’ll ever get a chance to put on that ring.

Bradley swallows what little saliva is in his mouth, “A while ago.”

“How long?” Your brows furrow impossibly deeper, your brain running circles trying to figure out what’s real and what isn’t, “Like- like since this morning?”

“Since I woke up,” He confesses with a heavy heart, because lying to you hurt even if he’d loved the outcome, “In the hospital. I- I didn’t remember at first, but they came back, uh, in a few minutes.”

You feel like you’ve walked into a cloud of smoke. Everything around you is foggy, and your brain can’t process what he’s told you. It feels like he’s lying to you, like he’s tricking you and pretending that he’s known the entire time just so as not to feel foolish. But that’s not Bradley, he doesn’t need to be smarter than you, or faster than you, or better than you, so you know he’s telling the truth.

“But- why did you lie?” You stare at him with tears glimmering in your waterline, and he’s sure this is what he looked like when he’d asked you not to go that night. Betrayed, confused, heartbroken.

“Because you did,” Bradley whimpers, wanting nothing more than to swipe a thumb under your eye and gather the tears there on his skin, taking the burden away from you.

“You came in and you asked to kiss me, and- and I wanted you to. I didn’t want to talk about what had happened, because I didn’t want you to walk out again, so I just- I lied. And I let you lie to me, too.”

You think back, and you remember how you’d walked back into the hospital room, on the verge of tears with nerves rolling in your belly. And you’d asked to kiss him, you’d given him the perfect opportunity to lie, and he’d taken it. And you can’t be mad at him, because you’d lied, too. You’re slightly hurt. It doesn’t feel good knowing that your lover- or, ex-lover lied to you. It feels even worse to know that Bradley lied because he thought you’d leave him if he told the truth. Like you’d turn tail and run, whooping through the parking lot about being free at last. But you’re the one that put that thought in his head; you’re the one that ran away. So you can’t blame him for keeping you on a short leash.

You feel too many things at once. You feel like a monster, like a cruel heartbreaker that had shattered Bradley’s to pieces. You feel confused, because you’re still processing that the past few days were entirely fake on both ends. You feel slightly betrayed, like you wish Bradley would have just told you. But you didn’t tell him either, and that makes you feel like an asshole. Too many feelings are bottled up inside, and they gush forth in a messy round of tears, one worse than Bradley’s ever seen from you.

It sets him in a panic, and he’d already been misty-eyed before. Now his own tears roll in fat droplets down his cheeks as he muscles down his sobs for your sake, dropping your hand only to take up your waist. He drags you closer on the bed, but it’s uncoordinated and a struggle as your limbs don’t cooperate. You’re limp like a ragdoll, and once he finally has you positioned in his lap he buries his face in your shoulder to soak his tears into your shirt.

“I’m sorry,” He whispers, his chest heaving and shaking with sobs, “I’m sorry I lied. I shouldn’t have, I- I know it was wrong. I just- I wanted you to stay, honey. And I thought it would be okay if we were both lying, because then I could make you fall in love with me again, and- and it was a stupid plan, I’m sorry. I should have told you, I’m sorry, I- I never wanted to make you cry. I’m sorry, honey, please don’t- please don’t cry. I love you, please, don’t cry.”

He thinks he’s allergic to your tears. His chest hurts, his face burns, and the front of his shirt is slowly sticking to his chest where you’re crying against it. He’s not sure he can handle much more of this, he can barely breathe and if you don’t stop crying soon, his lungs might collapse. He doesn’t like that you’re crying; even though he knows its a messy situation, even though he knows it’s complicated beyond belief, he’s worried that lying to you fractured your trust in him, and that won’t look good on his permanent record, especially not when he’s waiting on a yes or no from you regarding marriage.

“Honey, please,” He knows he’s not the only one at fault, he knows you’re just as guilty for lying as he is, but you’d done it out of pity, and he’d done it out of greed. You’d played pretend with him so that he didn’t lay alone in a hospital bed, but he’d lied to you so that you wouldn’t leave. He’s kept you trapped, and he’s worried you’ll break free from the cage and run.

“I’m sorry,” He cries, clutching tighter at you when you try pulling away, scared you’re on your way out, “No, honey, please, I’m so sorry-”

“Stop apologizing!’ You beg, a raw quality to your throat that bleeds into your voice. You can’t take it anymore, you can’t let him blubber out sorry after sorry for something he’s not at fault for. You wish he’d been honest, sure, but you couldn’t possibly blame him for continuing the game that you started playing.

“Just- stop, please,” You breathe, quieter now this time. “I- You’re not the one that has to be sorry.”

“But I am,” Bradley gushes, clinging tight to you, still nervous you’re trying to leave. But you’re stationed to stay in his lap, smearing away tears with the skin of your wrists.

“Well don’t be.” You huff, frustration swirling in your chest, all self-directed, “Don’t- don’t apologize for my mistakes! Bradley,” You whimper, rubbing at your eyes hard enough to see swirls beyond your vision, “I left you. I rejected your proposal, and I left you, and then when you almost died, and forgot I left you, I lied to your face. You had amnesia, Bradley, and I lied to you, in what world should you be apologizing? You should hate me,” You decide, stomach churning at just the thought, “I’m so sorry, Bradley, I- I’m so sorry! You should be throwing me out, you should kick me to the curb, and-”

“I don’t hate you.” He says, his voice gruff. He says it plain and simple, like it’s easy. Like there’s no hard feelings, like he’s not perturbed at all by your dishonesty, your betrayal.

“I love you,” He continues, and oh, does that drive the nail into the coffin you’re trapped in, “I love you so much, honey, I just don’t understand you. Why did you leave?”

“I was so scared,” You’re getting tired of saying it, but you know you have to, “Javy crashed, and I realized you could, too. Brad, I’m so sorry, I was so selfish, I didn’t wanna go through that. I left you because I didn’t wanna get hurt. I- I left to save myself from mourning your loss. But it didn’t work, and- and you still crashed, and I still almost had to mourn your loss, and it still hurt, so- so bad, Bradley. It hurt so bad,” You blubber, and he pulls you back into his chest.

“I know,” He murmurs, and you can’t fathom why he’s still comforting you, why his large, calloused hand is rubbing sweet, soft, soothing circles over your back like you’re not a traitor, “I know, honey, I can’t imagine. I’m sorry you had to get that call.”

“Come on,” You plead, your fists clenched in Bradley’s shirt, nails digging into the fabric, “Bradley, this- this isn’t fair. You should be mad at me. Even if you-” You can barely say it, the thought sounding like a fantasy; too good to be true, “Even if you love me, you should be upset. That I left, that I- that I lied, you can’t do this. You can’t comfort me, and you can’t apologize.”

“I can, too.” He argues, his brows furrowed and his mustache turned down with his frown, “Sweetheart, I know you’re sorry about all those things, you told me yourself. I know you’re sorry you left, I know you’re sorry you lied, it’s okay. It hurt when you left, but I never hated you. I wanted you back,” He admits with a shaky voice, “I wanted to fix things. And when you asked to kiss me in the hospital, I chose to let you lie to me even though I knew the truth. I liked it, baby, I loved it, because I had you back. You’re sorry, and- and I’m sorry, and we’re both sorry, so let’s do something about it. Let’s fix it, baby, please.”

“I want to fix it,” You sob, “I really do, Bradley. I- I wanted to pretend forever,” You confess, “Because it felt like it did before I left, and- you have no idea how much I wanted that back, Brad.”

“Me too,” He agrees with a rough sniffle, “I- I wanted you to pretend forever, honey. I really did, I- that’s why I proposed again,” He cringes at the memory, at the second time he’d asked to no avail, “Because I just wanted you to keep pretending, and say yes, and I thought- I thought I might be able to make you love me again, so I went for it, but I shouldn’t have. I should- I should’ve talked to you first, I should have told you the truth, but I just- I was scared, and-”

“Oh, Bradley,” You gush, grabbing the back of his neck and tugging him down into a hug. You might be smothering him, you’re not sure if he can breathe where he’s buried in your shoulder, but he doesn’t care. He’s clutching you like you’ll disappear if he doesn’t, and you’re horrified that he might really think that, but you understand why he does.

“Marry me,” He begs, “Please, honey, marry me. I’m not mad at you, I love you, please, just- just marry me, please. I can’t lose you again.”

“You won’t lose me,” You promise, tears flowing steady down your cheeks, “Honey, I promise, I won’t walk out unless you want me to.”

“I don’t,” Bradley shakes his head, his arms encircling your waist even tighter now, “I don’t want that, honey, please- please don’t.”

“I won't,” You promise, “But Brad- do you want to marry me for love, or because you’re afraid I’ll leave if you don’t?”

“I love you,” He croaks into your shoulder, and you know he’s not lying to you now, “I mean- I mean of course I’m scared to lose you. But I’m scared because I love you, and I still wanted to marry you even before this happened, before I was scared. I’m not trying to tie you down so you can’t leave, I’m trying to love you forever. It’s love, honey, I love you.”

“I love you too,” You wail, unperturbed by your messy, tear-stained, snot-streaked faces as Bradley lifts his head out of your shoulder to kiss you. It’s desperate, sloppy, and uncoordinated, but it’s the first real kiss you’ve shared in a long time, and you wouldn’t change a thing about it if you could. It’s all desperate, grabby hands and quivering breaths as you familiarize yourselves with each other again, remember what it’s like to be honestly, truly in love with each other. You’ve thrown the lies away like a hardened cast, and the bones beneath it have mended, still tender but whole again. You can’t get enough of him, you can’t take your hands out of his hair and you can’t press your chest up against his enough. He feels the same, he can’t possibly tug your hips further against his own, and he can’t dig his nose any further into your cheek or he might poke a hole there. But he wants to, so he tries.

You’re ravenous, not with desire but with love, the purest and sweetest form of it. You’re so glad to have him back, to really have him back, that you can’t care about your leg falling asleep where it’s bent awkwardly against his lap, or the stickiness of his tears on your cheeks. All you care about is Bradley, all you know is Bradley, all you ever want to know is Bradley.

He reaches for your hand while still engaged in the kiss, and you swear you feel your heart crack when you pull yourself away to stop him in his tracks.

“Wait,” You pant, wondering why he’s doing the same when he’d practically stolen the air from your lungs, “You’re absolutely sure you want to marry me? Even though-”

“Jesus,” Bradley huffs, keeping the ring in one hand and reaching for your face in the other. He squishes your cheeks together, until your lips are puckered and he can brace his forehead against your own, eyes wide and grin exasperated, “Yes! Yes, I really want to marry you, even though you left, even though you lied. I lied, too, honey. You left because you were scared, and that’s why I lied. I get it, okay? I’m not gonna turn on you, I love you. I want to marry you.”

“But- but we should work through this,” You propose, pointedly not swatting him away when he poises the ring over your marriage finger.

“Okay. We can work through it in marriage counseling,” He promises with a breathless smile, the expression wholly genuine because for the first time in three weeks, he’s confident you’ll say yes, “Because I want to marry you. Do you want to marry me?”

You’re not fucking this up a third time.

“Yes!” You gush, and you squeal when he jams the ring onto your finger, moving in for a kiss far more eagerly than you’re prepared for. It’s like being greeted by an overexcited puppy, one that’s a bit too big to be ramming into you, but that you can’t tell no. He kisses you voraciously, joining your hands together so that the metal band on your ring finger rubs against his own skin.

“I love you,” You pant, in a rare moment of being able to drag oxygen into your lungs, “And- I’m sorry. I love you so much.”

“I love you, too.” Bradley swears, kissing you again before you can murmur any more apologies, “It’s okay. We’ll be okay, baby. We’ll work through it. You were scared, so I’ll help you however I can so that you’re not so scared. And I was scared, so I’ll probably be a bit of a clinger for a while. That’s it, baby, we don’t have to break up.” He promises, “That’s all it is, honey. We can work through it. We love each other, we can do this.”

“We do love each other,” Saying it feels like a blessing you’re casting over yourselves, an affirmation that you want to say in the mirror ten times before starting your day, “I love you, Bradley.”

“I love you too, Y/N,” He hums, dissuaded very little when you turn your head to look for your phone. He presses the same frequency of kisses to your cheek as he had your lips, and you let him smooch away at your face while you hunt for the device.

“Here!” You find it tangled in the bedsheets, “Brad, let’s tell everyone.”

“Hm?” He glances sideways at your phone, “Oh. Yeah, my parents are probably worried.”

“My dad, too.” You hum, “I told him at the store earlier.”

“I told my parents then, too.” He confesses, “But- but they’re not mad at you, or anything honey, they understand.”

You marvel at the revelation, that that's the reason Carole had been so confident bidding you goodbye.

“I.. told your mom already,” You realize you still haven’t put all of his puzzle pieces together for him, “Uh, she knew before you woke up, actually. She was the one to suggest that I pretend nothing happened. She didn’t want you to be too stressed in the hospital.”

His brow furrows where he’s in the middle of kissing your jaw, and he pulls back to evaluate the new information. But he’s not angry, more exhausted. He chuckles weakly, “I told her today, she pretended she had no idea. Damn, that woman is a good actor.”

“Very good,” You agree, snatching Bradley’s hand out of his lap to curl your own over the back of it. Your hands are stacked palm-to-back, with Bradley’s resting on the blanket and yours overtop. Your ring glistens in the afternoon sunlight and snapping a picture of it is one of the most gratifying things in the world, second only to the feeling of it laying permanently on your finger. You’ll have to put this one in the photo album, the beginning of a new chapter.

Bradley doesn’t let go of your hand after you snap the picture, only flips his own beneath it so that he can hold it more securely. He puts his chin over your shoulder to kiss your cheek as you use your only free hand to type out a group text message to your family members. Bradley’s squadron will be next on the list, but for now, your family receives the shot of your hands intertwined, a ring glistening on yours.

I said yes this time.💗

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

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mingtinys · 7 months ago

Text

[11:45 p.m.]

pairing : song mingi x gn!reader

fluff , humor , comfort fic

warnings : thunderstorms

word count : 0.7 k

requested ? no

a/n : i am not the least bit ashamed to admit this was slightly inspired by that one ouran host club episode. it is my comfort episode. sue me.

Typically, you're one to enjoy a good Summer storm. You're rather fond of the cozy peace they bring. Especially late at night, when the heavy rain starts to sound like static and lulls you into a deep sleep. Interrupted only by soft rolls of thunder and the occasional blue flickers of lightning.

But the one tonight is far too aggressive for your taste.

The rain is deafening as it continues its onslaught against your poor window. And each startling crash of lightning precedes an even louder boom that shakes the room. Rattling picture frames that hang delicately on the walls.

You won't be sleeping tonight. That's for sure.

Anxiety wraps its nimble fingers around your heart and squeezes with each subsequent lighting strike. Digging its claws deeper and deeper until you can't take it anymore.

Your comforter is quickly tossed to the side, skin exposed to the chilly night air in your desperate escape. You tiptoe your way to the living room, searching for the giant scaredy-cat you know is likely up calming his own nerves.

And sure enough, there he is.

Cuddled up on the couch with the fuzziest blanket he owns draped over his shoulders. He's mindlessly acrolling through his phone with his headphones on at full volume. You can just barely make out the faint song playing through them.

You creep up slowly so as not to spook him, though it doesn't do much good. Mingi still flinches as soon as your shadow casts across the room with yet another flash from outside. Whipping his head around so fast you're surprised he doesn't get whiplash. But he quickly recovers, laughing at himself once he realizes it's just you.

He slips off his headphones and lets them hang from around his neck. "Storm keeping you up?"

"Yeah."

"I thought you liked storms," he frowns.

"I do, this one's just a little..."

Mingi hums. "I get it. Come, sit." He pats the open spot beside him and you sit. His arm wraps around your shoulder, enveloping you into his blanket cocoon and pulling you in until you're smooshed against his side.

"Did the storm spook you too?" You ask, resting your head on the junction of his neck.

"Pfft, no, I like being awake–"

A giant crack of lightning strikes the pavement outside a little too close for comfort and startles the both of you. Mingi even lets loose a sharp string of curses. It makes you giggle, which unwinds the knot in your stomach just enough to tease your boyfriend.

"You were saying?"

But then the power flickers as the wind picks up and you're eating your words. Tensing at the near-instant karma for teasing Mingi. The wind is the worst part, in your opinion. You hate how it howls and bellows as it whips around the corners of your home. It echoes through your head, sending you into a spiral of anxiety. Heart racing so fast you can feel its pulse in every limb.

Until suddenly, it all stops. Muted by calming tunes blasting through the headphones placed over your ears.

You glance up at Mingi, pulling one side back. "Are you sure you don't need them?"

"No, I'll be okay. Besides, I'm your big strong boyfriend, it's my job to take care of you." Mingi puffs his chest, looking rather proud of his heroic act.

"You're such a dork."

He just smiles and shakes his head at your comment. Then taps through his playlist to find music he knows you like. "Just try to get some sleep," he says as he readjusts the headphones and presses a long kiss to your temple.

To his credit, the headphones do a wonderful job of blocking out the storm. You wouldn't even know it was still ongoing if it weren't for the way Mingi jumps up every so often. Completely defenseless against the rampage outside now that you've taken his only protection. And even though each time you look at him, he reassures you with a tight smile, you know he's dying a little on the inside with each boom of thunder.

So, eventually, you coax him to lie down and tuck his head to your chest, holding him with your arm pressed over his ear. He hums when your fingers slowly toy with his hair, the vibration of it tickling your skin. Within seconds, he's fully melted into you. The both of you slipping into a slumber with the storm now nothing but background noise.

taglist: @dontwannaexsist

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megamindsecretlair · 1 year ago

Text

Run it Back

Pairing: Tyrone x Black!Fem!reader / Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, Daddy kink, pet names. You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Smut, PWP, cursing, PIV, oral (male receiving), cum play, possession kink, size kink, breeding kink if you squint, all consensual. Degradation/Praise kink.

Summary: You forgot to check in with Tyrone and he calls while you're at the club. You rush home to apologize properly.

Word Count: 2,603k

A/N: Oh look, I'm zooted and feral again. This was so hot. I had a lot of fun writing it! Thank you all so much for all of your support and for reading! Goodness, how did this taglist get so big? ILY FRFR. Likes are always awesome. Please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers!

Taglist: @planetblaque @dayjlovesromance @sevikasblackgf @melaninpov @amyhennessyhouse @henneseyhoe @wakandas-vibranium @honeyoriginalz @justheretostan @black-fairy3 @superhoeva @jarfulloftears @hereformiles @montysstuffs @westside-rot @blackerthings @blowmymbackout @euphoric05 @miyuhpapayuh @nicolexnight @8ttached @judymfmoody

You dug your phone out of your purse as you danced to the music in the club. You were too turned up and had been having a blast with your friends, turning away guys but accepting the free drinks. Tyrone’s name flashed on your phone and you stopped dancing.

Your friend noticed and elbowed you to get your attention. You waved her off. Your stomach turned sour. Maybe you shouldn’t have had that third drink. Or was it the fourth?

“Hey, baby,” you said.

“The hell you at?” Tyrone’s voice was like a punch through the phone. He was mad. Scratch that. He was furious with you.

“Um, I’m a little busy,” you said. You knew he could hear the thumping music. There was no need to tell him where.

“You know what time it is?” He asked.

You looked at the screen on your phone. Shit! You were way, way past the time you told him you’d be home. You didn’t even text him to say you were staying longer. He loved that you were independent but it killed him when you were reckless with your safety.

“Baby, I’m sorry. We started dancing and they played all of my songs. You know like–”

“If you’re not here in ten minutes, I’m comin’ for that ass,” he snapped.

“Wait, I’m farther than that,” you said. Mentally, you thought about the route to your place with Tyrone. Even if you broke all of the traffic laws on your way over, there was no way to make it in ten minutes. The dread in your stomach gave way to hefty need. Your core ached and the hairs on the back of your neck raised.

“Nine minutes,” he said.

He hung up the phone and you got up. You didn’t say goodbye to your friends or stop long enough to breathe. You rushed out of the club and raced to your car. Your heart thumped in your chest and your hands shook.

You pulled out of your space and pulled into late LA traffic. They said New York was the City that Never Sleeps. So LA must be the City that Never Learns to Fuckin’ Drive. A car honked at you as if you were the problem. If a muthafucka ain’t got their headlights on, how the fuck you supposed to see them?

You made it home, barely legally. There were too many close turns and random cars enough to spook you. You thought you were going to get into an accident. But the closer you made it to Crenshaw, the more the traffic died down. Hood people knew when to take they asses home.

You straightened out your outfit as you got to the door. His car was still in the driveway. You wondered if he really would have come to the club and scooped you up. You didn’t need that embarrassment.

You got inside and listened out for where Tyrone may be. The living room and kitchen beyond were dark. You didn’t see a light upstairs either. Surely, he would have waited until you were inside, right?

A light popped on to your left and you jumped. Fear mixed with desire until you shook a bit. Tyrone sat in his favorite chair in the living room. A recliner that you both picked out. But more so him. He kept eyeing it and you knew that he never treated himself. His mind was always on the hustle and more money. You were trying to buff that rough edge of him. It wasn’t easy, but baby steps.

His hand was on his knee while the other propped up his head. The light had a thin shade so it covered a good portion of him. The other side was cast in shadow, giving him an eerie look.

You bit your lip and fought off shivers. If you thought you were needy before, you were downright feral as you looked at your man. Sometimes, you simply watched him. Watched the way he moved. The slow way he walked, his big hands, his wide smile, and his fine lips. His hair needed a little touching up. You made a mental note to do that for him tomorrow.

“Hey baby,” you said.

“Don’t ‘hey baby’ me. The fuck you doing out this late?” He asked.

“I didn’t look at the time!” You said.

“That’s not good enough. You think I like yelling at you?” He asked. He wasn’t really yelling. He never truly yelled. His voice went up in volume, that was about it. Tyrone held his anger inside. As if he were fueling his own angry battery.

“No! I’m sorry! I’ll do better,” you said.

“What you say?”

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” you said. That didn’t seem to appease him. He stared at you. He was still as a statue. Then his tongue darted out to lick his lips.

“Bust me this nut and maybe I’ll believe you,” he said. He crooked his fingers at you.

You took off your jacket and threw it onto the sofa next to you. You tossed your purse on top. You had chosen to wear a dress and you were so happy you did. You kept your heels on and slowly got to your knees.

You crawled across carpet. It was a short distance to his knees. He spread them as you got closer. You kept your eyes trained on him but in your peripheral, you saw his sweats tent up.

You stopped and knelt in front of him. You rubbed his knees as he looked down at you. “Get it nice and wet for me,” he said.

You leaned up further and started to untie his sweats. You could feel your arousal soaking your panties already. Your inner thighs tingled. You freed him and his dick twitched. You stroked him, always marveling at how it was both soft and hard.

Precum leaked on the tip and you ran your tongue over it. You were not supposed to be attracted to dicks. They were gross. And men hardly took care of themselves as it is. But Tyrone at least cared about hygiene. His hairs tickled your nose as you sucked him in.

Tyrone groaned and threw his head back. He settled further into the chair. You grabbed his meaty thighs and took in as much of him as you could. Your loud and filthy slurping noises filled the room. Tyrone moaned and it only turned you on more. You were doing this to him. And he was loving it.

His hands dug into your hair and gripped your head. He pulled you down further on his dick and you gagged a bit on him. You tapped his thigh twice. He let up some so that you could finally breathe. You tapped him once to let him know that you were okay now.

He continued to fuck your mouth. He once told you that he didn’t know which he loved more: filling your mouth with dick or sliding into the wet, hot heat of your cunt. Watching your eyes tear up or watching his dick disappear inside you. There were so many good options.

“Fuck, this mouth is good for somethin’,” he said.

Your pussy fluttered at the backhanded compliment. He was such an ass. A cocky muthafucka that ain’t never been told no twice. But fuck he was delicious. The line of his neck was visible since his head was thrown back. His eyes were closed and his mouth was slack.

You swirled your tongue around his slit while your hands worked him up and down. He twitched at the added sensation. There was enough of your spit to slide between your fingers and coat him while he drove into your mouth.

“Naw, I wanna cum in my pussy,” he said. He stood up abruptly and picked you up under your arms. You squealed. He knows you hated being picked up like that. You were a chunky girl your whole life. You wanted to quit it, but it didn’t want to quit you. You loved your body. You’d much rather have your gorgeous ass than be stick thin. Every blue moon, your insecurities flared up. You didn’t want him to strain something trying to lift you.

He’d only tell you to mind yo’ damn business. While he proceeded to pick you up any time he wanted. Especially in the bedroom. He made it his personal mission to toss you around as much as he could.

He dropped you onto his recliner. Your hands and knees dug unto the leather. It faintly smelled like him. Clean, earthy. Tyrone bunched up your dress in one hand. He leaned down and grabbed your ass cheeks. He wiggled them a bit and then gave it a light smack. Your pussy clenched and you moaned a little bit.

“You know Daddy worries about you, right?” He asked. He ripped your panties and slid inside of you in one powerful thrust and your head dropped to the chair. Your mouth dropped open in a silent scream. He stretched you out. You were ready for him but fuck, that sweet middle between pleasure and pain had you in a vise grip.

You nodded to answer his questions. “I’m sorry Daddy,” you said.

He smacked your ass, hard. You flinched and cried out. “I don’t believe you,” he said. He smacked your ass again and you nearly jumped off of the couch.

You started to beg him to forgive you. It truly had been a mistake. “You did this shit on purpose, didn’t you?” He didn’t let you answer. He smacked your ass again and kept smacking you. Your ass was on fire. The wind from his hand was starting to hurt you more than the slap did.

You relaxed and sagged against him. Once you were relaxed, he started to move again. He slammed into you hard and the momentum drove you into the chair. You felt every inch of him. The veins on his dick tickled the walls of your pussy.

“Fuck, you’re so deep,” you said. It was like the tip of his cock pressed up against your soul. He touched that deep, aching core of you. He hit it just right and continued to hit it. Your ass slapped against his thighs.

You didn’t know if your moans were louder or if his were. His thumbs dug into the top of your ass and you keened.

“Yeah, that’s it. Show me how sorry you are,” he said. “Let me hear it, mama.”

You gave him every sound you were capable of producing. Every moan and sigh. When he hit it how you liked, you made all kinds of incoherent sounds. Your body would jerk and twitch. He liked when you could barely shriek because he felt so good.

Your hand reached down to rub your clit. You were so close. You just needed something else. Tyrone’s hand came out of nowhere to slap your ass. “Shit!” You yelled.

Tyrone sucked his teeth and hit you again. “Move yo fuckin’ hand. Don’t touch my shit,” he said. He grabbed your wayward hand and brought it up behind your back. He bunched up your dress again and held it and your hand against your back.

He pushed into you more until your ass was the only thing in the air. He somehow slid deeper and you cried out. Your orgasm whipped through you, dragging you under and higher and inside out. Your eyes were clenched shut as you rode wave after wave.

Tyrone continued to chase his own orgasm. Your walls squeezed him and he twitched. He unloaded inside of you. He filled you up still. His hot cum pulsing inside of you. You felt a bit of him leak out and you groaned at the sensation. He stroked another few times before finally stopping and panting.

Your erratic breaths matched his and you both tried to come down. Tyrone pulled out and you both groaned at the sensation. He spread your ass cheeks so that he could watch himself leak out of you.

Your ass was still cresting the edge of pain. His fingers dug into it, making the pain flare in random bursts. You were so fucked out. You would have agreed to a twenty-four seven bodyguard if it meant that you never had to leave this headspace.

“You got the prettiest fuckin’ pussy,” he growled. He brought his hand up to rub along your clit and pussy. He pushed a finger inside of you and you moaned.

“Turn over,” he said.

He helped you get off of the recliner and then position yourself on your back. He gripped your thighs and pulled you to the edge. He bent down and entered you once more. “Can’t get enough of this shit, huh? You need more don’t you?”

“Yes, Daddy, fuck,” you moaned. You peeked over your boobs to watch some of him slip inside you. When he pulled out, he was coated into your juices. Glistening in the low light with it. Then he’d slide back into you and you threw your head back.

He had your hands pinned to the armrests and your knees crooked on either side of his arms. You couldn’t touch him. And more importantly, you couldn’t touch yourself.

“You owe me a few more,” he said. He pounded inside of you. You jerked from his powerful thrusts. Sweat gathered on his forehead. He leaned down and gave you a bruising kiss. His lips were warm and inviting. He pulled away before you could really enjoy it.

“Good girls get kisses. Yo ass been bad as fuck tonight,” he said.

That only made you wetter. He noticed and moaned. He leaned forward putting all of his weight on you. You were almost folded in half. You choked on the lack of adequate air but he was pounding into you and you just had to take it.

You had to take his thick cock however he wanted to give it to you. “Daddy, please,” you begged. You sniffled as your arousal built higher and higher. You tensed for half a second. That second seemed to stretch as you balanced on the precipice. Like a drop of water on the faucet after you turn off the water. You knew it was going to fall, it was only a matter of when.

You came with a loud scream, moaning in his ear. “Tyrone!” You yelled. He bit your neck, your shoulder, and licked away the sting. He kissed the sensitive spot below your ear.

He came right after you. It was like you were in sync. Hot jets of cum filled you up once more. You were truly a soaked mess right now. His cum slipped out of your pussy and dribbled onto your ass cheeks. The sensation was slow and tickled a bit.

He rubbed your sides and your thighs as you both calmed down. He nuzzled your neck. He kissed your cheek.

“I ain’t even half done with you yet,” he said.

You shook your head back and forth. “I can’t, Daddy,” you whined. You didn’t have the strength for another one. He lightly tapped the side of your face until you opened your eyes and looked at him.

“Naw, you can give me some more,” he said. He leaned down and bit your ear. You shuddered and clenched around him. “Be a good girl for me and take this dick.”

You nodded. Well, when he put it that way…

He pulled out of you. Then he went back in slowly. It was going to be a long night.

&&&

A/N: If you enjoyed this, there's more here: The Secret Tyrone Files

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